Director: Rick Jacobson
Year: 2009
Country: USA

I am not familiar with exploitation films. My modus operandi is the cinematic output of the past decade or so, with a few older films sneaking in from time to time to remind me just why I got into horror in the first place. As a result, I am unable to compare Bitch Slap, the throwback to said films by Rick Jacobson. Jacobson brings with him years of experience directing schlock, with shows such as Baywatch, Xena: Warrior Princess, and movies such as Bloodsport VI and VIII taking up a noticeable chunk of space on his curriculum vitae. As such, I have no basis of comparison for his cleavage laden foray into 70s nostalgia. This is probably a good thing, as I was able to eschew constant comparisons to classic exploitation films and just lose myself in breasts, bad acting and sexual euphemisms.

Bitch Slap follows three sexy femme fatales as they seek to recover $200 million dollars in diamonds from a drug kingpin that have been stashed in a remote area of the desert. There’s Hel, the self-imposed leader of the group; Camero, the bad ass with severe trust issues; and Trixie, the naive stripper brought along for the ride by Hel, much to Camero’s chagrin. Their little desert adventure is made all the more tumultuous by the intrusions of a nosy local cop, the very likely possibility that they’re being hunted by several drug kingpins, Camero’s desire to kill Trixie every five minutes, and the fact that they don’t know where the diamonds are actually hidden. As the sun beats down, alliances shift and harsh truths are revealed, resulting in one Hell of a wild ride. And cleavage. Lots and lots of cleavage.

The beauty of Bitch Slap lies not in its bevy of buxom beauties bouncing around in almost no clothes, but in the fact that it actually sports something that resembles a coherent plot. The story is intricate enough to keep your attention, providing enough back story, albeit in a fairly convoluted manner, to make the actions and progression of the story more than just an excuse to show skin. It certainly took me by surprise, and actually caused me to overlook the dreadful acting from time to time. Sort of. The abundance of tits might have helped as well.

Shockingly enough, there were only a few brief moments of exposed cleavage, mostly relegated to strippers, with the main characters remaining PG-13 for the duration of the film. That’s not to say these three lassies, one of which resembled a dude in the right light and another who is a bonafide cougar,  didn’t put on a show. Much of the action in the film was spent stroking the hypersexualized mind of the male audience, with scenes that included fights with seemingly bottomless buckets of cold water and making out with each other in scenes that could rival the softcore porn you might find on late night Cinemax. In between this was rapid-fire dialogue so loaded with euphemisms you’re likely to let slip during a heated moment with your significant other and call her vagina an axe wound.

Is Bitch Slap a good movie? No. Is it a fun movie? Shit yes. The almost-cartoonish gore, relatively engaging plot that keeps you guessing, and hilarious dialogue spouted by laughably bad actors results in two hours of mind-numbing enjoyment on par with one of the better Roland Emmerich films, like Independence Day.

Director: Kevin Hamedani
Year: 2009
Country: USA

Zombie comedies, heretofore known as “zombedy,” are all the rage these days. Zombieland tore up the box office and resulted in a weird cult of Woody Harrelson (I still say his best role is as Woody on Cheers), while Doghouse, though relatively unseen outside the festival circuit and the U.K., blew me away with its unique brand of humor that failed to miss a beat. Kicking off the new decade with a slot on After Dark’s 8 Films to Die For is Kevin Hamedani’s Zombies of Mass Destruction, a zombedy with a political bend it wears on its blood-soaked sleeve.

Zombies of Mass Destruction takes your standard “group of people trying to survive a zombie outbreak” trope and layers it with a heaping plate of social and political commentary. Iranian-American Frida has recently returned home from Princeton to only be met with ignorant yet neighborly racists and her devoted Muslim father. Meanwhile, couple Tom and Lance have arrived from the big city to reveal to Tom’s mother that he’s gay. To make matters worse, a zombie outbreak has inexplicably cropped up. As they struggle to survive, the zombies become the least of their worries as they face rampant racism and religious persecution that has come to typify the small town they tried to leave behind.

