Supermodels vs. The Yeti

In Abominable (2006), a man crippled in a climbing incident on Suicide Mountain (how did he not see that coming?) has to go back to the very cabin he shared with his mountain wife before she was killed in half by a 1,000 foot freestyle dive into some pointy rocks. Something about grief therapy. Sucks to be him.

Then five supermodels show up and move into a neighboring cabin. One door closes and one door opens for the crippled man.

Later, crippled man witnesses an attack on one of the girls. The supermodels argue about what to do, and one of ’em gets a drink thrown in her face. You know what that means – a hot soapy shower.

Through binoculars the crippled man watches her slowly scrub all that sticky vodka off her bountiful geography, and sees a hairy arm bash through the bathroom window and pull the screaming-yet-sparkling clean woman through it, which snaps her in half.

The hairy armed creature then busts into the house and in one knee-splappingly funny scene, punches his way through the ceiling, grabs the girl on the second floor, then bites her neck as though it were a chocolate-covered raccoon.

From this point on it’s a game of hide and shriek, with the monster redefining the term “fast food.” And the creature? Bigfoot has a cousin. From that snow-covered place. You know who/what it is. Don’t make me assign homework.

That ’70s UFO

The UFO Incident (1975) TV movie is based on a TRUE story about the world’s first reported UFO abduction.

On September 19, 1961, while driving through the New Hampshire White Mountains – without abduction-proof seat belts on – Barney and Betty Hill witness a glowing light in the sky. (In modern times, we call it “the moon.”) But this “moon” follows and forces them to pull over. Next thing you know B&B are back on the road, heading home – and it’s hours later. WTF?

As days go by both are plagued by anxiety, enough to go to a hypno-therapist who puts them under and records their incredible tale of being taken aboard a spacecraft, stripped, lubed, tubed and finger-examined by small alien “gynecologists.”

This story made headlines all over the world when it happened, and the movie does a darng cool job of re-enacting it.

I find it ironic that James Earl Jones, who played Barney Hill, was the voice of Star Wars’ (1977) Darth Vader. A guy from outer space getting probed by aliens. That’s rich.

There’s a ton of books about this TRUE incident. But since I can’t read, I just watched the moving picture show. I believe, man.

P.S. Don’t do drugs.

The Jersey Devil: One Horn-y Dude

Taking liberal liberties with the TRUE story of the Jersey Devil, a series of vicious murders (i.e., bodily dismemberments, decapitations, torn shirts) plague the spooky Pine Barrens in New Jersey. (There’s a new Jersey?). A special investigator from the city is sent to check out that action and discovers the Jersey Devil is an actuality, versus someone going around acting like the Jersey Devil.

Cliff Robertson (Spider-Man’s uncle, sportin’ some terrifying hair plugs) playing the creepy Mr. Shroud, is a “naturalist” who lives in the middle of the Pine Barrens and studies all of nature’s gangstas – and he’ll protect them “at all costs.” His words, not mine.

The Jersey Devil (named Bruno – I am so not making that up) is reputed to be the 13th child of a Shaman, who clearly used Viagra™ instead of magic or cold booze to get baker’s dozen busy. Having an Indian “witch doctor” for a dad may account for Bruno’s supernatural aspects: glowing eyes (no big – mine glow after three PBR™ tallboys), mega bull horns like that Darkness dude in Legend (1985), and the ability to fly. (Jersey doesn’t get any air time this time, though.)

Here’s where mythos goes off the track. The REAL Jersey Devil was the 13th child of a freakishly fertile white chick in 1735. Upon finding out she was knocked up with no. 12, she said she’d rather have the Devil’s child than another squalling brat. Ask and ye shall receive.

This Jersey Devil is a 200 year-old hybrid of spiders, bats, snakes, goats, bears and the Alien (that’s what it looked like to me, anyway). Uncomfortably unnecessary segments include two teens trying to accomplish naked what clothes have been preventing them from doing, and Robert Guillaume (TV’s Benson) as an inmate at the New Jersey Mental Health Institution (there’s an oxymoron), who knows Jersey’s secret and somehow transports out of his confines to show up at the last minute to “save the girl,” the aforementioned special agent.

Endless plodding and plot-stalling are but one of 13 reasons 13th Child: Legend of the Jersey Devil (2002) needs to go back to the Pine Barrens and try to be more like the REAL Jersey Devil. I’d list the other 12 reasons, but my glowing eyes are bothering me right now.

