Review: ThanksKilling

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2019
Images from the Internet

ThanksKilling
Directed by Jordan Downey
MVD Visual
66 minutes, 2009 / 2011
Thankskillingmovie.com
MVDvisual.com

According to the commentary track with director Downey and co-writer Kevin Stewart, the purpose of this $3,500 film, shot in 11 days back while they were both in college, was not to make a horror film per se, but by aiming towards the “so bad it’s good” (SBIG) category, rather make it a comedy with horror elements. It is true that when one goes for SBIG, usually horror is the genre on which to point.

From the box alone, you know the territory is going to be no-prisoners: make the viewer laugh at any expense, no matter how low, no matter how silly, no matter how forced. And have they achieved their goal of making a comedy and the worst horror film ever made? Well, yes and no. Let’s discuss…

As promised on the box, the first shot in the film is of a naked breast, apparently that of a healthy and hefty pilgrim running topless through the woods, played in cameo by older adult star Wanda Lust (nee Shelia Hansen). She is fleeing something raised by the Indians (this film is intentionally not PC, so I won’t bother with the terms Native Americans or First Nations) to kill the Pilgrims on the first Thanksgiving. Let’s stop there a moment and ponder. Totally realizing that there is an abnormally large need for suspension of disbelief, let me say that if this had happened, we certainly wouldn’t be celebrating the holiday, would we? But as far as stretching credulity goes, this is one of the minor ones, relatively speaking. Again, though, that’s part of the point. It’s important to keep remembering that, going forward.

After the pilgrim prologue, we meet five high school students (okay, there goes that credulity thing again in my head…easy now, brain, this is just the beginning of the ride) who are going to be both heroes and victims of… well, it’s pretty obvious from the box, so I don’t think I’m revealing anything by saying it’s the killer turkey, imaginatively named Turkie (if they really wanted it to be scary, it could have been named Tofuerkie). I must say right now that for a killer puppet turkey, Turkie looks pretty good. Kudos guys. Perhaps they could pair up with the makers of The Puppet Monster Massacre, as both these films are sequel bound? Or perhaps even Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead? But I digress…

So, the teens are totally (and purposefully, according to the commentary track, which I highly recommend if you’re going to watch this… ha, bet you thought I was going to say “turkey”!) cinematic clichés, including Johnny, the jock with a heart of gold (Lance Predmore), his goofy hick pal, Billy (Aaron-Ringhiser-Carlson, doing his best Tyler Labine impression), Billy’s nerd hanger-on Darren (Ryan Francis, who in “real life” is the drummer of the female-fronted Ohio punk band Overated , as Huge Euge), good girl Kristen (Lindsey Anderson, whose only previous notation was in Troma’s Terror Firmer, 10 years before this), and bad girl Ali (Natasha Cordova, in full John-Lithgow-sitcom-overacting style, coming closest to what the commentary states they wanted).

The five set off on Thanksgiving break (yeah, I know and the writers acknowledge in the commentary) to go camping. Of course, they run into said Turkie in the woods, who was resurrected by the pee of the dog owned by a hermit named Oscar (as in “the Grouch,” played well by General Bastard, who is the singer of his own punk-garage band). 

Of course, this meeting of late-twenty-year-old teens and Turkie turns into a battle that takes it back to town, where Turkie does away with a bunch of townsfolk, including relatives as well as some of the main cast. While Kristen’s dad, the town sheriff (Chuck Lamb, who has made a mini-career out of playing dead bodies in films and television), may have the fakest looking moustache in recent cinema memory (though it works for his character, and I’d like to say Lamb did well in his rare speaking role), probably the goofiest moment is when Turkie disguises himself as the sheriff by putting on a hat and a plastic Groucho glasses / nose / moustache, so not even his daughter can tell them apart. It is one of the few moments that I actually laughed out loud, in sheer audacity. Well played, Jordan Downey.

