Tag: horror movies

A Compulsive Liar Reviews Abigail (2024)

Abigail: Recollections, Conclusions, and Contributions

Reviewed by Jeff Houke for TheHumbleHeckler.com (X/Twitter: @heckled2death)

(Editor’s note: Film critic Jeff Houke is widely recognized as a compulsive liar. Keep this in mind when reading the following review.)

Let’s face it, Hollywood and vampires don’t always go together. Nonetheless, nary a year goes by without at least a solid half-dozen new vampire film releases. Movie vampires just refuse to stay dead. So why should 2024 be any different, right? Well, at least this year’s first major-release vampire flick, Abigail, is worth a trip to your local cinema. But, to be fair, I probably shouldn’t be reviewing this film, since I have a bit of a strange personal history with the production. After all, the film’s director, Matt Bettinelli-Olpin, offered me the lead role. (Some people would say he begged me, but that’s a matter of personal interpretation, and it wouldn’t be right for me to comment.) Then the film’s executive producer (Martin Scorsese, uncredited) asked me to give him notes on the film’s first cut, which I gladly did. You just don’t say no to Marty, people. So now that I’ve come clean about my relationship with this film, let’s dig in.

Martin Scorsese on the set of Abigail

Abigail is a good old-fashioned premise-driven chiller, with a narrative torn directly from the yellowed pages of a pulpy old Penny Dreadful. And it mostly works. Here’s the gist: Semi-generic wrongdoers plot to kidnap the daughter of a powerful man and hold her for a $50 million ransom. The catch: the little brat is actually a bloodsucker who proceeds to dispatch her captors, one by one. The film is held together by strong performances from Melissa Barrera (whose romantic advances were rebuked by yours truly) and Dan Stevens (whose relentless pursuit of acting advice eventually caused a rift in our friendship), along with a well-crafted, propulsive screenplay by Stephen Shields, Guy Busick, and me (uncredited). The film is so well-paced I never once looked at my Chopard Alpine Eagle watch. And there’s enough of the gushy red stuff to keep even the most ardent horror fan enthralled and smiling.  

Meryl Streep likes nachos and Cherry Coke while watching movies

Ultimately, Abigail is a real crowd pleaser. At least, it certainly was for me. Of course, I got to see the finished film at the world premiere, as an invited guest of Martin Scorsese and Meryl Streep, and, strangely enough, I ended up sitting between the two of them. Marty and Meryl spent most of the film picking my brain about everything from the history of cinema to the mechanics of successful romantic relationships. It was a good night, and I was sad to see it end. As my limousine whisked me away to my helicopter, I sipped champagne (2013 Gout de Diamants) and reflected on how lucky I am to be a film critic. But then my girlfriend (Ana de Armas) reminded me that it isn’t about luck—it’s about talent, natural-born brilliance, and handsomeness. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I didn’t have the heart to argue with her.

I give Abigail 8.5 Jacuzzi brunches out of a possible 10.

(Abigail is rated R for excessive vampire violence, recurring close-ups of neck veins, snarling, weaponized crucifixes, garlic degradation, and adult situations.)    

Early F/X makeup test, ultimately rejected

The First Omen: Easily The Most Important Film Ever Made!

Reviewed by Sally Darnell for TheHumbleHeckler.com

The best Omen film since … the last one!

(Editor’s note: Film critic Sally Darnell has a well-earned reputation for posting insincere, often flat-out sarcastic reviews. Keep this in mind when reading the following article.)

Well … here we are again. Another Omen movie. Aren’t we Lucky? And this time, we get to go all the way back to the genesis of this indispensable film series with The First Omen, a prequel absolutely every film/horror fan has been begging Hollywood to give us for decades. And boy does it ever deliver.

