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You can try, but no matter how buff, oiled or saxy you get, you will never overpower this guy. I bet he is still doing the song on a sidewalk in LA somewhere. Maybe I should try and track him down.

Put that back right now young man, you don’t know where it’s been.

May 20th: Pan Mask from akdonovan on Vimeo.

There are good movies, there are bad movies, mediocre and brilliant and crap movies. There are movies that make you want to poop out from your eyes; there are movies that bring tears and joy with only a passing thought of their magnificence. Then there’s Troma. For the uninitiated, Troma is one of the longest running independent movie studios in existence. Over the past 25 years, the brainchild of Lloyd Kauffman has given us the splendorous ‘Toxic Avenger’ (All five of them, with a stage musical now opening on Broadway), ‘I was a Teenage TV Terrorist’, ‘The Class of Nuke-Em High’, ‘Tromeo and Juliet’, ‘Rabid Grannies’ and ‘Redneck Zombies’ all of which I can highly recommend not only as completely unique and hilarious pieces, but they also make the perfect introduction to this twisted and wonderful universe.

One of the more up to date offerings is ‘Julie Strain’s Tales from the Crapper’. Julie Strain is of course the B-Movie actress who was in the Heavy Metal remake and numerous straight to video fantasy epics. Here, Kauffman plays the ‘Crapkeeper’ who introduces the segments adding his own personal brand of terrible acting and satirical approach to the movie industry. Kauffman highlighted many of his views on Hollywood in the remarkable ‘All the Love You Cannes’ documentary which was released several years ago. It shows approximately fifty followers who volunteer to assist with the Troma campaign every year at the lavish French Movie Festival. To watch the commitment of these individuals who are willing to all sleep in a one bedroom apartment, humiliate, strip and dehumanise themselves for the good of a movie studio is a rare thing. It is a testament to the nature of these films. Troma is always offering the fans a chance to get involved and this only serves to build the connection that exists between them.

All of this is definitely an attributing factor to the fact that we allow films like ‘Tales from the Crapper’ to be made. This film is horrible in almost every sense of the word, but it’s also fantastic. These movies are meant to be fun, something that is greatly lacking from most cinema, they are too lame to be funny, to cheap to be scary, proper no budget cinema the way it should be. Admittedly, if you are to partake in too many Troma movies in close succession, you may find that your thought capacity is greatly minimised. It’s not my fault if they find you after the Bank Holiday weekend, bloated and dead on the couch because the movies were so terrible that they actually shut down your nervous and respiratory systems. This isn’t my fault, you have been warned.

Anal probes, strippers, zombies, more anal probes, aliens, hobos and more strippers. ‘Tales from the Crapper’ is one to add to the list. Pay a visit to the Troma website too for a quick peruse of their titles and back catalogue, it makes for good reading in itself. Expect a few more Troma reviews in the near future.

Find out more at http://www.troma.com/

Dystopian cinema is a wonderful medium to work in, especially now when more than ever we pirouette precariously on the precipice of complete global collapse. If the E! Channel is to be believed; we’ll all be crapping in massive communal pools and eating our dogs by 2012. Ok, maybe that’s just the internalised vision that springs to my mind whenever I Ryan Seacrest (slowly becoming higher up on the ‘They’ve got to go’ list every time I see his smug little face). It isn’t entertainment unless it’s got a Corey in it, that’s the law. Anyway, back to my point. We’re all doomed. HG Wells knew it, Snake Plissken knows it and Alan Moore knows it. It’s an age where there are companies who have databases of your grocery shopping fer krisssakes (or what did you think those clubcards were for?); people have less and less free choice and privacy than ever before.