One of the two most infamous scenes, though, is Turkie disguised as a woman, and then getting picked up as a hitchhiker who is obviously aroused, thinking he’s a (human) girl. Let’s just say it doesn’t end well, especially for the audience. The other is when Turkie has his way with someone (“You’ve been stuffed,” he states after), though it should be noted that it was done safely (at the scene is found an extra small condom, gravy flavored).

As with Freddie Kruger, Turkie gets a whole bunch of groaner puns to state at specific times that, yes, I have to admit, are memorable and I’m sure repeatable at some time or another in life (though, I can’t think of anything needing a “Gobble-Gobble Motherfucker,” except for it’s own sake; hey, it’s even on the box).

So, is this the worst movie ever made? No, of course not, because it doesn’t take itself seriously, and tries too hard. For a film to be truly bad, it has to be done straight, such as Plan Nine From Outer Space, Cape Canaveral Monsters, or Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. But again, even as an acknowledged bad film, such as Bill Zebub’s The Worst Horror Film Ever Made, there is more a sense of either general goofiness or laziness than planned direction. That’s what is wrong with films like Epic Movie or Date Movie, in that they try too hard in a way that Fonzie kept trying so to keep his cool that he actually wasn’t.

The viewer has to be careful how to approach a film that intentionally tries to be bad. For example, I watched this the first time with a group of people who are a bit older (i.e., around my age), and even though they knew they were in for something bizarre (they did read the box, after all), they found it kind of silly more than anything else. I must admit, I appreciated it more after listening to the commentary by the director and writer (shame there were no captions because it would have been great to do both). Obviously, the demographic the film is aiming for is high school to college kids who either like inanity for inanity’s sake (hey, I’ve been there), or the alcohol and weed stoners who will laugh at a fart joke.

For me, the film definitely had its moments, and I was glad to watch it a second time by myself and actually see it (as opposed to in a talk-back crowd), and then, dare I say it, a third with the commentary. Waste of time? Sure. Sorry I saw it? No. While it may not have been the worst movie (I’m with Elaine about the film The English Patient, a book I thoroughly enjoyed, though), nor even a great comedy, it was a fun way to waste an afternoon.

Meanwhile, I’ve got my bag of popcorn ready for the nuker when the sequel (with a budget of $100,000) comes around.

This film was originally reviewed HERE

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Review: American Scumbags

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2017

Images from the Internet

American Scumbags

Written, produced, directed and edited by Dakota Bailey

R.A. Productions

70 minutes, 2016

https://Dakotabaileydirectorfilmmaker.wordpress.com  

www.facebook.com/dakotabaileyactordirector

www.facebook.com/American-Scumbags   

Director Dakota Bailey is lucky. And smart. He has found a genre niche that fits him well, and is sticking to it. His stories are fly-on-the-wall tales of pure human animal need vs. want vs. humanity that are incredibly down-to-the-ground gritty. I hope he gets used to the word, because gritty is probably a buzzword that will become ever more associated with his work. This is a compliment.

What makes his films “horror” is not some guy in a mask and machete that can’t be killed, or evil raised by people in cloaks, or something buried that returns; rather it’s the guy on the street you pass that is thinking about his next fix and will do anything to get it, or the person in the car next to you sharing the street light who is planning to pour acid on someone to avenge a perceived wrongdoing. It is meaner streets, where Joe Pesci’s character Johnny “Am I a clown?!” Devito would be considered a punk ass (and not in a Ramones kinda way).

Bailey deals with similar themes as his previous film, My Master Satan (reviewed by me HERE); in this one, we a given three stories in a city ironically named Sunnydale that are so interconnected they overlap to the point of melding into a narrative of anger, fear, and depravity – all for the benefit and enjoyment of the viewer. In this way we are introduced to the main characters: a convict who is a sadistic sociopath named Billy the Kid who needs to control the women in his life even if it means killing their pets (Darien Fawkes), the drug kingpin with the man-bun Chester (Fred Epstein), a crazed ex-con who is in a money-pickle named Lucifer who believes his own designation (Nick Benning), and Johnny (director Bailey), a hitman who kills for his drug needs. Others include a wheel-chair bound alcoholic Vietnam vet, an equally drunkard pedophile who likes little boys just out of the can, and… well, you get the idea.