But let’s start at the beginning. The First Omen is clearly a passion project. I mean, there’s no way that some big-money producers and studio executives are merely trying to cash in on an established brand. Sure, this ultra-cynical tactic may have proven profitable for well-known IPs like Halloween, Scream, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Hellraiser, Cabin Fever, Joy Ride, Evil Dead, The Exorcist, Child’s Play, The Hills Have Eyes, Candyman, Saw, Ghostbusters and countless others I just don’t have the time or strength to mention here. But that doesn’t mean the people responsible for The First Omen are joyless corporate vampires out to such your bank account dry. Not at all.

Okay, sure … maybe the film spends a little too much time referencing the original Omen, but it does it the right way. It’s not like virtually every other reboot or prequel or requel or whatever the hell. This film’s version of nearly constant nostalgia-baiting is done so much more tastefully than any other franchise film ever made. Ever. No kidding. The First Omen’s reliance on unoriginal material is so artfully executed it actually becomes its own art form. That’s right, this film has innovated a brand-new form of creative expression, something I like to call “nostalgart”: You might not see anything new, but you’ll never see something so old and tired wrapped in a glossier package.

But what about the film itself? Is it any good? Of course it is. It’s an Omen movie—how could it not be great? The story is, thankfully, similar to all the others in the franchise. There are evil people skulking around in the fog. And there are innocent people frolicking in the sunlight. The evil people are actively conspiring to bring about the birth of the Antichrist, while the innocent people remain completely oblivious to repeated attempts by the evil people to impregnate them with the demon seed. And you’ll never guess what happens. Nope. Never. Not in a million years will you be able to see the twists and turns coming. This rollercoaster has no safety harness, so be warned before you buy a ticket and take the ride.

The surprises are unveiled so fast and so furiously that I had to remind myself to breathe. I’m serious. It’s a wonder nobody in the theater died. It was all just so … intense. The woman seated next to me terror-farted with so much force she passed out and had to be removed by the local ambulance corp. A young man seated a few rows ahead of me was so terrified he tore giant clumps of his hair from his own scalp and then methodically ate it, cackling like a lunatic during the full moon.

But the film isn’t just scary, it’s also beautiful. I’m not ashamed to admit that I wept … repeatedly. This was, without question, the most profound movie going experience of my life. It was downright surreal. I heard a choir of angels singing. A bald eagle circled majestically over my head. A panda gave birth in the balcony. A philanderer confessed his sins and begged his wife for forgiveness. The snack bar lowered the price of popcorn and soda. And the movie had a few decent gore scenes and body horror gags.

It was miraculous!

I give The First Omen a perfect 10 out of a possible 10. Go see it and be forever changed.

(The First Omen is rated R for blasphemy, unnecessary Bible quotes, graphic depiction of birth, pervasive strong language, the inclusion of a gratuitous tickle-fight sequence, adult situations, and smoking.)

Five Things You Couldn’t Possibly Know About The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

Reviewed by Henry Bernice for TheHumbleHeckler.com

(Editor’s note: Film critic/historian Henry Bernice has been struck by lightning seven times. Keep this in mind when reading the following article.)

Later this year, Tobe Hooper’s game-changing, genre-redefining, slasher/exploitation classic The Texas Chainsaw Massacre will celebrate its golden anniversary. That’s right, it’s been fifty years since Leatherface first unleashed 83 minutes of hell on unsuspecting audiences. Strangely, the movie’s great innovation lies in its total lack of innovation. TCM revels in a stripped-down aesthetic so threadbare the film print itself looks like it’s been through a barfight, a hangover, and an argument with the little missus, before trudging off to the theater to be projected. Just watching it, you can smell the BO, the putrefied flesh, and the bad breath. Heck, this may be the first film ever to give principal roles to sweat stains. And yet, it’s precisely that brand of backwoodsy realism that has created legions of ravenous fans whose passion for (and knowledge of) all things TCM is almost as psychotic as Leatherface himself. So, in honor of the film turning the big five-o and the fans who keep the TCM flame burning, here are five things you couldn’t possibly know about The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

