Posts Tagged ‘Uncle

10
Jan
12

The Devil Inside: The Devil’s in the Dullness

a Primal Root written review

Man, The Blair Witch Project feels like it was ages ago…Well, here we are with another quickie cash in on the current super cheap “found footage” trend. This time instead of a ghost, alien or witch we’re dealing with the ever freaky prospect of exorcisms. A found footage concept that’s been done before recently and a bit better in 2010′s  “The Last Exorcism”.  Hey, at least that film managed to be even remotely entertaining for more than 5 minutes of it’s run time…

The Devil Inside is the story of a young woman looking to close a chapter in her life that’s plagued her since she was a child. Her mother’s condition which led her to slay three clergy members during her own exorcism. Mom was shipped off to Italy in order undergo treatment for her mental illness but her daughter Isabella isn’t so quick to rule out demonic possession.  This is the mock-doc of Isabella’s trip to Italy to visit her mother where she encounters real life exorcists who take her out on dates to watch them work their brand of incompetence on young ladies who can pop ‘n’ lock like none other! This is the true story of when demons stop being polite and start getting real…

"True Sto-RAAAAY!" obscure?

Long gone are the days of the possessed spewing bile into preachers faces, no, nowadays they are more likely to spray you copious amounts of vagina blood like fruit punch squeezed forth from the little straw pocking out of the top of a Hi-C juice box.  And that kind of shit is fun to watch. It’s freaky, it’s unnatural, and it is pretty gross (unless you’re into that sort of thing, in which case, this flick might get ya hot under the collar.) and it works. The strongest element of this film are these scenes of demonic possession and the battle to rid these folks of their hellish ailments. And these scenes are pretty captivating, the strongest of which, involves a priest performing a baptism on an infant.

The sad fact is, none of these scenes really mean much, because the filmmakers forgot the create interesting characters the audience could empathize with. Fernanda Andrade as Isabella seems completely void of emotion for the duration of the picture. During these intense, violent and over the top exorcism sequences (one of which involves her own mother) the camera every so often pans to Isabella for a reaction shot. And as the blood spews forth from splayed vaginas and priests that are as physically imposing as a five year old get tossed across rooms and into walls, Isabella’s typical reaction is utter boredom. This reaction pretty much sums up my reaction to the other 97% of The Devil Inside.

Dramatic recreation of the look on my face when "The Devil Inside" ended.

And in so lies the films ultimate weakness: dullness. There’s just nothing happening foe the majority of the film. We get some priests debating the whether exorcism is real or just mental illness (guess which debate wins out in the end!), people bickering, and montages of Isabella walking around Italy looking bored and uninterested.  Now, I can;t be sure where the fault should really lie for such a boring film. I mean, this is supposed to be a documentary film gone wrong, correct? Depressingly enough, the guy behind the camera never comes off as a competent filmmaker to begin with. So do we blame the fictional documentary filmmaker? IS he supposed to suck at his profession? Or is it the actual filmmakers themselves who can’t put together a thoughtful, exciting, engaging film on the subject of mental illness, family ties, faith and possession? Why waste such a potentially good story on the same tired formula that Paranormal Activity has exploited for three movies?

Because people eat this shit up for some reason. 1. Have nothing interesting happen for 45 minutes of screen time. 2. Insert a loud dog barked 3. Watch everyone jump and scream in shock as your film takes the bold step of having something actually happen4. Profit. This is fucking LAZY film making, people. This is the kind of thing that gives the horror genre such a bad name. And this is the kind of vacuous, meaningless, fast food offerings the mainstream horror audience is fed and they slurp up as if it’s filet mignon.  Mainstreamers, you have steadily acquired a taste for Grade-A dookie. Yes, you are being served heaping spoonfuls of shit.  There’s nothing interesting here. Nothing thoughtful or truly horrifying nor is there anything campy or fun about The Devil Inside. It simply exists with just about nothing to offer.