A Perfect Storm…of EVIL

On the Atlantic coastal community of Little Tall, the island residents are in for a blow job. No, porn star Jenna Jameson isn’t coming to town to do charitable work, but rather an apocalyptic weather front that’s forecasted to bury the hapless hicks redneck-deep in snow, surf-able waves, and…evil.

An eerie strange stranger metaphorically shows up the same time the monster storm begins its urban renewal. He kills an old lady by ripping her face off, allows himself to be incarcerated, then proceeds to reveal all the filthy secrets of the town’s inhabitants. (Whew – good thing I don’t live there.)

The stranger systematically offs people one by one, insisting over and over, “Give me what I want and I’ll go away.” We find out this isn’t beer, but something almost as valuable.

Even though this TV mini-series is a surprisingly bloody flick and is over four hours long, the story eventually sucks you in and gets decently intense during the final scene. (You WILL pucker down “there.”)

Stephen King’s Storm of the Century (1999) resembles King’s own Needful Things (1993) almost to the point of self-plagiarism. But hey, if you’re gonna rip off anything, it may as well be yourself.

Treehouse of Horror

Here’s one of those “ethical” questions: If you were out walking in the woods and saw a bear crapping in said woods, would you report said bear to the authorities? Yep – me, too. You can’t let stuff like this go unreported.

Here’s another one: If you were out walking in the woods and saw dead bodies hanging from the trees, would you also keep a sharp eye out so that you didn’t step in any bear crap? I see we’re on the same page here.

The hanging bodies are courtesy of the upcoming Treehouse, a self described dark, coming-of-age thriller set in the heartland of rural America. The impending horror flick concerns the journeys of two teenagers, whose lives intersect one cold night in an old treehouse deep in the forest. I bet that forest is loaded with bears recycling berries and raccoon sausage.

Here’s more of the intriguing Treehouse’s plot:

“After the sudden disappearance of a local brother and sister, the town of Westlake is put under a curfew by local law enforcement. The annual fair is canceled, much to the annoyance of two brothers attending Bayscout High. They decide to sneak into the woods that night to meet some local girls and shoot off some fireworks.”

“What follows is a nightmare journey into Hell as the “things” within the woods lay siege to the treehouse. It is only a matter of time before the treehouse – their sanctuary – eventually becomes their tomb.”

Hmm, no mention of bears. I’m thinking they somehow factor in, though. I bet the bears eat said fireworks, and in an explosive bowel horizon event splatter the local flora and fauna with…

Geez, I really need to lay off the berry-flavored cough syrup.

Wash Your Hellmouth Out With Soap

Hellmouth – great name for a horror movie. Or a Swedish death metal band. Or a brand of language that can only be rendered civil by bar soap.

But before you go off to join a Swedish death metal band or use words that would invoke your mom’s primary objective, Hellmouth is a horror movie that will hopefully be brought to you by the production team behind Monster Brawl/2011 (pro wrestling monsters – freaking brilliant) and Exit Humanity (2011), a superior/tasty Civil War-era zombie movie that has all of the fun and none of the calories. I don’t know what that means.

The reason I say hopefully is because Hellmouth needs you to put your money where YOUR hell mouth is. Yep, they need funding via Indigogo.com, with pledge levels starting at $5 (Facebook shout out) all the way up to $10,000 (Executive Producer credit and a pile of other cool stuff that may or may not include bar soap).

Before you go back to surfing Farthammer.com (not for kiddies, kids), here’s what the hell Hellmouth is all about…

“Hellmouth is a harrowing story of one man’s torturous battle with the world’s most horrific ghouls and ghosts in a graveyard that turns reality into outer world fiction.”

I’m sold – can someone loan me $10,000? Once I get the money in hand, I’ll click on over to their Indiegogo page (RIGHT HERE) and help them get this masterpiece made. Because hey, horrific ghouls and ghosts. They’re HORRIFIC, people.

Pocket-Sized Soul

Four teens with nary a driving skill between them crash their car. See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya.

They were all supposed to die, but didn’t. Even though the comatose bodies were taken to the hospital, their souls, which look a heckuva lot like their bodies, run around while the Soultaker hunts them down to make them 100% deceased instead of only 98.3% dead.

The taker of souls doesn’t look too imposing: long black leather coat, motorcycle boots, nice hair that could use some Just For Men™ to take out the grey around the temples, a collection of harvested souls in his pocket.

