Watch Out For Evil Undead Raccoons!

My life is just plain weird.

Let me explain…

This last weekend, I was lying on the couch watching my unrated director’s cut of Romero’s Land Of The Dead. I was enjoying some zombie movie quiet time as the wife and kids were asleep and it was well after midnight. About the time the zombies jump into the Alleghany River on thier pilgrimage to Fiddler’s Green, I heard a rustling sound on the front porch.

‘What the…?’ I thought, visions of shambling hordes of the undead staggering onto my porch filling my head. Any geekish thoughts of an impending zombie apocalypse were quickly quelled when I remembered I had set a bag of garbage on the porch after dinner with the intention of taking it back to the cans later. In my laziness it was still on the porch and apparently being set upon by some animals. So I got up, flicked on the porch light, and looked out the front storm door. There, perched about the bag of garbage and its now strewn contents were two large, fat, bushy raccoons.

“Shit.” I said.

So I knocked on the door, thinking that a large bipedal beast should surely be enough to scare away the raccoons. You can imagine my chagrin when they ignored me. So, I cracked the door and said “Yah. Get outta here.”

Now I’m uncertain what part of my brain reasoned that saying, “yah,” like I was herding cattle atop the back of a horse in some far flung western territory would be enough to scare away some hungry raccoons. Suffice it to say, it was most likely the same part of my brain that makes me utter stupid things at the most inopportune times; like during meetings, during sex, or at funerals.

Anyway, where I’d been ignored before, I found that the removal of the door made the raccoons definitely notice me. In their minds, the garbage bag was now theirs and they were loath to relinquish it. And apparently any fear they have of old, fat, balding, undead bipedal primates is minimal at best. They both looked up at me with their black, beady, alien eyes full of malice and hissed.

The larger one then darted at the door, growling and yowling with terrifying ferocity.

I screamed like a girl and slammed the door. The raccoon hit the door with enough force to make the storm window rattle. It stared at me with a look of pure evil for several seconds before waddling back to its meal of kitchen refuse.

At this point, I was mad. Besides the fact that I’d have to clean up the garbage on the porch - I had been bested by a mammal that, had I been a more primitive version of man, I would have happily killed and roasted on a spit in my dank - but no doubt tastefully decorated - cave.

The feral little bastard had gotten my inner Neanderthal all riled up.

So, I did a uniquely American thing. I thought of all of my options and settled on the one that I think all American men can recognize and appreciate. I decided that the only way to fix this insult was with the tactical advantage of superior firepower.

So I went upstairs and opened my gun cabinet.

As I stood there, squinting at its contents in the dim light cast from the hallway (Mrs. Zombie was asleep), I mentally weighed my options. The shotguns and larger caliber rifles were out of the question. Too loud and too much like using a nuclear weapon in my quiet suburban neighborhood. The handguns too were not an option. Again they were loud and, quite frankly, I wasn’t sure I could stop at one or two shots. When one starts defending one’s house from furry interlopers, the temptation to empty a high capacity semi-automatic weapon ‘just to be sure’ is too great. That left my muzzleloader (only one shot and there were two raccoons), my .22 (I was out of .22 shells) and my bb gun.

I decided on the bb gun.

So, I retrieved it from the cabinet and went downstairs, pumping the Crossman 760 Pumpmaster bb gun as I went. They say you should never pump the bb gun more than 10 times, but I’ve never subscribed to that policy myself. If I was going to use it to wage war, I wanted the bb to come out of the end of the muzzle with enough velocity to kill an elk. With the bb gun pumped at least 15 or 20 times I returned to the front door to find that a third raccoon had joined the other two. They were flanking me!

“Say ghello to my leetle friend!” I yelled, opening the door a crack. The raccoons looked at me with unadultered hate as I stuck the muzzle of the bb gun out the door and pulled the trigger. With a satisfying paaffftt! sound, I struck the largest of the raccoons square in his fat ass.

With a yowl, the ringleader jumped straight up about two feet in the air and landed on the porch in a tangle of fur and legs. It then darted off the porch like Scooby-Doo being chased by a ghost. The other two looked at the antics of their compatriot and decided maybe they’d best run too. I stepped out on the porch, triumphant.

“That’s right, you primitive screwheads,” I said into the night, “I rock like Bruce Campbell!”

So I cleaned up the mess and walked the bag back to the trashcans. I kept the bb gun with me just in case, and I’m glad I did. As I returned from the back yard, I looked towards the hedgerow that we have on the far side of our yard and saw three sets of eyes gleaming with malevolent, demonic rage. I could see that, having recovered from his initial injuries, the raccoon generalissimo had regrouped his forces and was planning a blitzkrieg type attack from beneath the thick hedgerow.

I quickly brought my weapon to bear just as they hissed and began creeping like ninjas from beneath the hedge. I panicked and fired, wincing with dismay as I heard the bb hit high in the hedge. I frantically began pumping the gun again as I realized that I was cut off from the porch by their nefarious approach. I quickly chambered another bb and took aim, squeezing the trigger.

I had shot true!

I hit the raccoon admiral right between the eyes. He flipped over backwards. He saw then that he was outmaneuvered and, with an angry human-like scream of rage, he scurried away into the night. His subordinates, lacking the heart to go on without their leader, followed him in his hasty and desperate retreat.

I was once again victorious, and celebrated by doing a little jig in my front yard. It was a scary sight I’m sure, as I was wearing only my boxer shorts and a pair of Teva sandals. I returned to the house, put the bb gun away, and went on with my night, confident that my home and loved ones were safe and secure because of my daring and courage.

The problem came this morning when I awoke to find my wife standing over me.

“Was I dreaming last night,” she said in that tone that generally means I’m in big trouble, “or were you in your gun cabinet last night?”

I proudly recounted the previous night’s adventure, but she saw things a lot differently then I did.

I’ll never understand women…why on earth would she call me a moron?

Some Random Links

Here are a few things that caught my eye recently…

Free low budget, independent movie plug – These guys are my kind of geeks. They’ve made a few low budget RPG themed movies and seem to have developed a bit of a following. I mention them because their newest movie, The Gamers: Dorkness Rising, will be released soon and I wanted to give them a free plug. One of the actresses in the movie is Carol Roscoe, a beautiful, sexy, wonderful actress whom I can say is a friend. I sadly haven’t spoken to her in years, but I’ve been keeping an eye on her work and want to give her some promotion. Maybe one of my contacts at Anchor Bay could give her agent a call? Hmmm? What do you think? Anyway, please do me a favor and shell out a few bones and pick up a copy of the DVD when it comes out and revel in the obvious tongue in cheek RPG geekery! And I will be doing a review of it when it is available for purchase. C’mon guys, I really want to see this!

Top 10 Creepiest commercials Ever - I kind of agree with all of these. Especially that dermatophyte thing which makes me wince to think of it. That and the plasticene-headed Burger King. All I gotta say is that, if I wake up in the morning and that’s lying next to me watching me sleep, or I open up the shade to find the King standing at my window, I’m busting out my .45 and a restraining order. There should be laws protecting us normal folk from creepy plastic faced icons who stalk us.

An interesting Engineering Argument - All right, this guy spend too much time thinking like a geek. This is what happens when you live in the basement of your mom’s house and you spend too much time talking to your friends on the Jedi Bulletin Boards and Forums. The sad thing is, I’m enough of a geek to have had this very conversation with MY friends around a beer at the local pub. But I’M not a geek. No way. There’s a difference… I’m doing it with real people, face to face. There IS a difference… right? Right?!? (And because I’m such a sci-fi geek, I couldn’t let this go without making the comment that the Empire would totally employ this sort of system. They’re the friggin’ Galactic Empire - - what do they care about efficiency or the environment?!? Sheesh.)

Diary of the Dead!!! – Oh my god! I just had a zombie induced orgasm! The great George A. Romero has a new dead movie coming out… and it will not be an over-produced, shat upon by a bunch of suits who don’t know horror, watered down, big budget affair. George is doing it right. It’ll be independent and it will be renegade. How awesome is this going to be? Oh dear gods this will be incredible! I’m speechless here…


That sound you hear is Doctor Zombie screaming in terror. My question is, if this protects children from the horrors of a non-Christian world, what sort of PJ’s will they have to wear to protect them from their insane, wacky, nutjob Fundie parents?!? Do the PJ’s come with a rebate or discount coupon to apply to the years of therapy they’ll need later in life? This is the face of real evil here.

Anf finally, I found this quote of a review of Paris Hilton’s new album. Besides the obvious reference to Paris’ horrifying and warbling attempts at singing, I just like the way it’s written. What can I say, I’m a sucker when it comes to British wit and well written insults… Per the Guardian… “She sounds both distracted and bored stiff, as if making an album is keeping her from the more serious business of standing around a nightclub in a pair of really enormous sunglasses,” opined the critic in the London Guardian. “Listening to her sing Rod Stewart’s “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy,” you are gripped by the fear that civilization as we know it is doomed and that brimstone is going to start raining from the sky any minute. It doesn’t, but a sense of terrible foreboding is further stoked by the sleeve notes, which make reference to ‘all my albums to come.’”