An unexplained epidemic of blindness falls upon an unnamed city. The disease is infectious and easily spread and so the government quickly ship everyone off to mandatory quarantine centres. The centres are heavily guarded, but have no internal staff, leaving the blind to (don’t say lead the blind, don’t say lead the blind, you can do better than that, come on now, don’t, don’t do it, not even a News of the World journalist would do that) provide care and facilities for themselves (good lad, have another coffee). Julianne Moore (Yayy!) and Mark Ruffalo (Booo!) play an unnamed couple (nobody is deemed with a moniker in this movie, neither are any of the locations which was a nice touch). Ruffalo is struck down with the blindness early on (Yayyy!) and is told to wait at his house for collection and instant transportation to quarantine; Moore is unable to leave him and feigns blindness to accompany him. Strangely immune to the disease, Moore assists the others as best she can in the disgusting mess that they are sectioned to. Armed guards threaten to shoot anyone who approaches them and so cries of sanitary and nutritional difficulties are ignored.

As more and more ‘patients’ are drafted in, the collapse of any form of order wonderfully mirrors the representations of the collapse of the outside world. Buses plough into streams of traffic as drivers are struck down, soon all amenities are gone. The city is plunged into darkness and people take to looting the streets. Meanwhile inside the quarantine, man’s inherent evil is taking precedence, with some of the most shocking and memorable scenes of brutality that I have seen in considerable time, especially in a movie with big name stars. Gael García Bernal is delightfully nasty, Danny Glover is the polar opposite, playing the sweet and wise old man with an eye patch role that is essential for the success of any good story.

So, while it all goes to hell and before the screaming hordes come battering down your door, dragging you from the couch and disemboweling you to make cardigans, I would loot/borrow/buy a copy of this. The tension builds greatly but there are several points at which they could have chose to end the movie which would have been more suitable than their chosen one. Still, this doesn’t detract from what is a very clever and highly enjoyable slice of Dystopian Doggy Pie.

Ok, this one may take a little explaining. This is behind the scenes footage from the Musical Season Finale of ‘It’s Always Sunny In Philedelphia’. A show that I currently miss greatly and am very much in anticipation of the next season. The final song ‘It’s Nature, Shit Happens’ was unfortunately cut from the final episode, but there might be a clue here as to why. Enjoy.

I have long maintained my dislike for David Letterman, not simply for the fact that he’s a terrible comedian an awful journalist and has as much charm as an unwelcome genital rash. One person I have had long standing affinity towards however is Marilyn Manson.

I think that Manson has given something worthwhile to popular music in his career which has spanned over fifteen years. From the protégé of Trent Reznor to an admirable artist in his own right. Manson has not always made the best music, with his output declining rapidly after the release of the sublime ‘Holy Wood’. I can personally admit to loving at least four of his albums. It has always been Manson as an entity that exists on the precipice of celebrity that forms the ideal of him which we hold. Is the real reason that so many hate him the fact that he is an articulate and intelligent individual who has a tendency to make a great deal of sense? This could possibly be what causes such conflictive views on the subject.

If an artist’s fanbase consists predominantly of teenage boys, can it be automatically assumed that they are of an inferior value or rank within the confines of the musical hierarchy? Does this necessarily mean that the artist has nothing to offer anyone outside that demographic. Other bands which have been massively popular with teenagers include Nine Inch Nails, Slipknot, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, the list is huge. Does this mean that they also have nothing to offer anyone over the age of 17? If an artist such as Manson, who wilfully invites scorn and criticism, is combined with such a preconception, then it is easy to write him off as a joke, or a fallacy.

Manson has proved over time that this is very much who he is, for to maintain a façade such ass this with such eloquence and honesty would be an unprecedented achievement.
What a lot of people miss is that despite the character, Manson has made a significant mark on the music world. Think of how beautifully his version of ‘I put a spell on you’ worked in Lost Highway, or how before hearing’ The Beautiful People’ 10 million times, the initial listens were something of a revelation. Manson took the best from Glam Rock, Metal and Industrial and created something spellbinding and unique.

He can be accused of many things, but being unoriginal or devoid of vision is not one of them. In a musical environment that’s swamped with mediocrity and shoe gazing bands that really should just try harder, it was so refreshing to hear a new Marilyn Manson song. ‘Arma-Goddam-Muthafukin’-Geddon’ is classic Manson. Big heavy riffs over pounding drums and catchy choruses.

