Lunchbreak Horror: THE LAKE

While the story might not be anything groundbreaking, Jason Dodson's THE LAKE a few nice jolts and a couple of nasty kills here. A group of students head out for a weekend of camping. One of the group recalls that area legend tells famed conquistador Ponce de Leon believed the fabled Fountain of Youth was nearby. There's also the question of a missing group of mental patients that vanished decades ago.

Enjoy THE LAKE with a tuna fish on whole wheat sandwich along with some pickle spears and you have yourself a Lunchbreak Horror worthy meal

CHERNOBYL DIARIES: Tourists of Misery

Chernobyl Diaries (2012)
Directed by Bradley Parker
Written by Cari Van Dyke, Shane Van Dyke, Oren Peli

It's a stretch, but in a way, the Oren Peli produced horror film Chernobyl Diaries resembles movies like The Land That Time Forgot. There aren't any cool dinosaurs running around, but the film - which is NOT a found footage horror film - pits a group of travelers against the strange inhabitants and creatures of a world lost to time and tragedy. It's one part post-apocalyptic survivalist tale, and one part nature run amok put together in the frantic, urgent style we expect of films with Peli's name attached. The story plays out in a traditional narrative, one that's not pieced together under the guidelines of a found footage horror film. It has a shaky documentary feel, but held together by a coherent plot with a clear beginning, middle, and end. It was a smart move on their part. For one, I think most everyone is pretty tired of that style. The other reason is that it would require monumental suspension of disbelief to pull off explaining why the camera person is still holding the camera. It simply wouldn't work. The unfortunate byproduct is the confusing title which conveys that we're seeing a "diary" of events. That's just not the case.

Hopefully, you're familiar with the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant disaster, and subsequent evacuation of the surrounding area of the Ukraine during a nuclear reactor meltdown. It was one of the worst disasters in history. The catastrophe basically crippled the Soviet economy, ruined the ecosystem, the effects lingering to this day. The area is severely contaminated, and may never be habitable again. It's evident that Peli and director Bradley Parker, using this area as backdrop for a horror movie, are treading a fine line between horrific entertainment and tactless exploitation. I went in hoping they opted for tact, and maybe give viewers a scary yet sensative cautionary tale. Unfortunately, this isn't how things played out. They're much too concerned with delivering scary set pieces than anything resembling intelligent discourse.

Chernobyl Diaries is the story of a group of college age people on an extended vacation in Europe. Couple Chris (Jesse McCartney) and Natalie (Olivia Dudley), along with Natalie's BFF Amanda (Devin Kelley), are in Kiev visiting Chris' brother Paul (Jonathan Sadowski) who resides there. Rather than take them on the standard tour of the former Soviet Union, Paul has a surprise. He has hired former military special forces solider Uri (Dmitiri Diatchenko) to take them on a guided tour of Pripyat, the city at ground zero of the catastrophic nuclear accident. Assuring them that radiaction levels wouldn't affect them during the short excursion, they all agree to pile into Uri's van, along with backpackers Michael and Zoe, to explore the desolate, isolated, long-deserted city.

Parker does an excellent job establishing things early off. We don't necessarily love the characters, but we hang with them mostly because we're as curious to see the city as they are. Once the group arrives at a military checkpoint, things get tense. The group is warned that the area is closed off due to "maintenance". Uri, who makes his living bringing well-off "extreme" tourists to the area, is angered that his livelihood is threatened, and decides to sneak them in via a different route. This begins a long series of dumb, but somewhat justifiable, decisions. After a day of sighseeing among the ruins, they return to Uri's van, rendered useless by the sabatoge of...something. They are stranded in Pripyat, daylight fading fast, with an unknown threat just out of sight.