I take it back, Paris Hilton is the face of true evil…

Unpleasant dreams, dear reader…

Update

I've been a bit lax in updating lately. The reasons are varied, but suffice it to say I've been pretty busy.

Work-wise, I started a New Hire class and am working some really late hours for the next 7 weeks. Blech.

Add on top of that the fact that I have been preoccupied with my current health issues (my wonky liver, terrifyingly high 'bad' cholesterol levels, et al...) and I've not had the time or inclination to devote to this blog like I should be. Funny thing, though... apparently, if one stops drinking and begins eating like a vegetarian, you can expect to see weight loss. I've lost like 15 pounds in the last 2 1/2 to 3 weeks. Who'd'a thunk it?!?

And - - worst of all - - I wanted to work on my novel this last weekend, but was horrified to find that the disk I had it on is NOT WORKING! So, apparently, I've lost months of work and now have to REWRITE the whole goddamned thing! And, for some insane reason, I didn't back the goddamned thing up. I'm usually neurotic about backing up. I don't know what I was thinking. What I don't understand (because I'm a geek, but not a techno-geek) is how the six other files on the disk work, but not the two files related to my novel DON'T?!?

Is there somebody out there who can help me figure out a way to recover the files on a floppy disk? Or am I doomed to have to rewrite the whole damn novel (which I was probably a good 60% done with)?!?!


AAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!

Movie Review - The Tooth Fairy (2006)

Movie Review – The Tooth Fairy (2006)

Anchor Bay Entertainment’s The Tooth Fairy came to my door about a week ago wrapped in an impressive looking piece of DVD packaging. And I was suitably impressed, until I saw, in large impressive letters, “A Film by Stephen J. Cannell”. Why did I flinch upon seeing this? If you don’t recognize the name, Stephen J. Cannell is probably one of the most influential people in the history of television. He is the creator of the A-Team, Renegade (with Lorenzo Lamas!), The Commish, 21 Jump Street, Riptide, The Greatest American Hero, and The Rockford Files. Take a look back on that list. It is an impressive list of some of the greatest shows to grace the airwaves; or at least when I was growing up. However, a good TV show creator does not a good horror movie creator make. Yeah, I’m sure Cannell, like Aaron Spelling, Sherwood Schwartz, and Donald P. Bellisario made some great TV… but they are not in the same league as George Romero, John Carpenter, Tobe Hooper, or Wes Craven for making one cower on the couch in the darkness of night.

Believe it or not, Cannell actually did a pretty good job.

The Tooth Fairy starts in 1949 where we see two hapless 10 year olds who sneak up to a ramshackle, spooky house in Northern California. They are there to see the Tooth Fairy, an old and horribly disfigured woman who is rumored to give gifts for the baby teeth of young children. One of the boys, harboring a desire for a Schwinn bike, knocks on the door and enters while his friend cowers in the bushes outside. The braver friend is convinced by the horrible (and mannish sounding) Tooth Fairy to give up a loose tooth, only to find that the crazy old woman is after more than the tooth. She proceeds to murder him with an ax in the foyer.

Fast forward to present day and we find that the spooky old house has been bought and renovated and turned into a bed and breakfast by a doctor named Peter who has given up on being a physician to run the b&b and write. Peter is played by an actor named Lochlyn Munro. He is one of those character actors whom you’ve seen in countless movies, but damned if you can remember any of them. He is just getting ready to open the bed and breakfast, and is being helped by his handyman Bobby (a young high school kid who looks like he’s in his late 20’s and played by an unknown Jesse Hutch). They are joined by Star Roberts, who hopes to move into the B&B a little early. Star is played by an actress named Carrie Fleming who is super, super hot. I mean, wow! Her character, Star, is an ex-stripper who is getting ready to start veterinarian school.

Meanwhile, across town, we meet Darcy (Chandra West) and her daughter Pamela (Nicole Munoz), who are driving up to the B&B to spend a week or so with Peter, Darcy’s ex-fiancée. They stop for directions at a local gas station, only to be attacked by two dimwitted and belligerent rednecks who hold a grudge against Peter for evicting them from the Tooth Fairy/B&B where they had been squatting. Although the brothers Chuck and Henry (played with total committment by Peter New and Ben Cotton) are gross exaggerations of redneck idiocy, they are two of the best characters in the film.

So, Darcy and Pamela get to the B&B, where Pamela meets Emma, a ghost who warns her about the Tooth Fairy. Per Emma the spirit guide, we learn that the Tooth Fairy collects the last baby teeth of children, and then murders them, preventing their souls from escaping. Emma leaves to ‘go home’, and Pamela is conveniently attacked by the Tooth Fairy on her bike ride home, conveniently losing her last baby tooth.

Heeding Emma’s warning, Pamela hides her baby tooth and only manages to anger the Tooth Fairy, who kills houseboy Bobby by stuffing him into an industrial wood chipper. The violence escalates, and the Tooth Fairy goes on a rampage in her search for the tooth of Pamela, until she is vanquished at the end.

So, what did I think of The Tooth Fairy? All in all, it wasn’t a bad movie. It had all of the elements that make up a standard, run of the mill serial killer/evil childhood character movie. It was rather formulaic at times, but then it would occasionally show flashes of originality that made it compelling to watch. The blood and gore effects were well done, which is always a plus. And the acting was very good. But again, the parts that resembled a cookie cutter horror film were the ones that hurt the film the most. There was the standard ‘kill those crazy kids who are having sex’ scene. The standard ‘ “Who’s there? Who made that ominous noise down the dark hall?”’ moment. And, perhaps worst of all, there was the obviously identifiable gruesome death fodder. By this I mean, the characters that you know are destined to die because they are so written that way. Spoiler and hint: If your character is introduced as a main character3/4 of the way through the film… things don’t bode well for you…

On a positive note, the character’s that were developed from the beginning were effective and capable of empathy from a viewer. I think this is where someone like Stephen J. Cannell excels at writing anything. He thinks long term. This could have been the pilot for his new whiz-bang super TV show, and he writes the characters with back stories that make a viewer want to invest in them. You have Peter, the ex-doctor who’s thrown it all away to run a bed and breakfast in the country; his girlfriend Darcy who is too tied to her paralegal job to heed love’s call and join him; Pamela who’s an imaginative and loveable little girl; and Cole, Peter’s no-good, dead head, rock and roll friend(who has the best line in the movie - - when explaining that he needs some money, he professes how great everything is, but…”there IS an ant in the afterbirth, though…”).

And finally, you have Star, the ex-stripper who spends the whole movie looking hot as hell, claiming she’s more than a pretty face and a smoking body. She identifies hummingbirds by their Latin name, reads a book on bird biology, and does everything to tell everybody she’s smart and not just some drop dead gorgeous stripper. Of course, she makes a point of hitting on every guy in the B&B and she IS the only character who actually gets naked when she sleeps with someone ‘because she’s scared’. (Picture in your mind, if you will, Doctor Zombie rolling his undead eyes.)

This development though, was a bit tiresome after a while. Truth be told, I’m a horror fan and I want to get to the horror. And there are some great horror moments. For instance, Doctor Zombie was honestly surprised by the first instance in any horror movie that - at least I can remember – where someone gets their penis severed and then you actually SEE IT. The penis that is. Bravo on having the cajones (no pun intended!) to commit to such an in your face effect. Like I said before, the wood chipper scene was great, and the other scenes aren’t too bad.

And The Tooth Fairy wasn’t really that scary. I suppose to a child she would be, but really it’s just a scary woman running around with an axe. (This isn’t really a spoiler, you see her within the first two minutes of the movie.) And the end is where the badness really ratchets up; suffice it to say I’m sure you have the means to kill the spooky, evil Tooth Fairy witch in your own garage. And remember I said it had several stereotypical slasher clichés? Watch for the oh so original glimpse of the allegedly dead Tooth Fairy in the bed & breakfast window as the survivors drive away at the end! “What?!? Huh?!? I thought… they killed… oh horrors! You mean she might not be dead?!?” (Imagine more rolled eyes, dear readers…)

Finally, I’d like to mention the one big name star in the film was PJ Soles (Lynda from the original Halloween). There is something to be said for making a career doing small bit parts solely because you were in one of the greatest horror flicks of all time. Hell, if I’d lucked into a role that made me immortal, I’d ride the wave as long as I could. There’s something honorable in being like PJ Soles, or Cane Hodder, or Michael Berryman. The only thing I’d say to these sort of actors though, is BE SELECTIVE. PJ’s character, the crazy neighbor Mrs. McDonald, has two minutes of screen time where she shows up out of nowhere, spouts a gloom and doom warning about the evil witch Tooth Fairy(!) and tells the main characters how to kill it. It’s like the writers wrote themselves into the corner, found out the casting department had cast PJ, and quickly made up a Deus Ex Machine in her charcter. At least PJ’s still getting paid. I just hope it’s more than scale.

So, overall… The Tooth Fairy was a good movie with some great character development and some good gore. It was a bit long and lost some steam at the end, but it still wasn’t bad. If you go into it expecting typical straight to video badness, you will be pleasantly surprised. There is an expectation from certain horror fans that their movies follow set rules, and if you’re that sort of fan you won’t be disappointed. And, if you’re not necessarily a fan, but like to scare your significant other as you cuddle on the couch with all the lights out, it will suit your purposes as well…

Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 3 out of 5 Chomped Brains

One of those days...

