It appears that 2010 is going to be a busy year for Adrien Brody. This summer will see the release of Robert Rodriguez’s ‘Predators’. Please, please, please let it not suck. The only good thing that I ever saw a Predator in after Predator 2 was that Bring Me The Horizon video.

To keep us going until the July release of Predators, Brody will also be appearing in the intriguing looking ‘Splice’. This peculiar looking little movie caused a massive bidding war at the Sundance Film Festival this year, with Warner Brothers eventually picking it up. Hardly an indie, it’s from the makers of ‘Cube’, but it does have great potential, especially if the trailers are anything to go by.

In a genetically modified nutshell, they’re trying to create some kind of human-y – creature-y hybrid, probably with the sole intention of having sex with it (well, a: it’s not a male creature and b: isn’t that why man creates everything? – With the possible exception of the electric pencil sharpener and combine harvesters, although I’ve seen certain websites…). I particularly like the stilletto hands and her pointy tail. It could either be a marvellous social commentary on cloning and the inherent perils that arise from dicking around with mans genetic makeup, or it could be an updated version of ‘Species’.

Is it terribly wrong that I’m happy with either of these outcomes?

‘Splice’ is out in about two weeks and we can all see it and decide from ourselves as we bring ourselves 90 minutes closer to the grave whilst watching it.

You can get more information by visiting the official website HERE
Here’s the trailer:

Which for some reason, totally reminded me of this old Playstation 2 Advert by Chris Cunningham.

Oh and here’s that BMTH video, which I love. Especially the bit on the bus, poor Predator.

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Because the world is crying out for yet another unsolicited review of Kick Ass I bring you; an unsolicited review of Kick Ass.

I was wary. There had been far too much internet hype about this one for me to approach it with my guard down. Scars still exist from the last Mark Millar adaptation, ‘Wanted’, but let’s keep this strictly above the belt for now. The difference between comics and movies is that a comic can be produced with as little as one or two people having complete creative control. Movies don’t quite work that way, there are sponsors, producers and studios to please along the way, most of whom know as much about cinema as the Cornish Mole People who were driven underground in Medieval times by the Saxons never to surface again.

So, like an absolute prick, I sat watching the opening credits with my arms folded, absolutely certain that I was going to hate every minute of this.

Boy, was I ever proved wrong.

It wasn’t long before I was whooping and cheering like a normal person at some kind of sporting event where men do things to excite other men. The script was genuinely funny, which was an initial concern, seeing as it was adapted by Jane Goldman’s breasts. Apparently they are more adept at screenwriting than one would imagine. Stardust doesn’t count because Stardust is the cinematic equivalent of playing with your sisters My Little Pony and having a better time than with your own toys. It might be enjoyable, but don’t bloody tell anyone about it soft lad. You’re Granddad didn’t fight a war so that you could sit around watching movies about faeries and sparkles and shite.

McLovin is fantastic as Red Mist, son of a rich bald baddie, who has lots of expensive British art in his apartment. There was a Mark Quinn bust in his entrance hall and a massive Damien Hirst picture in the kitchen. This is to show that the creators are CULTURED and KNOW THINGS ABOUT ART. I’m not being unduly cynical, they are, ask them.

Lots of pratfalls and teenage humour are rife throughout, but this adds to the tone rather than detracts from it. There is no point during the running time of the movie that you feel things have all gone a bit smug, or too clever for their own good. It is what it is, and what it is, is a hell of a lot of fun. It’s akin to one of those colour changing night lights that you give babies to help them sleep at night, the ones that fill the room with slowly merging primary colours and play nice music.

Speaking of babies; The Daily Mail was in a right old state upon the films release, claiming that it featured a ‘heavily sexualised and foul mouthed female child actor’. The furore was all over Twitter in the way that the discovery of an unusually discoloured dog turd would be all over Twitter (IE; Everyone coos and whoops for an hour or so until a minor celebrity dies, and interesting / funny news story breaks or a natural disaster happens). After seeing the movie, it was clear that the ‘foul mouthed’ scenes in question were all pretty much shown in the NSFW trailer. When she drops the ‘C’ bomb, it’s a little clunky and awkward, but that’s about it. As for ‘highly sexualised’? Erm, what movie were you guys watching? It’s a child, yes, in a superhero outfit. If that gets you off then you have some serious issues to deal with my friend. Also, no Joel Schumacher Batman movies for you, EVER!

