Eat Your Neighbors

’Ol Eddy Gein – simple Plainfield, Wisconsin farm boy, eater of pork ’n beans, collector of women’s naughty parts – was the Norman Bates of his day. And like Norm, Ed was ruled by the oppressive memory of his dead, Revelations-spouting mommy, which caused him to go out and cleanse the world of harlots, hookers, and assorted skanks.

Ed Gein (2000) is based on the true adventures of Ed and his grave-robbing/serial killing spree of the ’50s, and gave Leatherface a bankable career. That said, this lurid and grim flick sticks to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. Or dead skin covered in peanut butter.

When he’s not killing and dissecting women to make his own skin suit (which he dances around in during full moons), he seems likable enough, baby-sitting neighborhood kids, hanging out at the corner bar, buying anti-freeze and rat poison at the town’s hardware store. But let mamma get in his brain, and schiz hits the fan.

Not particularly gory (although there are icky body parts and human faces made into masks), the true eeriness is actual 1950s newsreel footage of the real Ed Gein’s arrest on his farm after the killings. Steve Railsback plays the title character just a little too good; just don’t go over to his farm to congratulate him.

P.S. Try your very bestest not to confuse this Ed Gein with Ed Gein: The Butcher of Plainfield, released in 2007. It’d be easy to, though, given that it’s the exact same movie and titled so close as to be a sequel.

A Killer Yuppie

In the slaughter-riffic American Psycho (2000), a high-powered corporate shirt-tucker plays material oneupmanship with his snobby peers and it becomes a game of “look at what I have.”

Soon, this vapid lifestyle begins to warp this poor excuse for a human and he erupts in mindless yet ferociously angry violence to help him make sense of his senseless world. (Can’t tell you how many times I’ve done that myself.)

He analyzes music from Huey Lewis & The News, Phil Collins and Whitney Houston while chopping up his buddy with an ax who has better business cards than him. He hires hookers to have cash-only sex, then chases them down the hall with a state-of-the-art chainsaw. Black comedy at its finest, this is one funny movie and a crushing commentary on male vanity. (Is there really such a thing?)

Copious drug use, unsafe intercourse, rented limos, reserved tables at trendy dinner establishments, nail guns. You never get to see the actual dissections. (Then again, you didn’t see any in The Texas Chain Saw Massacre/1974, either.) But Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman is the best non-mask wearing serial-killing psycho to wield cutlery since Norman Bates.

Same Old Saw And Dance

Apparently seven Texas Chain Saw Massacre movies simply aren’t enough, so they’re making YET ANOTHER one. Titled Leatherface and slated for a 2016 release, this one is described as a prequel and seeks to explain the formative years of the skin-wearing, power tool endorsing horror icon.

In a “gimme a freakin’ break” maneuver, Leatherface’s real name is Jackson Sawyer and they “cleverly” got the word “saw” in his name. (Good thing he tormented people with a chain saw instead of a garden hose.)

After you’re done yawning, here’s the plot: “The story chronicles the events in Jackson’s teen years, revealing how he became the infamous Leatherface. Violent teenager Jackson escapes from a mental hospital with fellow inmates Bud, Ike and Clarice. The group kidnaps nurse Lizzy in their escape. As the group flees with their captive, they are pursued by Hal Hartman, a vengeful and determined Texas Ranger.”

As this is a prequel, we already know the Texas Ranger, however vengeful and determined he is, was/is unable to get the job done. If he did, we wouldn’t have had to endure all the pointless Texas Chain Saw cash-ins.

This same prequel premise has been done with Freddy Krueger, Micheal Myers, and Norman Bates, et al, so it was only a matter of time before they did it to Leatherface. Which means you’ve already seen this movie and it hasn’t even come out yet.

Feel free to yawn some more.

Serial Killing Spuds

How the times haves changed. Just a few decades ago Jason from Friday the 13th (1980) and Freddy from A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) were graphically hacking up kids with razor sharp machetes and razor-fingered gloves. Now, thank to selective pop culture standards, both Jason and Freddy are soon available a Mr. Potato Head toys. Made for kids.

Poptaters™ has announced that they will be releasing both in October 2015 and are priced at $17.99 each via Entertainment Earth.

The reason I say selective is there have been hundreds of slasher after Jason and Freddy, and none are being made into Potato Heads. This is because the Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th franchises made a LOT of money over the years. Nobody cares about the Driller Killer (1979), who only did about $14 at the box office. Man, that guy was cool – but there was nothing besides his power drill that that screamed, “I, too, could be a potato!”

All of which begs the question – if we’re gonna turn pop culture serial killer psychopaths into toys, why isn’t here a Norman Bates potato head? Or a Michael Myers, Leatherface or a Hannibal Lecter potato head? I think they novelty market is really missing out by not making a comprehensive line of serial killing potato toys. And hey, you can finally hack them up for a change.

Corpse Condo

A teen girl who does not take her top off visits her grandmother’s bed & breakfast/funeral home. People keep disappearing, much like her grandfather did once he found a hot chick that would put out for him. There are muffled voices coming from that secret room in the basement where they keep all the old caskets.

Thinking he’ll get to feel her up, the granddaughter’s boyfriend talks her into going into the basement for, you know, relaxation purposes. If you’ve seen Psycho (1960), the ending is a spot on rip, complete with swinging light casting eerie shadows over the corpse of you already know.

Norman Bates, uh, I mean grandma, swings a good axe, but can’t seem to connect with the human target, breaking all those jars of goopy preserves on the shelves instead. Makes sense she would be good at making jams and jellies given that she’s also an embalmer or sorts. Just ask the corpse of you already know who.

That said, Funeral Home (1980) is a bloodless, gore-less, plodding butt-putting-a’sleeper.