So, why mention Letterman? Well, the other day I was watching associated Manson interviews and I was shocked to discover (a) Bill O’ Reilly being almost tolerant whilst (b) Letterman acted like a child when put face to face with Manson. Twice. Letterman makes the same lame fishing joke that he did with Mr T and proceeded to act like a dumbfounded guppy for the rest of the interview. He only just stopped short of squealing ‘Marilyn’ repeatedly in falsetto while doing a little effeminate dance. Manson is clearly lapping it up. In the later days, Manson returned to find a slightly more tolerant, but equally bemused Letterman. Watch his reaction when Manson tells him about his ‘kids’ it’s priceless.

As I have mentioned here on several occasions, I am a ridiculously early riser. I am also not fond of going to bed early, but at least I have gotten part of the nursery rhyme correct. Usually between the hours of 6.30 and 8am, I allow myself to wallow in the coffee/internet wilderness stage of the day. Your standard fare really, several news websites, loathsome social networking websites which are more addictive than sugary crack, you know the score. Sometimes though, that section of the day can extend, yesterday was one of these instances.

It was after lunchtime before I managed to slap myself around the face several times and gather the momentum required to actually do something. The trouble was, I didn’t appear to have a useful thought in my brain. I tried writing, but the erroneous and facile drivel that I managed to produce only served to irritate and frustrate me even more. I went to walk into town, to purchase some coloured inks for a monster comic that I have been working on. As I put on my coat, the skies turned black and the heavens opened. Now rain may not be the most common deterrent to leaving the house, but need I remind you that I live in Galway. In Galway, you get freak rain, heavy bullet like downpours which not only leave you soaked, but also manage to give you a good hiding at the same time.

Films were unappealing, it was too early, and I scanned the bookcase to see what was on the ‘unread’ shelf. I picked up a copy of Chuck Palahniuk’s ‘Snuff’ and began to read. Four and a half hours later, I had finished ‘Snuff’ and felt all the more accomplished for doing so. It is a unique book in that I didn’t particularly enjoy reading it at the time. I love Palahniuk, he is one of my favourite authors, but there was something so formulated about this, that in its structural transparency I was left feeling a little cheated. Today, however, when I reflect on the book, I am left with a far more satisfied and contented feeling in relation to it. Could it be that Chuck has discovered some form of literary attack device that infiltrates the mind and seeps out gradually over time in waves of revelation?

The premise of ‘Snuff’ is a simple one, middle aged porn legend Cassie Wright is planning to go out with a bang, a gang bang. Preparations have long been in place for the filming of her new opus ‘World Whore Three’ in which Cassie will ‘take on’ 600 men for the camera. The story is told from the perspective of three men, waiting for their turn to ‘perform’ in the crowded stinking basement. The men are comprised of an aging porn veteran, a washed up TV star, recently spurned from television due to a publicised sex scandal and a young man who believes he is Cassie Wright’s son. They all have reasons for being there that stem beyond plain sex.

There is a hilarious account of the young man becoming obsessed with Ms Wright, hunting down all her movies online and even purchasing her mail order sex toys. When his adopted mother catches him in flagrante with a blow up version of Cassie Wright she yells at him in absolute horror and disgust: ‘That’s your birth mother! That’s your birth mother!’

It’s clear that we are in familiar Palahniuk territory. The tension and questioning escalate as the men’s turn gets closer. It is a short enough book and so there would be no joy in dissecting the plot for you here, it would only ruin the surprise. Let’s just remind ourselves of the basic information that I have given you, the books title and use your imagination.

There are some great recurring themes in the novel, the first being a succession of anecdotes relating to Hollywood stars of days gone by. (E.g. about how Marilyn Monroe’s lifetime of bronchitis and pneumonia could have been attributed to her propensity for sitting in a bathtub full of ice before she would appear in public, so that her backside and breasts would remain pert and firm throughout any shoot she may have to do.), there is a truly graphic and knowledgeable insight into the world of hardcore pornography and just how successfully it has integrated itself into mainstream America.

