When Holidays Collide

"I'm not one of your faaaa-aaaa-aaans!!!"

I hope everyone had a delicious and filling meal with people you love.

More, anon.
Prospero

Turkey Month Turkey of the Month

1970's Trog

By this time, the majority of my U.S. readers have either slipped into food comas from their Thanksgiving meals, or they're camping out in front of Best Buy waiting for Black Friday bargains at 5:00 AM. And here I sit, writing about a very bad movie.

At some point, I suppose one has to start feeling badly for Joan Crawford. I mean, here was a woman who, in the 30's, 40's and 50's was about as A-List as they came. By the late 60's, she was an alcoholic has-been, taking whatever work she could find. Her last film, the 1970 British Science Fiction stinker Trog, is a prime example of how low the mighty can fall. Crawford plays Dr. Brockton, an anthropologist with no first name. When an associate returns from a cave exploration with a tale of terror, Joanie puts on her gear and goes spelunking. She discovers a still-living troglodyte (which she imaginatively names "Trog") and brings him home in attempt to study and  domesticate the beast, though local businessman Micheal Gough (best known to US audiences as Alfred in Tim Burton's Batman films) objects when she plans to breed Trog. Wearing makeup rejected by The Planet of the Apes team, Trog is set free by Gough (who I suppose wants to prove a point, though what point that might be is never made clear) and the "half-man/half-ape" goes on a murderous rampage. Truly atrocious special effects, a dull and exceptionally stupid plot and some of the worst acting anyone has ever seen all help make Trog a true turkey. Critic Ned Daigle said: "Trog is truly ungodly. The performances are rotten, the Trog makeup is so bad it looks, at times, like it will slide right off the actor's face, and everything proceeds at a snail's pace to idiotic situations. It's really sad to see such a huge star be consigned to the Z-grade abyss of films like this. But, hey, a girl's gotta eat." He wasn't very far off the mark.

I suspect that if "Mystery Science Theatre 3000" had gone on to an 8th season, they might have gotten to Trog. The closest they got was 1962's equally stupidly titled Eegah which starred Richard Kiel in the title role of a caveman who goes on a rampage in Palm Springs.

Oh, how I miss that show!

I hope all my U.S. readers and friends had a wonderful Thanksgiving.

More, anon.
Prospero

Holiday Ennui

Thanksgiving at the Romneys'

I'm not sure what's going on this year, but with Thanksgiving just a few days away, I'm just not feeling it. I don't know if it was Sandy or my recent trip to L.A. or the fact that I'm getting older, but I have absolutely no Holiday Spirit whatsoever. Maybe it's because there is no one particular someone in my life. Maybe because I haven't done any theatre for nearly five months. Maybe it's a combination of things. 

I have all the stuff. I bought the turkey (breast) and the cranberry sauce; the stuffing ingredients and the side dishes; the wine and everything else that goes into the caloric overload. The dishwasher is practically empty and the linens are all cleaned and ready to go.

Still, I seem to have absolutely no desire to celebrate. Ad yes, I am thankful for many things. Mom is still with us. I have an amazing sister and brother-in-law. My favorite aunt is cranky, but relatively well. I have a well-paying job with an outstanding company. I have several very dear friends without whom I couldn't imagine my life. I get to travel often and just saw an exceptionally awesome production from a company I absolutely adore. I have an audition coming up for a show I really want to be part of and I have a long weekend ahead of me. So what's the problem? I wish I knew.

Sorry to be such a downer, tonight. This week is the start of the End of Year Holidays. I'm looking forward to seeing lots of movies and spending time with people I love. Still... something is... not quite right.

It must be my Seasonal Affective Disorder kicking in, despite the extra Vitamin D I've been taking. Ignore this post. We'll talk again in March.

Ugh! Such a downer. I'm sorry. Maybe I'll feel better after the weekend.

More, anon.
Prospero

Yum!

That sound you hear is Norman Rockwell, spinning in his grave... (But seriously, what is that? Goliath's brain?)

It is Thanksgiving Eve here in the States. Since I added the globe tracker thingy to the blog, I have noticed I have readers in some very surprising places, all over the world: Australia; Russian Georgia; Austria; Poland; Romania; the Middle East; South America; Africa and even China. I don't know if  I'm getting these hits because those folks are doing specific Google searches, or because they are genuinely interested in what I have to say (though why they would be, is beyond me, frankly). It's rather awesome, though.

Thanksgiving is celebrated in Canada in October, though I don't think it has the same feeling as it does here in the U.S. Based on a myth about the settlers at Plymouth Rock in 16-something-or-other, Thanksgiving in the U.S. is all about being grateful for everything good in our lives. 