After the title-carded character introduction, the first story set-up is “Billy the Kid”, and the others include “Raping the World with Guns and Drugs.” Through it all, even with the mostly ex-girlfriend (Katy Katzar) obsessed Billy, we see mostly men acting at their basest. This is a macho world we are presented. The only “carded” female character is naturally a bombastic and zaftig prostitute, Angel (Bianca Valentino). Whether she lives up to the “Scumbag” descriptor, I’ll leave you to find out.

Dakota Bailey as Johnny, on the phone

In a similar feel to the earlier flick, we meet these characters who all seem to know each other in a kind of underworld miasma, but rarely do we see them interconnect physically for any length time (other than to kill), except via the technology of cell phones. By this means we get to know the individual characters better (well, more than we’d want in real life). Perhaps it is not the history of what got them there, but certainly a higher-level vision of where they are, which is more than you get with most modern “people = death fodder” films.

There’s nothing fancy in the production. For example, the camera work is obviously handheld with a feel of found footage, though with editing it is not meant to be that. It actually works for this kind of story, making it feel in part like you are there, but not like someone just turned on a camera and shot it, which ironically takes the viewer out of the moment. The black and white also gives the grit more of a kick, with a mixture of the view being high contrast, dark, or washed out, depending on the moment (and lighting). It could also be a metaphor for a colorless life of despair, crime, narcissism and high drama (and ego-and-drug induced stupidity).

As for the acting, well, there’s no Joe Pesci, but at the same time – and more importantly – it really does feel like these guys are just being themselves (with one exception), so there’s fumbling when talking as one would in real life. Some of the dialog definitely has an improv vibe. Again, while in other circumstances in films that make take the viewer out of the action through distraction, here it is used to bring you into the hyper-realism of these characters and situations that you would never really want to be a part of in real life (hopefully). It truly feels like a form of voyeurism, as if looking through someone else’s eyes.

Despite all the violence against others, what makes these people stand out is the level of self-destructive behaviour, even if it comes out as external expression. Deep down, every one of these characters is committing slow suicide on some level, enticing others to do action against them as much as they are putting dangerous substances into themselves.

I don’t want to end this without mentioning the really great soundtrack, featuring classic hardcore style by the band Pizzatramp, from South Wales, UK.

Review: Don’t You Recognise Me?

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2016

Images from the Internet

Don’t You Recognise Me?

Written and directed by Jason Figgis

October Eleven Pictures

80 minutes, 2015 / 2016

www.facebook.com/jason.figgis

In an Amusing Ourselves to Death world, according to Neil Postman in 1985, entertainment becomes our focus, rather than the real world around us, leading to the collapse of culture. Examples of this abound, with some people walking off cliffs in search of non-existent Pokémon Go characters, others drive two-ton machines full speed down a highway or crowded street while texting. There are also those who would rather watch sports than participate in them or other actually important social contract behavior such as voting for a viable leader; they’d rather opinionate without doing the research, or instead watch a woman with three dragons take sword to kings on television. But it runs both ways, as not only are there viewers, but there are also the creators of such distractions.

In Ireland, as we are introduced to this story, is Tony Aiello (Matthew Toman), a slimy Geraldo-style “journalist” with no moral compass, whose purpose in life is to find people to interview, and make them look as foolish in documentaries. With his film crew (Alan Rogers on camera and the cute Emma Dunlop on sound boom), he has lined up his latest victims, obtained from social media contact: the Gallagher family, small-time operators who are willing to let Aiello into their world. But right from the start, the viewer knows that something is rotten in the state of County Dublin. The title of the film even hints at it.

I promise I won’t go into spoiler alert territory, but it soon becomes obvious that while Aiello is playing the Gallaghers for his own gain, the tide will soon turn for ominous reasons.

