The Grape’s Blood:
Casillero del Diablo Cabernet Sauvignon, Chile, 2010
What we have here is an optimum balance of value and quality. This Cab is ready to go now, and jumps right out of the bottle; no need to waste time waiting for it to open its legs (ha). In my steadfast disavowal of the Spanish language, I refuse to figure out exactly what the name means, but I’m sure it’s something vaguely diabolical, or devilish, if you like. It’s red–and sometimes that’s all that really matters. I’m slugging it down tonight with cheese ravioli in red sauce (because all I have in my freezer is fucking ravioli), and also some mild muscle-relaxers, because I threw out my shoulder while sleeping last night (yes, sleeping). Alternate pairing suggestions: Pizza, grilled cow & raw human flesh.
The Shock-Inducing Work of Cinematic Malevolence:
Halloween Night, directed by Mark Atkins, 2006
This time I deliberately chose something campy, because I’m in the mood for camping but no matter what anyone tells you there’s nowhere to camp in the desert of fucking Arizona. Forgive yourself if you have not heard of this flick: it is a B-grade teen scream festival of retardation that went straight to video, and if the name does not ring a bell it’s probably better that way . . .
To begin, we are treated to a tasteless snuff-style intro. If misogynistic vistas of rape & murder aren’t your bag, worry not, for the film is smart enough not to waste too much of your time setting up who the killer is and why he kills. Within minutes, we’re on to the main body of the story. I, for one, feel better now.
Prepare yourself for a cascade of douchey dialogue, pointless soft-core lesbianism and a gaping intellectual void. The killer’s mangled face is no more realistic than anything you can buy for under $20 at the mall. The plot is needlessly complicated at some points and threadbare at others. The acting is surprisingly tolerable–although you have to wonder if these actors only seem plausible in their frat-victim roles because they are, in real life, bona fide frat-victims. The film’s all-pervasive mystery (it’s only mystery, really) is the question of whether or not its creators are aware of how aggressively murder-worthy their characters are, or if they think the whole thing is just bad-ass . . . In the end, I’m feeling won-over, and I recognize that this film was made with no money, not much talent, but loads of love for the genre.
In short, Halloween Night is an orgy of stupidity. But orgiastic stupidity is actually one of the cornerstones of the horror genre, and in this case it is handled with a certain charm. It’s really too easy to attack this movie. The real challenge is to explain why it is so thoroughly enjoyable despite its insistence on reveling in its own flaws. For me, the answer is simple: I grew up watching the unbelievably braindead and oh-so-fun slasher flicks of the 1980′s (The Prowler, My Bloody Valentine, April Fool’s Day et. al.), and so there’s a soft spot at my rotten core for this type of shtick. That, and I’m drunk.
I’ll be taking requests every 7 1/2 minutes from now until the 31st.
Interests: blackish metal, foreign cinema & zombies.
Disinterests: America, television & goblins.
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