So, as if my week wasn't already bad enough...

I have always been bit of a klutz and have never been what one could call, "catlike and nimble". I have suffered from this my whole life and, to add insult to injury, I also have horrible luck.

Let me tell you how my day went.

So I go to the local 5/3 Bank to make a payment on my Jeep, "The Blue Zombie". I pull up to the window and, as I have my softtop off, reach out and retrieve the canister from the drive through tube thingy. I put in my payment, get ignored by the pretty girl inside the bank, and eventually get my payment taken. The tube whooshes back to me, I pick it up, and retrieve my receipt. And here is where the wheels fell off the cart...

I go to RETURN the tube to the tube thingy and fumble it. It drops with a clunk to the ground. "Crap," says I. I try to reach it from the driver's seat, but as there's a door between myself and the ground, that doesn't work. So, being the suave and nimble cat that I am, I open my door and bend down to grab the canister from where it lies beneath the Jeep. Unfortunately, my door hits the concrete bank tube thingy and comes to an abrupt stop about a quarter of the way open. With a meaty thwock, I bash my bald forehead ON THE DOOR. "Fuck," I says, rubbing my forehead in that way that doesn't do anything for the pain, but makes you feel better.

Now I'm mad. I pop my emergency brake and put the Jeep into first gear. My intention is to roll far enough forward to clear the dumb concrete tube thingy, open my door and repeat the process - - less the meaty thwock to my now angry and swollen forehead. Unfortunately, I'm so focused on watching the tube thingy, and figuring out the point at which my door clears it, I completely forget to watch the fallen tube on the ground.

Too late, I realize this as I hear the plasticky crunch of the tube as I run it over with a beefy 30x9.5 mud tire.

So, a few minutes and several curses later, I am out of my Jeep, standing in the drivethru lane of the bank. I am holding the shattered pieces of tubing in both hands and pushing the call button.

"Excuse me," I say to the pretty girl who so handily ignored me previously, "I...um...the thing...ummmmm. Sorry?"

"That's all right," she says, "That happens quite a bit. Just set it on top and I'll come and get it on my next break."

So I set the broken pieces on the tube thingy, which is sporting a nice scrape of Jeep factory Patriot Blue paint, and go back to my Jeep. I climb in and a glance in my rear view mirror shows a now golfball-sized knot growing from my forehead like some malignant tumor.

As I pull out of the bank parking lot in my topless Jeep, it begins to rain.

How was your day?

Horror of Horrors!

The Doctor is in a foul black mood.

Mrs. Zombie made me go to the doctor a week or so ago because, despite being an evil, undead scientist; I'm also turning 36 in a few weeks. And, as I'm a fat bastard, I needed a general check to make sure everything is going well.

I should preface this by saying that I did this same thing when I turned 30. I was told at that time that my liver had elevated function and, although I don't really drink that much now... I somehow damaged it when I was in college and drinking everyday. This was compounded by the fact that I didn't really drink much beer at the time - - it was all hard liquor. Add to the fact that I went to school within an hour's drive of the Indiana border where an enterprising college student could get gallons of Everclear (190 proof grain alcohol!!!) with little to no problem (Mmmmm...hairy buffalo....).

So, I went to the doctor this weekend to discuss the results of my tests and, guess what. I have pushed my poor abused liver to the limits of its tolerance.

I am no longer allowed to drink. At all.

Let me say that again. I AM NO LONGER ALLOWED TO DRINK!!!

No tasty microbrews, no frothy adult beverages, no Guinness. Dear sweet god, I'm not allowed to drink Guinness! I'm Irish for chrissakes!!! How am I not to drink Guinness?!? And you can be damned sure that Mrs. Zombie has put the screws to me and put her pretty foot down about drinking. Some silly nonsense about "seeing my kids grow up" and "walking my 5 year old daughter down the aisle someday".

Groan.



Yes indeed. The doctor is in a foul black mood. I will be out tonight - in the inhumanly hot weather - stalking someone, anyone, on which to take out my anger. I warn you, dear reader, if you hear a knocking at your door in the darkest loneliest hours of the night; look before you answer. It might be me, and I've got my blood stained doctor's bag with all of my bright, pretty, sharp things within. I've things that stab, and gouge, and cut deeply into the flesh of my victims.

Pray I don't stop by.

Some thoughts and links...

I wanted to add some thoughts on my post from yesterday regarding H.P. Lovecraft, As I sort of feel like I didn't properly explain my love for his works.

As I said yesterday, Lovecraft is, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest writers from the 20th century; and quite possible one of the greatest horror writers to have ever laid blood soaked pen to paper. Lovecraft was a writer from Providence RI who contributed heavily to the early horror and sci-fi pulps of the 20's, 30's, and 40's. Such great classic magazines as Amazing Stories and Weird Tales were graced by his eerie, fantastic tales. Most of today's horror writers, including Stephen King, Ramsay Campbell, Dean Koontz, and Clive Barker have all espoused a love for Lovecraft's works; as well as honest admissions that he has been an undeniable influence on their own fiction.

I first discovered the deliciously horrible worlds and creatures of Lovecraft in high school. I was in a health class in the ninth grade, reading a copy of Tolkien’s The Hobbit when this large guy next to me saw it and freaked out. He was excited because he had found another geek like himself. You see, we geeks have a way of sensing one another. It’s like there’s some strange geek pheromone that causes us to seek one another out. The guy’s name was Sean and he would become one of my best friends (and a man I still consider a brother to this day.) He asked me if I’d ever role-played. I shrugged, saying I’d done some basic D&D in junior high school, and had wanted to play more, but the guys I played with weren’t at all serious about it.

Sean thumped a meaty hand on his desk, wrote down his address and phone number and immediately invited me over to his house to play a game called Call of Cthuhlu. I asked him what the heck it was and, more importantly how in the hell one spelled Cthulhu. He said it was an awesome game and gave me an explanation about monsters, and twenties and thirties pulp fiction, and cults that quite frankly went over my head. The next day, Sean slid me two photocopied stories. One was The Hound of Tindalos by August Derleth, and the other was The Doom That Came To Sarnath, by H.P. Lovecraft. Even then I considered myself a writer and I can remember the giddy thrill upon reading the archaic, yet beautifully written words of Lovecraft. I went on that weekend to play Call of Cthulhu.

It was there that I met my other brothers - Jason and Curt - and it was in Sean’s attic; sitting around a scarred and tilted rattan table, the flicker of candles dancing on the ceiling, and whilst drinking Cherry Coke and eating Cool Ranch Doritoes; that I fell in love with role playing and the works of Lovecraft.

I still have a deep love for the works of the great Howard Phillips Lovecraft. In fact, I so love Lovecraft that I’m torn between using his works for either my Master’s or Doctoral thesis.

If you've never read anything by Lovecraft, Doctor Zombie commands you to click this link and begin reading the wonderous words and chilling evil that is H.P. Lovecraft. Don't make me pull out my mind control ray!

IA! IA! CTHULU PHTAGN!

Some other thoughts/news:

I've been contacted by Anchor Bay Entertainment again and asked to do a review of a new direct to video movie for them. There's a banner for it on the left there. It's called The Tooth Fairy. Once I receive a copy. I'll review it and let you know if it's worth seeing...

Here's an update on Night of The Living Dead 3-d. I've got to say, I'm starting to get kind of excited about this...

Also, another movie that shows I am a complete and total nerd has begun production! Dragonlance: The Movie. And yes, I spent an entire summer in high school role playing this at my buddy Sean's house. Seriously. My other friend Rich ran Dragonlance as an Ad&D campaign and we started playing in April or May. We spent the entire rest of the year living in Krinn. We would seriously go to Sean's on Friday night; load up on Cool Ranch Doritoes, Pork Rinds, Bar B Q Pringles, Root Beer NY Seltzer, and Cherry Coke; play all night; get a few hours of sleep; go to our high school jobs; and go back to Sean's to repeat the process. We'd come home sunday night to the anger of our parents, gassy and bleary from lack of sleep. God I miss that...

Since when did collecting body part become wrong?!? Damn PC police...

Here you go, the perfect anti-zombie set up, ready to go and assembled. Fortunately for Dr. Zombie and my undead minions it's really, really expensive!

Check out this site! For all your pirate needs, it's Billy Bone's Pirate Locker. Remember, all little boys want to be pirates... and we never really outgrow that when we become men! Besides, I absolutely love that intro page pirate song! Arrrr!

And finally, this is allegedly a list of most of the zombie movies ever made. It has some obvious and recent films missing, but it is a valiant effort. If anything, it would be a good source to cross check with in my quest to own and see every zombie film ever made...

That's all for now, dear reader. I must shamble back to the Theater of Terror and check on some of my more recent experiments. They've been waiting for me to return. Ahhhh...the smell of blood, and death, and terror is like the smell of warm cookies in the air...

Movie Review: Necronomicon (1996)

I was flipping channels a few nights ago and saw that Showtime was playing Necronomicon this month. Necronomicon was released in 1996 and, although old, it is a movie I hadn't seen yet. And, since I went to the trouble of watching it, I thought I'd do a review...