The Gallaghers and their crew are a nutsy bunch, showing that a level of insanity may run in this family and group, possibly on the Usher level (the EA Poe story, not the singer, so back off). K (Jason Sherlock) is the pretty face that draws the flies to the spider, as it were, but it is brother Daz (Darren Travers) who is in charge of the operation (and it’s Travers who steals just about any scene he’s in). Also aiding them silently in a possible Leatherface nod is Nickey Gallagher, aka Babyface, for reasons that are immediately obvious (played menacingly by the very muscular and intimidating director, Jason Figgis).

If I may pull back and digress here a mo, this documentary style filming is an offshoot of the found footage subgenre, in that those on camera filming the story are actually shooting the film, as well. There is a nice touch as the scenes cut between the two camera, and you hear the differences in the sound from each (the quality changes between the boom and the home videocamera, for example, or those closer to the shooting are louder than those further away). For once, not balancing the sound makes sense.

Starting off slow, the menacing and alarm levels start to kick in at about 15 or 20 minutes (the first of which are used for exposition), and then continue to increase exponentially. By the time everything is explained out, the viewer will cringe, but at the same time has some sense of identification with the retribution-seeking Gallaghers.

Darren Travers as Daz

Joining the family is some friends, including two camera people (video and still), and the hair obsessed Terese (Shauna Ryan), an intense woman who does not take kind to insult and is often saying, “You take that back!” There is actually a lot of repetition of dialog by many of the characters, such as Daz’s insistence to just about everyone, “Are you gettin’ this?!” It actually makes it even more frightening rather than “samey” as you see the level of madness – both in the level of anger and craziness – reaches the crescendo. That aspect also gave it a real feeling, perhaps of improv on the part of the actors. Anyway, it works.

If I could change any one thing in this film, I would add subtitles, as sometimes the accents get a bit thick, but it’s always easy to pick out the oft used “fook.” Perhaps the option will be on the DVD release, but there are parts where I really had no idea what was being said literally, but the intent was loud and clear so I don’t think I really missed anything.

There is little blood in the film, and much of the actual violence is done off-screen, but that does not hinder the level of both malevolence and banality of evil that are present. Bleak has its place in life, and this story certainly lends itself to just that. In fact, it is the quality of the story and the compassion for the characters that actually arises out of that despair, even with the excess violence.

Figgis seems to revel in the bleak, such as in his previous film reviewed on this blog, Children of a Darker Dawn (HERE). That being said, it should be added that he excels in it, as well, even with the feeling that it could have been edited down a bit. However, it is also enhanced by the mostly subtly and dissonant notes of a really fine score by Michael Richard Plowman.

Sure there is no sign of cell phones, nicely making the timing of the film a bit up in the air, but even so the prevalence of technology still manages to make itself felt, as both sides of the table document the situation, including some group shots of both victims and victors, even though in the long run, everybody loses a bit of their own soul, and not just to the image as some religions believe about taking pictures.

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Review: Dangerous Men

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2016

Images from the Internet

Dangerous Men

Directed (and everything else) by John S. Rad

Sima Sim International

Drafthouse Films / MVD Visual

80 minutes, 2005 / 2016

.www.drafhousefilms.com

www.mvdvisual.com

There is a place in the heart for certain people like myself when it comes to really bad films. I grew up with the likes of those directed by Ed Wood Jr., The Cape Canaveral Monsters (1960), and Robot Monster (1953), all of which could be seen on television. In the 1980s, with the advent of VHS cheapies and television shows like Elvira’s Move Macabre (1981-85) and Rhonda Sheer’s USA Up All Night (1989), another layer of bad films was leveled on an audience that either enjoyed the experience or just didn’t get it.

Now there is a new generation of bad cinema that has come to light with the medium of digital filmmaking, giving us some pretty awful releases, like The Room (2003), which have achieved cult status and are regular screened for adoring fans.

This film is a bit different. Even though it was officially released in 2005, it was shot on film with Rad’s own money over 22 years (starting in 1984), which would certainly explain the jumpiness of the story, what there is of it. It has gained fame over the years since 2007, finally being released digitally to the public now. Sadly, the director, a Persian named Jahangir Salehi Yenganehrad who self-penned himself John Rad, died in 2007, never seeing its success.