(Read the rest of the review at Horror Squad)

Writer: Jeff Lemire
Art: Jeff Lemire
Publisher: Vertigo

I am not an avid comic book reader. The last comic book I read was The Maxx, which I still consider to be one of the best comic books in existence, and that was years ago.  So when I was given the opportunity to read and review Sweet Tooth, the new comic from indie artist Jeff Lemire starring a little boy with antlers in a post-apocalyptic world ravaged by a mysterious pandemic, I jumped at the chance.

The plot of Sweet Tooth, paraphrased shamelessly from the words of Jeff Lemire himself, is as follows: America has become ravaged by a mysterious pandemic, and out of the ashes has arisen a new breed of man/animal hybrid, all of which are apparently unaffected by the infection. One such mutanimal is Gus, a shy boy living in the isolated Nebraska wilderness under the loving authority of his father, who is dying of the infection. After his father dies, Gus is alone, left to fend for himself in the wilderness from the beasts, both human and animal, that swell within. He meets a man named Jeppard, who promises to lead him to safety. Shotgun shells to the head and a bloody good time ensue.

This comic is excellent. While I’m resting precariously on the fence concerning the art – it’s quite good at times, at others uninspired – the writing is top notch, reflecting the naivete of children faced with adversity perfectly. Gus is a unique individual, speaking in double and triple negatives, indicative of his backwoods upbringing and possessing a curious innocence not unlike a fawn. This nearly gets him in trouble with a couple of hunters seeking a live hybrid until he is saved by the requisite “mysterious stranger” and his big shotgun.

Within the pages of the comic itself is a note from Jeff Lemire introducing himself and his comic to the reader. In it he laments the omnipresence of post-apocalyptic stories, yet states, “…there are no tired and played-out stories – just tired and played-out ways of telling them.” This sentiment couldn’t be more true, and intitial impressions are that Sweet Tooth is a perfect example of that. Elements of the The Road echo throughout, but with a twist. Our protagonist is, for lack of a better term, a mutant ten-year old boy with no knowledge of the outside world. He is ignorant, naive and completely reliant on the mysterious stranger who has appears out of the shadows to save his life.

Not much can be said about a single issue of what I hope is long and deeply emotional story. We’re given a basic introduction to the characters and the situation in which they have found themselves, and left with the desire for more. Sweet Tooth is gearing up to be something great, and I for one can’t wait to see how the story unfolds.

Director: David Moreau and Xavier Palud
Year: 2006
Country: France

When The Strangers, Bryan Bertino’s 2008 home invasion thriller, was released in 2008, immediate comparisons were drawn between it and Ils (Them), a little known French thriller released in the states a little over a year after it premiered in its native country. Much support was given to The Strangers, and although moderately popular among the horror community, it has received relatively negative reviews, sporting only a 44% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Burdened by a ridiculous back story, conventional jump scares, a less-than-subtle reveal and Liv Tyler, The Strangers remains the inferior product, while Ils eschews all that makes these films slide all too easily into convention, resulting in a well-crafted, brilliant thriller.

Ils is survival horror at its finest. A young couple, Clementine and Lucas, are preparing to spend a relaxing night with other in their secluded country home. As night descends, their idyllic night is interrupted by eerie phone calls and their car being stolen. After retiring to bed, they are set upon by hooded assailants, who chase them fervently in and around their home until there’s nowhere else to go.

The beauty of this film is in its minimalistic approach to survival horror. Bereft of hackneyed musical cues to warn the audience of imminent danger and stripping down the story to its most basic of elements, Ils relies heavily on the use of sound to convey tension so thick it’s palpable. The clicking noise made by the invaders (the source of which is revealed at the end of the film) and their terrifying bellows as they chase Clementine and Lucas through the woods is genuinely terrifying, forcing the viewer to cautiously peer over his or her shoulder just in case.