Now, the whole Showtime thing is a source of contention in my crypt. Showtime comes with the HBO package and, in most cases, it’s absolute crap. Showtimes series' suck (with the exception of Penn and Teller: Bullshit) and they usually have the crappiest movies.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I found that they were playing a Brian Yuzna/Jeffrey Combs film I had yet to see. So, I DVR’d it and watched it this last weekend.

Now, let the good Doctor preface this review with my take on the works of H.P. Lovecraft. Lovecraft is, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest writers form the 20th century. Seriously. And, beyond that, I feel he is one of the greatest horror writers to have ever lived. And many other horror writers; including Ramsay Campbell, Stephen King, Clive Barker, and endless others have also said as much. It could be said that he is responsible for many of the nightmares and horrors produced over the last 60 or so years.

So, with that circuitous explanation, I have to say that I am something of a purist with Lovecraft’s work. The movies that have been done based on his work have left me somewhat wanting. Yuzna’s first collaboration with Jeffrey Combs in Herbert West: Reanimator was one of the better adaptations. 2001’s Dagon was by far the best.

Most of the other’s, sadly, sucked major ass.

Unfortunately, Necronomicon falls pretty close to the category of ass suckage. This movie includes three vignettes around which The Necronomicon plays a part. The Necronomicon, by the way, was created by Lovecraft and represents the most evil book ever conceived. Supposedly written by the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazrad; it is the grimoire du jour of Lovecraft’s mythos. The three vignettes of the movie are book ended by an incredulous story about Lovecraft himself. To say that the stories were ‘inspired’ by Lovecraft is to be generous.

Let’s start with the framing story. Jeffrey Combs (whom I LOVE, by the way) is unrecognizable in makeup that is supposed to make him look like Lovecraft. In fact, if not for Combs’ distinctive voice, I would never have recognized him. It actually, oddly enough, gives him an almost eerie resemblance to Bruce Campbell. Anyway, the movie opens with Lovecraft going to a special library watched over by creepy bald headed monks. It is here that he sneaks into a secret area where he gains access to the dreaded Necronomicon. As Lovecraft explains, he sees it as his responsibility to bring the evil of the Necronomicon to light in his writings. As he accidentally locks himself in the room, he begins transcribing the three stories the rest of the movie consist of.

“The Drowned” – Loosely based on “The Rats in The Walls” in that its protagonist shares the last name of De La Poeur only. That’s about it. Bruce Payne (Best remembered as Passenger 57 in, well, Passenger 57) plays Edward De La Poeur who returns to his ancestral inn by the ocean. Having recently suffered the drowning death of his wife, he stays in the decrepit manor. The lawyer who shows him around tells the story of his ancestor, the sea captain Jethro (played by the incomparable Richard Lynch) who killed himself after the drowning of his wife and son during a stormy sea crossing. Through a letter left to his descendant, Jethro explains that he had gone mad after the loss of his family and had forsaken God. At his darkest moment, a Deep One (a frog-like creature featured in another HPL story) comes to him with a copy of the Necronomicon and an admonition that all is not necessarily lost. Jethro calls upon the dark magics of the dreaded book to bring his wife and son back from the grave. Jethro quickly learns that the reanimated corpses of his wife and son are not as they appear. When they try to kill him, Jethro kills himself. We then flash back to modern day, and Edward immediately searches for and finds the book, and performs the very same ritual. His wife returns from the grave and we learn that she, like Edward’s ancestors, are in fact human meat puppets wielded by a Lovecraftian creature that lives in the basement of the inn. I kid you not. It appears to be Cthulhu himself. Edward has a brief struggle, eventually killing the beast by a conveniently placed and wickedly pointy chandelier. The first story ends with Edward staring wistfully at a sunrise over the ocean.

“Cold Air” – This is the best of the adaptations in this movie. It is a modernization of HPL story “Cool Air”. A reporter goes to a house to question a woman there about a string of deaths over the years at the house. She tells him the story of her mother, a music student named Emily who rents a room at the boarding house in the 60’s. Emily meets the owner who lives on the top floor, a Dr. Madden (played by the great David Warner). We quickly learn that Dr. Madden is not what he seems. He lives in a room kept at arctic temperatures by various machines and is waited on hand and foot by a woman named Lena. After an attempt on Emily’s life by her sexually and physically abusive stepfather, she is saved by Dr. Madden. Any gratitude she might feel towards the good doctor quickly evaporates when she returns to find that the good and kind doctor has killed her stepfather and is using him for grisly experiments. When confronted, the doctor explains that he has come up with a scientific way of stopping death and aging, but at the cost of becoming a prisoner to the extreme cold that maintains his youth. The cold, and spinal fluid sustain his youth. Emily then SLEEPS with him. She becomes pregnant, and returns a few months later to find the doctor cutting up a kind old man who worked at the diner near the house. After stopping him, there is a struggle with the housekeeper Lena, who is jealous of Emily and the Doctor’s love. The doctor overheats, and melts. Emily is shot. The story returns to present time where the daughter reveals she is actually Emily, that she is still pregnant with the Doctor’s baby and hopes to someday deliver it. The reporter falls to the floor, drugged by tea she had offered him. His last sight is that of Emily and an aged and doddering Lena as they come to steal his spinal fluid and kill him.

“Whispers” – This section is based on “the Whisperer in the Darkness” and shares only the creatures (the Migos) with the Lovecraft story. In it we meet the world’s worst female cop, Sarah, as she and her lover/partner are chasing a serial killer named “The Butcher”. Their cruiser crashes and, while unconscious, The Butcher drags Sarah’s partner Paul into a labyrinthine warehouse. Sarah regains consciousness and begins pursuing the killer, following an extremely wide trail of blood deeper and deeper into the warehouse’s bowels. After much Three Stooges like stumbling about, Sarah runs into the owners of the warehouse, Mr. Benedict (played with great humor and aplomb by Return of the Living Dead’s own embalmer Ernie, or Don Calfa) and his wife Mrs. Benedict. Sarah forces Mr. Benedict to take her to The Butcher’s Lair and he does so, leading her into an underground tomb with ancient Indian pictographs. Too late, Sarah realizes that the Benedicts are the killers, but not before they cast her into a pit filled with human remains. Here, she is attacked by Migos, creatures that reproduce by stealing and using the brains of their victims and feed by sucking the marrow from their bones.

The movie ends with the conclusion of the bookend it started with in which Lovecraft must – using his trusty sword cane - fight his way past an evil creature, the even more evil monks, and out the door with the Necronomicon to a waiting cab.

So – what worked in this movie? The effects were good, to an extent. In The Drowned, there was some horrible painted-on-the-film glowing effects during the ritual. The same sort of effect that, truthfully, would have looked dated on a movie or rock video ten years earlier. Also, the creature effects were puppet like, which is unfortunately more noticeable in today’s world of clean and polished CGI. Ray Harryhausen was a genius, but computers made him obsolete. Take that as you will, but it’s true. The other effects, like the melting of Dr. Madden, and the beautifully rendered blood and charnel pit in Whispers were top notch and should appeal to all gore hounds. The scripts left something to be desired. Modernizing of Lovecraft’s works are inevitable and acceptable. I understand that. But some faithfulness to the source beyond a cursory mention should be the goal here, especially in a movie that so patently derives from his works. Truthfully, Whispers sucked. The story was horrible, and with the exception Of Don Calfa, the acting was something I would expect from a film school production. Cold Air was better, but I felt a love story in a Lovecraft story was the wrong way to go. Cthulhu and the Elder Gods care not for human love!

The first vignette, The Drowned, was the best of the bunch, but again, the scripting suffered. This would have made a great feature length movie. It had the right atmosphere, and the strongest Lovecraftian elements, along with the best actors. I would have loved to have seen more development before the quick summoning and subsequent killing of the evil that lurks in the basement.

One final thing that irks me is the whole Lovecraft bookend story. Lovecraft as some sort of sword wielding, adventuring Indiana Jones was downright silly. Those know anything about Lovecraft would know that he was a hypochondriac, agoraphobic, recluse. NOT the type to fight the mythos of his stories. He was a genteel writer with delicate sensibilities. I just wanted to mention that.

Overall, it wasn’t the worst Lovecraft adaptation, but it was nowhere near the best. It was disappointing that Combs and Yuzna, who’ve done so much to put Lovecraft’s works on celluloid, would release such a poorly put together film. It was obvious that this was a fun, “Hey, we need a paycheck!” situation. That being said, it IS still Lovecraft. It should be seen if only by fans of the genre. The effects were decent, the stories passable, if poorly written, and it is standard late night popcorn fare. If you need a horror fix, it will be a better choice than many of the other direct to video car wrecks out there.

Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 3 out of 5 Chomped Brains



Note: Doctor Zombie would give one of his rotting, undead limbs to see a big budget, non-modern, fatihful Lovecraft movie. With REAL effects. It's sad tha the two best potrayals of Lovecraft's works weren't truly Lovecraft films. The first was John Carpenter's In The Mouth Of Madness as it perfectly captured the feel and creepiness of Lovecraft's world. And the best rendering of a Lovecraftian creature can be found in Guillermo Del Toro's Hellboy. The creatures in Hellboy gave me chills and made me squirm in my seat. These guys both get it, as does Peter Jackson. There are rumors he'd love to do "At The Mountains Of Madness". Please. Make it so, Pete. Please!