Melody Wiggins as Mina

Perhaps because it took over two decades to make, it’s no surprise that a character that is central to one part is not the focus of another. This happens a lot in here. In the first half, it’s sort of a revenge narrative as a cute and petite woman, Mira (Melody Wiggins, who is a physician now), whose fiancée is murdered by a couple of bikers, sets off on a Ms. 45 / I Spit on Your Grave man-killing spree. The second half is more about the fiancée’s brother, a police detective who is also out to bring down some bikers; evil motorcyclers are the largest percentage of “dangerous men” in the film, though not the only ones. The gang is led by an almost albino surfer-type dude, known as – wait for it – Black Pepper (Brian Jenkins, an actual surfing teacher; d. 2013).

The very end is both a head scratcher and guaranteed to make you do one of those confused-dog-head-tilting-to-the-side motions. Not that goals aren’t narratively necessarily completed, but…hunh? One of the things I find interesting is how Rad manages to squeeze in some unconnected Iranian aspects to the film, such as the wife of one of the main characters being Persian (the first face the audience sees), and the inexplicableness of having an actual belly dancer (Roohi) at a particularly odd moment.

Brian Jenkins as Black Pepper

The acting is pretty inconsistent. For example, sometimes Wiggins is spot on emotionally, and others her emoting is terrifyingly unintentionally amusing, which makes it all the more disturbing. For example, before her first kill, you can see her face is full of rage, but it was more disturbing than anything else. But when she smiles, she brightens up the scene. Some of the other actors are just terrible: the bartender at the biker bar, the woman playing darts (who has a large role than just that), Jenkins, for example. It’s actually the bikers that come across as most genuine. And for once, they’re more realistic as bikers than, say, the romanticized versions by Marlon Brando or Peter Fonda, or even Jack Nicholson.

Also, there isn’t any gore, really, though some blood. Considering the number of stabbings and shooting, as there is a nice sized body count, there is relatively just a smidgen of blood. But nudity is another story. There’s plenty of female bodies shown (and a few close-ups of the belly dancer’s upper torso shaking), including one full frontal, and even some male nudity from the rear, not to mention an obvious genital grab. Certainly enough to keep it interesting for everybody.

John S. Rad

The extras include some of this and other film’s trailers (including Ms. 45), a 30-min documentary called “That’s So John Rad,” a road trip about searching for things John Rad and ends up with interviewing his daughter and grandkids; a 10-minute interview with the Director of Cinematography of all 22 years named Pater Palian (also Iranian); and a local access television show called “Queer Edge” where the loquacious and stupefying John Rad is interviewed sorta-kinda by the host and Sandra Burnhart. There is also a full-length commentary by genre authors Zach Carlson and Bryan Connolly. Most of it is good, as they tend to discuss what you are seeing more than behind the scenes goings-on. The only negative really is that the sound of the film is turned on too high and sometimes interferes with what they’re saying (though I’ll take that over when the film soundtrack is completely turned off on commentaries).There is also a really nice booklet included, with a reprint of a 2006 interview with Rad from the LA Weekly.

A reason this film is so honored, considering it really is a terribly made albeit extremely entertaining one, is because it is a prime example of (a) never giving up dream, and (b) a pure example of DIY workmanship. Sure it’s rough around the edges (and the middle, and the sides…), but you can see the dedication, sweat, personal money and in the case of the wrecking of his daughter’s car, personal property, in every frame. It could be considered an anti-masterpiece.

Just like there is the “Outsider” genre of music, meaning untalented musicians who believe so much that they are creating important music (e.g., Wildman Fischer, Legendary Stardust Cowboy, Drake) that it actually gives the songs credibility, this is also true of Outsider cinema (such as Richard Kern and most of the Transgressive subgenre). It goes beyond the “so bad that it’s good,” to the level of “so bad that’s it’s just bad, and thereby it’s so good.”

