Writer Joe and Writer Susan

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

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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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“The Dreams of Youth Are The Regrets of Maturity.”

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Without a movie challenge this year, I came to a startling realization a few weeks ago: I could rent whatever the hell I wanted from Netflix. There were no self-imposed deadlines I had to meet, no movies I absolutely HAD to watch. This, of course, left me wondering exactly what I wanted to watch, and I decided I was in the mood for something light, ridiculous, perhaps something that was funny even though it wasn’t actually supposed to be.

This is how I ended up watching Legend, a movie where Child of the Forest Tom Cruise wears armor without pants and has a telepathic conversation with a unicorn.

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“So, What WERE You Gonna Be When You Grew Up?”

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Being October and all, I figured it was time to go back to the Friday the 13th series. When we last left off in A New Beginning, Tommy Jarvis had picked up Jason’s mask and looked about ready to stab the hell out of his final girl. Now?

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Well, now we’re ignoring all that so Tommy Jarvis can accidentally resurrect Jason’s long-dead corpse with lightning.

Welcome to Jason Lives, everybody.

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“I Never Met Parry. But I Know Psychologically He’s No Killer.”

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When I completed my 2013 Western Challenge, I was pretty burnt out on the genre. Basically, I didn’t want to look John Wayne or Clint Eastwood in the face for months. I couldn’t say the same for film noir, though, because — bullshit romances aside — I generally enjoy private detectives more than cowboys. And when Mek pitched the idea of renting Dark Passage, a Bogart/Bacall noir where Bogie’s face is obscured for at least half the movie, I was intrigued enough to give it a try. “Sure,” I said naively. “I’m working on a bunch of stuff right now, so I probably won’t get around to reviewing it, but yeah, let’s check it out.”

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But people, I had to review it. Because Dark Passage has problems. Serious problems.

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“I’m Not Alone.”

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My friend Rob got me Rio Bravo for Christmas because he’s an awesome kind of guy. Unfortunately, the year is running out, and I have one more western I absolutely have to watch first. (Because I made a list and said I’d stick to it, damn it — but don’t think I wasn’t tempted to throw this list out the window in favor of other movies — like the aforementioned Rio Bravo, for instance, or possibly Westworld. Oh, Westworld. Why didn’t anyone TELL me there was a robot western out there?)

The western I actually will be reviewing today?

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I had fun with Django. Up until the last twenty minutes, anyway.

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“I Am The Eater of Worlds . . . And of Children!”

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Stephen King adaptations are, historically, not awesome. For every Stand by Me or The Shawshank Redemption, there is a Needful Things — or a Dreamcatcher — or a Children of the Corn — or a Lawnmower Man — or a Maximum Overdrive — or a Tommyknockers — or, hell, even a Haven. Which, hey, could be good, for all I know — I’ve seen maybe ten minutes of it — but the show seriously stretches the meaning of  the term “based on”. Hell, the show seriously stretches the meaning of the term “loosely inspired by”. Seriously, go read The Colorado Kid at some point and then watch even a promo of Haven on Syfy. It’s ridiculous.

But I’m not here to talk about Haven. I’m here to talk about another television treasure.

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Periodically, Mekaela and I just have to pop in this DVD and rejoice in glorious mockery. As it’s a four hour miniseries, I’ll only be covering the first half now, but look for the second part of this review later in the week.

For now . . . welcome to Derry. Home of the creepiest clowns and the worst match cuts you’ll ever see on screen.

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“It Must Feel Like Your God Abandoned You.”

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Just before I went to Clarion West last summer, a little movie called Prometheus came out.

Some of my fellow classmates went to see this movie that first weekend, while I skipped out — I was tired and, frankly, I’ve never been a particularly ardent fan of the Alien franchise anyway. (We’ll get to that.) Anyway, I apparently made the right call. For the next six weeks, I heard nothing but shit about what a complete and utter letdown Prometheus was. One student in particular was so disgusted that his frustration could be heard from pretty much anywhere in the house. (If you doubt this, you have clearly not yet met Indra and heard his awesomely deep voice. I mean, it booms. It’s fantastic.) I will freely admit to being amused by his outrage, and knew I would have to watch this movie myself one day and see if his fury was warranted.

Indrapramit Das, I dedicate this review to you.

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