Tuesday Tossup: The Earlobes Edition

Your ears looked hungry. The Italian in me just can't stand to let that be. And thusly do I bring some audio news from the podosphere:

• First, a tease of sorts to let you know that the gleeKast will temporarily be suspending our summer hiatus to record our first triloglee on, naturally, the Step Up films. I'm sure they're terrible and may not interest you in the least, but our duty calls. If you have any feedback you'd like discussed, email gleekast@gmail.com by August 22nd or so.

• In current news, Episode 6 of the GirlsOnFilm Radio Podcast is live and wild. Listen to 5 women talk about the oddball classic Hausu and the lovably meta Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon. As usual, you get some bonus chit chat on all Spartacus, penises, cats, and the Saw series. It's like Sex & the City, except we don't all deserve to die by methods more painful than all the Saw traps combined.

• Outside the Cinema did a fine bonus episode all about the feel-good comedy of the year, A Serbian Film. Grab the kids and pop it in for a--

Wait, I really can't say that. It's like how I've been trying in vain to convince others to watch Tiptoes , putting on my best acting to sell it as a quirky but lovable dramady that needs to be seen. I actually get the person to write down the name and then I just break.

I know. I'm weak.  

A Serbian Film, on the other hand, is actually quite good. But it's not lovable. Or fit for children. Or grandmothers. Or, for most, girlfriends. It's just about the most brutal 90 minutes you'll ever see and one not easy to advise others to watch, but it’s extremely well-done for a film of its type and does succeed, however disgustingly, at taking a stab at sending a message. 

And in less controversial news, there should be a new issue of Rogue Cinema posted later today complete with reviews of lots of exciting indie films, plus my interview with director Barbara Stepansky, she of 2009's Hurt (now streaming in Netflix) and the upcoming Fugue, a haunting little thriller which I enthusiastically reviewed last month. 

Oh oh! In slightly controversial news, Pop Syndicate is getting a bit of a makeover. Rather than act like one of those whining shrews on America's Next Top Model who sob at the mere mention of a color change, I say we all ride the linking train to check out its new look, busy up the suddenly skinny forums, and keep one of the Internet's best pop culture sites alive and thriving. Forum-wise, I tend to loiter in the podcast wing, regularly posting on the pages for The Gentlemen's Guide to Midnite Cinema, Outside the Cinema, Chinstroker vs. Punter, Girls On Film Radio Podcast, Night of the Living Podcast (where they actually discuss this weird thing called books) and of course, the GleeKast. Build those frequent blogging miles and get posting.

Hate On Me, Not Horror

We horror fans are a surly bunch.

Opinionated. Angry. Easily disappointed and even more easily disheartened. When we’re subjected to hack job remakes and speedily rushed sequels at a rate that defies the speed of a cheetah, it’s no surprise that we tend to bash any movie that dares to appeal to our well-honed tastes. What I wonder now, as Saw VI prepares to land its bloody feet on our ticket stubs, is if we were always such cinematic snobs.

Perhaps it’s the extreme nature at the very heart of most horror films that breeds such intense negativity. I guarantee that just as many people disliked the last tepid romantic comedy as those who greeted Halloween 2 with sneers (I was among the latter group), but you won’t see IMDBers drawing petitions to remove Diane Lane from Must Love Dogs with quite the same levels of ire as those itching to go all Godfather on Sheri Moon-Zombie and her fine white horse. 

Hating bad horror films is nothing to be ashamed of, especially if the films in question are made and marketed with little heart or respect to what its fans actually want. My problem with the oft-irked horror crowd is our habit of cracking the bad jokes before we actually sit down in the theater. I can’t count how many like-minded film lovers whose opinions I respect have issued death warrants to Jennifer’s Body based on its trailer, cast, and one-credit writer who has somehow amassed mass hatred by penning a single successful indie screenplay. Oh yeah, and of those who have cracked smug grins at the mention of its failed box office, take a guess how many actually confirmed their judgment by seeing the film. 

“Things were so much better in the ‘80s,” we grumble to our babysitting charges while taking a gulp from a rusty can of New Coke. Right, cinema was more innovative when a burly mute was silently slaughtering topless bimbos whose only method of survival was virginity and whininess. What have we come to when the most successful face of horror is a wrinkled old man with actual dialogue about the nature of mankind?

I won’t--and can’t--argue that the Saw series is composed of quality filmmaking, but every Halloween, I never fail to take a deep sigh before issuing a defense of the 5 and counting blockbuster(ish) films. Yes, the gore is gratuitous and the soundtrack grating, but how can someone who forked over $50 for the Friday the 13th boxed set still huff and puff about how torture porn is ruining the horror industry when Jason brought the bar down so low, the only escape was outer space? My idea of date night doesn’t usually include watching Brandon Walsh’s sociology professor get her rib cage torn apart, but at least Dina Meyer’s ill-fated detective was a literate and developed character. 

