Inkubus (Robert Englund) spends the evening tormenting the unfortunate members of a police station skeleton crew and Diamante (William Forsythe), the detective who nearly put him away years ago. While it may seem like all fun and games for the crafty demon, he has two objectives: settle a score with Diamante and find a new host for rebirth so that he may live on for another century.
While the film boasts quite a few recognizable names and faces, the dialog is feeble, in stark contrast to the menacing tone and visuals. It’s not quite campy and has no flow. A lot of the banter between Inkubus and the officers are laundry lists of past victims dating back to the beginning of time. I get it, he’s killed a lot of people, I don’t need to hear every name and date. In fact, Inkubus talks more about murdering people than actually killing them.
Englund and Forsythe are always a treat to watch but, yeesh, the acting by the rest of the cast is shameful. It’s a baby step above porno-grade. (This coming from someone who watches a buttload of indie and low budget horror.) Speaking of pornos, there are two sex scenes, neither of which contains any nudity, despite the casting of rather well-endowed actresses.
The entire movie is one, long teaser of things to come and therein lies its colossal weakness. Scene after scene, I was itching for Inkubus to go postal on someone, anyone. Is that too much to ask from a beast that, in the beginning of the film, shows up with a decapitated head and a vehicle adorned with dismembered limbs and internal organs? I was both disappointed and relieved when the movie was done. Disappointed because the final showdown between Inkubus and his rival, Diamante, had ended so abruptly. Relieved because I was finally put out of my misery.
Skip this unless you’re like me and hellbent on watching every horror ever released.
Two urban couples head to the countryside for some downtime; however, they’re quickly introduced to the other side of ‘roughing it’ in the wilderness when the men’s ATV excursion makes a collision course straight for hell, where the locals aren’t keen to strangers. After a standoff with a couple of ill-tempered hillbillies, the residents of Resurrection County go from hostile to downright murderous, out to avenge the death of one of their own.
It’s your run-of-the-mill redneck torture flick – city folks wander off into no man’s land for some fresh air, only to end up being stalked (sometimes devoured, but not in this case) by a group of inbred loonies who possess the strength of Hercules and the Hulk combined. Lo and behold, the actors and actresses, a bunch of no-names, do a pretty damn decent job. The make-up department and special effects crew deserve a round of applause for creating very realistic blood and gore on a limited budget.
It falters midway through, courtesy of some slow-moving and unnecessary scenes that should have ended up on the cutting room floor, as well as succumbing to the stereo-typical errors that characters in horror movies make. There is a shotgun scene in the beginning that will satisfy sadists but, while gory throughout, there really isn’t much on-screen torture or anything that qualifies as extreme, not to veteran horror fans anyway.
Although predictable, it’s still intense with genuine performances, but lacks anything fresh or remarkable.
Let me begin by saying that I’m prepared for the heckling I’m going to receive for getting a kick out of this movie. After Dark Films doesn’t churn out the best horror material and most of it is downright embarrassing but, dang, I was on the edge of my seat with this thrill ride featuring a clan of acrobatic, swift-footed creatures of the dark, closely resembling the vampires in the indomitable 30 Days of Night. This is leagues above the low-budget, no-name horror flicks I’ve seen in ages, largely attributed to its lead actress and some successful creative devices.
Amber (Courtney Hope) is desperate to leave the small town of Famfield for The Windy City. An uninspired job, a miserable financial situation, no love life, and a barely coherent admission from her alcoholic mother that she was adopted pushes Amber to the edge. She convinces her friends to drive her but their vehicle breaks down en route to Chicago. Fortunately for them, a scruffy, kind-hearted trucker named Bernard (Bruce Payne) sympathizes with Amber and allows her and posse to hitch a ride in the back of his semi where they pass the time guzzling hard liquor, blazing it up, and playing strip Truth or Dare.