And Uncle P has plenty for which to be grateful (my English teachers would be so proud of that sentence). I have a decent job with an exceptionally generous NPO; I have a roof over my head with cable TV and high-speed Internet access; I have reliable transportation; I have traveled extensively; I get to indulge my passion for theatre on a fairly regular basis; I live in the greatest country on Earth (despite all its many faults) and I get to ramble on and on about anything I feel like, to a group of mostly strangers who come back day after day to read what I have to say.

But mostly, I am thankful for my small, but loving family and a group of amazing friends who simultaneously build me up and keep me grounded at the same time. Q; Dale; K; D; Tracy and about a dozen or so other folks, are constant reminders of how important it is to be yourself, share your love and talents and just be a good person.

So, while enjoying your turkey dinner with all the trimmings tomorrow, take a moment and really think about the things for which you are grateful. I can pretty much guarantee the people in your life about whom you care the most, will top that list. Of course, if you're as twisted as Uncle P, you can also be grateful for Eli Roth (NSFW):

More, anon.
Prospero

Black Friday Bloat (or: Adventures in Holiday Shopping)

So yesterday, Uncle P cooked the entire Thanksgiving meal. It wasn't nearly as large a meal as in some households. It was just me and my mother for dinner. But it was certainly more food than I usually prepare for a single meal. I roasted a small turkey breast, made two kinds of dressing (my grandmother's Hungarian-style liver stuffing for me and more traditional stuffing for Mom); mashed potatoes; mashed turnips and carrots; candied sweet potatoes (which I actually tried and liked for the first time in my life); gravy and crescent rolls. Yes, there was canned cranberry sauce (my kitchen is small and I didn't have the time for anything fancier). For dessert, we had carrot cake (purchased from a day-job friend as part of a fund-raiser for her son's school) instead of the traditional pumpkin pie. Carrot cake is my personal favorite cake and this one, while a bit expensive, was exceptional. Everything turned out wonderfully, despite painfully bending back my thumbnail while attempting to open the tube of crescent rolls (which resulted in blood spoiling about half of them, but then there were only two of us, anyway). I worked off most of the calories in the clean-up, though I still have plenty of left-overs.

Of course, today was Black Friday. Unlike my sister, who left her house at 4AM in an attempt to catch some bargains, I slept in and didn't go out shopping until noon. No camping out, no stampedes, no lunatics. Well, some lunatics, but not many. My first stop was actually the grocery store to take advantage of a two-day sale on paper towels and toilet paper - practical, if nothing else. I then made stops at three other stores in search of specific items, most of which I found at reasonable prices. I came home, had a meal of reheated leftovers (which barely made a dent) and caught up on this week's DVR'd programs. Of course, most of the rest of this weekend will be spent working out the final details of my upcoming show, though I do have a lunch scheduled with some very dear friends on Sunday.

My holiday shopping is about 50% done, which is late for me. Back in the day, when I worked in retail and went to Florida every October, I was 90% finished by this time of year. And while I buy gifts for less people now than I used to, it seems to be getting harder and harder to find the "perfect" gift for some folks, especially those I've known the longest.  Oh well. I still have 27 days to finish and plenty of stores and websites left to visit. 

I hope all my American friends and readers had a wonderful Thanksgiving and I want to wish everyone a fabulous Holiday season, no matter what holiday it is you may be celebrating in the upcoming month or so. This time of year always seems to turn Uncle P into more of a sentimental old fool than he usually is. Maybe a trip to a spa is order. At least I wasn't part of something like this (via):

More, anon.

Prospero

The Thanksgiving Big Bad-Movie Extravaganza

Ah, there's nothing like a Thanksgiving Feast! Delicious appetizers, yummy turkey with gravy and potatoes; green bean casserole; a girl's arm; cranberry sauce; pumpk... wait. What?

Yes, it's here. Caliban's Revenge presents the First Annual Big, Bad Movie Extravaganza. As promised, it's a salute to one of the worst filmmakers (with the oddest career) in the history of cinema, Herschell Gordon Lewis.

H.G. Lewis is currently in post production on his 37th film, The Uh-oh Show, and if that sounds kind of porny, it's because Lewis started his career in the early 60's, making soft-core skin flicks with titles such as The Adventures of Lucky Pierre; Nature's Playmates and (I swear to God) Boin-n-g.

In 1963, Lewis moved from the porn-houses to the Southern Drive-In circuit with his first horror movie, Blood Feast, the movie that made Lewis "The Godfather of Splatter."