There’s something charming about ‘80s slasher cinema and daringly dark in the grindhouse days and cannibal genre of the ensuing years. Then again, there’s also more forgettable slashers than a Sesame Street vampire could count before sunrise.  And hey, it took a lot of cruelly killed wildlife in painfully unwatchable movies before Cannibal Holocaust cruelly killed wildlife to make a statement about such painfully wrought cinema. Maybe Martyrs’ twisted analysis of torture is the evolution of “gorenography”; just like we needed eight ho hum Halloween sequels before we could get a Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon, so each sub-genre needs to work itself out before it can achieve greatness. In the meantime, we as audiences watch what we like and judge what we actually see.

I can’t claim that we’re currently in a golden age of horror, as thus far, this decade has produced one masterpiece (Let the Right One In) and a few memorable gems that succeed mainly by honoring the old with a smart twist of new (Shaun of the Dead, The Descent, 28 Days Later). Still, there are plenty of modern films to make us celebrate the cinematic time we’re living in. Roll your eyes at Repo! The Genetic Opera for its headache-making chords, but don’t put it in punchlines and turn around with a ready-made rant about how filmmakers are currently devoid of creativity just because the few sparks of newness don’t appeal to your personal tastes. Most of all, bash nothing until you’ve actually basked in its badness. 

Rants and rusty sharp device heavy games are welcome below. Are we a glass of blood is half-empty kinda crowd, or has horror truly taken a dip into disappointing hell? Share your thoughts, preferably after downing a bag of sugar-coated happy thoughts.

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!

A recent viewing of 1995’s Rumplestilskin gave me 90 minutes of awful fairy tale jokes, muted kills, and a medieval troll with a Bronx accent battling out a future heroine on NBC’s Passions. How surprised would you be if I told you the filmmakers were also responsible for another early 90s little person horror, the one and only pogo stick stabbing Leprechaun?  And how disappointed am I that Warwick Davis’ feisty Irishman does not even stop by for a Hitchcockian cameo? 

I don’t doubt that the director of Rumpelestilskin had that sleeper of a Jennifer Anniston hit on his mind the entire filming process and banked on a multi-film franchise wherein the baby-eating Rumpy and the shoe cleaning redhead team up for a wacky road adventure where hijinks ensue and puns are abused. More likely, there’s a script somewhere buried in a studio basement chronicling a Freddy Vs. Jason-like battle set in the petite section of a department store. For good reason, this didn’t happen, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t inspire me to imagine a few more notable showdowns of horror I’d like to see. 

Place your bets and sound the bells:

1.Let the Right One In‘s Eli vs. Anne Rice’s Claudia

My team: Eli

Vegas favorite: Claudia

Kirsten Dunst’s curly haired bloodsucker may seem a little too prissy to best Sweden’s latest vampire queen, but the future Mary Jane Watson had plenty of bite when it came to attacks. The fascinating Eli, on the other hand, has a slightly larger conscience that could potentially lead to some weaknesses in hand-to-hand combat. Plus, she doesn’t seem to enjoy the kill, shifting the work to her handler whenever possible, whereas the eternally young and better-dressed Claudia hunts everyone from little boys to chubby samaritans with equal relish. Should the fight become a tag-team match, however, Eli may squeak by with the help of the devoted and slightly sociopathic Oskar. Claudia is saddled with two pretty boys who are far too easily distracted by a smoldering Antonio Banderas and/or ruffled sleeves. Know the setup before putting down your cash.

2. Norman Bates vs. Leatherface vs. Buffalo Bill

My team: Leatherface

Vegas favorite: Leatherface

Ed Gein did some truly terrible things in his life, including inspiring Hannibal, the Renee Zellwegger/Matthew McConaughey starring TCM installment, and Gus Van Sant’s Psycho . We’ll overlook a few reprehensible sequels and get to the meat of a few classic villains, then throw them all in a mud pit and aim a tranquilizer gun at the winner...who is undoubtedly from Texas. Buffalo Bill has the best style and Norman Bates gets the sentimental vote, but really, how can a poodle-petting tailor and a mild-mannered mama’s boy even come close to competing with the best (and best equipped) butcher in the south?

