REVIEW: ‘A Serbian Film’

One last unfortunate look back courtesy of "A Serbian Film".
One last unfortunate look back courtesy of "A Serbian Film".

There has been a VAST change in the American sexual landscape in the last ten years. Yeah, you can blame the internet for it. I have a mental picture that in the near future, wizened grandfathers will tell disbelieving youngsters about how they had to leave the house to get porn and how naked women only existed on the glossy pages of magazines or on grainy copies of well-worn video cassettes.

Ah, the good ol’ days.

Back then, if you didn’t want just plain ol’ boy-girl, girl-girl or some variant thereof action, it was usually the thing of only hearsay or rarity. Now, thanks to the easy of deliverability and the anonymity afforded by the Internet, man’s darkest and most twisted desires are literally made flesh. The shadows of these are presented to us in “A Serbian Film”.

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REVIEW: ‘Possum Walk’

Death wears a non-descript white mask in "Possum Walk".
Death wears a non-descript white mask in "Possum Walk".

I am a city boy. I want to live somewhere surrounded by concrete, near a bustling road with sodium streetlights pigmenting the world in their pale tangerine hues. I need Internet, cable TV and a good Chinese restaurant I can go to at three in the morning if I want to. Born here, raised here and will probably die here.

If I’m really lucky, it will be of natural causes.

Ironically, something just doesn’t feel natural about small towns to me. They just feel so… normal. Too normal, even and like they say, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. I remember going to a little town in Colorado once that looked like it was straight out of a picture postcard, so naturally I thought there had to be something weird and disturbing going on there. All small towns are like that.

“Possum Walk” proves me right.

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REVIEW: ‘In Memorium’

Dennis (Erik McDowell) has had enough in "In Memorium".
Dennis (Erik McDowell) has had enough in "In Memorium".

When you get to be my age, death is no longer some far off and abstract concept; it becomes very real, very close and very personal. Most of the time, we only catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of our eye, but with increasing frequency, we find that it has come up directly behind us: dank, charnel house expirations raising the hair on the back of our neck.

Sometimes, it gives us no such courtesy and simply grabs us by throat, pins us to the ground and as the final darkness closes in around us we can only think, “I thought I’d have more time.”

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