Demon: I'm not Regan. Father Karras: Well, then let's introduce ourselves. I'm Damien Karras. Demon: And I'm the Devil. Now kindly undo these straps. Father Karras: If you're the Devil, why not make the straps disappear? Demon: That's much too vulgar a display of power, Karras.
Hello! Welcome to what is the first of hopefully many installments of Con-Man, a series of articles that will focus on the many facets of the most wonderful of nerd-Meccas: horror movie conventions.
"Is this your wife? What a lovely throat." -Graf Orlock, Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror (1922) Vampires, oh how they've changed through the years. Unfortunately, it seems that somewhere along the line the vamps lost their…their GRRR!
Wolfen isn’t a werewolf movie. I should make that clear from the start. In fact, Wolfen has more in common with the monster animal genre of films so popular in the 1970’s like Willard, The Food of the Gods, and Night of the Lepus.
In early June we told you about author and professor James F. Broderick's Now a Terrifying Motion Picture!, after which he offered to write a guest blog for us. The result is this hilarious satire about how Hollywood often ridiculously distorts classic works for contemporary audiences.
Father's Day: the hallowed holiday where we celebrate dads everywhere, even the shining examples of fatherhood that see fit to terrorize their offspring as if they were the enemy. Wait! Those aren't the dads we want to celebrate! They're part of the problem!
Urban legends carry with them that unmistakable element of fear that we long for in the deepest, darkest parts of our psyche -- you know, the one that goes crazy when we watch a great slasher flick. Part of us wants the horrific yarn to be true -- because wouldn’t that be much more interesting than the truth?
"I met him…15 years ago. 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 was lucky enough to sit down with the great Doug Jones last month to talk about John Dies at the End and a potential reunion with Guillermo Del Toro for a dream Frankenstein project. The great thing was, the interview went so well, I had a ton of extra material that wouldn't fit in the original piece. What to do, what to do?
In the four-plus years that I have been reviewing films, I've gained a reputation among my friends and fellow critics as someone with strong - and often negative - opinions of horror movies. My opinions about horror are often met with disdain, as the majority of my reviews within the genre tend to lean toward the negative.
"Show me a man or a woman alone and I'll show you a saint. Give me two and they'll fall in love. Give me three and they'll invent the charming thing we call 'society'. Give me four and they'll build a pyramid. Give me five and they'll make one an outcast."
"My name is Anne Wilkes. And I am..." "I know," he said. "You're my number-one fan." "Yes," she said, smiling. "That's just what I am."
Ask anyone about their first horror movie. Everyone responds differently, but you always see the same look in their eyes, a look of fear and awe I can’t even begin to articulate. That’s because our earliest horror movie experience leaves the boldest mark and, on a deep psychological level, ignites our passion for this kind of stuff. Nobody forgets their first time.
“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it?"
Need to ask a favor, folks. Here’s the deal: Months ago my wife and I and our friend John, whom you will meet later, decided to utilize our precious vacation time to rent a car and drive from our native Kentucky to Colorado. The goal was just to see what happened along the way. We departed on a Friday night with no reservations and a minimum of must-see destinations (the Badlands were imperative; the rest could be bypassed according to our whims at that time, at that moment).