All posts by Rod Lott

Murdaritaville (2024)

Two years ago in Key West, I was dragged to a Jimmy Buffett walking tour. Because if there’s one thing I dislike more than outdoor physical activity in triple-digit temps, it’s the music of “Uncle Jimmy,” as his fervent followers call him. I can’t tell you much about the tour, except I suspect our host trespassed at least once, possibly made things up on the fly, and carried cheaply laminated photos printed from the internet with zero concern for DPI.

All this to say, I’m not the ideal audience for Murdaritaville, Paul Dale’s horror-spoof tribute to Buffett (made before the trop-rock troubadour’s September 2023 passing, lest ye Parrotheads cry “fowl”). But I am the ideal dead meat for its killer, a half-parrot/half-man in skipper’s cap who turns only non-Buffett fans into his own human buffet. In essence, the murderous monster (a dedicated Carter Simoneaux, Dale’s Killer Kites) is like Dexter for the salt-shaker-and-Hawaiian-shirt crowd.

Buffett references aside, I can’t say I dove in to this birdman movie with the unexpected virtue of ignorance, having seen a couple of Dale’s previous pictures in the same comedic vein, most enjoyably Sewer Gators. Among the 50 minutes before the closing credits, too little amuses this time ’round. I enjoyed a throwaway bit with an opera-singing shark (free spin-off idea: Opera Shark) and Dale’s brief return as arrogant TV news reporter Brock Peterson, seen talking to himself while leaving negative feedback for some Uber/DoorDash worker: “Mohammed? One star. That’s for 9/11.”

The movie’s style of humor often veers between the lanes of Abbott and Costello to Airplane! Much of the latter’s influence accounts for fake credits (example: “Armorer: Alec Baldwin”). These gags fall flat not because they run 10 slow-going minutes, but because they botch the spellings of an unforgivable amount of names: Kevorkian, Streisand, Aykroyd, Midler, Friedkin, Epstein, et al. (Hasn’t poor “Hellen” Keller suffered enough?) That sloppiness is indicative of Murdaritaville’s whole, with the major exception of Taylor Fisher’s design of the parrot man.

I think Murdaritaville would land best as a joke trailer, in which the title serves as the punchline. Perhaps those in Buffett’s cult will find more to dig. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Dr. Cheon and the Lost Talisman (2023)

As the titular physician, Gang Won-dong (Train to Busan Presents: Peninsula) ditches psychiatry for a more lucrative living: as the charlatan behind an exorcism startup. With YouTube prankster Kang (Lee Dong-hwi of Park Chan-wook’s The Handmaiden) hired for technical trickery, Dr. Cheon chases bank via the gullibility of a desperate citizenry.

Soon, a young woman (Esom, The Queen of Crime) offers them $100,000 to rid the demonic presence lurking inside her little sister (Park So-yi, Lingering). Easy cash, right? It would be, if the possession weren’t legit.

More than a little spirit of Ivan Reitman’s Ghostbusters lives within Kim Seong-sik’s Dr. Cheon and the Lost Talisman — right down to the ghost traps, even! But Dr. Cheon’s no Dr. Venkman. Rather than ape Bill Murray’s wiseass act, Won-dong exudes the cucumber cool of Sherlock-era Benedict Cumberbatch.

Meanwhile, Volcano High’s Huh Joon-ho plays the doc’s nemesis, a villainous mage who looks not unlike Ian McShane. In Lost Talisman’s best set piece, the mage conjures a blue light that hops from villager to villager, ordering them upon contact to attack Dr. Cheon.

As with the aforementioned American blockbuster, this South Korean film mixes the mythic and the mirthful, with first-rate effects that serve the story. The result? Serious franchise potential. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

The Moon (2023)

Five years after South Korea’s first moon mission proved a spectacular failure, another generation bravely steps up to try again. Poignantly, among this new trio is Hwang Sun-woo, whose father was among the astronauts who perished in that original endeavor.

The new astronauts’ rocket launches without incident. But just when they’re about to enter lunar orbit, a solar flare knocks out comms. While attempting to fix it, Sun-woo’s zero-grav colleagues are killed in an accident, leaving him in the command module all alone. With a meteor shower en route and an oxygen supply ever-dwindling, Sun-woo’s only hope for survival is the first mission’s flight director and capsule architect, Kim Jae-guk, aka the man he holds responsible for his dad’s death.