Debauchery

So - - my kid sister's getting married this fall. My future brother in law's pretty cool. He's into The Simpson's, horror flicks (although he has questionable taste in that area - he's actually spoken positively about some of the cinematic abortions of Uwe Boll, and really liked AvP), and can extensively quote movies, much like the good Doctor can (which, pleasantly enough, pisses both Mrs. Zombie and my sister off to no end). He's also a fan of the Guinness and any man who loves the Irish frothy goodness of Guinness is a good man in my eyes.

Anyway, this last weekend was the bachelor party. We spent the weekend at a couple of rented cabins at Put-in-Bay. For those who don't know, Lake Erie has several islands. Put-In-Bay is on one of them. Essentially, it's this quaint little island with a few really great bars and beautiful lake views. It's also a summer play area for the rich, college students, and anybody else who is into drinking large amounts of alcohol and just hanging out. So, needless to say, it was a weekend of drunken debauchery with little redeeming value. I went up with my dad and my uncle and we started drinking on the ferry ride over on Friday and didn't really stop until we left Sunday morning.

Also, some perspective should be given. There were twenty-five guys total. Of those twenty-five guys, three were over 40 (my dad, my future brother-in-law's dad, and my Uncle Tom), a handful in our 30's (this included me) and the rest were all in their 20's. Only five of us were married.

Here's what I learned:

- When you're on the wrong side of 30, you get grouped up with the 'old guys'.
- Every group of friends has that one guy who, while barely tolerable sober, is a complete ass when drunk. This dubious honor fell on one guy named Meyers. Meyers came back from the bars at 2:30 am, staggering, slurring, and looking to fight anyone or anybody. It's only a matter of time until he pisses someone off and gets beat down because he lacks the motor control to back up his belligerance.
- Golf carts have too high a center of gravity to go around a cul-de-sac at top speed. Their likelihood to tip is further exacerbated by loading said golf cart with eight guys in varying stages of intoxication. Gravity is not your friend when drunk, and neither is gravel in the aforementioned cul-de-sac.
- Additionally, golf carts do not have the necessary ballast to float across the mile or so of Lake Erie to the mainland. In fact, they sink rather quickly; regardless of how much speed you get up before launching into the lake.
- It is possible to get a DUI on a golf cart.
- We had a cabin full of fifteen girls in their 20's next to us. When you get more than two girls together, there is always drama. In fact, I think it is an immutable law of the universe that fifteen girlfriends are incapable of having a good weekend without someone crying, someone being a bitch, and/or someone getting so drunk her friends spend the whole weekend pissed off at her. Guys are much simpler. We drink, we make fools of ourselves, and we pass out. No one fights, no one gets swept up in drama. Even Meyers' foolishness is amusing.
- Fifteen 20ish aged guys will do anything to impress fifteen 20ish aged girls. Until the female drama starts and they start the bitchiness. Then the 20ish guys just hurl mysogynistic insults at the girls. Meyers will go straight to the mysogyny because, in his drunkeness, he thinks, 'the bitshes lub when you tell them dey're shtoopid..".
- The cost to get life-flighted off of the island is between $5000 and $8000.
- Hot college aged girls still won't even LOOK at me. Not that I'd do anything, it'd just be nice. You know?
- Just like when I was in college, there is always one drunken dimwit who manages to puke into the bathroom sink and not bother to clean it up OR take responsibilty for it. Why this happens is a mystery because the toilet is two and a half feet to the left!. I suspect Meyers.
- Two and a half days of non-stop drinking makes me a smelly bastard. I feel bad for the guys who were stuck in my room.
- 20 year old guys can be goaded into surprising acts of stupidity when drinking by simply saying, "I bet you'd never be able to...".
- And, finally, it is never...ever... a good idea to drink an entire bottle of Jameson's and then go all in on the first hand of a $50 buy in game of Texas Hold 'em. Even if you're sure that your off suited 2 and 7 are a sure bet to win. Dammit.

These Undead Bones

Ay, in the very temple of delight
Veil’d melancholy has her sovran shrine. - Keats

So, I’ve been out of touch all week because of work. My alter ego has to pay the bills, so I’ve been busy doing responsible adult things. Yech.

Be sure to check out things over at Tarr and Fether’s Psycho Cinema. They’ve posted my first article over at their ‘S’newsletter’ section! I am sooo looking forward to working with these guys and contributing to their unique and kooky vision!

And watch for more reviews, as I intend on catching up on some long overdue horror movie viewage over the long weekend!

So, Last weekend I had an epiphany. Now that I’m older, more responsible, and otherwise burdened with a mortgage, car payments, the lovely Mrs. Zombie, and the zombie kids (Zombie Boy and Wolf Girl); I really don’t have that much me time. I remedied that some last weekend by going to see Ministry and The Revolting Cocks at the Cleveland House of Blues. Our local House of Blues, by the way, is the single best venue for concerts I’ve ever been to. And, it was at about the point that RevCo was performing ‘Do You Think I’m Sexy’ that I had my epiphany. I was standing there at the edge of the pit and watching some beautiful and very tasty looking Goth girls dancing on stage, and feeling the throbbing and unrelenting waves of music go around and through me. All around me were the pushing and jumping bodies of a hundred or more people dancing to their own orgiastic and pagan rhythms, the primal and sensual feel of our sweat soaked bodies moving like the excited atoms of some strange, polymorphic beast. I inhaled deeply of the smell of sweat, and smoke, and alcohol and I felt myself grabbed by the inevitable certainty that doing what I was at that moment ( i.e.; seeing a hardcore show from this perspective) was one of the few things that bring joy to my cold, undead heart. That moment was an encapsulation of all that is perfect to me. No matter how old I get, I will always love the thrill of an alternative Industrial/Goth show, much to the disdain of Mrs. Z. You see, she doesn’t like that side of me. She hates the part of me that thrives on the darker things in life. And she hates the primal joy such things bring me. I love her more than life itself, and I know she feels the same, but sometimes I think she wishes she’d married a conservative banker who really dug country music and the Backstreet Boys.

And, by the way, I can still hold my own in a mosh pit. Except for the fact that I may have broken or chipped a bone in my elbow falling during Ministry’s set. I can’t touch my elbow it’s so sore; and I have a purple and red and green bruise that looks much like a spiderweb prison tattoo. That’s the first time I’ve ever really fell hard in a pit in all the years I’ve been doing this.

And I can’t tell Mrs. Z about it, either. I’d NEVER hear the end of it… Besides, I have tickets to see Rob Zombie in three weeks…

Some cool links I found:

The first one is this one about a military coffin that was found in the middle of the desert. I’d read a story about it earlier in the week on a major network web site, and thought it was kind of weird. I also thought it might have been somehow terrorist related. The linked article above puts it all into perspective though. It could be nothing BUT zombies.

And there’s nothing better than a good grave robbing story. Thing is, if you’re going to go to the trouble of digging up a casket, lopping the exhumed corpses head off, and making off with it; at least have a plan for afterwards. I’ve stolen my fair share of body parts, believe you me, and I can tell you that it’s all in the details. This kid is an example of how NOT to do it. Dumbass.

Excuse me while I squeal like a teenage girl! This is exactly the reason why my wife wants to take away my credit cards. But I ask you, how could I not buy a CD set with over 50 horror classics on it?!? Impulse buying be damned … it will be a good few weeks at The Midnight Theater of Terror as I indulge in some classic horror goodness. And I guarantee there will be reviews of some of these because, if you’re any kind of horror movie fan, it’s good to go back to the roots of the genre.

That’s all for now, dear reader. I’m off to torture and eat a door to door salesman who made the mistake of knocking on the good Doctor’s door. Foolish, foolish, man…

Things That Go Bump in the Night.

This looks great! I know what you may be thinking. “Great, another remake of Night of the Living Dead. Can’t they let Romero’s masterpiece be? Must these hacks keep digging it up and reworking it in a vain attempt to add to the wonder and legacy that is the greatest horror movie of all time?!?” I know that’s what you’re thinking. I thought it myself. Add to that the fact that it will be in 3-d and it looks like it has the potential to be absolutely crap-tastic. And then I saw the preview they have on the website. And it has Captain Cutter Spaulding himself, Sid Haig, in it and he’s a god. So, needless to say, my curiosity has been sufficiently piqued. We’ll just have to see…

I found this on a forum I frequent and I’ve got to say that this also intrigues the good doctor. It’s an Aussie low budget flick called When Evil Reigns that has a post apocalyptic/zombie armageddon storyline. And, the buzz is that it’s pretty good. I just may shell out the few sheckels to order a copy of it on DVD (plus the whole buttload more sheckels it’ll cost to ship it from Australia., but such is the price one pays when they are an unrepentant horror film freak like your favorite undead genius, Doctor Zombie, is). And, apparently, they made the film for about $5000. That, combined with the fact that they’ve been featured on ABC as the perfect model for low budget fan film production, makes me that much more eager to help these Aussies recoup some of the money they shelled out to make this flick.