The direction and editing are slick, employing muted colors and subtle reveals to convey the notion that our unfortunate protagonists are not the victims of mere childhood pranks. This is supported by the solid performances of Olivia Bonham and Michael Cohen, who manage to display a sense of credibility to their actions by acting how most would in such a situation.  Logic and reason are characteristics not often found in horror films, but Moreau and Palud manage to instill in their characters a sense of believability that throws convention into the wind.

Ils is precisely what effective horror should be: raw, dark, and gritty, carried by the emotion of its characters and relying on a subtle approach to achieve its goal. With a true story as its inspiration, Moreau and Palud successfully translate the horror of reality into seventy-four minutes of brilliantly executed escalating tension, culminating in a twist that only serves to add to the abject horror of the situation. Ils is one of the best horror films of 2006, and it’s a shame it has not received the recognition it deserves.

Back story: Way back in the nascent days of I Love Horror, I wrote for HorrorNews.net, a new horror site that has since revealed itself to be filled with nothing but hack journalists with a penchant for plagiarism. In an attempt to distinguish myself from others and to perhaps gain a modicum of credibility, I sought out independent horror films and requested screeners. The first and only one I received was Us Sinners, a psychological slasher flick by writer/director George Snow.

A few weeks after receiving the film I decided to finally watch it and write up a review. The movie was, in short, one of the most vile pieces of trash I have ever seen. After tearing it apart in my review, I sent it to HorrorNews to be posted. In what would become characteristic of my tendency to hate that which is popular, I was (at the time) seemingly the only person who found this film to be utter trash. The director tracked me down and began posting comments in my blog, complaining over the review containing spoilers and apparently misinterpreting some scenes. I accepted the blame (Hell, I made the mistakes), but he kept bitching and moaning like a little girl with a skinned knee, incorrectly assuming that anyone beyond critics and festival goers would ever see his abortion of a horror film.

Throughout all of this I’m getting into petty squabbles with the manager of HorrorNews, a woman by the named of Dai, who eventually became so enraged over all of this that she replaced my honest, negative review with her glowing one, proving she A) has terrible taste in movies, and B) is a fucking sycophant. Shortly after the dust had settled, I received an e-mail from Dai herself explaining how my services were no longer needed. Her tone had shifted from the threatening and hate-filled responses of her earlier e-mails to that of a proper businesswoman. I requested that my remaining reviews be taken off the site immediately, which she ignored, and as far as I know are still up on the website.

I removed the review from I Love Horror to avoid any problems on my end, as my blog was relatively new and I had no desire to be associated with the lack of journalistic integrity found daily throughout the pathetic excuse of journalism that is HorrorNews. This has recently become evident through their frequent theft of templates, pictures and other aspects of popular websites. Regardless, I would like to present my original review, only this time adding a pleasant little spoiler warning so Mr. Snow doesn’t blow a gasket.

*Warning: this review contains major spoilers*

Director: George Snow
Year: 2007
Country: USA

Director: Christopher Smith
Year: 2006
Country: United Kingdom

Shortly after the overwhelming success of 2004’s Shaun of the Dead, horror comedies have a tendency to gravitate toward the zombie-genre, with at least one new zombie comedy being released every year. Given the predilection for many filmmakers to follow this formula, it’s always refreshing to see a horror comedy that eschews zombie-themed imagery in favor of a more straightforward approach. Therein lies the appeal of Severance, the 2006 British horror-comedy helmed by Christopher Smith.

Possessing a modicum of political and ethical undertones, Severance follows the unfortunate outcome of a weekend team-building retreat for the European Sales division for weapons manufacturer Palisades Defense. With their bus driver refusing to take an alternate path around a blocked mountain road, the team winds up at a run-down “resort” located in an isolated forest. Unbeknownst to them, the surrounding trees harbor something, or someone, with a grudge against Palisades.