It isn’t long before they find themselves at an abandoned slaughterhouse. Only, it isn’t abandoned and the death count goes from nil to four in a matter of a few minutes, which leaves Amber and her best girl, Suzy (Ruta Gedmintas), struggling to evade the mysterious, blood-thirsty monsters. The hunters chasing their prey scenes are intense and, even when the action has died down and they’re huddled together in a hiding spot, the moment is taut with tension. It’s not really fear that I experienced but more of a nervous excitement, a kind of punishing fun that I wasn’t expecting, least of all from an After Dark production.
Do the characters do really dumb things? Yes, but that’s as assumed probability in most horror movies these days. Are their plot holes? Yes, but not gaping. Is the ending a disappointment? Yes and no. There is a twist at the end but the film ends abruptly without delving further into it, perhaps paving the way for a sequel. Whatever the case may be, it’s frustrating to come full circle only to have to take three steps backward. Still, I couldn’t help but like Prowl, nowhere near perfection but good enough for a late night viewing with the lights down low and a bucket of popcorn all to myself.
Inspired by true events (we all know that means, tsk tsk), this horror mockumentary combines lost video tape footage related to the 1989 slaying of three clergy members by Maria Rossi (Suzan Crowley) and current recorded sessions with her daughter, Isabella Rossi (Fernanda Andrade), who, two decades later, seeks out her mother in a mental institution in Italy. She enlists the help of a cameraman and two priests, Father Ben Rawlings and Father David Keane, who are in the business of performing unauthorized exorcisms, to assess Maria and determine whether or not she is, in fact, insane or possessed by a demon.
The film opens with a 911 call made by Maria followed by a walkthrough of the very bloody crime scene. What ensues is an hour of really frickin’ boring cinema. Had I not been at the theater with other people, I would have left after the first 15 minutes. I wanted to play Boggle on my phone to help pass the time but I was too busy giving the guy behind me dirty looks for kicking my seat every five minutes. So I toughed it out and, toward the end, I was rewarded with some high-tension, nail-biting moments that filled me with the sort of dread that most of the horror flicks these days fail to (or simply don’t know how to) deliver. It’s a shame that at the peak of The Devil Inside, it crashes and burns before you can say, “Connect the cuts.” Letdown is an understatement.
There are no real scares except for a barking dog that scared the living daylights out of 95% of the audience. Very effective but not exactly the scare I was hoping for. There is, however, a decent amount of disturbing content in the form of a possessed victim suffering through a grotesque contortionist act and Cowley’s powerhouse performance as Maria Rossi. Unfortunately, Andrade is stoic and lackluster and Quarterman as Father Ben takes his role a little too seriously.
I’m trying to be fair but I’m not a fan of horror mockumentaries (didn’t care for Cloverfield, Paranormal Activity, or The Blair Witch Project). Why the name Maria Rossi was used is a mystery to me. (Maria Rossi did commit a murder along with her friend, Christina Molloy, but it was an elderly woman, not three clergy.) Proceed to The Rossi Files website with caution, especially the visitor comments section.
A young Puss in Boots (Anotnio Banderas) is an orphaned kitten that makes his home at an orphanage in San Ricardo with his adoptive mother and best friend, Humpty Dumpty (Zach Galifianakis). Perpetual outcast and lofty dreamer, Humpty, and his made blood brother, Puss, have their fair share of run-ins with the Comandate (Guillermo del Toro!) and the law. One such incident tears the duo apart, forcing Puss to go on the run as a wanted feline.
It isn’t until years later that Puss is reunited with Humpty through a mysterious, masked caper who reveals herself as Kitty Softpaws (Selma Hayek). The three of them embark on an adventure to steal magic beans from a couple of brutish outlaws, Jack and Jill, to gain entrance to the castle in the sky for the giant’s riches. After successfully stealing the booty, all of their troubles begin.