If this is grounds for something being highly sexualised, then I think that’s your own shit you’re dealing with right there. There is absolutely nothing about her character that could be taken into a sexual context, unless that context is being created by your own guilty fantasies. I think that this says a lot more about the journalists in question than the movie itself.

There is nothing that would be on par with Luc Besson’s ‘Leon’ for example, in which a young girl misplaces fatherly affection for sexual attraction in a similar Assassin/Trainee scenario. Hit Girl’s mentor is her father, played by Nicolas Cage, giving his best performance since ‘Leaving Las Vegas’.

Kick Ass himself could have been played by anybody, but curly boy gave it a good shot and it fit in well with the rest of the characters (who were better).

I like being proved wrong, it stops me from ever getting an ego. Kick Ass was without a doubt, one of the most enjoyable popcorn movies I have seen in a long time and I look forward to the next one.

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You’ll find out about how this is an adaptation of the DC Vertigo comic by Andy Diggle & Jock on some other site, like Wikipedia. Or alternatively, here, because you’ve just read it. If you would like to discuss how faithful it was to the original issues, or how one of their hats is a different colour to the hat that was shown in issue 7, then pop your pimply behind off to some bedwetting little comics forum, you insufferable waste of oxygen and recourses you. Get a job and quit your whining. Here at Zombiehamster.com we deal with cold, hard, extended, throbbing facts! We deal with so many facts you’ll need two hands and an open mouth just to take the tip of these facts and…

….Damn… lost my train of thought there. I know what that’s from though, it’s from the gallons of testosterone that is currently flowing through me like horsie spunk flows through Marc Almond (allegedly). This is simply due to the fact that I have recently sat through The Losers and it scratched me in that funny spot that makes my leg kick off a bit.

Five mercenaries are on a mission in Bolivia, to kill some murdering, drug running foreign types (damn their eyes) but recoil at the revelation that there is a huge busload of children being used as drug mules. Their orders are to proceed regardless (like in The Running Man), but they are not men of compassionless malevolence, they’re Americans for God’s sake. Their orders come from a faceless armchair General (who is faceless because he’s on the radio transmitter, he may or may not be a General and he may or may not be sitting down but who’s writing this, you? No, it’s not you, it’s me, unless I’m reading it back, which I don’t usually, cos that’s the type of gung ho, living on the edge kind of adventure junkie that I am) called Max.

Max is bad.

They bundle the children in the helicopter after a daring rescue in which people get shot and some stuff explodes. Then the helicopter explodes, splattering tiny pieces of Bolivian children across the forest floor. So far so good, but here’s the catch, the mercenaries are all believed to be on the helicopter, so they are all pronounced dead.

The rest of the movie consists of the five men and a tagalong lady hunting Max and cleverly blowing up things and shooting people in imaginative ways. It’s part A Team, part The Big Hit (long forgotten but worthwhile Mark Wahlberg action film from the late 90’s). The films greatest selling point is Jeffrey Dean Morgan (The Comedian from Watchmen) who is like a hunkier Robert Downey Jr (especially now that RDJ has gone a bit preeny and smug and makes bloody terrible movies like Sherlock Holmes, Jesus, did you WATCH that crap?) and I love him, just a little bit. Apparently he was in a movie with Gerard Butler in which the two of them are driven to the edge and have to kill Hilary Swank because she stole their families and they want them back. The movie is called PS I Love You and I am going to watch it and drink heavily until my synopsis transpires as the actual plot.

So, yeah, anyways, this Losers film is great if you like one liners, explosions, guns and fancy cinematography. If there is some form of cultural subtext or greater meaning, you lost me about 15 minutes in buddy, but if you want to see a man get blown off a motorbike into a jet engine which then explodes, then you are in the right place. It also has a highly skilled Asian sniper man in a nice hat.

Highly recommended.