Honestly, I would only recommend it for those with an understanding of this kind of thing, and you may be surprised how many there are considering it tends to sell out some shows by those in the know. If you are one of those, you may believe that it can give even the classic Outsider film The World Greatest Sinner (1962) a run for its money.

Review: Binge

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2016

Images from the Internet

Binge

Written, directed, edited, etc., by Wesley Mellott

109 minutes, 2014

Thinking Arts Entertainment

www.thinking-art-entertainment.com

Most of us probably know a guy like Max (Andrew Glessner). He’s the kind of dude who only puts the glass down when it’s empty, which is often, and doesn’t always remember much because of it, like why the car has a dent, or the reason the woman he is attracted to is mad at him. The person I know like Max equates beer as “soda” (well, in his terminology, “pop”), and will easily drink a six pack or more between supper and sleep, after the whisky and Cokes he had with the meal.

Max has a drinking problem, and is slowly coming to that realization, along with others, such as that he has offended the female friend he believes he loves and wants to go to the next level (i.e., sex), Miranda (Bex Etter), who rocks the hell out of an angel Halloween costume. To gain his life back, and hopefully Miranda, Max makes the big decision to fly sober, starting by dumping the hard stuff and replacing his fridge full of beer with bottles of agua. Note that this is all in the trailer, so no spoilers here.

As the months roll by between New Year’s and Halloween, and the clearer he gets, the more he starts remembering some gaps. However, they come and go in snippets, and make no sense to him. It gave me just enough clues, though, so that I kinda figured out some of it. Meanwhile, there is someone mysterious who keeps tempting Max with drink sporadically through his recovery (which he does Cold Turkey without AA).

Andrew Glessner is Max

Max is an everyman, even if every man isn’t an alcoholic. We are given some reasons why his life has gone down this road through a nice exposition scene with him giving a soliloquy to a therapist friend (as a side note, this person is the only one at the Halloween party that doesn’t wear a costume. Hmm, I wonder how that made him feel… But I digress…). The question I’m having is it nurture or nature: his childhood guilt or family medical history, but as much as I like exposition, this is my internal monologue responding, it probably won’t be yours.

Glessner does a really nice job both making the alky Max annoying, and the sober Max a sympathetic character. As he is in most scenes, the film really does revolve around his character, so his strong performance helps things. Etter is nice and perky, with a charming smile, so even when she’s perturbed at Max, you feel for her. This is totally neither here nor there, but she reminds me of a singer in Nashville, though I can’t think who it is. Don’t ask, I can’t explain.

The film mostly moves at an even, though slow pace as we get to know some of the characters (which is nice for a change). Even when some of them act like complete assholes in certain situations, it’s easier to feel compassion rather than just “I hate that guy, I can’t wait till they kill him off,” like is so prevalent in slasher movies where jerks = enjoyable fodder to the killer.

Bex Etter is Miranda

But this is not that, it’s more a mystery and thriller than anything else. While the first two parts (which I call Wet, and Drying) are pretty smooth going, the film ramps up for the third act, thanks in part to being shot as single-camera scenes. It has some effective and good looking violent moments (and more than one extended vomit scene), but it’s not some mystical incognito bruiser killing randomly slashing anyone that crosses his path. Well, there is sort of a masked sort of bad guy, but it’s more a matter of planned timing and directed motive than anything else. But, again, I won’t go into details, I promise.

An interesting aspect of this film, and I’m sure people in the trade would not be happy with it, is that the production is entirely crewed by the actors themselves (being on a micro-budget), but it looks consistent and the shots are well framed and lit (especially the post-Halloween party scene, in the rain).

It’s a “small picture,” to be sure, as is indicated by its budgetary restraints, but everyone obviously does their best to keep the quality going. If you’re going for the big bang swingin’ by the entrails, well, try Hollywood blockbusters; if what you want is a decent story with characters to which you can relate on some level, now yer talkin’. Usually I’m wary about films that earn a lot of festival awards, as many of them win because of the Festival board trying to show how intellectual they are – or goofy ones to show how cool they are – but this one, which has a really nice resume of Fest showings and “Best Ofs,” seems like a good choice.