Despite some relatively strong performances from supporting players Simon Quarterman and Evan Helmuth as two young renegade exorcists who aid Isabella in her quest and Suzan Crowley as Isabella’s Mother,  Maria Rossi, who pretty much steals the show with every scene in which she appears. She, alone, nearly makes the film worth it. If only we had more time with her.  The film also kicks it into high gear towards the end of it’s running time where it even hints at becoming interesting.  Really. the final ten or fifteen minutes promise of some great rewards only for the movie to pull the rug out from under us and leave us with nothing but frustration and 90 minutes of out lives wasted.

I’m sure they are saving all that for the sequel, which is at this point certain, after this honking log of shit somehow managed to ingest 36 million dollars of hard earned dollars from the accounts of countless movie goers this past weekend despite terrible notices and an ad campaign that looked more like a warning. I guess it proves my old theory that pure evil always works when it’s far more subtle. Why drive the audience completely fucking insane with something truly horrific and mind altering when you can simply bore them to the point of  crying in uncontrollable sobs of pain and suffering for 10 bucks a head?

That, my friends, is the true face of The Devil…

Stay Trashy!

-Root

20
Apr
11

uncle grumpy fuck remembers: “Manos”: The Hands of Fate (part two of two)

an Uncle Grumpy Fuck recollection…

We’re taken back suddenly to the young Sodomite couple,still going at it hours later,and yet again our fun is ruined by the arrival of the fuzz..I swear to Manos if they ruin our potential fluid covered fuck scene one more time I will take a stick and draw unflattering caricatures of their 4 mothers in the sand and piss on them!!! Damn!..sigh…


Meanwhile Frank Zappa wakes up looking fresh as a daisy, gives Tunafish Sandwich Man a pupparoni, says his 10 hail Manos’s, and bids his snoozing slave chicks awaken. One minute they’re part of the decor,then quicker than OJ slicing white meat they’re babbling away like hens on robin eggs. Small surprise. They yammer and bicker over whether to sacrifice an unclean tardling to their loving demigod and finally a 6-vegan tag team of epic proportions begins. ..and much semen is spilled. Seriously, from Enter the Dragon to Gymkata you will never find choreography to compare to this dazzlingly arousing vag-battle. It’s just that good,damn, more peppermint for the grands! Heh!
Back home, as Torgo counts little hunchback sheep Frank arrives and after gaining control of his lust wakes the sleeping manservant with a tender tap on his hot curly weenie, with his staff. Whoa, settle down ladies. Torgo stirs and after an argument over missing dandruff on the slave chicks shoulders, Frank banishes him from the Junior League forever. The shock is too much and our hero swoons like John Waters at a Justin Beiber concert. Frank then delivers a demoniacal laugh and mesmerizing gaze that would chill the blood of ..I don’t know, something with a lot of blood I guess,I don’t know, a tick or something..no, a cow, it would chill the blood of a large cow,okay?


Back to the bound and still unconscious Mr W, the dingos have apparently smelled his young malformation’s stench upon him and have left him alone to die of exposure when one of Frank’s walking mushrooms sneaks up to him, then in a total confusion of emotion she passionately sucks his teeth clean then slaps the living crap out of him several times in an unsuccessful attempt to rid him of head lice.
Master Zappa in the meanwhile,with one of his trollops and the subdued Torgo return to their squatters camp to find the other nymphs STILL going at it! ..and we’ve been missing it all this time! Damn your eyes Jew directorproducterscreenplay guy! Shit! ..His personal strumpet leaps onto one of the combatants and smacks her fillings out before Frank immediately settles them down by holding up a bottle of xanax. Frank then orders the sweaty mosh crowd to do away with Torgo so they engage in a scene of group petting and tickling that makes your scrotum itch, until he suffers an aneurysm from an overabundance of shoulder pheromones. What a way to go for our hero,makes you wish you had large calcium deposits on your back too don’t it?! Over all of this Coletrane and Liberace just cannot get coordinated on the soundtrack music. Then suddenly the supposedly dead Torgo gets up and Frank turns his hand into another charred addition to the inside decor and Torgo escapes to Guatemala to found a new church in the name of his newest savior, Captain Beefheart.