While calling Severance a horror-comedy would be accurate, it would not necessarily be appropriate. Opening with the intent to establish itself as comedy through the introduction of the characters, the film tends to err more on the side of horror as it progresses, eventually eschewing most comedic elements in favor of outright survival horror. The bulk of the humor comes from the wildly divergent personalities of the characters, which consist of a stoner tripping on shrooms, a perverted boss, and a brown-nosing nerd, among others.  As the characters begin to realize the danger they’re in, comedic dialogue begins to subside in favor of sporadic and dark situational humor that elicits nothing more than a slight chuckle as opposed to outright laughter.

Aside from the unique characters the main draw of the film are the clever ways in which they all meet their fate. The violence in the film is varied, from simple gun shots and stabbings to bear traps and decapitation, with a sprinkle of mutilation reminiscent of torture flicks thrown in for good measure.  The direction is respectable and at times a bit creative in the way Smith portrays the death scenes, twisting and turning to capture all aspects of the unfortunate’s death.

The serious tone found throughout the majority of Severance is the only thing keeping it from truly deserving the title of horror comedy. It finds itself only slightly behind films such as Dog Soldiers, another British horror “comedy” that keeps the humor flowing at an even pace throughout the course of the film while escalating the violence until the finale. A solid effort, but not as solid as it could be.

This gets double billing due to its uncharacteristic approach. I’m fairly certain no one will agree with my assessment, but hey, different strokes for different folks. It’s also short, so, uh, deal with it

I’ve been sitting on a review for the “re-imagining” of My Bloody Valentine for awhile, the result of a mix of writer’s block and a desire to watch other films that haven’t been reviewed by everyone and their mother. Despite being half written and focusing for whatever reason I can’t discern on the unlikely success of Paul Blart: Mall Cop and its trumping of MBV3D at the box office, I have decided to rework it to focus on what I felt was a heavily detrimental aspect to my overall enjoyment of the film.

No, it’s not the absolutely ludicrous faux-love story or the done-to-death ending that did little to make me not wretch in abject disgust. This was just par for the course on what has started off as a dismal year for mainstream horror films, beginning with David Goyer’s The Unborn and no doubt sure to include the remake of A Tale of Two Sisters and the forthcoming and highly anticipated Friday the 13th. Of course, this could just be a slow start and I’ll be pleasantly surprised, but that would be wishful thinking. But I digress.

It was the 3-D.

Most everyone who has reviewed the film has made the claim that the 3-D was spectacular, and the very definition of what good three-dimensional film viewing should be; it was the sole reason to see the film (which I agree with) and set the standard for how 3-D should be, at least in a horror film (I disagree). While the 3-D was indeed a real treat and a good distraction from actual content of the film, it was severely underutilized. Now, it started strong. Believe me, early on in the film I thought that if the trend of mutilated hospital staff, eyeballs flying into the audience, and body upon body being stacked like Lincoln Logs continued throughout the duration of the film, I was going to be a happy camper.

Sadly, it did not. Given the weak story, soap opera-esque acting, and the ridiculously cliché dialogue (curse you Todd Farmer!), one would expect – or hope – the wonderfully morbid levels of violence and bodily dismemberment to continue with a steady pace throughout the film, thus making full use of the RealD™ technology. Instead we’re treated to an excellent first fifteen minutes, followed by three dimensional representations of people talking and bickering and only a small smattering of deaths in between.

Maybe I’m asking for too much here, but when I go see a remake of a slasher film done entirely in 3-D, I expect so much fucking blood spraying into the audience I actually get wet. The full use of the technology came only when something, usually a body part or weapon of some sort, went flying at the viewer, and this was done all too sporadically to make the three dimensional aspect enjoyable.

In the end, the 3-D was simply a distraction and not enough to compensate for everything else that was wrong with the film. I’m not going to lie; the scenes where it was used in a way to actually make me forget I paid twelve dollars to see the film were excellent. I have a habit of laughing uncontrollably when people die in gruesome deaths on screen, and I belted out a few good ones. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t enough for me.