I went into this expecting another ill-conceived, pointless spin-off but what I got was a silly, well-animated flick with plenty of humor and a genuinely emotional story to balance it out. I was literally laughing out loud. Maybe too loudly at the glaucoma/catnip reference that flew over the little ones’ heads and, to top it off, I was the only one… that was awkward. Needless to say, it felt good to connect with the kid inside of me and at the same time snicker at jokes clearly aimed at the adults in the audience. Good family fun for all ages!
I didn’t have the opportunity to watch this in 3D or IMAX. Such a shame because I’ve heard that it was a visual treat, even from the harshest critics of the exhausted gimmick. Having been a long time follower of the series, I was pumped to finally see what was supposed to be the franchise’s revival, with an ending that had Final Destination fans abuzz. Although the conclusion’s twist (if it can accurately be called that) wasn’t entirely clever or unpredictable, it did satifsy.
The fifth installment doesn’t disappoint in the inventive kills department and I was especially appreciative of the build up leading up to each death. It takes a certain skill to evoke a sense of dread, stomach full of butterflies, without any blood or gore. I wasn’t as responsive to the comedy attempts but, folks, this is a Final Destination flick, what matters is the exit, not the wit.
*May contain SPOILERS ahead!*
I’m usually respectful about not including spoilers in my reviews but…
What in the hell is up with the ‘new’ rules of cheating death when this is supposed to be a prequel? This was completely unnecessary, particularly when those rules don’t have anything to do with any of its successors and the number one rule, you can’t cheat death, no matter how hard you try (just ask Clear – oh, wait, you can’t… she’s dead!).
Some stories are so preposterous and delightfully astonishing that they have to be exposed to the masses. Such is the true tale of Joyce McKinney, the former beauty queen who hired a pilot to fly her and an accomplice, Keith May, to England to rescue her boyfriend, Kirk Anderson, from the clutches of the Mormon church. After bringing him to a rented cottage in Devon, where the refrigerator was stocked full of his favorite foods, she bound and seduced him. What ensued was three days of sex, food, and fun, to be forever known as “The Case of the Manacled Mormon”.
It sounds like every man’s fantasy – a beautiful pageant princess waiting on you hand and foot, satisfying your every whim and fancy. However, Kirk, after reading about his own abduction in the newspaper, fled from his captors and alleged to the police a much different account of what happened. The all-American, charismatic blonde was arrested for kidnapping and raping the Mormon missionary and thrown in the slammer to await trial. The British tabloids had a field day with the bizarre incident.
The Daily Express printed Joyce’s side of the story while their rival, The Daily Mirror, delved deep into Joyce’s past and uncovered lurid details of her moonlighting as an S&M model and dominatrix for hire, painting her as a manipulative Jezebel that cast a spell over all of the men she met. The accusation did ring true. She often referred to Keith May as her slave and she had another admirer willing to do anything she asked. Even Peter Tory, a reporter for The Daily Express, seems to have fallen for Joyce’s delusion that she was simply a girl so profoundly in love with her boyfriend, she risked life and limb in order to save and deprogram him from a cult of polygamists.
Unfortunately, Kirk Anderson declined to participate in Morris’s documentary and Keith May passed away in 2004, but there is enough material to fill his absence, like Joyce’s decision to travel to Seoul, South Korea to have her beloved rescue pitbull, Booger, cloned.
The interviews with Joyce, Jackson Shaw (the pilot), Troy Williams (a former Mormon missionary), Peter Tory, Kent Gavin (photographer for The Daily Mirror), and Dr. Hong flow smoothly, with barely any interruption by Mr. Morris. The montage of animated newspaper clippings was a visual treat and the background music fit brilliantly, which normally goes unnoticed in a documentary. The star of the show is Joyce with her animated voice and emphasized gestures. She’s a breed of crazy that is sometimes unsettling, sometimes funny, and always entertaining.