(1)  The film was originally titled The Wisconsin Pointy Stick Massacre. It’s hard to believe now, but director Tobe Hooper and his production team actually set out to make a movie about a stick-wielding lunatic who stalked and slaughtered a collection of lost motorists. They even filmed for six weeks in Wisconsin before realizing the film wasn’t working. “In our defense, that stick was really pointy,” Hooper said in a 1976 interview with Scuzzy Films Magazine. “I mean, it wasn’t sharp enough to kill someone, but you could definitely leave a banger of a scratch.” Ultimately, Hooper and company shut down the production and returned to Austin to lick their wounds. It wasn’t until a few weeks later, during a chainsaw juggling lesson, that Hooper would find the inspiration to move forward with the project.

(2) The film poster’s now-iconic tag line “Who will survive and what will be left of them?” was actually a last-second replacement. The film’s producers had been struggling to find the perfect tag for months. Co-writer Kim Henkel wanted the tag to be: “If you don’t drop a deuce in your pants, we’ll refund the price of your ticket.” Meanwhile, Hooper wanted to the tag to read: “Terror so real you’ll question your marriage … and probably drop a deuce in your pants.” Eventually, friends and colleagues convinced Henkel and Hooper that referencing defecation in the tag didn’t make any sense, and they reluctantly settled for the tag we all know and love.

(3) William Shatner secretly auditioned for the role of Sally Hardesty. “Yeah, that was really something,” Hooper said on an interview show called Wake Up, Dallas, while promoting Poltergeist in 1982. “[Shatner] showed up in drag, talking in a high, lilting feminine voice. He didn’t fool anybody. We all knew who he was. Hell, he didn’t even bother to shave. But, since he’d gone to all the effort, we decided to let him read. And he damn-near won the role. No kidding. Bill knocked it outta the park. In fact, we saw hundreds of women for that role, and it all came down to him and Marilyn Burns. Of course, in the end, we had to choose Marilyn. But it was a much closer call than you’d expect.”

Over the years, Shatner’s audition exploits have become the stuff of legend in Hollywood power circles. Fun fact: Screenwriter Larry Gelbart credits Shatner’s antics as the inspiration for his screenplay Tootsie, for which he would receive an Academy Award nomination.

(4) The films legendarily difficult shooting conditions have been exaggerated. Over the decades since the film wrapped, fans have been inundated with tales of heat stroke, unbearable odors, and twenty-hour workdays. But Hooper tells a different story. “The PR department drummed up those crazy stories as a way to market the film,” said Hooper in a 1991 interview with Canadian Root Beer Enthusiast. “No one wants to hear that a horror movie shoot went smoothly. People want to hear about curses and poor working conditions and crap like that. In reality, every actor had their own staff of personal servants. They even had private chefs. Marilyn’s contract even specified that she be transported to and from the set by rickshaw. As for the heat, every single shot of that film was created on a soundstage. If anything, we had to turn down the AC, because some of our precious artists were getting the shivers. You wouldn’t believe how spoiled the cast actually was. Once I saw Gunnar being carried to his trailer on the back of a Sherpa. Talk about lazy. And don’t get me started on John Dugan. That prima donna hired fashion models to coat the ground he walked on in a layer of rose petals.” When asked how he dealt with the pressure of dealing with such an entitled cast, Hooper said, “Whenever it all got to be too much, I’d take a break and go hit a bucket of balls with my instructor on my private driving range.”

(5) The TV version of the film was insane. Believe it or not, the unexpected popularity of TCM was too enticing for network executives to ignore. NBC gave Hooper an additional $3 million to shoot new footage to replace the scenes that were too graphic for TV and to pad the runtime enough to allow the film to fill two hours of network airtime. As a joke, Hooper reimagined the film as a screwball family comedy about the domestic misadventures of newlyweds Sally Hardesty and Leatherface. To everyone’s surprise, the network loved it. In fact, Hooper was hired to oversee the adaptation of the TV version of TCM into a traditional sitcom—and, unbelievably, he did. The pilot episode of That’s My Leatherface! aired on September 13, 1979. Unfortunately, CBS unveiled its latest sitcom, Benson, in the same time slot, leaving That’s My Leatherface! largely ignored by the public. The series was cancelled after six episodes and a series of scathing reviews by confused TV critics.         