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I had drifted from horror movies over the last few months. Like an ageing player, I was losing the initial thrill of acquisition. Mundanity drenched routine left me hollow and uncaring enough to temporarily leave the game. That was it, a lifetime hobby, discarded. When I say a lifetime, I mean it as well. Horror wasn’t always the easiest thing to talk about with people. It was really only in the late nineties when pseudo postmodernist blockbusters began enticing the crowds that a true global interest was spawned. The following decade saw an unprecedented rise in adaptations, remakes and new offerings, until we truly were spoilt for choice.

This was a mixed blessing. On the one hand it gave hundreds of thousands of people like me a platform to share information, delight and expectations in relation to current horror releases. A few months ago however, I really felt as if I was losing interest in a genre which I felt had shaped my personality in many ways as a young man.

I felt a lifelong love slip away, and I was on the verge of thinking that it was for the best, for both of us.

But…..

Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.

I head heard whisperings of ‘Human Centipede’ earlier this year and I have to admit my interest was most certainly piqued. For the uninitiated, the synopsis is this:

A crazed German (ahem) surgeon, the leading authority on the separation of Siamese twins, has begun a worrying indulgence in a new twisted obsession. Instead of the division of creatures, he wishes to combine them in what he views as the next form of evolution. Early experiments are alluded to in the opening part of the movie where we are treated to a clip of the doctor staring lovingly at photographs of rows of Rottweilers who appear at first glance to be playfully sniffing each other’s bottoms. A grave in the garden inscribed to ‘My Sweet Three Hound’ suggests differently.

Que two American girls who have decided to follow the suggestion of a ‘cute’ German waiter they met for 50 seconds and attend an unnamed party in the back arse of nowhere. Guess what, their car breaks down in the rain and they need to find shelter. What follows is the tried and tested technique of absolute blind stupidity and lack of common sense leading to empathising with the maniac, as these girls are so unfathomably idiotic that you almost want them to be disposed of in unspeakably nasty ways. Inevitably, they wind up at the door of our beloved surgeon.

I don’t do spoilers and so I won’t tell you anymore than you will see from the posters or the trailer. I will, however, say that what follows is far more than the initial concept at hand. When I heard that it was about a mad German who in no way represents or resembles Josef Mengele and his Nazi experiments in any way shape or form, joining three people together, ass to mouth, to create a new and unique species: The Human Centipede. I wondered if it was all going to be based around the unveiling of the creature. This comes surprisingly early in the film, leaving plenty of time to develop the story, build tension and toy with our expectations.

Considering that there is much focus on the passing of solids from one body through two others, I found the film surprisingly chipper in tone. Dutch writer / director Tom Six has a clever grasp of black humour and utilises it to great measure. The tone is tense without being superfluously nerve wracking; it is mirthsome without being camp.

The only thing more delightful than spending an early summer evening in watching Human Centipede with the curtains closed is knowing that there’s another on the way. And another, as this is the ‘First Sequence’ of three apparently. Huzzah!

Human Centipede is possibly the best first date movie since The Hillside Strangler. It has also single-handedly reignited my passion and love for horror movies, which was something I didn’t see happening for a very long time. It’s good to be back, let the carnage commence.

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I was startled when I discovered this recently. I was never aware up to now that our old friend Dwain Esper (Reefer/Sex Madness) was the man who acquired the rights to ‘Freaks‘ in the late 1930′s.

I always knew that it was initially disowned by Tod Browning’s studio. In fact, it had a very damaging effect on MGM and caused Browning to be outcast from the movie industry. What I did not know, was that Dwain Esper bought it up and toured with it. There is no mention of Browning on this poster whatsoever.
In true Esper style, he added an extra reel featuring nudity, just to entice a few more thrill seekers through the carnival doors. This poster gives us a great example of Esper’s sideshow mentality and sensationalist ethics. He ignores the central theme of the movie, apparently missing it altogether, and sells it as a sex oddity.