As our heroic astronaut trapped on the dark side of the orb of green cheese, Kyung-soo Do is fine, if a bit too wiry for a believable space-cadet build. He seems to have been cast more for looks than acting, which may be the case, as I’ve since learned he rose to fame as a former member of the K-pop boy band Exo. The film’s true emotional weight comes from Sol Kyung-gu (2012’s The Tower) as Jae-guk, doing his damndest to right a past wrong and assuage his own guilt. Essentially, he’s in the Ed Harris role of Apollo 13, with fewer degrees of separation to those above.

It’s impossible to credibly discuss The Moon without mentioning Apollo 13 or The Martian, as writer/director Kim Yong-hwa (the Along with the Gods duology) cribs liberally from both. And that’s fine since he does it so skillfully, accentuating his ticking-clock narrative over expensive effects (impressive though they are) because having Things Go Boom shouldn’t be No. 1 on the call sheet. With technical gabber adding realism (or a convincing approximation) to a precarious situation veering from “all systems go” to “no” and back again, The Moon rises into an intelligent crowdpleaser — hard sci-fi with a soft human touch.

Sometimes that touch is too soft, as when characters lock into awestruck Spielbergian stares, mouth agape. Can you imagine The Martian concluding with Jeff Daniels congratulating his NASA colleagues across the room with Taylor Swift’s hands-in-shape-of-heart gesture? —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Spine (1986)

Beware, lady nurses in the Valley who happen to stand around 5’3″: A serial killer is targeting you. Be on the lookout for a guy who looks like Jim Henson after a visit to Sunglass Hut. 

Nurse Carrie Lonegan (Janus Blythe, Tobe Hooper’s Eaten Alive) sure is. Her co-workers at the hospital — really just an office park with an overly fern-laden reception room — keep getting killed by the guy. He’s looking for a “Linda,” but slays regardless of actual name. Worse, Carrie’s new, naive roommate (Lise Romanoff), fresh to El Lay from Kansas City, gets hired there. Will the investigating cop be able to find the culprit before the roomies fall victim, too?

No one tell Carrie, but said crack police detective (co-director/co-writer John Howard) tries to solve the case by punching the following five terms into a TRS-80 database:

  • LINDA
  • NURSE
  • STRANGLE
  • BACKBONE
  • KNIFE

And holy shit, it works!

As the killer, R. Eric Huxley and his pink shirt exude skeeze. If his extended, methodical torture of his tied-up prey in the third act feels a little, well, fetishy, that’s not accidental. Howard infuses the incidentally amusing Spine with the deliberate kink of his pornographic past: bondage videos with titles like Rope Burn.

For the record, Howard’s creative partner, Justin Simmonds, has no such wank-minded credits, much less any other credits. That’s de rigueur for these shot-on-video affairs. As is the great deal of ice cream truck tunes. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

A Cut Below: A Celebration of B Horror Movies, 1950s-1980s

Daily Dead columnist Scott Drebit’s first book can be summed up in one sentence from its 33rd page: “Sometimes you just want to see children have their hands cut off with a samurai sword.” Hear, hear!

No, not in real life, Karen — just at the movies! Specifically, the four decades’ worth Drebit covers in said book, A Cut Below: A Celebration of B Horror Movies, 1950s-1980s, from McFarland & Company.

For the paperback, the author champions 60 films — not all horror, despite the subtitle, with sci-fi running a distant second. Like preschoolers, the movies featured are grouped tidily into fives to ensure a semblance of control; Drebit’s themed chapters include such terrors as zombies, satanists, animals and — yikes! — Canadians. Yes, there’s something for everyone … assuming someone out there is into “hookers in weird masks, slimy alien babies, interdimensional traveling, cheap beer, and plastic chainsaws.”

That quote describes one movie — 1989’s shot-on-video Things — and you better believe someone is into it: Drebit, for starters, then hopefully, the adventurous readers swayed by his passionate plead to give it a try, glacier-sized flaws and all.

Three times out of four, the sheer randomness of his picks works in A Cut Below’s favor, lifting it well above a “Horror 101”-style text. For example, I like that the slashers chapter tiptoes into thrillers for the Charles Bronson vehicle 10 to Midnight. I love seeing something as anti-mainstream as Japan’s Evil Dead Trap chosen to represent amusements from other countries. And I really love that the aforementioned chapter of the undead doesn’t invite a certain Mr. Romero to play — no offense meant, George.

As for the other 25% of the time, does Ed Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space need even more ink? Although Drebit’s stated purpose is to commemorate, not unearth, I got more pleasure reading about the titles I haven’t seen. That’s not to say the book is bad when the subject is familiar — not at all, thanks to his folksy, chummy writing style always on duty as a safeguard. You won’t encounter a page not worth your time. If a follow-up is in the cards, I’m hoping for at least 60 more reviews. Is 600 too much to ask? —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon or McFarland.