So there you have it, lovers of the chainsaw. Happy 50th! And here’s to 50 more years of drippy, sweaty, disgusting fun.

Revisiting Halloween II (1981)

Reviewed by Marc Hopspring for TheHumbleHeckler.com

(Editor’s note: Film critic Marc Hopspring reviewed this film after watching it via a malfunctioning cable box that, unbeknownst to him, randomly switched back and forth between Halloween II and True Lies. Keep this in mind when reading the following review.)

It had been at least a decade since I’d seen Halloween II, and boy oh boy is it different from the film I remember. For starters, I had no recollection of James Cameron directing this film. And now that I know, I have to rank this as one of Cameron’s worst efforts. And that’s just the first of many surprises.

Arnold Schwarzenegger as Dr. Sam Loomis

Halloween II is by far one of the strangest sequels ever produced. I’m not really sure how this thing is even related to the first Halloween. Despite the uncountable number of temporal and logical gaps, I have to assume this hodgepodge of narrative spaghetti was created on purpose. After all, Halloween creator John Carpenter wrote the script, which is supposedly based on a French film or something.  Anyway, here’s the plot: After surviving being shot six times on Halloween night 1978, Michael Myers is now–somehow!–the leader of a terrorist organization called the Crimson Jihad, and it’s up to husband-and-wife team Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis) and Dr. Sam Loomis (now played by Arnold Schwarzenegger–that’s right, Ahhhh-nold) to stop Myers from sneaking a nuke into Haddonfield Memorial Hospital. This is where the film starts to lose me. I mean, why would any terrorist group want to take out a small town hospital, especially with a weapon that could destroy an entire city? Where’s the logic in that? And when the hell did Laurie Strode marry Dr. Loomis?

An almost-unrecognizable Jamie Lee Curtis as Laurie Strode

Even worse than the nonsensical storyline is the film’s schizophrenic editing style. In one scene an unmasked Myers (who is now Middle Eastern for some reason) engages in a brilliantly choreographed gun battle in a public restroom, and then in the next scene he’s drowning a naked nurse in a hot tub–and the mask is back. In another confusing sequence, Laurie does a sexy striptease for Loomis (again, he’s now her husband!), then out of nowhere, she’s posing as a hospital patient (in a bad wig) who is forced to fight off the advances of a horny ambulance driver, only to find herself, mere moments later, fighting off the advances of Bill Paxton. And then, for reason I will never EVER understand, Arnold disguises himself as Donald Pleasance and faces off with Myers in the film’s climax–a climax in which they are both blown up. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a fine ending, but by the time the film finally got to it I was just too confused to care anymore.

Tom Arnold as … I don’t know … maybe Sheriff Brackett?

When I say the film is confusing, I have never been more serious in my life. Once scene begins with an intricate chase in which Loomis, on horseback, pursues Myers, on a motorcycle, through a crowded shopping mall. Exciting, right? So then why does the scene end with a horny ambulance driver singing an X-rated version of “Amazing Grace”? The film just leaves me with too many questions. Why, for example, does Jamie Lee Curtis’s makeup keep aging and de-aging her? Is this supposed to be an example of spycraft? If so, is this really supposed to confuse Myers? And why the hell is Tom Arnold in a Halloween film? When the hell did Loomis learn to fly a Harrier jet? And for what possible reason did the Crimson Jihad feel it necessary to Kill Ben Tramer? It’s all so bizarre. And I haven’t even mentioned the ski slope shootout that culminates with a child in a pirate costume getting gashed by a razor blade hidden in an apple. Why are trained spies hunting trick-or-treaters? One minute we’re watching a bridge blow up and the next we’re watching an idiot knock himself stupid after slipping in a puddle of blood. Aw … forget it! To hell with this mess of a movie.