Set in Miami, Blood Feast is the story of an Egyptian caterer who offers to make a feast that hasn't been prepared for 5000 years for an engagement party. Meanwhile, the bodies of young women -- sans various body parts -- start popping up all over town, leaving the inept Miami Dade PD both literally and figuratively clueless (of course, David Caruso and his team of hot, sexy scientist cops would have kicked their asses). Of course, it turns out that the feast is part of a resurrection ceremony and the daughter is the final sacrifice to bring an ancient goddess to life in a body stitched together from the various missing parts. Bad writing, acting and directing combined with the worst special effects anyone has ever seen (Lewis uses mannequin limbs; butcher's castoffs and lurid red paint with laughable results), help make Blood Feast so wonderfully awful:

Nothin' hotter than Big Girl panties, eh boys? Lewis immediately went back to nudies, making Goldilocks and the Three Bares, and you'll see why I mention it soon. H.G.'s next horror movie was a charming little tale of hillbilly revenge called Two Thousand Maniacs! Six Northerners are lured into a small town and told they are the guests of honor at their Centennial Celebration. Of course, it turns out that they're celebrating the 100th anniversary of their annihilation by a squad of sadistic Union soldiers and "Guest of Honor" really means "Substitute Revenge Victim." The kills are more inventive (crushed by a falling boulder; sealed in a barrel of nails and rolled downhill; draw and quartering. There's even cannibalism. Lewis' standards of quality remain delightfully non-existent:

Okay, so maybe she was crushed by a giant baked potato... Yeeeeee-Haw! indeed. Rounding out what many refer to as Lewis' "Blood Trilogy" is 1965's Color Me Blood Red, about a bad artist who accidentally discovers that painting with blood finally brings him the critical acclaim he seeks, and so begins a killing spree in his quest for "paint:"

It may be macarb, but it is not for the eyes or ears of anyone under 16. And it always leaves me aghast. In '67 (despite what the clip below says - it's wrong, not me) Lewis made a delightful little movie about a madwoman and her mentally challenged son who murder and scalp young women to supply the old lady's wig shop. I've never actually seen The Gruesome Twosome, but I imagine it's every bit as good as any of Lewis' endeavors.

Gruesome was quickly followed by Something Weird, Lewis' relatively bloodless tale of ESP and supernatural powers. He makes two more jiggle and bouncers and then, possibly in the single most bizarre career swerve ever, and makes a children's movie! Of course, The Magic Land of Mother Goose is probably the only scary movie Lewis ever made, as evidenced by the terrifying trailer below (and I apologize in advance for what's inside the giant book around 0:47). This is the second of three Fairy Tale-themed films Lewis would make:

I love that the company is "Something Weird Video." But honestly, would you subject a child to that? It's British Pantomime on LSD with a morphine chaser! Yikes! I've watched it three times now, and it still creeps me out. I guess making a movie made by placing a camera in your local community theatre's auditorium and filming their Christmas show is a cheap, if nothing else. There were a bunch more skinflicks, biker chick flicks and general exploitation movies that followed.

It would be another three years before Lewis made what his most insane horror movie yet, 1970 The Wizard of Gore. This a film I know I've mentioned before, because it is one of the very few things I can remember ever making my sister swear. Montag the Magnificent is a magician who stages elaborate and gory illusions using power saws and drill presses and such. His audience volunteers walk back to their seats completely unharmed, but turn up later, dead from the same injuries they appeared to have suffered on stage. About halfway through the movie, my sister, who was probably in high school at the ime, turned to me and said "What the hell is this crap?" A question I still ask myself, today:

More jigglers and then The Gore-Gore Girls in 1972, another movie I've never actually seen. Lewis took a thirty year break from directing, but returned in 2002 with Blood Feast 2: All You Can Eat. In the trailer's intro (a trademark, if you haven't noticed by now), Lewis says "Horror movies have come a long way since (Blood Feast)..." Thankfully, Lewis' talent for directing hasn't changed a bit:

It's nice to know that Lewis' running gags about stupid cops and repeated use of cow tongues never goes away. And soon, the insane 80 year-old's 37th movie will be upon us. The Uh-oh Show is about a bizarre game show that features on-air chainsaw amputations and it's follow-up, 'Grim Fairy Tales,' inspired by teh nightmare's kids have about fairy tales. It's either a brilliant statement about the state of modern television programming, or just another whacked out framing device for Lewis to stage unrealistic, elaborate murders. Here's the trailer, you decide:

You know the DVD will be on my Amazon wish list...