The early moments of the group exploring the ruins of Pripyat are quite gripping. Parker and his crew do an excellent job capturing the sheer devastation in the wasteland. There are shots of decrepit playgrounds, abanandoned buidings, underground bunkers, and a haunting visit to the site of a fair that was to take place at the time of the accident. It illicits emotional resonance to see such devastation to a once lively community, now 25 years decomposed. The film's strongest moments occur when the group encounters various forms of wildlife, some mutated, others scavenging the countryside for food. These atmospheric, depressing, and even thought-provoking moments are startling, but unfortunately mired by a tepid screenplay. There's plenty to complain about, but here lies my ultimate criticism:

This would be a MUCH stronger film had Peli and company populated their story with any characters who had a sense of empathy. When they find dead mutated animals, the most anyone does is call it "gross" and basically poke them with sticks. During the entire excursion, the group takes cheesy pictures, broad bleached smiles beaming as they stand in front of abject ruin. Not one character comments about how sad it all is, how many lives were lost, and the land now unsuitable for man or beast. They just wander through like they're at the carnival enjoying cotton candy and bumper cars. It's a sideshow to them. Chris and Natalie pose for an exceptionally tasteless photo with the nuclear reactor looming in the background. You'd think they'd want to climb to the top and get married there.

MAYBE the filmmakers are trying to comment on detached, uninformed spoiled rich Americans. Maybe. I chalk it up less to social commentary than just plain laziness. The story is itself will back me up on this. Throughtout the film there are huge lapses in logic, especially as it moves claustrophobically toward the climax. We're given a lot of information in the beginning that just doesn't add up by the end. I won't spoil any particulars for those who plan to watch, but I will say, you can compile quite a list by the closing credits of things that just don't mesh. The filmmakers were probably hoping their frantic approach and telegraphed scares would balance things out and ensure forgiveness. It might have worked for a lazier filmgoer, but the discrepancies were glaring to me. What starts as a fairly entertaining and engaging film ends with a terribly inept climax that wanted to shift things to radioactive zombie territory without regard to how we arrived at that point.

Chernobyl Diaries has its moments. If you're a person forgiving of logic in lieu of a quick-paced and moderately tense horror film, you probably won't be disappointed. What's disappointing is that any potential to make some great self-reflective commentary was lost in making a depressing historical moment into a carnival funhouse ride. What I fear is that this film has made us every bit the callous, entitled tourists of misery that the film portrays. We pay high ticket prices to live vicariously, protected by our cushy seats and ability to return home to a standing roof, running water, and (hopefully) uncontaminated food. We should appreciate these comforts, and care strongly for those who suffer real miseries. There is great power in the horror film, and when done well, we should feel anything but desensitized to real life suffering and atrocity.

Chernobyl Diaries Trailer

Lunchbreak Horror: "Summer of the Zombies"

I'm trying out a new feature. I'm sure most of you reading are sitting in a cubicle right now scouring sites for anything that can distract you from the soul crushing boredom that is the minutia of your job. Trust me, I've been there. I've spent many a nine-to-five furiously banging out arguments on my keyboard with some anonymous chucklehead over topics far too frivolous to work myself in a lather over as long as it meant not poring over spreadsheets or sales reports. 


Lunchbreak Horror is there to provide a welcome distraction in your day. In nearly three years of hosting this site, We've come across hundreds of amazing short films. Most horror fans don't even know they exist, much less ever get a chance to view them. This new weekly series will highlight a short film (anywhere from two to fifteen minutes) that you can enjoy at your desk over a tuna melt on rye and a diet Coke. All shorts we post will either be publicly available on Youtube or Vimeo or the producers have given us their blessing to host. 


Our first short is Ashleigh Nichol's hilarious Summer of the Zombies featuring what may be the first ever vegetarian walking dead. Pair this up with a Hatchback Salad (cup of spinach, handful of dried cherries, shredded sharp cheddar, diced apple and chopped pecans all tossed in honey mustard vinaigrette) and wash it down with some mint iced tea and you have yourself a good time. 





If your boss asks you to put in some overtime, give him the finger by watching this Q&A while collecting time and a half.

