“No One Wants To Play With The Clown Anymore.”

Two years ago, Mekaela, Lindsey, and I all went to see It in theaters; I reviewed it here. (TLDR, it’s a fairly creepy horror film that–with just a little more work–could’ve been an amazing horror film.) I, of course, am a giant Pennywise freak who fell in love with both the novel and the original miniseries as a teenager, so yeah, I was always going to see this latest adaptation on the big screen.

And while I can’t say I was expecting to love It, Chapter Two–a 2 hour, 50 minute horror movie has to work to earn that runtime–I figured I’d still probably enjoy it for the most part. Like, I was definitely expecting pacing problems and/or a few unnecessary changes from the book, but at the very least, I’d assumed I’d find it delightfully creepy.

What I did not expect, however, was to laugh my ass off at all the wrong scenes.

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“Our Big Foot’s Not Playing Games Anymore.”

Let me begin by telling you that Tom is a terrible person.

You may remember Tom, or you may not. I’ve mentioned him once or twice before on this blog. I used to think he was an okay sort of guy, maybe even a friend, despite the fact that he has all the absolute worst movie opinions. Recently, however, I’ve had to amend that statement. For Tom, you see, is the enemy, and I’ll tell you why: in a sudden, uncharacteristic, and unwanted fit of goodnatured-ness, I told Tom that I’d watch and review a movie for him, even that terrible Big Foot movie he was always talking about. He didn’t have to actually pick the Big Foot movie, mind you. He could have seen this as the charitable act of a co-worker and taken some small measure of mercy on me by picking literally anything else.

But of course, he did not do this. Instead, Tom bought Night of the Demon, had it gift-wrapped, and then sent it to my house. And last Friday, armed with neither nearly enough alcohol or sugar, Mekaela and I sat down and watched our early 80’s Big-Foot-Demon movie.

Damn you, Tom. Damn you to Hell.

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Coming Soon-Ish: The Snowman (AKA, The Only Movie You Ever Need to See)

First, some backstory.

Last night, my friend, my sister, and I all went to the movies. We were there to see Atomic Blonde, which I’ll probably review next week; however, the true highlight of the night ended up being this trailer for The Snowman, a movie I’d never heard of before and now will never forget.

So, we begin with a woman walking by herself when, suddenly, a snowball hits her. She looks around, confused. Abruptly, we cut away to scary music and Michael Fassbender very seriously narrating about a murdered woman. Now, maybe I was already feeling a bit snarky because my friend and I both basically had the same reaction to that particular cut: what, was she killed with a snowball? Are we calling him the Snowball Killer or what? But I’m a sucker for murder mysteries and serial killer thrillers and Michael Fassbender’s manly jawline–well, I used to be, anyway but he’s so rarely in anything I’m interested in these days–so I shake off the silly start and prepare to give the trailer a fair shake . . .

And then Michael Fassbender, still in Serious Narration Mode, says, “He calls himself the Snowman Killer,” and oh my God, I totally lost it.

People. I was crying, I laughed so hard, and every time I tried to get my giggles under control, they’d have another ominous shot of a fucking snowman. (I’m not joking. There are at least three such Ominous Shots.) The worst, by far, is when the trailer cuts away from Intense Michael Fassbender saying, “He’s been watching us the whole time” to a snowman, situated just outside some window, seemingly stalking his prey. Mind you, I’m reasonably sure that this movie is a) not a comedy, and b) not centered around an actual snowman killer, but whoever cut this trailer did it so bizarrely that I’m actually not 100% certain. Which is a weird thing to say about a thriller starring people like Michael Fassbender, Rebecca Ferguson, J.K. Simmons, James D’arcy, Jamie Clayton, Toby Jones, Chloe Sevigny, and–according to IMDb–Val Kilmer. (Is it wrong to just automatically assume Kilmer’s the bad guy? Or maybe he’s the weird dude living in a cabin in the middle of the wilderness who Knows Something Important and later gets killed for it?) My point is, these are primarily well-respected actors, like, Oscar-respected. What the hell are they doing in Frosty’s Revenge?

It should also be noted that, when not focusing on ominous snowmen (new band name), this trailer works hard to look as generic as possible, like, here we’ve got The Lead Female sexily undressing as bait, and oh look, our masculine hero is out in the middle of nowhere, angrily yelling at a villain who, presumably, isn’t actually there. (I also inappropriately giggled through the bit where Michael Fassbender screams in anguish as he tries to break into a burning building. It’s just so overwrought.) I’ll admit, however, that most of this went unnoticed the first time I watched this trailer, since I was too busy wiping the tears from my eyes and, you know, trying to breathe.

Finally? Our masculine hero’s name, apparently, is Harry Hole. I mean, come on. How am I supposed to take that seriously? (To be fair, perhaps “Hole” is pronounced differently, as I see this is set in Norway, or at least the book it’s based on is. Still. I’m saying the name “Harry Hole” is not helping me subdue any of my juvenile giggles.)