A group of college students (hot, young babes with tightly fitting sweaters and studly men with Justin Bieber hairstyles) go for a snowmobile joyride but they end up making a ‘wrong turn’. Freezing and unable to survive the elements for much longer, they’re forced to seek shelter in an abandoned sanatorium, of all places, to wait out the blizzard. Oddly, no one seems to be all that creeped out about their surroundings; they’re too busy boozing, smoking pot, and fondling each other. Their bliss doesn’t last long though and, come morning, the group of pretties are stalked, tortured, and in the worst case scenario, eaten alive.
Did we really need a prequel for this franchise? Was it not plainly obvious about the origins of Saw Tooth, Three Finger, and One Eye? They’re seriously deformed, inbred hillbillies who delight in maiming, murdering, and munching on people. What difference does it make that they were locked up in an institution except to play on an overused horror flick location?
Sadly, the one guy who could act was unceremoniously fed to the wolves. (The cannibal fondue was a bit much.) I’ve heard more voice inflection and genuine emotion from someone reading the ingredients off a cereal box. When you’re getting paid to see just how many buckets of fake blood a person can handle getting dumped on him/her, I guess nothing else matters. Everything in Wrong Turn 4 went overboard and not in the exploitation-done-right way. Hopefully, this misrepresented prequel is the final insult in a series of increasingly hacked-up sequels.
Four young, well-endowed hotties rent a cabin in Hicksville, USA where they’ve been followed by a group of morons consisting of an ultra-feminine art student, a mentally challenged (?) pervert, a geriatric war veteran in a wheelchair, and their sadistic ringleader. Also hot on the girls’ tails are a couple of greasy, dirty, toothless country bumpkins whose most impassioned lines are, “God damned city bitches!” Let me not forget to mention two detectives who are pursuing the damsels in distress. Only they’re not damsels in distress. At the stroke of midnight, they transform into bloodthirsty demons – bloodthirsty lesbian demons.
This is… one of the worst I have ever seen and I have watched some major stinkers. Unfortunately, not even all of the T&A could save Wicked Lake. The tone of the film is constantly changing and confusing for the viewer. Am I supposed to laugh? Is this character to be taken seriously? Much of the movie looks like it was shot with a camcorder, the dialog made my ears numb, and the acting is deplorable. I live for B-movie horror and low-budget amateur efforts so I’ve made it a habit to overlook sub-par acting but, in this case, it’s so bad that it’s unforgivable. Even worse, when they’re not ‘acting’, they’re zoning off, unresponsive to anything that’s happening with the rest of the characters. It’s a complete mess.
I’m irritated that I wasted 95 minutes of my life on this cinematic piece of excrement.
Beth Emhoff (Gwyneth Paltrow) returns home to the midwest after a business trip to Hong Kong, only to die soon after from unknown causes. Immediately following her death, her young son dies. Several more people who had contact with Beth meet their untimely demise and thus spurs an investigation by the CDC. We peer into the lives of her husband, Mitch, who turns out to be immune, Leonora (Marion Cotillard) of the World Health Organization, Erin Mears (Kate Winslet), an EIS operative sent out into the field, and Dr. Ellis Cheever (Laurence Fishburne) of the CDC, among others.
The film moves fluidly, with brief shots of objects we touch every day to remind us how susceptible we are – a door handle, an elevator button, a pen at the office, a bowl of peanuts at the airport. While it’s captivating throughout, I couldn’t help but feel like I was stuck in biology class now and then, particularly scenes that delved extensively into the genetic analysis of the virus. But I am content to have learned a few things about r nought (the reproduction number of a virus/infection), fomites, and how crap-my-pants scary Gwyneth Paltrow’s hospital scene really is on a gigantic cinema screen.
This isn’t much of a thriller. It’s more of a slick, stylized, fictionalized docu-drama that is very bleak and pensive with a CSI element to it. It’s a sobering look into what could realistically happen during and after a pandemic outbreak. It’s pro-science/pro-medicine. Unlike many movies of today, the heroes don’t have bulging muscles, superpowers, or cool gadgets. In Contagion, the saviors wear lab coats and their weapon is a vaccine.