Joe R. Lansdale's CHRISTMAS WITH THE DEAD: Deck the Halls With Putrid Zombies

Christmas With the Dead (2010)
Written by Joe R. Lansdale
Buy the book at PS Publishing
Christmas With the Dead Official Film Site

It's tough for me to write about Joe Lansdale without gushing. Few authors match his ability to spin an entertaining yarn while seamlessly juggling multiple genres. Mr. Lansdale might start you off on a warm and fuzzy nostalgic trip to a drive-in movie theater, but you'll end up in the bowels of some nightmarish otherworldly beast by the story's end. Along the way, he's winking and chuckling as he nudges you toward certain death. He's like the uncle who captivates with old family stories, but then sneaks in a ghoulish monster when mom and pop leave the room to refill the drinks. Upon their return, he's back to charming the room, but you're already too afraid to go to sleep.

Christmas With the Dead may be among Lansdale's most straightforward stories, but doesn't sacrifice a thing in terms of emotional impact. At a very trim 25 pages, the holiday-themed zombie tale reads like an extended greeting card by way of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend. The story of a lone survivor of a zombie apocalypse is full of Lansdale's trademark wit and tension. It's sad, it's gross, it's funny. It's everything you expect from the Texas raconteur.

Calvin has survived an electrical storm that's turned his entire town into shambling, flesh-hungry zombies. Scavenging in his pickup truck, he's lives a lonely life devoted to survival and dispatching the walking dead who used to be his friends and neighbors. Calvin - the story's Neville - decides that rather than sink into the futility of his circumstances, he's going to decorate the house for Christmas. Zombies be damned, he needs some tinsel and blinking lights to jazz up this grim life! 

Lansdale pulls no punches in descriptions of rancid, rotting bodies, and the gruesome manner in which Calvin destroys them.While there are several tensely staged action sequences, Lansdale excels at keeping Calvin grounded. He doesn't relish the killing of zombies, nor does he bask in having the world all to himself. He mostly just misses his family. To reveal anything else would be to recap the entire thing. Like I said, it's short. I want to leave some surprises.

I had the notion of writing about Christmas With the Dead closer to the holiday season, but as it turns out, a film version is being circulated in small screenings and film festivals. The film version was adapted for the big screen by Joe's son Keith Lansdale and directed by prolific filmmaker T.L.Lankford.The film is quite the family affair, as Joe's daughter -and talented singer-songwriter- Kasey Lansdale also stars in the film.

Stay tuned here for more info about Christmas With the Dead. Maybe we'll even land a screening of our own here in Boston. Wouldn't that be delightful?

DEAR GOD NO! Now Available On DVD

Fans of whacked out sleazy cinema now have the opportunity to own a film so nasty it should come with a bar of Irish Spring and a loofa because you need a shower after watching it. Big World Entertainment releases James Bickert's tribute to 70's shoxploitation Dear God No on Tuesday June 5th. The film combines a deranged redneck biker gang, a mad scientist, the undead and even Bigfoot into one giant hodgepodge of grit, grime and filth with an extra bit of nasty on the side. Unlike many of films in the current faux-Grindhouse revival, Bickert's not making a film that winks at the crowd as if to say "What a shitty movie we're making". Going so far as to film on the same stock (Fuji Super 16MM) heavily used in low budget cinema in those days, Bickert's a true fan of the era, and has created an experience that exposes viewers to a much different one the current sterilized movie climate provides.

Along with the film, Big World included a bonanza of special features for fans:

• Audio commentary with writer/director James Bickert & composer Richard Davis
• Audio commentary with actors Jet Bryant Madeline Brumby & Shane Morton
• "Torture Porn" parody promo for the South Alabama Film Fest
• Behind the Scenes reels
• "Zombie Apocolypse" Canadian Trailer Promo
• Still gallery including poster art, stills from the set and festival screenings
• Six additional Easter Eggs

ENTRANCE: Closing The Door On This Home Invasion Flick

Midway through Entrance my PlayStation turned sentient, flashing the “Do you wish to stop playback?” message on my screen unprompted. Even the machines sensed my frustration.