“We’re Bad Guys. It’s What We Do.”

So, Suicide Squad was out for about a week before I had the opportunity to see it, and the reviews in that week were . . . not kind. I’d heard from a few people directly who enjoyed the movie, but overall it was sounding like yet another DC live action fail.

The thing is I’m, like, contrary and opinionated and shit, so despite the poor press, I had to make my way to the theater to try it out myself.

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Ultimately, it’s a bit of a hot mess. More than a bit, honestly; I want to edit the holy shit out of this movie. On the upside, it’s way more enjoyable than Man of Steel or BvS!

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So, The X-Files . . . I No Longer Believe

(I know. I’m sure everyone’s using that headline, or some variant of. I can’t make myself care. The X-Files sure didn’t.)

When I first heard that The X-Files was returning, my interest was rather low. It’s not because I didn’t like The X-Files when it was on; I did, although certainly I wasn’t the show’s most diehard fan: I came into the series late, caught up on most, but not all, of it and gave up entirely after Mulder left. There are definitely episodes I never saw and whole plot arcs I don’t remember all these years later.

Still, I remember the show with fondness and I wanted to be excited about its revival. I just struggled with it because The X-Files ran for nine seasons and got two movies, and I’m generally of the opinion that anything that had so much time to tell its story doesn’t really need a comeback/sequel/revitalization. I’m much more interested in spending that energy bringing back worthwhile shows that were cancelled before their time.

But like I said, I didn’t expect The X-Files to be bad. And considering this revival was only six episodes, well, I felt honor bound to check it out.


Oh, I’ve given up.

You guys, I know I’ve said this before, but I’m saying it again: it shouldn’t even be possible to be this disappointed in a show when your expectations were only lukewarm at best.

And yet. Here we are. (Disclaimer: SPOILERS ahead.)

Of Season Ten’s six episodes, I have liked precisely one of them, and even the episode I did like (“Mulder and Scully Meet the Were-Monster,” obviously) didn’t work for me on every level. (Parts of it were hilarious, though. Especially anything to do with Scully, who is clearly the best.) And to be clear: it’s not like the other five episodes were flawed or problematic but still interesting. At best, I was bored. At worst, I actively despised them.

I already discussed how I felt about the first two episodes, especially the bullshit retconning in the premiere and how Mulder’s Big Revelation didn’t feel earned to me in the slightest. But “Home Again” failed for me pretty badly, too, by horribly rushing Scully’s mother’s death and poorly tying it into the crappy adoption storyline. Gillian Anderson gave a great performance and I appreciated some of the callbacks, but everything about this story felt weirdly abrupt and just kind of dumb, so I couldn’t even emotionally invest in it the way I wanted to. (Medical oddness or inaccuracies bugged me a bit, too, which I’m much less forgiving about when the material is this crappy.)

And yet, somehow, “Home Again” was actually my second favorite episode of this season. That’s how bad the tenth season was. “Babylon” might have been the very worst. (It’s hard to be sure, with “My Struggle” and “My Struggle II” also sucking so hard). The Muslim-as-terrorist storyline was just the same, expected bullshit that needed to go away, you know, a decade ago. The medical inaccuracies were actually even worse. (When will people learn about central monitoring? Honestly. If someone hooked up to a telemetry machine codes, medical professionals outside the room will notice, and for Christ’s sake, 99% of people I’ve seen code don’t just drop from 120 to O in a second anyway. Hollywood’s love of the easy-to-understand flatline has given people lousy expectations of what death looks like.) The nurse was just nuts. Tripping Balls Mulder went on way too long; more importantly, his whole plan was the most batshit, bullshit thing I may have ever seen.

Seriously, guys. It’s one thing to create some kind of experimental SF telepathy machine, hook your detective and the mostly-dead guy up to it, and throw some psychedelics in to broaden the detective’s horizons or whatever. That’s Fringe. I can deal with that. Mulder, on the other hand, literally just took shrooms in the patient’s presence. That . . . does not work. A character should have to do more than get high near a braindead patient in order to make psychic contact with him and, by extension, solve the mystery of the week. (It’s not even a monster of the week. Why isn’t “Babylon” about investigating the mysterious trumpet noises? That might have felt like an X-Files episode.) Except, of course, that Mulder didn’t even take the shrooms because he actually took a placebo and shitty writing the power of suggestion alone made him telepathically connect with Shiraz, all so that the show could poorly tie this total crap story to thematic shit about, like, faith or whatever? It’s so, so bad.

And then we have our finale “My Struggle II.” Le sigh.

