Sean Gill's "The Mysterious Ecstasy of Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball for Super Nintendo" in Hobart

My latest essay, "The Mysterious Ecstasy of Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball for Super Nintendo," chronicles the delightfully bizarre cultural connections (involving the likes of Stephen King, John Waters, Judy Garland, Werner Herzog, etc.) that exist in the vintage SNES baseball game. It's just been published by the literary journal Hobart, and you can read it online here.

Only now does it occur to me... NIGHTBREED (1990)

Only now does it occur to me... that in a dark, phantasmagorical carnival filled with wall-to-wall imaginative demons,

creatures,

and nightmarish concepts...

that David Cronenberg would come out of left field to steal the show!

Lookin' creepy, Mr. C!

NIGHTBREED is a deeply atmospheric Clive Barker film (based on his novel CABAL) that he imagined would be the "STAR WARS" of horror movies: a multi-part epic with creature effects, a sweeping soundtrack (by Danny Elfman), heroic prophecies, beautiful matte paintings, and explosive action setpieces.

Unfortunately, it failed to recoup its budget and didn't gain much traction with critics, although over the years it has accumulated a devoted cult following. The newly remastered Director's Cut (while not incredibly different from the theatrical cut), is a generally stronger piece and, when it's over, you're left wishing there had been at least a trilogy of these movies.

Anyway––back to my enthusiastic salute to David Cronenberg's acting abilities! (Who knew?)

As psychotic psychotherapist Dr. Philip K. Decker (an homage to sci-fi author and Cronenberg hero Philip K. Dick), Cronenberg plays a near-pastiche of your typical Cronenberg villains––brilliant, perverse, detached, and clinical. Being a "closeted" outsider himself (Barker, as usual, peppers his horror with apt LGBT commentary), Dr. Decker loathes unconventional society and wishes to (literally) carve the "new flesh" off of the world.  In short, he's a soft-spoken creeper who moonlights as a terrifying, hooded slasher,

almost a proto-version of Cillian Murphy's "Scarecrow" from BATMAN BEGINS.

He has a wonderful yuppie lair where he lays out all of his knives like a Dario Argento murderer,

and he generally hypnotizes the viewer with his self-loathing and low-key menace.  It's an incredibly subtle performance, and I was left wishing that Cronenberg would use his acting abilities more often.

Interested parties may see Mr. Cronenberg ply this underrated talent in JASON X (as a doctor), ALIAS (also as a doctor), THE STUPIDS (as a postal worker), and TO DIE FOR (as a mafioso hitman!).

2015 HALLOWEEN COUNTDOWN OVERFLOW

1.  SCANNERS (1981, David Cronenberg)

2.  MICHAEL IRONSIDE: MENTAL SABOTEUR (2014, Karen Stetler)

3.  NOMADS (1986, John McTiernan)

4.  THE STUFF (1985, Larry Cohen)

5.  THE BEACH (2000, Danny Boyle)

6.  CHILD'S PLAY 2 (1990, John Lafia)

7.  NIGHT OF THE DEMONS (1988, Kevin S. Tenney)
8. VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED (1995, John Carpenter)

9. BLACK ROSES (1988, John Fasano)

10. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER, "HALLOWEEN" (1997, Bruce Seth Green) 

11. ANGEL, "THE RING" (2000, Nick Marck)

12. CHILD'S PLAY 3 (1991, Jack Bender)

13. ...

Film Review: BLADE RUNNER (1982, Ridley Scott)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 117 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Harrison Ford, Sean Young, Rutger Hauer, Daryl Hannah, M. Emmet Walsh (MISSING IN ACTION, BLOOD SIMPLE), Edward James Olmos, Joe Turkel (the Bartender in THE SHINING), James Hong (BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA), Brion James (HOUSE III), William Sanderson (DEADWOOD), Joanna Cassidy (THE OUTFIT) . Cinematography by Jordan Cronenweth, music by Vangelis. Based on the novel DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP? by Philip K. Dick.
Tag-lines: "Man Has Made His Match... Now It's HIS Problem!" Wow.
Best one-liner: "Wake up, time to die!" (often and enthusiastically quoted by Abel Ferrara on his commentary track for THE DRILLER KILLER)
Schlitz Sign Sightings: 2

On a TV, BLADE RUNNER's an essential film; on the big screen, it's a revelation. From the ominous opening tones and expository scroll to the first shots of fireballs bursting forth from futuristic smokestacks, the viewer is immediately aware that they're about to embark on something enrapturing, exceedingly rare, and immaculately crafted.

Director Ridley Scott, cinematographer Jordan Cronenweth (ROLLING THUNDER, ALTERED STATES CUTTER'S WAY), special effects artist Douglas Trumbull (2001, CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND), and production designer Lawrence G. Paull (BACK TO THE FUTURE) merge their talents to create a moody, jaw-dropping, futuristic atmosphere, the likes of which hadn't been seen since METROPOLIS and will likely be never seen again, so long as Hollywood clings to its CGI like a cured fool to his needless crutch.

Though not following his work to the letter, the film wonderfully replicates the Philip K. Dick 'aura'- a world of confusion, filth, wonderment, paranoia, disquiet, and mystery. A smoky Middle-Eastern nightclub with shades of PEPE LE MOKO; an icy laboratory where eyeballs are fashioned from bubbling, frigid vats; a dark, rain-soaked alley, intermittently lit by neon and the flashing headlamps of police spinners;

a sooty, decaying space, full of mannequins, robots, and incessantly chortling mechanical toys; a musty, shadowy, Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired apartment

where Harrison Ford's Deckard pours bottle after bottle of stinging hooch down his throat– the sheer creativity and perfect realization of these places leaves them etched upon your mind, long after the film has finished. Combined with an ethereal Vangelis score, one sits, transfixed and with mouth agape, as one might while experiencing one of the great cathedrals.