Entrance marks the rare horror entry in the “mumblecore” style of filmmaking. Using handheld digital cameras to create a documentary feel and focusing on the lives of average twenty-somethings, it's a low budget means of storytelling. It resembles a found footage film without the need to manufacturer a bogus excuse to keep the camera rolling when the shit hits the fan. With relatable, engaging characters this style of film can create an experience its core audience can relate to. However for a thriller bereft of tension or the slightest narrative to follow for the bulk off its runtime, it makes for frustrating viewing.

Entrance follows Suzy (Suziey Block), an unhappy LA transplant, as she goes about her daily routine. Viewers follow her ritual of a morning coffee and feeding her dog; accompany her on her walk to work where she pours espressos as a barista; eavesdrop on mundane conversations with friends; and watch her complete a number of workplace and personal chores. As this cycle repeats itself a number of times these every day banalities make up the bulk of Entrance causing the film to feel much longer than its eighty minute runtime. The lack of narrative means viewers are left to watch a detached young woman slog her way through an unhappy life where nothing happens. This makes for a less than captivating experience. 

It's not until a third of the way through that the first hint of trouble in Suzy's life shows itself when her beloved dog goes missing. This scene is handled well, relying on audio cues to paint a picture as to what's happened to her pet. There are a handful of creepy moments where Suzy's unaware of someone watching her. However, these are both scattered and small in occurrence, enough so that you almost forget about them by the time the third act rolls around.

It's not until the last twenty minutes that the horror aspects of the film kick in. While its nothing genre fans haven't seen before, the film executes this sequence well, providing genuine tension. Most of the violence occurs offscreen, yet the reveals aftermath provide for some nice shocks and a couple of surprises. It's also where the fly on the wall camera technique works as it does feel like you're alongside Suzy during her cat and mouse attempts at escape. Unfortunately, it's not enough to justify the hour that preceding hour.I did like the killer's expressionless, nondescript mask that resembles the one from Leslie Vernon.

Credit Suziey Block for delivering a solid performance despite the material of the first two acts. If the goal of the film makers was to depict the melancholy and loneliness of Suzy's life, Ms. Block conveys those feelings throughout. She can't be faulted for being asked to do nothing of interest for an hour. Still, I couldn't help but think of a running gag from Arrested Development where Jason Bateman's character would get a puzzled look on his face and ask “Her?” whenever Michael Cera would wax poetic about his milquetoast girlfriend Anne. While Block's performance provides moments of sympathy, the utter tedium of her life makes it hard to wrap one's head around the notion of someone going cuckoo for her.

Entrance could have worked better as a short film. Leave in enough to establish the banality of Suzy's life and truncate the last act just a bit and you' might have a tense, scary thirty minutes. Of course, a short film wouldn't gain the attention of IFC Midnight, who has released Entrance to several markets days before it becomes available for multiple VOD services. Four writers receive credit for Entrance and it stuns me that it never crossed the mind of anyone that an hour long stretch where the most exciting occurrence shows a young woman hanging Lost Dog fliers makes for a boring movie. Despite a commendable performance by its lead and decent final act, the film's flaws are too glaring to recommend Entrance with any enthusiasm. 

ENTRANCE is playing in limited release and is available via ON Demand, iTunes,  and Amazon 

GOD BLESS AMERICA: Cleaning Up Society One Jerk at a Time

God Bless America (2011)
Written and Directed by Bobcat Goldthwait
God Bless America Official Site

There are some people who will watch God Bless America, snicker a few times, make a Facebook post during the film, and think they get it. They will stroll out of the theater, high-five, blow cigarette smoke in everyone's faces, recap their favorite moments on the way to some bar. They'll probably talk about how shitty "other people" are as they elbow their way past passersby. At the bar, they'll proceed to get shitty drunk, numbing themselves to a relatively cruel, thoughtless world they help perpetuate. They'll stumble home, shouting loudly as they walk through the neighborhood at 3 am while people are trying to sleep. The next day, they'll get up hungover, check the internet for sensational headlines, and probably do countless dumb, annoying, and rude things throughout their day. They are either unaware or uncaring of how their actions affect other people. It's a shame that they learned nothing.