Halloween II is a flawed horror sequel for sure. If you’re in the mood for something that makes you question your sanity, this flick is for you. Otherwise, stay far, far, away from this celluloid turd. Although, to be fair, Halloween II makes more sense than the movie I watched right after it. In that stinker, a gremlin steals a DeLorean and time-travels back to 1955 to make sure nobody gets wet or eats after midnight. Talk about nonsense.

I give Halloween II one star out of a possible five stars and all the bile my liver can produce.

(Halloween II is rated R for profanity, violence, nudity, aggressive stupidity and the graphic depiction of Tom Arnold.)

 

It (2017): A Review or Whatever

It (2017): A Review or Whatever

Reviewed by Janelle Palmer for TheHumbleHeckler.com.

(Editor’s note: Janelle Palmer, a 17-year-old high school senior, is filling in for her mother, Janette, one of our resident film critics, who is currently recovering from a mild case of amoebic dysentery.)

Okay … so … anyway … I got stuck reviewing this movie because my mother’s sick or whatever, so just, ya’ know, bear with me and whatnot, ’cuz I haven’t reviewed a movie since I did The Shallows, like ten million years ago, so try not to be dicks about this, okay?

So, anyway … About five days ago my mother tells me that I have to review this clown movie or something called It. So I say fine, whatevs. But get this: my mother suggests that I read the novel they based the movie on before I see the movie, as, like, preparation or something. But the book is, like, a gazillion pages or something, so I was like, “No, thank you,” and my mom was all, “That’s not very professional” or something, and so I was like, “I’m not a professional, you are,” and then she was all, “I give up” and then she walked off in a huff. So I didn’t read that stupid book, which was written by that old guy who wrote that thing about the ugly chick with spooky powers who totally trashed the prom. I looked him up online. That dude’s written, like, a thousand books or something, including that one where there’s a creepy cemetery where, like, the animals bury their owners and whatnot … and the other one where the hotel makes people hit stuff with axes or something. Anyway, he writes a lot, so … Nerd Alert! Am I right?

So, anyway … It is about this evil clown thingy with gross hair that, like, totally hates kids and is super hungry and decides to, like, kill two birds with one stone and eat the kids that he hates so much. The clown thingy, BTDubs, is called Pennywise, and for some reason he digs hangin’ out in the disgusting sewer. It turns out that Pennywise is an alien from some other country or something. I guess that’s really important. I mean, I think the whole “alien” thing is meant to be, like, some kind of metaphor about immigration or something. (See—I can think of cool, critic-y things to write, too, so suck it!)

The rest of the movie is about Pennywise totes screwing with this group of kids who refer to themselves as The Losers Club—which is the perfect name for this collection of kids, btdubs. I mean, they’re not very cool, they have zero—and I mean zero—fashion sense, and they ride around on bikes—bikes! I mean, why not just draw a big nerd target on your back already? I mean, ever hear of Uber or Lyft? How losery are the parents that brought these sad sacks into the world? I saw this movie with my friend Taylor, and she said that these kids are so uncool that she could actually feel herself getting less cool the longer she had to watch them. Preach on, sister. I can’t speak for most people, but I was totes rooting for Pennywise to eat these A-hole kids already so I could get over to Pinkberry for a smoothie before they closed—I know, I know, smoothies have, like, a ton of sugar in them and stuff, but it was my cheat day, so I’m allowed to have a G-D smoothie! Get off my back, already!

I’ve been told not to, like, give away the ending or reveal any spoilers or anything like that, so I won’t. But I will say that everybody dies—just kidding. I honestly don’t even know how the movie ends ’cuz I started talking with this lady who was sitting next to me who was wearing, like, the cutest top I’ve ever seen. Her name is Deandra, so … shout out to Deandra! She’s super cool. Love her. You should see her nails—per-fec-tion.