‘Do Siamese Twins Make Love?‘, ‘Can A Full Grown Woman Truly Love A Midget?‘ and ‘What Sex Is The Half Man Half Woman?‘ Are all questions heralded underneath the banner:’ The Story Of The Love Life Of The Sideshow’

These issues are barely touched upon in the film itself, but in classic Exploitation style, Esper shows us that more than any other, it’s the audience and their expectations that are really being exploited in these instances. We will find as we go that so many of these movies relied heavily on their posters to drag people in or entice them to part with hard earned money to see the movie in question. It is important to historically contextualize things as well. We are talking about Depression era America and a very new medium of entertainment.

The majority of early cinemagoers were labourers, immigrants and unsavory types. This was why topics such as sex, drugs and human trafficking (which we are yet to touch upon) were forerunning subgenres of the decade. The films contain common themes but are so diverse and interesting when placed as an alternative counterpart to the Hollywood output of the same time. Keep checking in as we delve further into the 1930’s as Exploitation Season continues here at Zombiehamster.com.

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The infamous tale of Jane Bradford ‘The Cocaine Fiends’ aka ‘The Pace That Kills’ (1936) is a rather high quality affair. The sets are quite resplendent and the performances higher than one might initially expect from one of the ‘Cautionary Tales’ that we have been watching sofar. The gangsters are well presented James Cagney types, all trilbies and loose ties, the best kind.

We follow the story of two ladies, both of whom have hooked up with the wrong individuals. Falling foul to lines such as: ‘Say, I know a fella that’ll put you in a show right away’, the girls enter what they believe to be a glamorous world, but its murky undercurrents do not take long in revealing themselves.

Both of the heroines are given cocaine under alternate pretences at the start, but soon realise what they are becoming addicted to. The movie then examines the easy spread of the addiction, with a soda pop waitress supplying some to a naïve co-worker who is complaining of tiredness. It is this couple that remain the most riveting to watch for the duration of the feature. It begins, as all drug stories, on a whirlwind high, as our pair attends some rather debonair nightclubs. The impression being given is that this is an affliction that is penetrating every area of society. In fact, the introductory reel states very clearly that it is up to the viewer to spread awareness of this terrible sickness.

‘The Cautionary Tales’ fit into the Exploitation genre because they stood as a moral compass for the masses. The true intentions that lay behind the productions were to scandalise and depict socially unacceptable behaviour (drugs, nudity, prostitution etc) in extremely graphic detail. Whilst some of the scenes contained in them may seem somewhat tame in our desensitised times of apathetic audiences, some still pack a significant punch.

One such scene in ‘The Cocaine Fiends’ is when, after losing their jobs through their problem, our ex service staff are now living in a squalid bedsit (and behind in their rent). He writhes on the bed and proclaims: ‘I gotta have dope, I’m a hophead, I’d sell my soul for just one shot’.

She looks deeply into his swollen, blackened eyes and then walks slowly to a mirror and readjusts herself. She may not have a soul left to sell, but she does have a body. The streetwalking scene is so swift that it is over in an instant, but through its use of shadows is a brilliant exercise in the art of ‘what we don’t see’.

She brings him his shot. It transpires that he is Jane Bradford’s brother, who came to town in search of his missing sister. The family are shown at home, in small town America, fretting for the disappearance of their daughter, who is embroiled in a destructive relationship with her gangster boyfriend and is being kept captive by some form of madam.

The boiling kettle is used as a focal point in later scenes, symbolic of the building tension and uncontrollable nature that resides within our characters. It spirals quickly into rough territory, displaying just what an ambitious little film it is.

As a bonus, there is a scene in which our heroine goes to score at an Asian opium den, where there is both a midget and a monkey buzzer. The circle is complete.

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‘Human Wreckage‘ was an alternate title for ‘Sex Madness‘, I found this beautiful rare poster in a book recently and thought I should add it to our ongoing collection of Exploitation goodies.

Dwain Esper (1892-1982) becomes more intersting all the time, it transpires that he was a WW1 veteran, who was later known as the ‘King of the Celluloid Gypsies’. It was Esper who broke endless boundaries in his field, showing nudity and explicit drug use in his movies long before many of his contemporaries would dare.

One of his movies which we will have to feature is ‘Narcotic‘ which shows graphic injection methods and whilst showing the picture, Esper toured with a real corpse known as ‘Elmer The Dope Fiend‘, for added effect. It turned out however, that the corpse belonged to a former highwayman that Esper had bought from a circus. This was the body of Elmer McCurdy, who we mentioned in the ‘Sex Madness’ review.