Bobcat Goldthwaith's violent satire is either one of the funniest films out at the moment, or the most depressing. It's nothing if not truthful. People recognize Goldthwait for his offbeat, agitated persona. What most don't realize is that he's an accomplished filmmaker having directed numerous feature films and television shows. Goldthwait's work has always had an undercurrent of severe dark humor. One only need watch his debut, Shakes the Clown, to see evidence. His trademark acerbic wit is on full display here. God Bless America is a biting indictment of just how far down the drain our culture has gone, and Goldthwait leaves nothing out. His film is a potent and funny poke outside and within with riffs on Walter Mitty, Falling Down, Super, and Natural Born Killers.

You could say Frank (Joel Murray) is an average guy. His job isn't great, he's divorced, his kid is kind of an ass. If that's not enough, his neighbors are inconsiderate jerks, vapid pop culture is inescapable, and society in general is mean-spirited. Unfortunately, things are about to get a lot worse. An office misunderstanding finds him fired from his job and his doctor has just informed him that he has brain tumors. With nothing to look forward to, Frank contemplates taking his own life.  

In a desperate moment - gun placed firmly in mouth - Frank moves the gun away from himself, and, instead, points it at society. Fed up with celebrity gossip, reality TV, able-bodied jackoffs taking handicapped parking spots, people who kick puppies, Frank chooses to spend his final days going out with a bang - one that serves to eliminate all these jerks from our ranks. Whether or not he has enough bullets remains to be seen, but Frank will go out swinging and take a few shitheads down with him .

Frank joins forces with Roxy (Tary Lynne Barr), a world-weary teen who looks to Frank as an escape from her mundane life. Gun in hand, she imagines she and Frank are the Bonnie and Clyde of the post-911 age. It's fun at first, especially when the duo offs some truly unsavory celebs. Soon, however, Frank regrets including Roxy in his spree, as he makes some realizations about himself. This doesn't stop him from planning the ultimate send off that involves a bomb and a certain popular TV singing competition.

Joel Murray and Tara Lynne Barr are exceptional as the spree killing team. Joel Murray has a natural abilty to illicit real pathos, and he's able to keep Frank from ever going over-the-top. As a man pushed too far, he's a bit of a paradox in that he's still able to retain a semblance of sanity and humanity. He's the guy who pulls out a gun to shoot obnoxious people in the movie theater, the one whom you might just cheer for going a little crazy. He's heat-of-the-moment, yet in full control of himself. Roxy, on the other hand, is more impulsive. She exacerbates any violent tendencies Frank might keep at bay. They make quite an odd team. She fills a void in his family life, and especially in his relationship with his daughter. Roxy looks to Frank for validation and innocent affection. Together, they are out for blood.

God Bless America is a highly entertaining, funny, and bloody film. It also has a lot to say. Some of the targets may be obvious, but it's just so much fun to see abhorent people get their comeuppance. It's by no means a perfect film. Some dialogue passages play out like extended stand up routines. There are moments where Frank is channel surfing that should be shorter, but the segments are so damn funny it doesn't matter. None of these minor criticisms take anything away from the film. Even though it's obvious we're supposed to root against homophobic religious right characters, racists, or insensitive realty show judges, it doesn't dampen the fun of seeing them blown away. It's VERY cathartic, in fact.

There is an urgency to Goldthwait's film. As he points out, many of these behaviors are indicative of a society about to go pop, as found at the end of the Roman empire. Is it time to move beyond a culture that rewards the asshole, or should we just let it crumble once and for all? Maybe something better will sprout from the rubble?
God Bless America is available to view by a number of means including VOD and iTunes, but Boston area fans can also catch it at the Brattle Theater starting May 18.

God Bless America Trailer

Hitting The Pause Button On V/H/S

After a year of seeking genre films from the far flung corners of the globe  for distribution (including some of my own favorites of last year: The Woman, Chop, Phase 7, La Meute and Yellow Brick Road) Bloody Disgusting enters the production game with the upcoming V/H/S. The film combines one trope bordering on overused (found footage) with one underutilized (the anthology film) and tasks a handful of the brightest young talents in horror to do their worst. 