Well. Ain’t this a kick in my undead head. This forum is devoted to preparing for the Zombie Armageddon. These guys will be the first on Doctor Zombie’s list when I implement my plans for undead world domination. That I can assure you. They’re just a little too prepared for my tastes. (Actually, this is a great site for survival preparation in general. The Zombie Squadron group is based in St. Louis and the whole ‘zombie’ theme is just a metaphor for any disaster/terrorism preparation. Although I joke about the Zombie Armageddon, in today’s world one needs to think about the possibility of there being a real TEOTWAWKI scenario. Realistically serious threats like Terrorism, Global Warming, Environmental Disasters, Pandemics, Near Earth Object collisions (comets or meteors) and other assorted doomsday scenarios are a very real possibility. Those nutjobs who are preparing for blue helmeted invaders from the UN are now looking – to the Doctor at least – to be not so nutty. I think a little preparation, stockpiling of supplies, and honing of weapons skills may not be such a bad idea. For those who say it can’t happen, look at the cluster fuck that was Hurricane Katrina. I’m just saying…)

And finally, these crazy guys contacted me this week. They’ve asked me to become a regular contributor to their site and I’ve eagerly agreed. Like I told Professor Fether, they are my kind of groovy, spooky cats. I look forward to working with them. I’ve said it many times before, but I think it bears repeating. I know many things about myself, but I know one thing above else; I love horror movies. I love zombies, vampires, werewolves, ghouls, goblins, and all things dark, creepy, and horrific. Like many from my generation, I grew up on a steady diet of Saturday afternoon Hammer Studios classics and Late Night Creature Features hosted by men in mad doctor costumes on creepy sets in the basement of local network affiliate stations. And I mourn the loss of this curious form of entertainment. Much of the 1970’s could be buried away in a mass grave of popular culture, but there is something sad and tragic about no longer being able to stay up late on a Friday or Saturday night and watch The Ghoul, or Dr. Shock’s Chiller X-Ray Theater, or The Big Chuck and Little John Show. My love for horror movies is only the beginning of my eclectic tastes. But it was my introduction at an early age to this genre that helped shape my tastes now that I’ve reached adulthood.
Simply said, I love all things dark.
And so do Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether.

Like I said… my kind of groovy, spooky cats…

Film Review - Room 6

I received an advanced copy of this film from Anchor Bay Entertainment and, to be honest, was a bit apprehensive. Generally, ‘direct to video’ equates to ‘really sucks’. My second thought beyond this was, great cast, but did they just do a low budget horror flick for a paycheck?

Well, after watching Room 6, I’ve got to say that I was reasonably impressed by a well put together horror flick.

Considering that most of the filthy offal that the Hollywood studios is putting out is just badly done, PG-13 rated, unsuccessful rehashes of good horror movies; it’s up to us true horror fans to find good horror anyway we can. The independent market works best, but some of the smaller studios are doing a good job too. I think Anchor Bay is doing some good stuff.

Anyway, on to Room 6. When I received the DVD, the first thing I noticed was no MPAA rating. ‘Uh-oh,’ I thought, ‘Not good.’. Fortunately, this movies is an R-rated flick and I wasn’t forced to wallow through a watered down studio attempt to get some preteens into the seats at a movie theater. Here, let me put it another way in which I’m certain I can assure you it’s not just another teen film… all I need to say is; hot, naked, lesbian nurses making out whilst drizzling blood all over themselves.

But we’ll talk more about that later.

The plot of the movie is pretty straightforward. Amy (played by Christine Taylor from Anchorman, Dodgeball, and The Brady Bunch. You may also know her as Ben Stiller’s wife.) is a schoolteacher with issues. She is living with her boyfriend Nick (Shane Brolly, whom you may remember sulking around in Underworld like a vampire with a case of blue balls for Selene.). Nick seems like a nice enough guy, especially considering he proposes to Amy within the first five or so minutes of the film. Christine immediately blows him off, and at this point I thought I wasn’t going to like her character very much.

After blowing nice Nick off, we see her talking to a student named Melissa (Chloe Moretz). Melissa fills the now common horror movie role of ‘the creepy kid who has some preternatural otherworld connection’. Her sole job is to stand around, act creepy, and try to channel Haley Joel Osmont, Dakota Fanning, and that creepy blond girl from The 4400. It is at this point that things start to go wrong for Amy.

That night, after being picked up by nice Nick, they have an argument and as they barrel through an intersection, they are involved in an accident. Nick, and the passenger from the other vehicle are rushed away by paramedics who don’t tell Amy or the other vehicle’s driver where their injured loved ones are being taken. Amy then teams up with the other driver, Lucas (Jerry O’Connell; AKA the fat kid from Stand By Me; and the now grown up dude from Sliders and Crossing Jordan) And they quickly discover that their loved ones have been taken to a hospital named St. Rosemary’s that doesn’t exist - anymore.

So what works about this movie? I think, in a word, it’s the fact that the movie was made by fans of the genre. The way this movie was filmed was done beautifully, but what else could one expect from the same cinematographer who did the original Halloween? As the plot progresses, Amy starts to have flashes of horrific scenes and demons that make her question her sanity. The photography, combined with the excellent makeup effects by Robert Hall, were beautifully jarring and scary. Especially effective were the scenes in the haunted hospital at the climax. Although it was obvious that, due to budget constraints, they used the same section of hospital hallway for all the scenes; the film crew did a great job of making it seem like it was more expansive. In these scenes the lights were constantly flickering and, when between darkness and light things would suddenly appear, it was good for the occasional jump scare. Whether you consider this a cheap trick by the filmmakers or not, you’ve got to give them props for using it, using it well, and going with what works.

Also, and probably the best part of the movie, were the scenes with poor nice Nick as he languished in his hospital bed. The weirdness of the hospital staff, and the escalating realization on his part that he was thigh deep into some unexplained shit were perfectly done. Besides the previously mentioned and gratuitous lesbian bloodlust scene (woo-hoo!), there was a beautiful scene where he is alone in his bed in the dark and he hears disturbing sounds. He flicks on a flashlight to find his roommate being feasted upon by the same evil nurses.

It’s also gratifying to see, like I said before, a film by fans. The documentary on the special features bears this out. The director, writers, and producers gush about the little things that make this a horror fan dream. There’s a great cameo by Kane Hodder, and the boiler room location used in later scenes is the same boiler room that Wes Craven used for Freddy Krueger in Nightmare on Elm Street. And, in the hospital, they threw in a zombie scene. That’s always a great way to worm your way into Doctor Zombie’s cold, undead heart.

What didn’t work for me with this movie though were some smaller things that could easily be overlooked. For instance, there was no gratuitous nude scene with Christine Taylor. I’ll let that slide, but I gotta say I’m disappointed. I also found that the filmmakers made the choice to throw in what I like to call the ‘herky-jerky spooky crawl effect’. You know what one I’m talking about, right? It’s the same effect that was cool in The Ring and The Grudge, but is now becoming de rigeour for any new horror flick. It’s like the bullet time effect from The Matrix, or the morphing cgi from T2. Afterwards, any special effects department with a Macintosh and the new, cool software were using it in every movie. What was cool became blasé.

And the random crazy demon moments with Christine Taylor’s character were a bit overdone. It lost its effectiveness. If the filmmakers had toned it down some, and instead of making everybody she met turn into a demon when nobody else was looking, it would have been more suspenseful. Think Jacob’s Ladder. In that case, you were left with a ‘Did I just see that?’ feeling.

Also, the twists, weren’t that surprising for anyone used to the genre. In fact, they were pretty heavy handed with their foreshadowing, which I find a little insulting. Filmmakers, and horror filmmakers in particular, need to start trusting that their audiences are smart enough and savvy enough to figure things out themselves. And, the final big twist in the movie gave it a very spiritual and uplifting message. According to the documentary in the special features, this was intentional. I don’t know if I’m too jaded or have too dark a sensibility, but I didn’t like this aspect. It detracted from the horror. I do need to say though, that it wasn’t so bad as to ruin an already good horror film.

Finally, I wanted to make a comment about the score for this film. I watched the entire credits and saw that no one was credited for it. I found the soundtrack, combined with the manic scenery, especially good. Whoever did the score deserves credit for it because it was appropriate and pleasingly spooky.

So, I would recommend Room 6 as a good rental movie for a date. It’s not a gore-fest, but it hits all the right notes in terms of the limited gore it does give. Especially with the hot nurses. Mmmm… flesh eating nurses…

Doctor Zombie’s rating: 3 out of 5 Chomped Brains

Barbarians on the Border

So I’ve been working days for the better part of this week and participating in an offsite training conference. I normally work nights (4:30pm - 1:15am) so, needless to say, my system is all messed up. I’m not sleeping right, I can’t stay awake all day, and I’m not eating right.

Any time I'm not eating right and I have any sort of change in my routine, it has a direct consequence on the proper functioning of my bowels. Needless to say, I’m having all kinds of problems with my digestion. What can I say, my colon and waste processing systems are sensitive to environmental and circadian rhythm changes.