I was initially surprised when I realized that the six-episode season wouldn’t be a continuing storyline because anything that short usually is. After “My Struggle,” of course, I was frankly relieved we were moving on to standalone episodes . . . but that also meant that this whole pandemic felt like it came out of nowhere, with Scully making ridiculously fast leaps that just seemed entirely out of character. The poorly named Agent Einstein is like, “Hey, maybe we slow our roll and talk about this semi-reasonably,” and the usually logical Scully is like, “There’s no time for reason!” and I’m like, “Sweet Jesus, WTF?”

The premise seemed weirdly anti-vaxxer, too, which I was pretty uncomfortable with. I guess there’s pro-vaccine stuff, too (as Scully saves everyone with a vaccine made from her–and say it with me now–ALIEN DNA), but that’s also kind of problematic since vaccines are preventative measures and can’t cure shit. Like, you know I don’t do science, and even I know this. And how quickly did Scully make up this magical antidote anyway? It seemed like I blinked, and Scully went from, “Oh, this is what I need to do!” to “I can save everyone now!” Like, she just ran around with what I’m convinced was merely a bag of normal saline and was like, “You’ll all be fine!” Except Mulder, of course, who was SUPER sick and could only be cured by their absent son, assuming they don’t all get blown up first. I’m finding myself super apathetic about such a fate.

Other things worth mentioning:

A: Why, in God’s name, wasn’t anyone wearing any form of PPE? We’ve got anthrax, we’ve got Totally Creepy Eye Disease, we’ve got probably every other form of illness and contagion imaginable, but you wouldn’t know it from the medical staff, who mostly couldn’t even bother with basic surgical masks, much less isolation gowns, respirators, bunny suits, etc. Of course, as the (stupidly sudden) plague increases in intensity, the hospital would surely start running out of equipment, but even in the beginning no one seems that concerned about basic safety for either themselves or their other patients. I take issue with this.

B. Mulder was apparently so non-essential to the plot that they just decided to have him needlessly confront the Cigarette Smoking Man, I guess, and then suddenly collapse? Yeah, okay.

C. Has anyone re-watched this episode to count how many times ALIEN DNA was said? I have a really bizarre urge to get a dog and name it Alien DNA now. “Aw, Alien DNA, did you have an accident? Alien DNA, stop eating my shoes!” Conversely, I suppose we could just have a mixed drinks competition. Give me your best cocktail recipe for Alien DNA: go!

On a similar note: we really don’t need to have someone say a variation on “I want to believe” in every single episode. We really really don’t.


The tenth season was bad on a pretty embarrassing level. I don’t even care about that cliffhanger. I have -4000% interest in coming back for an eleventh season.


Gillian Anderson, no question.


D. And that’s taking “Mulder and Scully Meet the Were-Monster” into account. I watch a lot of shows that semi-regularly frustrate me, but I haven’t disliked something this much since I watched a random episode of 2 Broke Girls.


Anything can be saved by shrooms, placebos, or alien DNA. Except maybe being blown up, but I suspect that Scully will simply throw her magical IV bag at the alien ship which will promptly liquify like the Wicked Witch of the West. Because that makes about as much as sense as anything else on this show.

“Mr. Cop, Can You Put Away Your Gun? Cause You’re Making Everybody Nervous.”

Valentine’s Day has come and gone. You know what this means.


So-Bad-It’s . . . no, it’s really just bad horror.

Your entry for this year’s Bloody Hearts is a spectacularly terrible film called House of Nine, a movie that’s so smalltime it doesn’t even have a proper Tomato Meter on Rotten Tomatoes. Although audiences, at least, apparently blessed it with a 36% approval rating, which, while not a good score, is probably about 35% higher than it should be. I would like to know who these people are and have a serious conversation with all of them.

Considering that seems unlikely, I guess I’ll just settle for some wordy analysis and snark.

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“Shit Happens? That’s It? That’s What I Get? Fucking Wisdom?”

So, I’m a quitter. If I decide I don’t want to do something anymore, or it just isn’t worth my time, I’m done. I’m not terribly ashamed of this almost-certain character flaw, but it does sometimes come with devastating consequences, like when I decide to give up on my Best Picture Challenge and have to watch and review a terrible movie of your choosing as a result of my failure. And God help me, I finally watched it.


Let’s celebrate the Eve of All Hallow’s Eve by talking about Randy Meeks’s favorite scary movie, Showgirls.

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“Have You Guessed Who The Werewolf Is?”

Splatterfest 2015 has come and gone. Junk food was procured and devoured, bad horror movies were rented and voted upon. The movie my friends chose to watch: The Beast Must Die, a 1974 horror whodunnit starring Grand Moff Tarkin and Albus Dumbledore.

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The premise is fantastic, just full of cheesy good potential. There’s even a Werewolf Break! (It may be the best thing I’ve ever seen.) Unfortunately, the rest of the film . . . well, the rest of the film leaves a lot to be desired.

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