Showing posts with label dolly dearest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dolly dearest. Show all posts

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Did I Kill Davy Jones? Also, Thus End'th The Shortening

As we say goodbye to 2012's 2nd Annual Attack of the Vertically Challenged Villains: The Shortening, it brings me incredible sadness to mourn the passing of my very first crush and perennial petite powerhouse, Monkees lead singer Davy Jones.

Growing up in the late '80s, I fell in love with basic cable's reruns of their comedy show, so much so that I used my very first tin of push pins to hang posters of Davy's sparkling eyes on my bedroom walls. Two years ago, I blushed my way through meeting him at New Jersey's Chiller Theater convention where I was excited to discover he was still good-looking AND a good inch and a half taller than me.

While there, I bought a fan club worthy autographed 8x10 glamor shot that still proudly hangs over my toilet, meaning Mr. Jones will forever watch over those who do their bodily business in my apartment.

Davy Jones passed away on Leap Day. As far as I'm concerned, that implies we only have to acknowledge the fact that he died every four years and therefore can go back to daydream believing him back into existence for the other three. That's how the system works and I'm sticking to it.
It's a fitting, solemn end to 2012's Shortening, though personally, I'm a tad disturbed. See, just two weeks ago, I also had to mourn the passing of a celebrity I harbored serious romantic feelings for throughout my elementary school years: former Mets catcher and baseball Hall of Famer Gary Carter, who succumbed to brain cancer on February 16th. If I could have been an underage polygamist in a highly experimental tribe, you can bet a few leprechauns that I would have been Mrs. Emily Intravia-Carter-Jones. It worries me to see the highlights of my youth taken before their time. Now let us lend kind thoughts and extra bodyguards to other notable entries in my imaginary lovebook, including fellow vertically challenged superstars Rick Moranis and Martin Short.

On the sunnier side, we have one last round of Shortening sharing! Thanks and cuddles to the following bloggers who tackled some vertically challenged villains and lived to write about it:


Over at Cinema Gonzo, sir Thomas Duke headed back to the swinging '60s for the oddball little person horror, Curse of the Doll People. Find it in its glory this way





Also on a Mexican trek was Ms. Mermaid Heather, who opened up the toy chest for a review of Dolly Dearest and thusly conquered both The Shortening and Women In Horror Month:



The cool as an air conditioned space Elwood Jones headed up north for one of my personal favorites, David Cronenberg's extra gooey The Brood. Go have a taste.




Dare you forget T.L. Bugg's swap duty covering 2008's killer kids in a winter wonderland classic, The Children. It might not be a fair fight for poor Darby O'Gill's leprechaun army, but the Bugg still does it right.




Finally, though I failed to find a proper doll flick for this month's festivities, the Direct to Video Connoisseur came to the rescue with pristine coverage of Puppet Master 2 and the quick cut-and-paste job (of the movie; not the review) for Dollman vs. Demonic Toys.






As we march on through March, there are glimmers of hope: HorrorHound Weekend's biannual snugglefest, a hopeful Leprechaun marathon on the SyFy Channel, the return of Community, the quest to snag a green milkshake in the Bronx that's supposed to be that way. Will anything top little people conning men out of their souls, shrunken men fighting tarantulas, Mickey Rooney encouraging child labor, or Harry Potter trying to out-act creepy monkey dolls? It's hard to say but I take comfort in knowing we will always have 2012's Shortening, and more importantly, Davy Jones will always watch my houseguests pee.


Tuesday, February 22, 2011

She-Devil Shortie of the Month: Dolly Dearest

“If Chucky from Child’s Play weren’t already taken, he might go for this demonic she-devil.”

That one sentence is Netflix’s description of Dolly Dearest, and that makes me happier than a thousand Golden Retriever puppies rolling on their backsides at once. Dolly Dearest, for those who don’t know, was a quickie cash-in on the commercial hit that played on repeat in my nightmares throughout the early '90s. Though the films isn't particularly frightening, the idea of Dolly was enough to send my already doll-phobic childhood mind into overdrive, a terrible speed wherein the lass would prowl through my home with Chucky on one side and Pet Sematary's Gage on the other in search of my flesh.


Odd when really, we're talking about a quickie C-grade horror movie in which the villain takes fashion tips from Peanuts' Lucy

(But clearly not ladylike manners)
For the full dolltastic experience, I'll be sending you shorties on a field trip over to the one, the only, the best named blog in existence run by one of the coolest cats in the business (even if his height disqualifies him from ever truly understanding the plight of the wee), Chuck Norris Ate My Baby. The incredibl(y tall)  Mattsuzaka has a full and funky review of Dolly Dearest, so hop in your go-cart, Miatta, or Power Wheels and head on over to CNAMB for a ramba with an ancient Mayan demon possessed mass market produced children's toy with a wily tongue and giant head.


No ex-girlfriend jokes, please.







Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Doll Face Meme!

So I'm a woman of a few talents (surviving bad cinema, badminton, Boggle) but like any mere mortal, certain skills elude me. Organization. Social planning. Planning. Planning socialism, you get the idea.


For instance, I announced a contest several months back which still excites me, and yet I've yet to select a winner. What this means is 1) I will do so this weekend and 2) Said winner will receive a special "I'm sorry I'm a procrastinating poophead prize," fear not, not comprised of poop. This also means I will start reviewing the recommended films with intros from the lovely and daring souls who entered.

Also, it's social blogging season and like most times of year, I rarely seem to be 'wid it.' I've had half a Billy Loves Stu  inspired meme sitting in my draft box for a month, 9 entries into my Horror Digest  honored Willies, and terribly lax thank yous for Versatile Blogging. 

But finally, I found a trend I can easily hop onto! No, not Bandz or street dancing (well, kind of street dancing...hint hint bonus episode of the GleeKast coming at you in 3D!) but the Screen Grab Meme Spectacular bestowed upon me by none other than the baton-twirling BJ-C of Day of the Woman .  Bloggers are ordered to grab a few images with one unifying theme. Now I combed through my globby brain for days trying to figure out what would be appropriate before finally bashing my own noggin with a frying pan for overlooking the obvious.

Starting with The Godfather of Dollinema...



whose name need not be said


Baby Oopsy Daisy, Demonic Toys


Dolly Dearest, Chucky's first true love


Cowboy Curtis (I'm guessing), from Stuart Gordon's Dolls





My Cheat (not screen grab of cinema)

Billy Baloney, Pee-Wee Herman's naughty friend. True story: despite my doll phobia, this thing lived in my house all through my childhood. As recently as three years ago, my mother kept it on top of the refrigerator and would occasionally bring it to the dinner table with the prime aim of making me uncomfortable.


Dream Warriors Got No Strings!


One of the eeriest (if memory serves) PG-Rated films of all time, Roland Emmerich's (yes, that Roland Emmerich) Joey, aka Making Contact


Further proof that all dummies are evil: Anthony Hopkins and Fats, Magic 



May and Suzy


The soon-to-be-Criterioned Night of the Hunter


It takes a bad man to combine clowns with dolls. 
Steven Spielberg, I see your true soul.


Blade, the respectable leader of the Puppet Master series


Mannequins = Dolls all grown up.
Mannequins=me crying in the corner


An underrated anthology classic, Tales From the Hood


And we conclude with the question that's plagued mankind throughout the ages:
How'd it get buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurned?

I was supposed to use this space to tag fellow bloggers to make them work, but how can I focus on choosing who to assign Googling to when the best YouTube compilation of all time is screaming at me?