I’m sure I’m not the first person to say that but I will tell you to carve that in stone. Be it in work, play, life or love; it’s just one of those universal truths. And while we’re on the subject, let’s add this little nugget onto that list: the stories of H.P. Lovecraft are difficult to adapt to film. There may be some of you snickering at that remark because you know the vast amounts of understatement I just used. For those who haven’t clambered aboard the Lovecraft bandwagon, please allow me to explain. Lovecraft’s favorite themes had to do with the vastness of infinity and how unknowable it was to mankind’s limited existence. Often, his protagonists would encounter something so mind shattering that it could not be described, explained or even named.
Now try filming that on a typical Hollywood budget.
And not even a big typical budget, but the below ten million dollar budget usually relegated for horror films – which with the current popularity of the cinéma vérité movement in horror, that number is probably closer to just one million dollars. Especially since Hollywood and mainstream audiences demand spectacle from their movies: you have to show the monster. Unnameable and unshowable usually lead you straight to unfilmable.
From the ages of about eight to thirteen, I was more or less surgically attached to a library. For us old folks, the library was our internet, except that it was made out of paper. Completely unlike the current internet, the mainstay of the library wasn’t porn, but the librarian. Neither sexy nor scantily clad, the librarian was usually an older woman whose temperament ranged somewhere from genial to dour. Ordinarily you could find her behind her desk or dutifully pushing her trolley along, re-shelving books. I highly suspect her cologne was a subtle Eau de Book Paste.
One thing for sure, they never built them like Chainsaw Sally.
If you ask either of my ex-wives, there are a great many things that I don’t know anything about. However, I do know something about cheerleaders. Now before you start with the knowing winks or high-fives, let me clarify: my older sister was a cheerleader. That made me the dorky little brother that got dragged along to games or was otherwise jammed into a car with a bunch of girls wearing really short skirts. It wasn’t all bad.
I found myself at a crossroads when it came to ”Hatchet”. Part of me wanted to watch it and part of me just knew it was going to be another run-of-the-mill slasher flick. The bored part won out and so I began what was to be an interesting, only slightly predictable 84 minutes, in which some of the funniest lines I’ve heard come from a horror film in a long while.
While I undoubtedly love the Halloween season, I have to say, almost nothing comes close to the feeling you get on Christmas morning. Even as an adult, I still feel the magic in the air whether it was walking through the early morning calm or waking to the sound of frantic present opening. Of course, opening presents was one of – if not the – favorite part. Tearing through the pretty colored paper, wide-eyed, and opening the box to reveal…
More than a few months ago, I was discussing with the dearly departed (for the greener pastures of cable TV) Devin Pike an idea for a screenplay. We went through most of the beats for it, skipped a few but generally went through the whole of it over hot wings and beer. It would be a hard sci-fi actioner that could easily branch out into sequels. Nine to five would be a thing of the past for us.
Where’s that movie now?
With the exception of a couple of scenes, I tend to think it’s dragging it’s way through the tenebrous passages of my brain, one foot chewed off and with a really bad shoulder cramp, lost on its way to my fingers. They say that in Hollywood everybody has a script. In Dallas, there are at least two people. Do we have a movie? No. That gives the filmmakers behind “Lethal Obsession” a leg up on the rest of us.
If you’re like me and have lived in Texas for any length of time – or even a state or an area that has lots of country music on the radio – you’ve probably heard David Allan Coe’s “You Never Even Called Me By My Name.” Good chance you heard it before and didn’t even know it. It’s that song with the monologue in the middle about what makes the perfect country and western song (in no particular order: trains, mama, rain, pick-up trucks and getting drunk). Well, for me I could do a little monologue about what makes the perfect horror movie. Sure, you could have blood and gore and boobs and dread and whatnot, but there’s still one thing missing from that formula, one thing that keeps it from being perfect.
“2001 Maniacs: Field of Screams” makes no bones about being raw and raunchy, lewd, crude and socially unacceptable. As such, it made perfect sense to director Tim Sullivan that the trailer for the movie should be just as outrageous. The kind folks at Shock Til You Drop reported it a while back so it’s not exactly hot off the press, but it is worth repeating.
What follows is something that Sullivan cut with his editors, Adam Robitel and Dan Flesher. It is by no means official and it is spoilerific, but it is a very naughty extended taste of the movie, which follows after the jump. You were warned.
Directed by: Tim Sullivan Written by: Tim Sullivan and Chris Kobin Starring:Bill Moseley, Lin Shaye, Christa Campbell, Adam Robitel, Kevin Ogilvie, Ryan Fleming, Larayia Gaston, Nicole Rae Running time:82 minutes Rated:R
Guilty pleasures: we all have them.
Whether it’s that extra large piece of double chocolate cake or that big plate of Bentley wings or some old, embarrassing pop song that gets you seat dancing as you’re tooling down the highway, we each have our own little idiosyncratic treasure.
For me, it’s Walt Disney’s “Sleeping Beauty”, but that’s a story for another time.
Today, I think I have a new one by the name of “2001 Maniacs: Field of Screams.”