Okay, back to the movie. All in all, I guess I would say this movie gargles balls. I suppose if you like the idea of an ugly sewer clown terrorizing weird, bike-riding kids in the stupid ’80s, then It is gonna totes light your fire. But, if you don’t completely suck as a human being, you’ll find this movie as turdish as I do. So, in conclusion, clowns suck, kids are A-holes, sewers are gross, bikes are uncool, and Pinkberry rocks.

There … Happy now, Mom?

I give It one star out of a possible of, like, a gazillion stars. And the one star is for Deandra with the cute top, not for the stupid movie. Even the title of this movie blows serious chunks. How lame is It for a movie title? Why not call this movie The or An or To? Here’s the title I would’ve chosen: Why?

(It is rated R for, like, super-gross clown violence and bad language and stuff. The clown drool is gross enough to get an R all by itself. I mean, what’s the deal with the drooling? Ever hear of a bib? Or how about just closing your mouth, moron. You’re supposed to be this all-powerful being from another dimension and you can’t even go, like, five seconds without drooling all over the place. Pa-the-tic.)

Annabelle: Creation is Really … um … Good?

Annabelle: Creation is Really … um … Good?

Reviewed by Adam Trolley Bing for TheHumbleHeckler.com

(Editor’s note: Film critic Adam Trolley Bing has admitted to not actually seeing Annabelle: Creation before posting the following review.)

Annabelle: Creation … Wow. I mean, where do I even begin? This is one of those movies where I really don’t want to say too much and give away anything important. That would be irresponsible criticism.

I will say that this movie is nothing if not professionally made. For example, the cinematography is extraordinary. The film was obviously shot with professional-grade cameras, the kind only true pros would bother to use. And boy does it pay off, because the movie is almost always in focus and every frame makes visual sense. Like, when the camera is pointing at a person or something really scary or a piece of furniture or something, you totally believe what you’re seeing on the screen. You just don’t see that kind of technical wizardry every day in Hollywood films.

And don’t even get me started on the sound design. This film is just jam-packed with all sorts of sounds. I consider myself a bit of a “sound aficionado,” so believe me when I say that the scope, diversity, and quality of sounds in this movie is absolutely mind blowing. Trust me, you’ll be black and blue from pinching yourself in disbelief at how realistic some of these sounds are. I can’t even remember how many times I said to myself “Oh yeah, I recognize that sound.” And if it’s realism you crave, wait until you see the costume design.

The women’s costumes in the film are astounding. They really look like the kind of stuff these particular characters would have in their closets. The same can pretty much be said for all the male characters as well. There is one male character in particular whose choice of pants really speaks volumes about who he is as a person, where he’s been, and where he wants to go. All of his hopes and dreams are right there on display in the face of his belt buckle, and the way in which the fabric fades a little near his pockets suggests an unfulfilled longing that hits me right in my gut even now, long after seeing the film. But let’s not forget that these amazing costumes are just empty vessels without talented actors to inhabit them and allow them to realize their full potential.

Luckily, this movie is defined by great performances. According to Wikipedia—I mean according to the credits, which I sat and watched in their entirety, the movie stars Stephanie Sigman as Sister Charlotte. And, oh, man, does she ever give a whopper of a performance. I’m sure nuns are going to see this and say “She totally nailed us.” And then there’s Anthony LaPaglia and Miranda Otto as a married couple. Let me tell ya’, there isn’t one second of film where you don’t believe that these two are married. They play a married couple so well that I’d be shocked if their real-life spouses didn’t crap their pants out of sheer jealousy. Years from now, people will look back on these performances in history classes to study the way married people used to behave.