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A temperance movement is a social movement against the use of alcoholic beverages. Temperance movements may criticize excessive alcohol use, promote complete abstinence, or pressure the government to enact anti-alcohol legislation. I mention this, as it was Timothy Shay (T.S.) Arthur (1809 – 1885) who originally wrote the highly successful temperance novel ‘Ten Nights In A Barroom’. The novel was so popular that it was made into several movies throughout the silent era and a very well received play.

The version that I am reviewing is the 1931 adaptation. It begins as a simple tale of a miller, Joe Morton, a teetotaling put upon family man, whose daughter is very ill with a mystery illness. Hope is brought to the Morgan’s (Joe, his wife, mother and young daughter) with the arrival of a young doctor. This comes as a huge relief to the town as they had to: ‘Drive out to see Dr Spock, ever since Dr Burton died!’ Joe tracks down the new doctor to the local tavern, where he is antagonized by the snide manager (‘Are you too good for my place Joe?’).

It is here that Joe gets involved in a fight and afterwards partakes in one celebratory drink. There is a bizarre comedy moment when a man falls through a door, knocking down the cleaning lady. She is helped up by a sinewy old codger who asks: ‘Did it hurt ya Fanny?’ to which she replies: ‘No, it hurt my elbow’. Comedy gold people. The saloon is full of Barbershop Quartets and young roustabouts who moonwalk and tumble for the punter’s entertainment. If there is one thing that public houses are missing in this day and age, it’s young men who are willing to tumble for the amusement of their peers.

A few short hours later and Joe is on top of the world, as well as being pissed as a coot. He falls in the door shortly afterwards, dismissive of his nagging mother, who proclaims that ‘There isn’t a Morgan man who won a battle with the whiskey’. Oddly enough, making a very early reference to the ideal that alcoholism is hereditary and a disease, something that would not become a common opinion for several decades.

Joe’s decline into the bottle is a swift one. Within six months he wears nothing but black, unshaven and crazed looking; he begs, borrows and steals drinks wherever and whenever he can. Nothing more than a barfly, he sinks so low as to sign over his house to the bar manager in a bid to clear his tab and buy more. He sinks to new lows as his family start to depend on local charity and Joe gets an unsavory reputation.

In structure and tone, this is the classic story of the alcoholic. It has been retold many times in recent decades and this piece holds its own very well. Considering its age of over 80 years, it remains a startling piece of cinema. A great deal of which can be attributed to the climactic finale, which is one of the most unexpected and shocking that I have seen of late.

The main surprise is just how enjoyable this film is, far from being the dull, preachy rhetoric that I expected; it was a delight and a pleasure to watch.

A brief snippet can be seen HERE.

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‘The Wolfman’ (2010) had originally been scheduled for a release last Halloween; however, it was put back several times and now finally sees the light of day over valentine’s weekend. This can only be good news for anyone who didn’t fancy seeing ‘It’s Complicated’ or something with Sandra Bullock in it (Seriously, why is that woman getting so much work at the moment? Have we forgotten people, have we forgotten? Four words: ‘Speed Two: Cruise Control’).

I hadn’t followed the hype monster for Wolfman, due to a plethora of cinematic disappointments over the last 12 months. The very idea of another remake provoked nothing more than a half hearted shrug of vague interest. In short, I expected nothing from it, and boy was I rewarded for this.

There is very little messing around, the movie gets right into the action and never really lets up. It’s a faithful and simple story, which allows for all involved to really get their teeth into the picture (sorry). Benicio Del Toro is Lawrence Talbot the prodigal son of Anthony Hopkins’ Sir John Talbot. Cast out by his father at a young age after witnessing his mother’s suicide, he was committed to an asylum before turning his hand to the stage (to great acclaim).

The disappearance of Lawrence’s brother motivates his widow Gwen Conliffe (Emily Blunt) to write to him, requesting that he return home. Upon his arrival he discovers that his brother’s body has been found. This is where the mystery begins.