Meanwhile Mr. W has woken up and escaped from the pretend bonds,rushing to get his lovely bride and their casualty of creation away from there before Frank gets his mic and amplifiers set up. We then see that Frank is killing some time slapping the dogshit out of his first wife,by Manos how many men wish…sigh,nevermind. One of his skags then informs him that the family has escaped and Frank orders them pursued and brought back before Sanford and Son begins,they scramble to do so.   The family finally decides to go back to the abode,though they’ve eluded capture up to then, but as they return and approach the compound, Frank and Tunafish Sandwich Man emerge to go for walkies. Mr W whips out his pistol and fires away,intent on revenge for the Valley Girls movie,however Frank being dead as a doornail is unaffected by the simple blanks.
The movie closes with a couple of skanky prostitutes driving up into the sticks to hit up their meth dealer for some smoke when they come upon the compound and Mr. W walked out and starts delivering Torgo’s dialogue. Apparently Frank wanted to be in the sequel and offered Mr. W Torgo’s job in trade for his clinging vine wife and their stunted cabbage cub. Naturally Mr. W goes for it and we have a happy ending and the film closes with another awful number by Kitt,ugh, singing.

There you have it, an accurate and informative review and critique of a film that has grown like a lovely poisonous mushroom into the classic it deserves to be viewed as,praise Manos.

17
Mar
11

Uncle Grumpy Fuck Remembers: “Manos”: The Hands of Fate (Part One of Two)

Hey Gang, The Primal Root here! I just wanted to introduce you to our latest contributor to the Trash Cinema Collective,the lovable little sleazeball, Uncle Grumpy Fuck! He will be joining us to muse about the most notable of dumpster nuggets from yesteryear in his own, trademarked, bizarro style. Note, this man doesn’t give a shit about our societies need for political correctness, the guy calls it like he sees it and never holds back. And this makes his writing incredibly funny to read. So without any further a due, enjoy Uncle Grumpy Fuck’s look back at the Trash Cinema Classic, “Manos”: Te Hands of Fate.

Stay Trashy,

-The Primal Root

an Uncle Grumpy Fuck recollection

…mmmm, yes, that’s good sweetie,the peppermint is just a little further down, just keep..oh.. hi! You’re old pal Uncle Grumpyfuk here- no-no sweetie just keep going- just babysitting the grands, heh,heh. Today we’ll be reviewing the masterpiece from the creator of Lassie, “Manos, Hands of Fate” …mmm oohhh yes sweetie,there’s your peppermint,now wipe your mouth and run along Billy,go find and play with your sister! Heh,kids!


The film begins with some light traffic,the blood begins to congeal. A convertible pulls over and we’re introduced to Mike…Something (Hal Warren,the director and producer,who also wrote the screenplay,talk about cheap, jeez,ah these Hollywood jews…), and his wife Margaret..Something(Diane Mahree,cute but possesses the acting talent of chloroform), we’ll call the couple Mr. & Mrs. W and their unfortunate daughter ‘Debbie’ who is apparently severely retarded,therefore she will be addressed as all retarded children should be addressed, with revulsion and nauseous contempt. Her little dog sucks too.
The family drives for a few moments when they get pulled by a pair of representatives of our police state for extortion purposes, however after the father rightfully blames everything on their retarded daughter the gullible swine allow them to leave unmolested, due to a moment of unaccustomed empathy for the couple’s shame. After a number by Urtha Kitt is abruptly interrupted by some shroomed out beatnik warbling about ‘doing a thing’ or some such thing, it sounded disgusting, we flash to a young Sodomite couple swilling alcohol and fornicating publicly,and just as we’re led to believe things are looking up, shit! Here come the Keystone ..Police ..Guys to break up their tonsil-rimming and send them on their way. This is one scene that truly reflects real life btw, Zig Fucking Heil America!!! Lousy Pigs!…pant,pant…
Anyway, back to Mr and Mrs W,with their little gimp and her crappy dog,they’ve become lost and hit a dead end, turn around and quicker than you can say ‘anal probe fapfest’ they come upon a compound…that wasn’t there before! Spooky, but there,framed in the doorway is the true lead of the film, Torgo the twitching spastic hunchback played with masterful grace and intensity by John Reynolds, esquire. It must be said that Reynolds portrayal of our tortured hunchback sets the new standard by which all hunchbacks have been graded since, Charles Lawton and Christy McNichol shall be forgotten forever more.