Do they succeed? The answer is a resounding “Kind of”. It's not without its charms and under the right circumstances V/H/S will appeal to a hardcore horror fans.  Each segment highlights different horror trope, with a classic monsters, haunted house, paranormal and slasher archetypes getting their moment in the spotlight. Each segment delivers a handful of visceral thrills and crowd pleasing moments. Still V/H/S is loaded with major issues that will annoy or infuriate others. 

Adam Wingard’s tale frames V/H/S with Jackass inspired miscreants tasked to break into a home and steal a videocassette. Given no other instruction except the cryptic “You’ll know it when you see it” they find a creepy shithole and a stack of tapes left behind by the deceased owner. Each tape comprises the horror shorts that make up the film.

David Bruckner’s Amateur Night and the Radio Silence's 10/31/98 bookend V/H/S with different takes on similar subject matter and are the best of the bunch. Amateur Night follows a trio of “yah dudes” out on the prowl. While barhopping, they find a pair of ladies to accompany them back to their motel. Of course, anyone not operating with a blood alcohol level high that could be mistaken for Shaq's free throw shooting percentage would know that the wide eyed and almost mute lady is bad news. Amateur Night succeeds because when the shit hits the fan, Bruckner keeps slinging it at the blades. There action features a prop cock that will have dudes covering their junk and cringing in their seats. Newcomer Hannah Fierman plays the creature and she’s freaking awesome. I want to see her in everything going forward: movies, television, cattle racing competitions. I don’t care what it is as long as it sates my giant sized movie crush on her. 10/31/98 also follows a group of young dudes, though this time it’s a more affable bunch. The foursome makes their way to a Halloween party only to stumble upon a house of horrors. Blissfully unaware, they tromp around like giggling school girls while all manners of “boo” scares reveal themselves. The short feature two of my favorite moments: the crew’s reaction when the stumble upon an exorcism in the attic and a pair of bear costumed hands trying to provide solace to a freaked out woman.

Ti West presents Second Honeymoon. A young couple (played by Joe Swanberg and Sophia Takl) on a road trip to the Grand Canyon. It contains the creepiest scene in the film during a moment when you realize who isn’t holding the camcorder in the couple dingy motel room.

Swanberg pulls double duty as the director of “The Terrible Thing That Happened To Emily When She Was Young”. The short consists of the Skype chats between a couple in a long distance relationship and elicited the best audience reaction of the night. Poor Emily (the amazingly cute and chipper Helen Rogers believes her house is haunted, and before too long strange things are happening in the background of her video chats. The climax is bizarre with a wicked black comic touch.

Glen McQuaid (“I Sell The Dead”) uses the home video to great effect with his playful take on the slasher genre. Four friends head out to the woods to drink, fuck and fuck around. The killer can only be seen on videotape and makes his presence known whenever the tracking goes wonky. It was a clever way to acknowledge the shortcoming of the videocassette footage and featured some great kills to boot. I’d enjoy a feature based on the idea.   

While I enjoyed the film it spurts overall V/H/S left me cold. The concept and stories are solid, but the execution is lacking. For one, V/H/S often moves at a snail’s pace. There's a fine line between a slow burn and a snooze fest. Too often the film falls on the wrong side of that line. The framing segment runs far too long and fails to engage viewers. It did not need fifteen minutes of antics comprised of sexually assaulting women or smashing shit up to establish scumbag credentials.  One good look at Calvin Reeder’s dirty ‘stache and you know these guys are the worst of the worst (in his defense Reeder does great dirtbag). This section could have been cut down to just getting them in the house in order to trim the fat from the film. Amateur Night forces audiences to spend far too long watching bros-being-bros before unveiling the goods. Ti West’s predilection towards moseying along towards a rushed (though satisfyingly gory) conclusion rears its head. The “blink and you’ll miss it” reveal and motive also beg the question why would these events even be recorded in the first place.  While West’s languid pace works in his features like The Innkeepers due to the sweeping beauty of his shots, here you’re forced to sit through a poorly shot vacation movie. His short is rife with MacGuffins that pad the running time but add nothing to the short. 