3.Leslie Vernon vs. Man Bites Dog’s Benoit

My team: Leslie Vernon

Vegas favorite: Leslie Vernon

When these two murdering media whores butt heads, the results could easily be the best reality show of all time. But unless we’re talking Survivor All Stars , there can only be one winner. Benoit is a bit more of a utility serial killer, with methods ranging from full body gutting to inspiring fatal heart attacks in the elderly. Vernon edges out the Belgian sociopath with overall endurance and athletic ability, plus years of intense training that should hold up in any fight with a cigarette smoking pianist. At the same time, Benoit does have one major advantage over the charismatic Vernon: a revolver and good aim. Then again, when was the last time a gunshot put (and kept) a good slasher down? 

4. Ragers of 28 Days Later vs. Romero’s Traditional Undead

My team: Shamblers

Vegas favorite: Shamblers

Sure, those steroid-high sprinters would take an early lead in establishing world domination, but like Leslie Vernon, Shamblers don’t die easily. As Danny Boyle taught us and countless horror nerds have preached, infected humans are ultimately mere mortals restricted to the same biological life limitations as you or me. Give them a few months and they will starve. True zombies, however, are the cockroaches of the apocalyptic future. I’m not going to get into the biology of what happens if a Rager spits blood in a Shambler’s eye or if a slow-moving ghoul takes a bite out of an angry plague victim because it doesn’t matter. Somewhere in the world I don’t ever want to live in (okay, not true at all), there is a locked car or jammed closet door housing a Savini made corpse with one thing on its mind. And when the last of those infected breath their last rabid breath, the dead will shamble on. To eat them.

5.The Firefly Clan vs. Spider Baby ’s Merrye Family

My team: Merryes

Vegas favorite: Fireflies

I'm actually not unsure that Jack Hill’s Merrye clan--which included a young, rabid, and and skinny Sid Haig without hair--aren’t ancestral relations to Rob Zombie’s psychotic Devil’s Rejects--which, whatdya know, includes an older, rabid-ish, and not skinny Sid Haig...still without hair. The Merryes are twisted and murderous, but also entertaining and a total blast to hang out with. The Fireflies are sadistic and annoying, although they do know how to party. Sadly I don’t see beloved little Virginia, Ralph, and Elizabeth successfully fighting off the knife-and-gun wielding Baby and Otis, although Lon Chaney’s adoptive patriarch could probably take a nice bite out of Haig’s fatherly clown. 

6. Death, Final Destination, vs. Death, The Seventh Seal

My team: FFD

Vegas favorite: SSD

Though we never actually meet him or her, Final Destination’s embodiment of Death (herein known as Fred) comes off an awful lot like a Bond villain. It has a very important job in disposing of a few attractive characters, but Fred seems to find the task impossible to do without pomp and circumstance (I’m expecting a shark tank to make an appearance in the upcoming installment). In contrast, Igmar Bergman’s personification of the big D (let’s call him Sal) set the standard for fifty plus years of pop culture references (the high point being William Sadler’s take in Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey) by making a tall goth dude with an uncanny skill at chess. I couldn’t really hazard a guess as to Fred’s ability with pawns, but I’m sure he could think up a neat and painful way to use that pointy little cross atop the bishop piece. Of course, by the time’s he’s done that, Sal has already taken the queen and cornered the king. Checkmate.

7. Inside‘sLa Femme vs. Pamela Voorhees

My team: La Femme

Vegas favorite: Mama V

I’m calling this fight on sheer numbers. Yes, Beatrice Dalle’s baby-craving home invader is hardcore and creative, but Mrs. Voorhees axed into an entire summer camp staff AND managed to inspire a 12 film and growing franchise that defined (for better and much much worse) the 1980s. With that kind of cred, I can’t imagine Betsy Palmer losing her head over a former model wielding home scissors.

8.High Tension’s Marie vs. Martyrs’s Lucie

My team: Lucie

Vegas favorite: Marie

I declare such a matchup immediately forfeit, as Marie’s very character defies any logic. Sure, I could say that the pixie-cut Frenchwoman has proven herself a worthy successor to a camp-hating hockey fan and a William Shatner faced Illinoisian, but that would mean accepting that everything that happens in High Tension makes any sense. Which it doesn’t. So. Call the fight before it starts and give poor Lucie something to smile about. After all, the poor dear’s been through quite a lot.

9. Damien vs. the entire underage population of Village of the Damned vs. Pet Semetary’s Gage vs. Rhoda Penmark vs. The Brood vs. the triple threat of Bloody Birthday , and any other juvenile horror villain:

Toss ‘em all in a deep deep ball pit and let them sort it out. The results may be too chaotic to call, but I imagine the last two standing to be Bloody Birthday’s villainess and the overachieving Bad Seed herself. And if that fight doesn’t scare you from ever having--or looking at--children, then you, my fierce friend, are the toughest competitor of all.