Anyway, I get a break today and immediately scurry all stiff-legged to the restroom. As I’m sitting there in the handicap stall (I like the room in the handicap stalls. Evil as it may be, it’s nice to have elbow room when you’re hiking up your kilt, ya’ know?) Anyway, I’m sitting there enjoying a moment of quiet introspection, when someone else comes into the bathroom. Now, I should point out that I am very common sense oriented about my bathroom functions. If I gotta go, I gotta go. I don’t care where I am, and I don’t feel at all self-conscious about any noises, smells, or spontaneous emissions that others might hear or smell. It’s nature, like the Discovery Channel and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be all uptight or uncomfortable about it.

Anyway, I’m sitting there, minding my own business when some other guy comes in… I keep doing what I’m doing. It’s then I hear what is probably one of the most horrifying things I’ve heard in at least a week or so. As the guy in the next stall is crunching, and I know because I heard it, I hear:

Dumbass in next stall: Hey, it’s me. What are you doing.
Muffled female voice: murmer murmer murmer

This clown was on his cell phone, in the bathroom, while duking! He goes on:

Dumbass: So, I wanted to thank you for last night.
Female on other end of his cell phone call (!): murmer murmer murmer
Dumbass: I had a good time too.
Female: murmer murmer murmer
Dumbass: I’d like to go out with you again
Female: murmer murmer murmer
Dumbass (in a quiet and sexy voice taht makes me absolutely shudder): I thought about you when I went to bed last night.

At this point a couple of guys come into the bathroom, talking business talk about computers or something. There is some very loud pissing, flushing, and hand washing. As their conversation changes to the idiot that is Ben Roethlisberger, they leave the bathroom. Dude is still talking.

Dumbass: You looked good in that dress. What are you wearing now?
Female: Muffled giggle, murmer murmer murmer
Dumbass (really turning on the sexy voiced charm): I’m going to get out early tonight. You want to meet at my place for some dinner?

At this point I punched out. I finished what I was doing, flushed loudly three or four times, washed my hands and left. He was still murmuring sexy sweet nothings to his lady when I bolted.

So, I don’t really have any commentary on this. I just wanted to make a few points. First: How fucked up is society that cell phones have become such a part of culture that this assclown couldn’t wait fifteen minutes to call a girl he obviously likes? Second: Has our culture degenerated so much that making a cell phone call from a public restroom is in any way acceptable? And Third: There is NO WAY IMAGINABLE that the chick on the other end couldn’t know what this guy was doing or where he was. And she is STILL probably considering going out with him?

This is how society ends. This is our death knell.

I mean, this is how Rome went. I imagine that there was probably some Roman guy, sitting around in a Roman bath, and minding his own business. Then some other Roman dude came in and farted in the tub. The first Roman guy must have thought to himself, much as I did today, “Bradicus, won’t be long until the Huns and Goths swoop in here, kill us men, rape our women, and salt our fields. It’s time to start planning an exit strategy.”

This weekend I’m going to start looking for a cabin in the woods. Or a bomb shelter. Someone call me when the total decline of Western Civilization’s done. Seriously. I’m going all Ted Kazinsky.

Still venomous...

Is Ann Coulter a an evil, psychotic hatemongering bigot?

You be the judge.

Feeling a little venomous today...

Ann Coulter is a vicious, evil, filthy whore.

I can only hope that someone punches her in her thick, mannish jaw and forces some doctor to sew her mouth shut so we can get a few weeks of silence from her incessant, foul, racist, elitist, derogatory, and exceedingly stupid and uninformed opinions.

I hope she gets assaulted by angry polar bears (according to Nolff, this happens frequently and, in my opinion, couldn’t happen to a dirtier whore than Ann Coulter.)

I hope she develops complications when they try to remove her Adam’s apple (in her quest to further hide the fact that she’s actually a tranny) so that she’ll needs to speak through a poorly built blow hole like the bad guy in Ong-Bak.

Ann Coulter is all that is wrong with the far Right. They are racist. They are evil. They rely on deceit, inveiglement, and villification to push their evil Pro-Christian, anti-American views. Look at it this way; if I was in a tower in Texas and looking at her through a scope on a rifle, I’d have a hard time keeping my booger hook off of the bang switch.

You may think I’m being unfair to poor little Ann Coulter. You may think that, because she’s a woman, it may be misogynistic for me to say such things about Ann Coulter. You can feel free to think that. But, since this is my blog and not yours, I don’t care. If you feel sorry for Ann Coulter because myself, Matt Lauer, those evil 911 widows, and all of the liberal press is beating up on her; you’re probably a vicious, evil, filthy whore yourself.

666 - Because you knew I couldn't resist!

6/6/6 Update

Celebrate National Day of Slayer with Doctor Zombie!

Yeah! Crank it up and let the headbanging begin!



And remember, the number address for Dr. Zombie's Midnight Theater of Terror is 665 Evil Lane - I'm the neighbor of the Beast...




Later:

Oh, and by the way... you may notice a new banner ad on the left hand side, under my links. I was contacted by a rep from Anchor Bay Entertainment who apparently liked my review on Haut Tension. They want me to do a review of a new movie entitled Room 6 (written on the posters as: R66m 6). It has Jerry O'Connell, Christine Taylor, and Shane Brolly in it. They're sending me an advanced copy of the film and I'll be doing a review on it as soon as I get it. Whether it's good, or sucks really bad, I promise I'll be honest with you. And I let them know that also. Although this is a great opportunity, I am a horror film purist; if it sucks, I'll say so. I owe you, my readers, that.

Soooo, until I see it, I'll give it the benefit of the doubt and shill for them a little. Hence the banner ad.

Watch for the review!

The Cleveland News Circus

Welcome to my hometown.

Here’s a video clip from our local news that's actually being blogged about nationally. These are the kind of people I deal with on a daily basis. Sigh.

The town where it happened (Berea) is actually on the other side of town - -what we call the West Side. Berea also happens to be the summer training home of the Cleveland Browns.

This video is great, especially at the end. It’s worth the wait.

And for the record - - most of our news is this sensationalist. This channel (WKYC – Channel 3) is considered the ‘respectable’ news team in Cleveland. On the other end of the spectrum you have Channel 19 (WOIO), which is crazy and off the hook. Believe me. It’s like Jerry Springer meets the National Enquirer. Classic! (Springer, by the way, is an Ohio native. Before he got famous herding the unwashed, redneck masses he herded OUR unwashed, redneck masses. He was actually the mayor of Cincinnatti. Cincinnatti, it should be noted, is on the extreme other end of the state. Ohio doesn’t really admit to owning Cincinnatti. It’s down in that whole Cincitucky area. If Kentucky wanted to annex Cinci; Cleveland, Columbus, Youngstown, and Dayton’d probably be okay with it.)

And Channel 19 has the hotter correspondents. Mmmm… Lynna Lai…

Channel 19 also has Catherine Boseley. If you’ve never heard of her, I’ll refer you to this wonderful link at awfulplasticsurgery.com…

I’ve been thinking recently that I might be interested in giving this blog more of a purpose. There’s something to be said for using the power of blogs to root out corruption, or expose hypocrisy, or right wrongs. And I’d like to think I could use this as a forum for greater social consciousness and as a means to fulfill a civic and moral responsibility….

Ahhh, who the hell am I kidding. If I did try to go that route I’d just use it to meet celebrities, or do the sort of stuff in the video clip at the beginning of this entry. It would be cool to go undercover to, say, the Church of Scientology, and blog my experiences, but I’d need to take time off of work. And truthfully, journalism is cool and everything, but the good Doctor’s gotta pay the mortgage and my other bills ain’t gonna pay themselves. It would be cool to go all Bob Woodward, or even better – all Doctor Gonzo, but I doubt I could rise all that much above the caliber of local Cleveland news anyway.

Cool idea though…

Groan

God, I hate summer.

So hot.

This insane heat makes me sooo cranky.

Things I said this last weekend:

• "I'm an evil undead scientist. I don't work in the sun on 95 degree days. I burn easily."
• "If I ever talk about transfering to my company's Florida office again, please kick me square in the nuts."
• "Is it wrong to want to rub a lime popsicle all over my body?"
• "I don't know what you're complaining about... you try living with sweaty, sticky balls.
• "I'm an adult, and I contribute a not insignificant part of my salary to the mortgage...that's why I feel I am perfectly within my rights to sit in front of a box fan, in my underwear and nothing else, while drinking a cold beer. I don't care if your mother is coming over."
• "If these fucking dogs don't stop laying on me or against me, I swear to god I'll give them the needle myself. It's like sitting with a furry, panting, hot pillow on my lap."
• "Don't touch my leg with your leg! It's like I'm sitting against a microwave-warmed slab of meat!"
• "You're not a doctor. How do you know that extreme heat doesn't give me diarrhea?!?"
• "Oh god! I've got sweat in my ass crack!"
• "It's a vast global conspiracy against me! The CIA's targeting Cleveland with a orbitally platformed laser just to get me. And stop looking at me like I've lost my mind!"
• "My brain's melting."

I'll be in my crypt until this heat wave passes. It's cooler there and Mrs. Zombie told me I'm not allowed out until I promise to be nicer.

Like that'll happen anytime soon.