Zombies are universally known as a monumental pain in the ass. It’s true. They smell, the by-product of that whole being dead thing; they’re ugly, again, a by-product of that whole being dead thing; and they have this weird, insatiable urge to eat your brains, a by-product of George Romero’s weird little mind. Annoying in their own right are Nazis. They don’t necessarily smell and, if we’re to believe Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, can be quite attractive; and they have an insatiable urge to kill Jews, not eat brains. An amalgamation of the two is a terrifying prospect; zombies are a big enough nuisance as it is, but Nazi zombies…well, why don’t we just give them rocket launchers and let them loose in Times Square?

But wait! How can we make them worse? Imagine these Nazi-Zombies have the ability to teleport, or, if that doesn’t make them scary enough, possess the capabilities for astral projection; or maybe they’re just ghosts. You’re never really told, but either way we’re now dealing with unstoppable, undead, transporting members of the Third Reich who have nothing better to do than kill the shit out of anyone unfortunate enough to stumble into their little makeshift base camp in the middle of Eastern Europe. This unlikely combination of terrifying characteristics somehow collided and formed a black hole of logic that materialized into the 2008 horror film Outpost, the directorial debut by Steven Barker starring everyone’s favorite fictional Roman freedman, Ray Stevenson.

As is customary for Stevenson, his role is that of a brutish military figure named D.C., a Royal Marines Commando-cum-mercenary hired by a mysterious businessman in a dank bar. D.C. is tasked to assemble a ragbag team of miscreants to accompany him to the middle of nowhere to scope out an old World War II bunker. It is assumed that the motive is gold, as Nazi gold is a wonderfully appropriate catalyst for manned explorations into what is soon to be seen as the unknown remnants of the Third Reich.

Upon arrival to the bunker, they discover hidden deep within its myriad of hallways and rooms a lone, mute survivor amidst a pile of bodies that, if you have seen any pictures or footage of concentration camps, resemble a pile of dead prisoners. How fortunate for them. It is soon revealed that the bunker was a Nazi hideout designed for occult-like experimentation on soldiers to unlock the secrets and harness the powers of reality shifting and reanimation. Of course, they succeeded in a weird, roundabout way, and our men are beset upon by seemingly corporeal Nazi ghouls.

It’s bad when I have to cite the relatively lack of believability in a zombie film as its most detrimental aspect, but Outpost manages to inject monumentally egregious gaps in logic throughout the second half of the film. Though not zombies in the purest sense of the word – the term revenant would be more appropriate, as it carries less Romero-esque qualities with it – the undead Nazis so central to the film have an annoying tendency to act more like ghosts than they do zombies. Their ability to appear and disappear without warning is never explained, though one can suggest that this is merely assigning a physical representation to the fear that is no doubt surrounding the mercenaries; in essence, a really cheap ploy at foreshadowing or, if you’d like, teasing the viewer with what’s to come.

Despite this, the movie was still quite entertaining. It possessed an air of Neil Marshall-like qualities, its cinematic equivalent being Dog Soldiers, though more in terms of theme than plot. Both films center around a group of soldiers who come across an unexpected and very deadly adversary in a heavily wooded area and are picked off one by one until a final stand. Though Barker’s film doesn’t quite possess the same attitude Marshall’s does, it’s execution and style mirrored Marshall’s, and it kept you hooked with its motley crew of characters and their creative and absurdly creepy deaths.

What it lacks in logic it more than makes up for with its endless entertainment, absurdly dark plot, and ingenuity. You’re never bored and it subverts convention in a way that makes the gaping holes in logic seem inconsequential. This makes the film a success in its own right, even when you disagree with the way it plays out.

I’m not going to go on a profanity laced rant over how mainstream horror films are ruining the genre, only to segue into a review of another foreign film that once again makes your favorite Hollywood horror remake look like Bring It On. I’m not going to bitch about how much I hate so and so as a director, or how torture porn is an affront to my sensibilities and intelligence. No. I’m tired of this, and I’m sure everyone else is as well. Instead, I am going to simply say this:

À L’Intérieur is an amazing film, and no self-respecting horror fan should go without seeing it.