Palahniuk talks of how pornography shaped the internet, of how it was the initial surge of online porn purchases and the developments therein that paved the way for the likes of eBay and Amazon. There are also some of the most wonderful titles for Porn movies in this book, such as: ‘The Gropes of Wrath’ ‘A Tale of Two Titties’ ‘To Drill A Mockingbird’ ‘The Wizard of Ass’ ‘Black Cock Down’ ‘Butt Pirates of the Caribbean’ and ‘Smokey and the Ass Bandit’ to name but a few (Believe me, there are dozens more to be found between the covers)

The ‘climax’ of the novel is as ridiculous as the minds of all the characters within. There is not one redeemable or even remotely likeable character in the whole thing. This is almost signatory of Palahniuk’s world though. The social commentary is nicely executed, if slightly blatant, but that’s not a major complaint.

With Palahniuk’s new book ‘Pygmy’ out this week, this may be a good time to reacquaint yourself with the man who, despite all the criticism, remains one of the most entertaining, intelligent and genuinely progressive authors in literary today. I have included a recent interview where Chuck discusses some of the upcoming movie projects associated with his work.

I have also included a link to Chuck’s most recent interview with Time Magazine, which can be read HERE

This was the first episode taken from the 1980 tv series, which was followed up in 1994 with ‘Arthur C Clake’s Mysterious Universe’. It’s the televsied version of every myth, mystery and ghost book that you read as a child. Clarke is charming and great to watch, but it’s the locals accounts of sea monsters, UFO’s and strange phenomena that make this unmissable television.

The internet is awash with horror. This is not always a good thing. Horror has permeated our pop culture obsessed society in an unprecedented fashion and it doesn’t always retain the true ethos and intentions that lie behind it. With the never ending onslaught of throwaway horror movies it is sometimes easy to feel a little overwhelmed by it all. Add this to the adoption of horror as an image choice, portrayed by hundreds of thousands of adolescents wishing to show themselves as edgy, creepy and cool.

I have no problem with horror fans; I am a huge one myself, but the popularity of ‘Bubblegum Horror’ is something that I just cannot warm to. It is almost as if a working knowledge and appreciation for the genre is the least important requirement, whereas the right clothes and tattoos are essential.

Disturbing imagery is also abundant online, if you want to find it, you will not to have to look very hard. Striking and memorable imagery however, is a much rarer thing. The photography of Joshua Hoffine is not something that you will forget anytime soon, for all the right reasons.

Hoffine says that: ‘I approach my photo shoots like they are small movies.’ and it shows. His mini masterpieces contain his own personal interpretations of some of our greatest fears. Using his immediate family (including his four daughters) as models for his work, he manages to create some of the most stunning imagery that I have seen in a very long time. A great deal of his work handles the issues of childhood fears, with bogeymen, clowns and demons quite literally popping up from the floorboards.

‘Childhood fears are very primal. Fear of the dark, fear of hands grabbing you, fear of mouths eating you. Very young children are more likely than older children and adolescents to fear things that are not real, in the sense that their occurrence in the real world is impossible, such as monsters. The line between reality and fantasy is still fuzzy. Fear for a child, if you remember, can be very intense.’ says Hoffine on the subject.

The most impressive aspect to the work is that there is little to no Photoshop involved in the pieces, each one being a miniature movie set, either from a chosen location or built from scratch in Hoffine’s studio. (There is a remarkable photo diary on the shooting of his work, available on his blog here.)

Preferring to call his work Horror Photography than Horror Art, Hoffine is clearly a great fan of the genre. His blog shows him rubbing shoulders with the likes of Tony Todd (Night of the Living Dead, Candyman) and Hershel Gordon Lewis (Blood Feast), evidently as much a fanboy as the rest of us. Currently shooting album covers and continually offering his prints for sale through his blog, it is a refreshing and splendid thing to browse his portfolio and imagine just how good these pieces would look in the guest room of any abode. Right near the pillows would be the best place for them. Sweet Dreams.

Visit http://www.joshuahoffine.com for more information.
His Blog can be found at http://joshuahoffine.wordpress.com
Thanks are due to Stndfish for the heads up on this one.