So … is Annabelle: Creation scary? I would have to say … uh … yeah, pretty much, sure. I mean, if you like atmospheric ghost stories with great acting, professional camera work, seamless editing, a believable sound design, and character-defining costumes, all set to a score that just really utilizes the perfect number of musical instruments, then Annabelle: Creation is probably for you. But what’s really fun about a movie like this is the debate that I’m sure people will be having in the days and weeks to come over the film’s various uses of all kinds of really interesting themes, motifs, and metaphors and whatnot.

For the record, I hope my analysis hasn’t gone too deep, and that I haven’t ruined the film for anyone. Any spoilers present in this review are completely accidental, I promise.

I give Annabelle: Creation 5 question marks (?????) out of a possible 5.

(Annabelle: Creation is rated R for any number of vague, adult-type things and situations that are not easily described but that people under 17 really shouldn’t see. I mean, the MPAA has a tough job, so who am I to question their criteria for rating a movie like this. Now, I can’t say for sure that I would have given this film an R, but my opinion doesn’t matter. Although, now that I think about it, I probably wouldn’t take my children to see this film. Of course, I don’t have children, but that’s hardly the fault of Annabelle: Creation or the MPAA.)

The Dark Tower is a Real Buzzer Beater

The Dark Tower is a Real Buzzer Beater

Reviewed by Annie Poppler for TheHumbleHeckler.com

(Editor’s note: Film critic Annie Poppler is a sports novice who has recently begun dating a sport’s writer. Keep this in mind when reading the following review, which is for entertainment purposes only.)

The latest Stephen King adaptation to totally body-slam multiplexes around the globe, The Dark Tower, is a stunning achievement, combining the majesty and power of a LaBron James slam dunk, the silky smoothness of a Steph Curry 3-bomb, and the looming terror of Dennis Rodman doing just about anything. The film, which seamlessly combines genre elements of horror, westerns, action, and fantasy, is directed with a sense of confidence and surehandedness of something akin to Bill Belichick leading his New England Patriots onto the field of battle in pursuit of yet another Super Bowl victory.

The film stars Idris Elba as Roland, a gunslinger on a mission to save his world from extinction while being pursued by a ruthless horde of creatures hell-bent on stopping him. These villains are headlined by Matthew McConaughey as Walter o’Dim (a.k.a. The Man in Black, a.k.a a few other names I don’t remember). Both Elba and McConaughey are perfectly cast. Elba’s gunslinger reminds me of Joe Montana, the legendary 49ers QB who earned the nickname “Joe Cool” due to his ability to never be rattled in the face of adversity. (By the way, Montana also boasts a career touchdown to interception ratio that is absolutely ridonkulous. This may not be relevant to my review, but it’s just one of those things that we sports fanatics can’t help but notice whenever we think about Joe Montana—which is, like, a million times every day. Am I right?) And McConaughey plays The Man in Black with the ticking-time-bomb intensity of a young John Daly in the tee box in that critical moment just after one final puff on his cigarette before he totally punishes the poor golf ball with a 5 wood. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if McConaughey were to publicly acknowledge drawing inspiration from Daly’s legendary tee shots—it’s just so obvious in the performance.

So anyway, the Gunslinger and The Man in Black begin this whole Magic Johnson-Larry Bird-style rivalry that can best be described as the cinematic version of a Conor McGregor back kick to the balls. It’s just that powerful. The chase scenes bring to mind the best of the storied history of the Daytona 500. The fight sequences are every bit as harrowing as Ali-Frazier 3. Watching Elba do his thing as the Gunslinger is like watching Mario Lemieux terrorize St. Louis Blues goaltender Rick Wamsley on his way to a hat trick (he actually scored 4 goals; one more than necessary for a hat trick) on New Year’s Eve in 1985. This is one of those movies that is best enjoyed with a Dodger Dog (mustard only) and a cold one … and maybe some nachos. The action is just that awesome. Of course, to be completely honest, I missed a good bit of this film because I was busy checking the day’s baseball scores on my phone. No need to worry; the Dodgers won.