The Same Deep Water As You

It’s trite to comment on how music can teleport one to specific times in one’s life; or that one’s life has a soundtrack. People say it so much that the sense of wonder that hearing a certain song evokes is somehow lost in the banal, the commonplace, the cliché.

I thought about this all afternoon.

Last week I received, in a swooping logo-ed Amazon.com box, a DVD that I’d been dying to get my undead mitts on since I’d first heard about it. You see, part of being an old Goth dinosaur is that I still hold on to certain music and styles that may not necessarily be in vogue anymore. It’s like in the movie Trainspotting, when Diane tells Renton that there are new things in the world besides Iggy Pop and New Order. I feel like Renton at times; wallowing in my past and reveling in the anachronism that is old school Goth and Industrial music. This DVD was just one of those things.

The DVD is The Cure's Trilogy. It is a concert video of The Cure in Berlin playing the ultimate, quintessential, and definitive Cure albums in their original order and back to back. The albums, of course, are Pornography, Disintegration, and Bloodflowers. These three albums, together, define The Cure’s body of work. Additionally, as most Cure fans agree and as Robert Smith confirms in the DVD extras, these three albums are linked ‘spiritually’.

If you were to ask me who my favorite band of all time is – I’d have to say that, undeniably, it is The Cure. Which is funny because, for a long time, I would have probably said it was The Police. Which is true to an extant, but not entirely. As I’ve aged I’ve become more cynical, much darker of mood and temprement, and drawn to the melancholy and world weary gloom of Robert Smith.

And it goes back to high school, as these things inevitably must. I had my first taste of The Cure on a mix tape my friend Jason had made to play in the background while we role-played Call of Cthulhu. And yes, my high school years were spent role-playing in my friend Sean’s attic. Yes, I am a nerd and a geek. Anyway, the tape had an eclectic mix of Peter Gabriel, Sting, Suicidal Tendencies, The Sex Pistols, and Duran Duran. And then there was this one song, stuck in the middle. It had a droning, building, rage and pain and loathing of love that resonated with my young mind. I learned that it was The Cure, and had to hear more. So, after tracking down Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me from our other friend Curtis (we did that often; shared music, books, games, girlfriends), I fell in love with The Cure.

My last year of high school, as I prepared to go off to college, the Cure released Disintegration. I was never the same after that and this album, above all others, would be the soundtrack that most defined my college experience. Yes, there were other albums that resonated, and fill in the spaces. Albums like Peter Gabriel’s Us, or Sting’s Soul Cages, or even Nine Inch Nails Perfect Hate Machine. But none of them reached the depth of resonance that Disintegration did.

I thought of this as I watched Trilogy today. I’ve seen The Cure in concert probably close to a dozen times. I once even followed them as they did shows on three consecutive nights in Cleveland, Dayton, and Fort Wayne Indiana. My own sort of black clad, Gothic, Grateful Dead thing - - as it were. This DVD, though, was the best performance I’ve seen them do.

And as they started the Disintegration set I found myself back in my college apartment.

I imagined myself lying on my bed beside the window, looking down at the blowing, swirling cold and snow of a northern Midwestern winter. The room is dark and flickering with the single light of a mulberry candle given me by my friend, Doctor Michelle. I imagine that, outside of my half open door, I hear my roommates Stephen and Barb arguing about doing the dishes. Or perhaps my other roommate Kimber is downstairs, singing as she does her homework, her voice like a beautiful ghost dancing in the echoes and shadows of the 150 year old house we lived in. Or perhaps my other friends, Sean, Jay, Richie, and Amy Lynn are laughing at something on the TV in the downstairs living room. And I am there, alone amidst all of this activity, absorbing the hiss of the radiator in my corner and feeling the bliss of being with those I love and who are now gone on their own lives’ paths. I look to the candlelight-lapped ceiling and breath deep, hoping that this perfection never ends, but knowing it must.

And in the background, my CD player begins playing The Same Deep Water As You, by The Cure.

All of this came rushing back to me as I half watched and listened to the DVD this afternoon. And I felt that swell of bittersweet remembrance and the coppery-tasting throat constriction that one gets when tears might come.

Robert Smith’s a god, man. A god.

An additional note on the DVD, besides the fact that I obviously loved it. They only did two songs as an encore and they were both from Kiss Me…. Remember that droning, angst-ridden song I mentioned earlier? On Jay Jay’s role-playing mix tape? It was 'The Kiss', and it was how they ended the concert. This wild idea of playing albums back to back, that Robert himself called The Cure’s greatest accomplishment, ended with the very song that made me fall in love with them.

Nostalgia can be a bitch, ya’ know?

Eep! I may have been wrong when I said...

So with all of the political posting I’ve been doing lately, I’ve gotten a couple emails I wanted to address:

The first was from my good friend Chrissy. She said she likes it better when I post about “…dogs. or flowers. or sunshine and cotton candy.”. And I here what she’s screaming. I like when I post about dogs also. (I’ll NEVER ‘fess up to the other stuff. I’m far too dark and brooding to even entertain the thought of such happy, cheery stuff. No sir. Nope. No way.) Anyway, part of my recent rants against the vast right wing, executive branch, fundamental Christian conspiracy can be partly blamed on my mood. I’ve been in an especially ogre-like mood lately; as Mrs Zombie, the Boy Zombie, and Wolfgirl will readily attest to. And I don’t really know why. I’ve just been kind of mad at the world lately and – unfortunately - when this sort of mood strikes me, my tolerance for bullshit goes way down. So, Chrissy - - I promise I’ll try to post more funny stuff. Really.

Just not today.

A second email I got mentioned that my political party (The Zombie Party! Join today and live through TEOTWAWKI tomorrow!) may already be out there. He said that, politically, I might find myself more in line with the Libertarians. I found this odd because I know that I am very much a liberal Democrat. That's how I've always thought of myself, anyway. Besides, the Libertarians have that whacko Lyndon Larouche. In fact, I’d always thought the Libertarian party was always slightly more conservative than the Republicans. Sort of like George W. mixed in with some Adolph Hitler, with a splash of Pol Pot for color. The thing is, I just spent about an hour scouring the internet for political affiliation quizzes.

And, for every one I took, I found myself falling squarely into the Libertarian camp. It was scary.

The first political quiz I found and took was this one. It turns out that this is, according to everything I read, probably one of the most accurate indicators of your political leanings out there. Which is funny, because it comes from a Libertarian website. This fact set off quite a few strident and klaxon-like warning bells in my skeptical skull, so I decided to see if it always gave a Libertarian skewed result.

So, I tried to answer like my friend, Doctor Michelle (who’s a real doctor, BTW. She just got her Doctorate in Psychology. Which is cool, but not as cool as my Doctorate in Evil Genius Sciences. Yeah, she can analyze people’s dreams and do Rohrshach Tests, blah blah blah… but can she put together an oscillating, multiphasic, fission powered death ray to take over the world? I don’t think so.) Anyway, she’s the most liberal person I can think of. (Which I love her for. She is one of the purest, most socially conscious people I know. And she’s kinda hot- - but don’t tell Mrs. Zombie!) Anyway, I answered like I thought she might have and it came back with a very liberal Democrat response.

Next I answered like my father would. My father is the bane of my existence. He is so goddamned conservative it makes my whale eye pucker. He has an autographed picture of George W. and Laura Bush hanging in a place of honor in his basement. (He got it because he gave SOOO much money to the Republican presidential campaign. Sigh.) He and I fight so bad about politics that we’re not even allowed to mention it at ANY family function because we end up screaming at each other. We are banned from political discussion under warning of death by my mother and Mrs. Zombie. To give you an idea of how inconsistent my father’s views are with mine; if I were to run for political office my father would NOT VOTE FOR ME. His own son. The fruit of his loins. And do you know why? Because I’m a Democrat. He’s a Bush apologist and a Republican who would never, ever dream of breaking from the party line on any conservative issue. So I answered like he would.

As my dad would have answered:

• "Death to gays!"
• “Death to the dark ghetto people who are suckling at the teat of the working man!”
• “Give more money to subsidize big business because Ronald Reagan was right about Trickle Down Economics!” (“Hey, when do we knock FDR off of Mt. Rushmore and put Reagan up there?!?”
• “Iraq needed to be invaded because they have weapons of mass destruction. What? No WMD? Well, then we needed to do it because Saddam was an oppressor. What? The UN sanctions were working and Saddam was coming around? Well, dammit! They…uh…ummm…they helped…Al Quaeda! Yeah, that’s it!”
• “If Kerry or Al Gore was president, we’d all be speaking Arabic right now!”
• “George W. is soooo dreamy!!! Waitaminute! That sounded kinda like one of those fags! That’’s not what I meant…”

And so on…

So, after this nauseating exercise of trying to think like a Conservative, I found that the test still seemed accurate. Take it and let me know where you fall….

Another good one I found was this one. Although I have to say that, seeing where you are politically while simultaneosuly taking the test tended to make me want to answer to make myself seem liberal. Honesty works best on this one….

So, that’s all for tonight. I need to go and replenish my undead minion zombies (a small accident whilst assembling the oscillating, multiphasic, fission powered death ray to take over the world. A few undead zombie minions may have been accidentally imploded.) A minor setback, really…

Unpleasant dreams, dear reader…