By far the biggest knock on V/H/S is the insistence of the filmmakers to replicate all the warts and flaws of watching amateur home movies. viewers that struggled to get through shaky cam experiences like Cloverfield or The Blair Witch Project may want to keep the vomit bucket close by. The constant tracking issues, glitch edits and segments "accidentally" taped over compound the visual diarrhea. It's an ugly and often visually boring film to slog through. As V/H/S plods along, the gimmick becomes stale mighty fast. The tact reeks of talented creators looking for an excuse to make a poor looking film-after all you can blame the technology.

Magnet Studios has picked up V/H/S for some sort of release late this year. While Magnet has distributed some of the best and most diverse genre efforts in recent years (Trollhunters, I Saw The Devil, Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil to name a brief few) they focus on the video-on-demand and Netflix Instant market with their films seeing very little theatrical push. That works against V/H/S as with the right (i.e. properly lubed up) crowd this could become a cult favorite and staple of the midnight movie circuit. By contrast, I would have struggled to get through V/H/S if watching at home. The sometimes plodding pace and the deliberately jarring editing would prove no match for the myriad of distractions at arms reach. However, in the right circumstances, this could be another Rocky Horror Picture Show, except crowds could hurl bloodied dildos at the screen instead of rice.

The Aggression Scale: Home Alone By Way Of Rambo

A young mom completes her afternoon jog through her affluent suburb, taking a moment to wave at two neighbor hood toddlers playing in their immaculately manicured yard before opening her front door. Before a thought can register she's blown back across her front steps by a shot gun slug to the chest. The man at the opposite end of the barrel strolls over her corpse and snaps a Polaroid.

Less than a minute in and The Aggression Scale has my undivided attention.

The Aggression Scale is a nasty bit of low budget cinema. It has the tone of a seventies exploitation film and a a sadistic gallows humor that runs throughout. It introduces a new killer kid to the cinema pantheon, only instead of your rote slasher it presents a your boy made up of equal parts Kevin McCallister, Mcgyver and John Rambo.  Described as an R-rated Home Alone, the description works so far as you believe Christopher Columbus would have no problem making an orphan out of Macaulay Caulkin's character.

To sum up: Out on parole, a mob boss (Ray Wise) finds out one of his low level flunkies have ripped him off to the tune of $500k straight cash homie (copyright Randy Moss). He turns to his hired goons with a list and two simple directions: 1) Find his money. 2)Kill everyone on the list, along with their families and bring back evidence the job is done. Cut to newlyweds Bill (Boyd Kestner) and Maggie (Lisa Rotondi) heading to their new home with movie van and two his in tow. While Maggie's daughter Lauren (Fabienne Therese) has no problem screeching her displeasure at the move, Bill's Boy Owen (Ryan Hartwig) is silent, almost catatonic with his mute disinterest.

We know the goon squad and family are on a collision course, but what makes the film such a joy is the way the layers get pulled back on the family one at a time. Their reaction to an innocuous knock at the front door  dismantles the nuclear family facade, and we know what's going to follow later on can't be chalked up to random happenstance. The first half of The Aggression Scale peels back the dysfunctions of the family one layer at a time, letting the kettle simmer on low heat until their past sins kick down the front door. From that point on Miller shifts the focus away from the parents and turns attention to the kids. At this point, we get a long look at the seemingly autistic Owen, and his troubled past that's been hinted at and tiptoed around steps right into the spotlight.


With Owen, Hartwig has created the next great anti-hero as a kid is quick on his feet and always planning a few moves ahead of the hired guns. At one point a character finds his medical file that details Owens psychotic tendencies and reads about a gang of bullies Owen lured into one of his traps ("One of them may walk again") but never connects the dots to what the boy's doing to them now. You can see the wheels turning inside the boy's head as he surveys his environment for the deadliest items he can Macgyver into instruments of destruction. He has to rely on wits and stealth because he's a twelve-year old boy with the proportional strength of-well-a twelve year old boy.