A director whose career has inexplicably lasted 50 years, H.G. Lewis is the not only the first subject of the Annual Big, Bad Movie Extravaganza, he is also the winner of the first ever Caliban's Revenge "Moon Cow Award" (look it up, philistines) for Lifetime Achievement in Bad Film-making. We can all be thankful to H.G. for proving that a lack of talent should never stand in one's way of a 50-year career.

If you're getting up at 3:00 AM to go shopping tomorrow, don't. I feel sorry for the store employees who have to get up at 1:00 to wait on you. They may be getting overtime, but they aren't paid enough to put up with your insane, consumer-programmed need to get that 42" LCD TV for $36.00, no matter how many people you need to trample to death to do so. I will be shopping tomorrow, but in the afternoon and far away from the malls in two quaint little Bucks County towns. Let the holiday madness begin.

More, anon.
Prospero

An Aperitif

I found this image while looking for a picture as part of the Big Bad Movie Extravaganza, but was so intrigued I went looking for the movie and was both horrified and delighted to find that Thankskilling is an actual movie. The trailer says Fall, 2008; IMDb says November 2009. I have never heard of it before this very moment. I MUST see it!

Obviously, it's a comedy and in all fairness, the trailer is actually sort-of amusing. The stuff they're parodying seems a bit dated, but it also seems so cheaply and ineptly made that nothing can stop me from tracking it down, now. Language may be NSFW:

I hope your Thanksgiving was as delicious and wonderful as that trailer was painful. On to the Main Course.

P

More Things to Be Thankful For

See that poster? It's real. It's for a movie about... oh, dear God... about a... I almost can't bring myself to type this... Aw, what the hell? Blood Freak is a 1972 horror movie about a were-turkey! Seriously. The monster is actually a guy who turns into a blood-drinking killer turkey... And yes, this is another Bad Movie post. Sorry, I've just been in a bad movie mood for 40 years (and if you get that joke, you've done way too much theatre, you're really gay or you're my friends Kathy and Alice).

Today, Unkle Lancifer and Aunt John's wonderful Horror blog Kindertrauma had a post about horror movies one should watch for Thanksgiving, and while Blood Freak wasn't exactly recommended, it was mentioned. And since I had never heard of this movie (the closest I could come was Bloodsucking Freaks, Joel Reed's 1976 craptacular which is alternately titled The Incredible Torture Show. Get it? Lame).

Anyway, I clicked a link and soon found myself confronted by the most inexplicable three minutes of a movie I've ever seen. And in all fairness, any random three minutes seen out of context from any movie can be misleading and confusing. Sadly, I have a feeling that the randomness and non contextual factor have nothing to do with the following trailer. You watch it first and then we'll come back to discuss. K? BRB. (Um, I'd say "Enjoy the clip," but that depends on how stoned you are when you watch it - not that I'm endorsing anything, I'm just sayin' is all):

Ah... H.G. Lewis seems a genius; Ed Wood an auteur and Brett Ratnor a Celluloid Picasso, compared to directors/writers Brad F. Grinter and Steve Hawkes. I read the rather extensive synopsis on IMDb, and it still made no sense. So, here's my attempt to distill it (in at least as much as I understand it) for you, dear reader:

Herschell (Hawkes) is a down-on-his luck Vietnam Vet. He gets a job at a turkey farm, where the owners are experimenting in an attempt to create an addictive turkey product. Having already gotten Herschell addicted to pot laced with some of their chemicals, they promise him more if he'll agree to test their chemically altered product. The results (as usual in these kinds of movies) are not good. Herschell becomes a were-turkey,* capable of getting the drug he needs only by drinking the blood of other users (though how he schlurps it up through that immovable papier-mache beak is beyond my ken - use a straw, for cryin' out loud - or at least a sippy-cup!). If you'll excuse me for evoking de Sade, the pain of watching this movie must be exquisite. Hey, I made it through Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter - I can make through almost anything, damn it!

And just so you know - this Bad Movie Mood isn't over, just yet. Now you can't say that you haven't been warned. And of course, these posts are a movie geek's version Schadenfreude, which is a German expression for the feeling of enjoyment one gets from other people's misfortune... Damn! The Marquis raises his dirty little head again.

*Be honest - on what other blog might one find the term "were-turkey" not once, not twice, but three times in the same post which also mentions the Marquis de Sade , Jesus and bad movies? Find me one and I'll buy you dinner. OK - I'll admit it, that last link was purely for the amusement of my sister, who is probably wetting her pants as she reads this (or at least trying real hard not to). I probably should have linked the word 'dinner' to this, instead.

Honestly - what the hell is wrong with me that I feel compelled to see this insultingly bad film? Please, tell me I'm not alone in this bizarre obsession...

More, anon.
Prospero