New On-Line Story Of Note

If you’re looking for a quick but high quality read, check out Kent Gowran’s new story “More Than Corn, Cadillac Joe” at DZ Allen’s Muzzle Flash. As always, Gowran comes through with the hard-boiled story. About time we see something a little longer from him (hint, hint).

Another Bonehead Move

I have a terrible habit of agreeing to do things I am not competent to do. This has manifested itself again, as I have agreed to do a series of podcasts about horror films, classic and not. This will give me a chance to fail in a new arena. More details as they emerge.

The Devil's Den

At first glance, The Devil’s Den would seem to be a ripoff of the last third of From Dusk To Dawn, with a strip club populated by vampire strippers. That couldn’t be more wrong. In this one, the strippers are ghouls. Which is completely different. The movie stars the ever-annoying Devon Sawa, the better-than-the-material Ken Foree, and the eye candy Kelly Hu and Karen Maxwell. The plot, such as it is, involves two morons who go to a strip joint. The strippers are vampires ghouls, they start to eat people, the queen ghoul must be killed, etc., etc. What can you say? It is billed as a horror-comedy, although there is precious little of either.

Sawa gets on your nerves, Hu and Maxwell are cute, and Foree, excellent and underrated, must have been wondering if he really needed the money.

The Damned Thing

I’ve been buying the Masters of Horror releases on DVD since they started putting them out, since I was gullible and believed them when they said there would be no season sets (Season 1 now available for peanuts). The series has been uneven in quality, but what isn’t? The latest release is The Damned Thing, based on a classic short story by Ambrose Bierce, adapted by Richard Christian Matheson, and directed by Tobe Hooper.

Before I get into it, I would like to raise one issue that bewilders me. The script of The Damned Thing bears almost no resemblance to the original story. There is a creature which sometimes appears to be invisible, but that’s it. So why not present it as a completely original work? I doubt very much if the name Ambrose Bierce is much of a draw (Richard Christian Matheson is probably almost as popular), and the story itself isn’t famous, at least not overly so. This happens a lot, where someone acquires the rights to a literary property, then discards everything except the name. If anyone can think of a reason for this, please let me know.

Anyway, the Matheson version of the story concerns a Sheriff in a small Texas town (Sean Patrick Flannery). As a boy, he watched his father go berserk, slaughter his mother, was chased and shot by his dad, then watched as his father was ripped to shreds by an invisible monster. Still bearing scars and a limp from the shotgun blast, he has grown up to be paranoid, although I would cut him some slack, considering. He is estranged from his wife and son as the result of this, and does a considerable amount of moping. He is bedeviled by the local newspaperman, who seems to devote himself to infuriating everyone in town. (As someone who grew up in a small town, I can tell you he wouldn’t last a month). The sheriff’s moping is disturbed when The Damned Thing returns. It drives everyone around into a homicidal frenzy. The funniest part was when all the sheriff’s neighbors show up heavily armed and angry. He locks them in the basement “for safety” with their weapons. Cue rattling gunfire, and a woman screaming “They’re all dead!” Hope you weren’t counting on their votes, sheriff.

It turns out The Damned Thing was freed from deep in the earth years ago by the sheriff’s father while drilling for oil. Instead of being grateful, TDT conducts a vendetta against the family of the man who freed it, showing up to kill them on their birthday (The Damned Thing has a well kept planner, no doubt). It is occasionally invisible as in the original story, but usually looks like a sentient oil slick. It is unclear as to whether it is supernatural in nature, or just an unknown phenomenon as in the original story.

I had high hopes for this. Almost anyone who reads horror has a lot of affection for Richard Christian Matheson, and Tobe Hooper has some impressive credits. But, to me, it was a mess. No explanation of The Damned Thing is ever given, nor are its actions explained. It had a couple of interesting moments, but that was it.

There were some bright spots. Ted Raimi is entertaining as always as the local priest, and if you are a gorehound, there are some pretty icky scenes. (Personally, I don’t have anything against gore, but want it to serve the story)

I would be remiss not to point out my Beautiful Wife enjoyed it. As she is a lot smarter than I, you might want to heed her opinion instead.

The Chop Shop Horror Show Debuts

Awhile back, I mentioned that a friend was preparing to launch an on-line magazine specializing in old-school horror. Well, the first installment of The Chop Shop Horror Show is now on-line, and it kicks ass! The first story is by rising star (soon to be a household name) Bryan Smith. It's called "Living Dead Bitch", and as usual, Smith delivers in spades. Get thee to the site and read it immediately. You'll be glad you did.

Mandibles

Enough with the whinin’, back to business:

A lot of people who realized there is a connection between humor and horror, but few have embraced the concept as effectively as Jeff Strand. In Mandibles, he takes a horror concept that is inherently ludicrous (giant bugs – in this case, ants) and milks it for all its worth. In a testament to how well he pulls it off, the book works as either a gonzo horror novel or a straight out comedy.

The book jumps straight into the action, as Tampa, Florida is overrun with overly large fire ants (Southerners know they are scary enough in their normal form). The book follows the actions of various people, including two psychotic criminals and a visiting ant expert as they try to escape the onslaught, and find a way to put an end to it. As the book progresses, the ants become larger and larger, until the finally approach the size of the ants who gave James Whitmore hell in the 1954 movie THEM!.

I don’t know what else needs to be said. It’s a humorous horror novel about giant ants, for Cthulhu’s sake. If that interests you, go read it.

P.S. I would point out that there can’t possibly be ants as large as in the novel, since this would be prohibited by the square-cubed law, but everyone thinks I’m a geek, and I’m trying to be just a regular guy. A regular guy who reads books about giant ants, that is.

The Nihilistic Impulse

Unlike a lot of people, I don't find the signal-to-noise ratio on the internet to be that bad. I've learned a lot roaming about on-line, and met people I've been happy to know. Sometimes, though, you get a little depressed because of the assholes and loons who make noise disproportionate to their number.

Lately, I've been toying more and more with chucking the whole virtual world. Dissolve the blogs, and erase my accounts with various message boards, and use the computer for the purpose for which it was intended: playing EA Sports NHL 08-09. Most of what I do is for my own amusement, and I don't think anyone depends on me, so it is very attractive to contemplate the murder of my alter ego.

It isn't one big thing that brings out these feelings, just an accumulation of tiny events. The most recent of these occurred today, on the message board. In the middle of an otherwise innocuous thread (about beverages, for Cthulhu's sake!) a douchebag laid in with a dig at Southerners, i.e. that we are stupid and lacking in taste. This sort of thing frosts me thoroughly.

Nobody is more aware of Southern flaws than a Southerner. We have our faults and shame, and we're aware of all of them. However, we are also the region which produced William Faulkner, Eudora Welty, Johnny Cash, Larry Brown, Hank Williams, Tennessee Williams and many other fine persons of letters. The asshole in question is from Wyoming, which has produced Dick Cheney.

I started to go off on his comment in a big way, but limited myself to one touchy, sans-namecalling post, and just added him to my list of People To Be Ignored. If I had responded as I wanted, I would have been banned, but that is not the reason I held back. The message board belongs to someone else, and I didn't want to stir up a mess at someone else's place. Even jerkish Southerners like myself strive to be polite.

Anyway, I'm still here for now, but if the end comes, I imagine it will come quickly. So, if you look for me on-line one day and I'm not to be found, you'll know what happened: I got fed up with dealing with the bastards and shot poor KentAllard through the head.