Though extremely reluctant, and understandably so due to their unfortunate daughter and her four-legged mangeloaf, and despite his warnings that his ‘Master’ will be displeased by their presence the gracious Torgo invites the family to stay. His convincingly painful limp and jittery mannerism are a quintessential study of the method style of acting. As they enter the adults immediately halt to admire the fashionable Layne Bryant Fall decor, notable the mantle decorations, some charred human arms and a bust of Spock, and above the mantle is a flattering portrait of the Master; apparently Torgo is a disciple of Frank Zappa and his faithful doberman pincher familiar, Tunafish Sandwich Man. As the couple stares stupidly at the painting,secretly gagueing it’s potential value on ebay, at least 14.00 surely, Debbie tries to …I’m sorry,I apologize but my disgust demands I refrain from using an undeserved human name for the couple’s genetic malfunction, therefore I will simply use the first syllable and henceforth refer to her simply as Deh, and as for her crappy little dog, he shall be known from here on as…Crappy Fucking Little Dog. That’s better…anyway she tries to cornhole the crusty pooch when it actually stands on two legs and begs to be taken to the gas chamber rather than spend another horrid day with their little tax writeoff.


Suddenly outside a castrated dingo achieves a righteous orgasm and Mr W and Crappy Fucking Little Dog rush out to watch and possibly participate,however the excitement is too much for Crappy Fucking Little Dog and his tiny inbred heart gives out. He croaks on the spot and Joy is ours, Manos be praised! The parents tell a convincing lie to Deh, that Crappy Fucking Little Dog ran away to find a normal,unretarded little girl to love. Her tears give us comfort. They decide to leave but the car won’t start, they whine at the patient Torgo for a minute,then again their attention becomes arrested by the hypnotic portrait of Zappa,and while thus enthralled Deh wanders outside to look for mealworms.

After realizing she’d disappeared and thoroughly searching the sparsely furnished room they try standing on the front stoop and calling in an almost convincing note of despair. They turn to see Deh with Tunafish Sandwich Man who tears away from the rancid smelling childling the moment the opportunity presents itself. Deh croaks out in her caustic tard language of some strange people (note irony), she then takes them to a nearby clearing to find Frank and some girls from his drum circle crashed out, no doubt wacked on wheatgrass goofballs and excessive masturbation.
The family of 2 1/2 rush back to Torgo’s abode and while the father tries unsuccessfully to start the car, Torgo and Mrs. W get busy, yeah. Torgo’s Bondesque technique and charm rival even Shields and Yarnell on demerol, lulling Mrs. W into a frozen figure of wanton desire (look for wet spot in front of dress, oh yeah) as Torgo masterfully pushes all of her shoulder buttons,Torgo you dog, you are the Man! His sensual afterglow recalls Paris Hilton after getting shagged like an alley cat on the web,meow! ..and, like a sated feline Mrs. W slaps him passionately signalling that the coupling is complete. No piggies to break up this raunchy porn scene,no-siree Bob!


Meanwhile Torgo has made his way to the glen and after cackling and babbling at everyone he gives one of the drum circle girls some sweet Torgo shoulder love, (going for the hat trick tonight, you dog!) then passes out from the effort, yeah, we know about that one eh guys? Heh,oh yeah! You go buddy!
Torgo heads back to the house and makes his way to the bedroom window where the still tingling Mrs. W is stripping in anticipation of more shoulder action. Our hero leers in from the window like Rosie O’Donnell at a cheerleading contest,in a truly  classic scene for the ages. Mrs. W pretends to be surprised, yeah, nice ‘acting’ baby. Mr. W has gone back to the glade when Torgo puts a whippin’ on him with his hand stick, and an awesome duet by Liberace and John Coltrane begins, the saxophone virtuosity is amazing while Torgo kills 3 minutes of film time tying up the uncooperative director/producer screenwriter. He then leaves the unconscious father for the dingos to devour at their leisure…

UNCLE GRUMPY FUCK’S CONCLUSION COMING SOON!





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