The most prominent feature about ‘The Wolfman’ is that you never feel you are watching an actor. Del Toro, Hopkins and (later) Weaving assimilate into their roles, allowing the viewer to focus on the story, the mark of a consummate professional. If it were say, Brad Pitt onscreen, it would be a case of watching Brad Pitt in a movie about ‘The Wolfman’, and no amount of Victorian posturing would detract from that. I have been a fan of Del Toro since I was about 8 years old and saw him as a sleepy looking henchman in ‘Licence to Kill’ alongside 80’s favourite Robert Davi. He excels in this.

The slow descent into lycanthropy and the specifics that surround it are not something that should be purveyed by some jumped up little internet reviewer. That is why I shall give you a simple recommendation to see this in the cinema for yourself. For a few brief and beautiful hours, my cynicism was washed away, I felt as if I was transported to the time of the big screen Horror classics. All involved have embraced the genre with love and care, replicating without regurgitating, creating homage without farce or unnecessary adaptation.

The sets and costumes are remarkable and the ghoulish Victorian atmosphere is stylish and believable. Following the absolute travesty that was ‘Sherlock Holmes’ and witnessing the damage that can be caused to a franchise by contextual reworking and insertion of 21st Century attitude, ‘The Wolfman’ shows that when it’s done correctly, a remake can be a thing of great love and wonder.

It was nice to see that Andrew Kevin Walker was the main screenwriter on this piece, his work was always of great quality (Se7en, Sleepy Hollow, The Game etc) and it’s great that he’s back on the scene. All of the actors involved were superb and the direction was concise and effective. The best Friday night I’ve spent at the cinema in a long, damn time.

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If it were the case in the 1930’s that the success of a man could be attributed to his acquisition of midgets, then Jed Buell was the Donald Trump of his day. ‘The Terror of Tiny Town’ features an ‘All Midget Cast’ of none other than ‘Jed Buell’s Midgets’. Yes folks, step right up to witness the all singing, all dancing, hootin’, shootin’, rootin’ and hollerin’ collection of pint size Sheriffs, diminutive cattle rustlers and half measure drunkards. This was pretty much how ‘The Terror of Tiny Town’ was marketed, a direct cinematic transfer of a sideshow act. The tone is set straight away in which an announcer welcomes us all to have a bit of a laugh at a varied collection of small people. He is interrupted by the two stars of the show, who ensure us that this is no comedy, and is to be treated as a serious feature. The credits don’t even attribute character names to the actors, they are merely known as ‘The Hero’, ‘The Villain’ etc. We are then transported to a western town were the inhabitants sing about ‘slashing your blues away with your sledgehammer.’ Sound advice methinks. The fundamental flaw in ‘The Terror of Tiny Town’ is that it’s essentially a one trick (Shetland) pony. The fact that the cast is made up of circus performers and sideshow attractions is all there is to it. It is an act that may have delighted several hundred attendees at a Vaudeville show, but fails to transfer to the big screen with any grace or humour whatsoever. The cast ride around on miniature horses, lassoing tiny calves with clumsy ineptitude. What would have caused roars of laughter in the fleapits, leaves the viewer decidedly cold. It would be wrong to attack the actors for the poor performances, they were after all, commodities, they were possessions who did what they were told. It is the lack of empathy and the abundance of snickering and finger pointing that leaves this an altogether charmless affair. The result is a long winded Western of poor and predictable quality. It lacks the heart of Tod Browning’s ‘Freaks’, which allowed it’s outsider cast to voice their frustrations at the attitudes of an ignorant, unsympathetic society, this feature however, encourages us to do no more than point and laugh. In the sense of Exploitation, this is as literal as it gets. A turn of the (20th) Century sideshow brought to life before your very eyes. As a historical reference point it is interesting, and definitely worth watching, for it portrays the humour, harshness and apathy that people felt towards those of whom had the misfortune to be born different. The film maintains a cult status today and is referenced in movies (Johnny Suede), music (Dead Kennedy’s Jello Biafra) and TV (M*A*S*H*). The reason for the references lies, I imagine, in the obscurity of the concept more than the execution of the feature. It’s a shallow and saddening piece, but one which is worth watching nonetheless. Make your mind up for yourself.

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