Directed by newcomers Alexandre Bustillo and Julien Maury (Bustillo wrote the screenplay), the story is genuinely original yet flirts on standard horror tropes. A young woman named Sarah loses her husband in a violent head-on collision, and all that she has left is her unborn baby, a scarred face, and her job as a photographer. Four months after the accident and still grieving, she is visited at her home on Christmas Eve by a shadowy woman who will stop at nothing to acquire Sarah’s unborn child. And I mean nothing. The introduction of the unknown woman sets into a motion a film that is, simply put, a complete onslaught on the senses. It is one of the most brutally violent, disturbing, and utterly gut-wrenching horror films I think I have ever seen. The movie was an eighty-eight minute long crescendo of soul-crushing violence and bloodshed weaved around a story of desperation that makes you feel like you just watched the crucifixion.

Some, however, might be quick to point out that the excessive violence and bloodshed would require this film to fall under the umbrella of torture porn. This would be a mistake, and what I could only consider a monumental insult to the filmmakers who no doubt poured their heart and soul into making a movie truly deserving the moniker of horror. Aside from scenes of explicit torture being completely absent, films that are often referred to as torture porn lack the masterful storytelling and raw emotion that are required to make a horror film truly effective, and À L’Intérieur presented all of this in a manner that would make its absence a detriment to the film and the impact it has on the viewer.

One of the aspects of this film that sets it apart from the gore-infested tripe we normally see is the characters. Throughout the film Sarah, portrayed by Alysson Paradis (who is apparently Johnny Depp’s sister-in-law), displays alternating bouts of intensity and capitulation, giving to the character a sense of realism not often seen in horror films of this caliber. The interspersing of scenes in utero display the motivator for surviving the horrendous ordeal – the baby might seemingly represent the last vestiges of a life taken from her four months prior – while at the same time showing her to be a woman who at times has simply reached the threshold of what an ordinary human can handle. This is all juxtaposed by the alternating bouts of utter rage and placid determination displayed by the unnamed intruder, la femme, who will stop at absolutely nothing to make Sarah’s unborn child her own. In contrast to this, a beautiful dichotomy is seen in the characters’ contrasted appearance: Sarah wearing a white evening gown, and la femme wearing a long black dress and a corset throughout the film (an interview with the directors revealed they were inspired by Pinhead and Michael Myers in the look they chose for her).

Visually the film is stunning. It’s dark and brooding atmosphere, accentuated by the genuinely disturbing performance by Beatrice Dalle, is offset only by the red hue given off by the impressive and stunning deluge of blood (quite literally at one point) that pervades the latter half of the film. The soundtrack is impressive, alternating a string arrangement with a cacophony of noises to heighten the mood of the scene, though at times I did feel that it was inappropriate, and seemed to be more of a hindrance to the overall effectiveness of the scene that a benefit.

No film is truly perfect, and À L’Intérieur suffers from a few issues that I feel don’t necessarily detract from the overall impact of the film, but are prominent enough to where they make the viewer scratch their head or roll their eyes. A scene involving a little bit of CGI made me cringe over how fake it looked, and toward the end logic gave way to absurdity in a scene that was quite possibly one of the most brutal in the film. One reviewer, in what featured quite possibly the greatest number of instances in which the word “fuck” was used to review one movie, cited the supposedly incredible absence of all logic throughout the course of the film (why did Sarah not scream for the cops? – note: maybe she was in a state of shock? scared shitless? who knows?). While I agree with most of the points he attempts to make, I myself attempted to reason away some of them in the comments section.

À L’Intérieur has been making the rounds on festival circuits and pulling in tremendous amounts of praise, being hailed as one of the best horror movies in recent memory. Alysson Paradis and Beatrice Dalle won the Carnet Jove Jury Award at the Sitges – Catalonian International Film Festival, a true testament to their phenomenal performances. The film was picked up by Dimension Extreme for a stateside release, and has since become a favorite among horror fans everywhere.

From À L’Intérieur to Frontieres to the upcoming Martyrs, the French seem to have a stranglehold on the genre, and there seem to be no sign of letting go.