Violence is handled with firm-handed Dickian weight: visceral and distressing, full of shrieks and spasms and existential dread. The acting is superb: Sean Young's art deco naivete, Brion James' detached brutality, Rutger Hauer's unsettling perfection, James Hong's yammering hermit, Joe Turkel's thick-lensed mogul, Edward James Olmos' craggy visage, William Sanderson’s sweet gullibility,

Daryl Hannah's raccoon-eyed urchin, and M. Emmet Walsh’s oily countenance all function to develop a colorful landscape of characters, remaining true to Dick's wider vision. Ultimately, Scott possesses a complete confidence in his material, and never second-guesses, never concedes a point, never gives in to showcasing some 'flavor of the month,’ and consequently has created a languid, timeless work of art.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: SCREAMERS (1995, Christian Duguay)

Stars: 3 of 5.
Running Time: 108 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Peter Weller, Jennifer Rubin, co-written by Dan O'Bannon, who'd been kicking around the screenplay since the early 80's.
Tag-lines: "The silence of space is about to be shattered." Although, given the involvement of O'Bannon, maybe it should have been "In space no one can hear you... scream(ers)."
Best one-liner: "He's a fucking toaster!"

For what it is, I was pretty impressed with SCREAMERS. It ought to have three strikes against it from the outset:
1. A fairly low budget for an outer space epic,
2. A release date of 1996 (a dark time for quality sci-fi, as bad CGI began to rear its loathsome head), and
3. Direction by Christian Duguay. Duguay is basically David Cronenberg's sloppy seconds. He's Canadian, he made SCANNERS into a straight-to-video trilogy (WITHOUT Michael Ironside), he uses post-NAKED LUNCH Peter Weller, and here he also tackles Philip K. Dick (one of Cronenberg's greatest influences- see VIDEODROME). And SCREAMERS is basically THE THING meets TREMORS meets PHANTASM, but without being as good as any of them. This should be awful. And the mawkish, inane ending is. But everything that precedes said hideous denouement is extremely solid.

As solid as Peter Weller.

We've got a screenplay by Dan O'Bannon (RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD, TOTAL RECALL, ALIEN), an excellent lead performance by the always serviceable Weller, and- be still my heart- minimal use of bad CGI! (With stop motion, trick photography, and makeup used to a generally favorable effect.)


Jennifer Rubin (the switchblade swingin', recovering junkie from NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 3) is our female lead, and appears to be quite literally under the influence of 'ludes for her first couple scenes- but somehow it works!

There's mind-boggling soundtrack choices and bad comic relief (with the taciturn Weller getting annoyed by a chatterbox rookie), but out of nowhere, a few genuine (O'Bannon) humanizing moments creep through. And, eerily, it seems that the flick wanted to make "Can I come with you?" a catchphrase in the same vein as "Want some candy?" in PREDATOR 2.

Is that PREDATOR-VISION?

In fact, for the dipsomaniacal drinking game fans among us, if you take a drink every time you hear the repeated lines "Can I come with you?" and "Get off my back!," by the film's close you'll probably think that you're a Screamer. Solid sci-fi, disappointing ending, three stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: TOTAL RECALL (1990, Paul Verhoeven)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 113 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Arnold Schwarzenegger, Michael Ironside, Ronny Cox, Sharon Stone, co-writer Dan O'Bannon (ALIEN, DEAD & BURIED), loose adaptation of Philip K. Dick short story ""We Can Remember It For You Wholesale."
Tag-lines: "They stole his mind, now he wants it back."
Best one-liner: "Who gives a shit what you believe? In thirty seconds you'll be dead, and I'll blow this place up and be home in time for Corn Flakes." or maybe just "See you at the pahhhh-ty, Richter!"

"If I am not me, den who da hell am I?" TOTAL RECALL boldly dares to ask (and answer) the fateful questions, A. "What kind of films would Hitchcock be making if he was alive in 1990?" and B. "What would those films be like if he was taking a dangerous mix of uppers and downers?" Make no mistake, however, this candy-colored insanity is a bona fide masterpiece on a number of levels and a true example (like ROBOCOP) of Verhoeven at the peak of his powers. The special effects are immaculate. There's true cinematic wonder on display, with a real attention to detail and craftsmanship that disappeared with the advent of CGI-only FX. Schwarzenegger has rarely been more likable, and he truly exudes pathos in "the wrong man" (or maybe "wrong mind?") role.

It's a larger-than-life film that calls for larger-than-life acting, and Schwarzenegger's rubbery mug (which is frequently indistinguishable from the wacky prosthetics) is the perfect template upon which to unfold such a tale.


Like the best of Euro-action cinema, this is a movie of over-the-top violence, intense staredowns that defy reality, and a parade of extraordinarily memorable moments (from the Johnnycab inferno to the three-breasted hooker to Arnold's redunkulous muu-muu'd housewife disguise) which stuck in the craws of impressionable kids for decades to come.


Michael Ironside seems to have eaten crazy for breakfast before filming his scenes here, and, as always, he's a vein-bustin' delight to watch.

And like the best of Lynch and Cronenberg, Verhoeven reserves for his villains the most graphic, jaw-dropping fates imaginable- viscerally cathartic to the MAX.

And if you'd like to try a TOTAL RECALL drinking game, try a drink every time someone's eyes are literally bulging outside of their head AND every time someone must hang onto to something, lest they be blown into the vacuum of space.

Of course if you do that, you just might end up with an identity crisis on par with Quaid and Hauser. Five lunatic stars.

-Sean Gill