Owen's character is interesting because he's not necessarily someone the audience should root for. Under different circumstances, in a different movie, Owen would be our villain. He fits the description Dr. Loomis once used regarding another cinematic child killer:

I was told there was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong. I met this six-year-old child, with this blank, pale, emotionless face and, the blackest eyes... the *devil's* eyes. I spent eight years trying to reach him, and then another seven trying to keep him locked up because I realized what was living behind that boy's eyes was purely and simply... *evil*. 


Rotondi doesn't have as much to do as the erstwhile teen daughter, but her wispy good look and her descent into wallowing in the shit her captors stand knee deep in recall the badass women of seventies cinema that had no problem fighting back and fighting dirty when pushed.  

Miller makes a gleeful left turn from from a crime thriller towards Wile E K Coyote territory, and no where is this more evident in how it depicts its hit crew. Led by Lloyd (Dana Ashbrook), the quartet starts out as an efficient, no-nonsense killing machine, laying waste to the names on their bosses' list and inching closer to his fortune with minimal stress. These aren't bumbling nincompoops cut from Daniel Stern's cloth. Their ruthlessness adds a hard edge to the hijinx of the film's second half.  However, from the moment they encounter Owen, the group is in way over their head. Miller uses Derek Mears, or to be more specific his unique looks and lanky frame, to full comic effect by putting him through the absolute ringer. For his part Mears more than delivers the comic chops to make it happen. As The Aggression Scale marches on, Owen's traps grow more complex and more titillating. His final trap is almost ballet-like in its precision, and earns the seal of approval of anyone that ever spent a rainy afternoon playing the board game Mousetrap on the kitchen table. 


I've given up on figuring out how studios work. Why do films that incite the audience to load up potato gun launchers and fire at the screen in piques of rage (The Devil Inside) receive thousands of screens while something that would be a surefire crowd pleaser goes straight to DVD (May 29th).  Make no mistake, you're watching The Aggression Scale because you want to watch some fucked up kid who hasn't even undergone the Peter Brady stage rain ten tons of hurt on bad muchachos. Miller and company deliver the goods in spades, putting out a piece of ass kicking cinema that leaves you rubbernecking at the carnage*.



The highest compliment I can pay it relates to my wife. The night I popped the DVD in our bedroom player my wife and I did our usual dance whenever I try to watch a movie in bed on a work night. "How long is the movie?" "About an hour and a half." "I want to go to sleep soon." "I'll start watching it in here and move to the other room when you want lights out." I'm happily enthralled in the film while she's web surfing. About fifteen minutes in the questions start: "Who's that guy? What's wrong with the kid? Do the parents know these people?" About midway through the film the computer is set aside and there's no tap on the shoulder to hit the lights. By the the time our baddie has fallen into the last trap she's peeking through her fingers and telling me to let her know when the "crunchy bits" have passed. ANY movie that gets my wife to stay up past her bedtime is rife with entertainment. 

Happy Mother's Day! Gift Giving Ideas For The Ladies Who Have It All

From everyone here at All Things Horror, we'd like to wish our warmest regards to all the mother's out there that didn't out out cigarette butts on their children's forearms or lock their kids in the cabinet under the sink whenever a "time out" was in order.

Of course if your mom is anything like mine, she's impossible to buy for, telling you she doesn't want anything, yet silently judging you by the gift you offer. I still remember Christmas Eve 2009 like it was yesterday as I had a nervous breakdown in a Crate & Barrel trying to decide on a picture frame vs throw pillow set. With that in mind, here's some ideas for east last minute gifts fully backed by our favorite horror movie moms

Skin Moisturizing cream

A new sweater, & a gift certificate for a manicure.

A consultation with a closet organizer

A gift membership to Jenny Craig and a new Mumu

Pepper Spray, some sort of master key

A house in a gated community, far away rom crazy ass old people. 

Childproof fastener's for the knife drawer

Nothing. The lady has it all.