About an hour into the film I settled back in my seat, tore open a pouch of Red Man Chew (I prefer the Golden Blend), and basked in the brilliant glow of men shooting at each other while I occasionally scratched my groin area and spat into a half-empty cup of Diet Dr. Pepper.

Now that’s a great time at the movies!

I give The Dark Tower three gold medals and half a bronze out of a possible 4.

(The Dark Tower is rated PG-13 for some kick-ass stunt work by some amazing athletes who are totally ripped, graphic locker room talk, sporadic taunting, and extended depiction of untended wounds.)

Blair Witch (2016)

Blair Witch Casts a Spell of Dazzling Originality

Reviewed by Joshua Champlain for HumbleHeckler.com.

(Editor’s note: Film critic Joshua Champlain has recently awakened from a 27-year coma. Please keep this in mind when reading the following review.)

It’s easy for film critics to be cynical. So many movies completely lack originality and artistic integrity. So many movies are nothing more than the generic repackaging of well-worn filmic tropes, clichéd storylines, and established pop-culture brands. So many movies are clearly molded by the greedy hooves of capitalist swine in search of a quick buck without having to innovate or bear the burden of any creative risk. So many movies rely solely on storytelling gimmicks and archetypal characters to shamelessly pander to a well-established target demographic in order to put butts in seats on opening weekend. So many movies are so insultingly predictable, so reliant upon this paint-by-numbers philosophy of filmmaking that you just can’t blame critics for the unmistakable air of frustration so prevalent in their reviews.

Which is why I’m so pleased to report that I’ve just seen Blair Witch, a film so startling in its originality that I’m shocked it was allowed to be produced at all, let alone publicly exhibited.

First and foremost, Blair Witch is a horror movie—but not just any horror movie. It will likely be remembered as the single greatest achievement in the hallowed history of horror. The basic story involves a collection of millennials coming face-to-face with unspeakable terrors in the deep, dark woods. And why exactly are these youngsters trudging through the woods? Because the main character, James Donahue, decides it’s time to search for the sister he lost in these very woods 22 years ago, when she led her own expedition of intrepid youngsters on a search for the mysterious Blair Witch, a terrifying apparition with a reputation for disappearing local townsfolk, even children. That alone permits this film to stake its claim as one of the most innovative horror stories of all time. I mean, come on … Good-looking young people killed off in a forest—genius! From the bottom of my heart, thank you, Vertigo Entertainment and Lionsgate for having the balls to tell such an imaginative story. But that’s just the beginning. Check this out: The story is conveyed through a narrative device in which the characters record their own experiences. That footage is then assembled by someone else and presented to the movie-going public as a kind pseudo-documentary. What! Who could have ever imagined such an ingenious method of presenting a story? Only superhuman mega-geniuses, that’s who.

I don’t want to give away any of the surprises (and, trust me, there are just so, so many really startling revelations in this movie), so I won’t say any more about the story or how it is told. However, I would like to say that I am just so proud of you, Hollywood, for respecting ticket-buying audiences (who often have to shell out as much as $20 or more per ticket) for not simply regurgitating the stinking pile of inept, infantile, brain cell-destroying eye cancer you normally fart onto movie screens each weekend. Not this time. No, this time you delivered Blair Witch, rather than insult film fans with yet another half-cocked prequel, sequel, or reboot featuring a gaggle of cardboard characters heedlessly meandering through a mind-numbing cinematic wasteland of cheap set-ups, clunky expositional dialogue, and poorly executed jump scares. So, again, thank you. You had the courage to respect both your craft and the fans by releasing … Blair Witch.

So … I humbly doff my cap to you, mainstream Hollywood. Your integrity and inventiveness know no bounds.

I give Blair Witch a 10 out of 10, and I wait with bated breath to see what glorious creations Hollywood has in store for the future. May God bless this movie and all who see it.

(Blair Witch is rated R for adult language, violence, nudity, and for being such a pioneering, groundbreaking work of art that younger, less-experienced viewers’ minds would implode should their eyes gaze upon its brilliance.)