To complicate this matter, one of the hot chicks he’s chasing was his boinking mate in his previous life. But there are rules about not taking souls, as the Angel of Death himself arrives on the scene to lay a little corporate down-sizing on the procedure-ignoring Taker.

The race is on for the screamy teens to get to their bodies in the hospital before A of D, with his weird, big-jowled face, sucks their chi into his pocket.

While you and I are e-chatting, when a soul gets appropriated, it glows and poof, it’s gone. No sparks, colored smoke or other nicely-packaged illegal fireworks to commemorate your last moment on Earth. The movie’s best line: “Led Zeppelin was wrong, man – there is no Stairway to Heaven.” I KNEW it.

Soultaker (1990) had a lot of potential, but it chose to go the standard “chase teens and kill them” route. If the Soultaker comes for me, I’ll kick him.

’80s “Slash Her”

A cute blonde rocker girl in an all-cute girl rock band is relentlessly pursued by a pre-mayonaisse weight gain Andrew Dice Clay look-alike who plays a guitar resembling a Swiss™ army knife. He wants to give her lessons…in dying. (Wonder what key that’s in?)

The girls head out for a relaxing weekend at a rented condo to play their instruments and their boyfriends’ instruments. But Courtney (the aforementioned blonde rocker) is having nightmares about her sister in that mental institution who keeps warning her about having unsafe sex. It doesn’t take long for the nightmares to become real.

But you gotta like her enthusiasm for the band. Says her, “Someday we’re gonna be in movies and rock videos and everything, because my song is gonna be a hit just as soon as I finish writing it. And I’m gonna finish it this weekend, for sure!”

Slumber Party Massacre II (1987) is crap slasher horror crap with economically-clad women who couldn’t tell the difference between a G-string and a g-string. Best scene: The pillow fight. There’s ALWAYS an exception to the rule.

Japanese Porn Horror

Carved: The Slit-Mouthed Woman (2007) is a sorta porno lite movie dressed up as a Japanese horror flick. I see nothing in my liberal upbringing that has an issue with that.

The slit-mouthed woman is one of those Ringu (1998) type ghosts with long stringy black hair, bulging eyeballs and, in this case, a mouth that opens wider than usual. SMW is the daughter of a politician, and who gets involved with a married man, rebuffed, then distraughtly rams her car into a steel pole pointing towards her face.

Taken to a cosmetic surgery hospital, the doctors can fix everything except her cracked coconut. Still stinging from being dumped (and those painful face Band-Aids™), she commits suicide – and the hospital room where she freshness-expired is sealed. After doctors and nurses later turn up missing there’s no one left to run the joint, so they shut the damned place down.

This leaves the abandoned hospital open to horny couples wanting a few minutes of uninterrupted romantic power mattressing in a sterile setting. Anyone making the sign of the humpback whale causes Slitty to walk out from a dark corner and scare the pants back on you.

Ghost gal doesn’t really do anything else except look frightful. The thing that’ll goon you out more than the slit-mouthed woman herself is watching horny people kiss. Their tongues look like two slugs fighting over whatever slugs eat. So revolting, it’ll actually make you lose your taste for slimy bananas. Don’t let it – bananas are good for you.

Shark Weak

You don’t have to read the credits of the embarrassingly stupid Shark Week (2012) to know it was produced by The Asylum (aka, The Global Asylum), a “film” studio whose endlessly plagiaristic product is globally recognized as being embarrassingly stupid.

Besides wreaking of Syfy Channel™, the stupidity starts with a variety of sharks – from two weeks old to not-so-Great White – rounded up and chowing down on eight humans targeted for revenge by a millionaire whose son, Millionaire, Jr., died because of all of them.

The “sharks” are poorly rendered digital debacles. They roar and growl. Underwater. Whenever I try to do that, I need CPR. The little sharks, still sporting baby teeth, manage to swarm and shred body parts in attack sequences that are so ineptly choreographed, you’d swear the “film” editor needs CPR.

So this millionaire has these five guys and three gals kidnapped and brought to his island getaway, 100 miles south of Florida. Chained and ready for swimming lessons, the rules are simple – find a way through the sharks in water-filled underground passageways and caves to the other side of the island, and you get to live. And if the sharks don’t digitally get you, the digital beach land mines will.

Of the 87 scenes that make you wish you were watching paint dry, it’s the one where one of the survivors (for now) has a thrashing shark lifted out of the water on the end of a harpoon, while another guy punches it over and over. And over.

Speaking of over, how did Shark Week end? Not pleasantly for you OR me.