Hellraiser: Revelations (2011)

Horror fans can be so fickle. Every negative review I’ve read of Hellraiser: Revelations hinged on Doug Bradley not playing Pinhead for the first time in the franchise, now nine films deep. That’s a ridiculous reason to hate a movie; consider how many times they’ve assigned a new guy to be Batman or Bond. Besides, Pinhead has little more than an extended cameo in these things; he’s the Special Guest Star of his own series. So hate it for other reasons, like piss-poor acting.

Steven (Nick Eversman, Vampires Suck) and Nico (Jay Gillespie, 2001 Maniacs) are best buds, bro — “a couple of preppies reeking of privilege” (as a hobo calls them) heading from California to Mexico on a mission to get Steven’s “dick wet.” At a dingy bar, said hobo gives them that infernal puzzle box, and Nico has the bright idea to open it while shirtless, making it all the more easier for the Cenobites’ hooks, y’know.

Pinhead (Stephan Smith Collins, The Darwin Awards) makes Nico look like the strips of uncooked meat at a Mongolian barbecue. To reverse his asshole pal’s unfortunate situation, Steven must provide him with fresh souls on which to munch. Let the whore-chokin’, face-peelin’, sister-seducin’, pop-shootin’, baby-crackin’ action begin!

Truth be told, Hellraiser: Revelations ain’t that bad. For a rights-retaining rushed production made in two weeks for $300,000, it’s at least competently and professionally directed by Victor García (Mirrors 2), apparently shot at the producer’s house and on a cheap set meant to resemble a Mexico venue where one might take in a donkey show. Speaking of taking, try and look at the Revelations cover without thinking of Pinhead taking a dump. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

Cold Turkey (1971)

The first and last directorial effort of legendary TV producer Norman Lear (All in the Family), 1971’s Cold Turkey lacks the bite of Robert Altman’s Nashville or the verisimilitude of Michael Ritchie’s Smile, but it suggests Lear could have become as gifted a cinematic satirist as either, if he had wanted. Like the best comedies of the era, the movie mixes genuine laughs with incisive social commentary, much of which feels even more relevant now than it must have 40 years ago.

Dick Van Dyke stars as an ambitious reverend stuck in the dying town of Eagle Rock, Iowa. His only hope for escape is that the government might open a munitions plant in the area, but that’s dependent on the town significantly improving itself to deal with the influx of people such a project would bring. Desperate, he and the town’s mayor (Vincent Gardenia) jump at the offer dreamed up by Big Tobacco lobby ad man Bob Newhart to pay $25 million to any town that can convince its entire population to quit smoking for a whole month.

The locals are wary. The smokers are upset they’re the only ones asked to make a sacrifice, while the town’s right-wing coalition worries such a collective effort reeks of old-fashioned communism. Both groups eventually are persuaded by the reverend’s eloquence and — in the right-wingers’ case — the chance to form an authoritarian militia dedicated to keeping fellow citizens from lighting up. The town soon earns national media attention (as represented by the classic comedy duo Bob and Ray) and profits from the exposure, but at what cost?

Lear mines comedy gold out of his characters’ greed and uniquely American political views. As darkly absurdist as the climax may be, it seems like a mild stretch away from what actually would happen if this scenario played out in real life — his only real misstep being the inclusion of an actor in a truly terrible Richard Nixon mask in place of a fictionalized president. Beyond this, Cold Turkey is significant for featuring the first musical score composed by Randy Newman, whose beautifully cynical theme song, “He Gives Us All His Love,” sets the tone perfectly. —Allan Mott

Buy it at Amazon.

Virus (1998)

Here’s what Virus has going for it: an all-too-rare lead performance by the undervalued Jamie Lee Curtis as the Sigourney Weaver of a crew of hard-nosed sailors trapped on an extraterrestrial-infested Rusian ship; a nifty-neato geek monster with some fairly cool animatronics and gore; a lesser (but at least not the least) Baldwin brother; and Donald Sutherland in bug-eyed, ham-sandwich mode.

Here’s what Virus doesn’t have: genuine scares, anything approaching originality, and a director who can do more than aim the camera at the right spot. But when I’m presented with a monster comprised of electrical impulses that replicates itself by combining spare human body parts with mutated versions of the spiderbots that menaced Tom Selleck in Runaway, resulting in awesomely goofy Borg/Cenobite hybrids, I’m willing to forgive a lot.

A generic Alien on a boat, there’s little to actually recommend, and nothing aside from the efforts of some talented effects technicians stands out. But for me, Virus is comfort food — an unchallenging, unchanging, unhealthy snack — one of those films that somehow fills a particular hole in my soul. A greasy Hawaiian pizza of a movie.

Bonus marks for allowing Sutherland to perform his last scenes as a manic, organs-exposed Terminator. Even in a career as varied and wide-ranging as his, that must be a first. BTW: I hereby claim the term “sigourney,” meaning any female lead in a genre flick comprised otherwise almost entirely by male character actors wherein all men will almost certainly be deceased by film’s end, as in, “Jamie Lee Curtis pulls sigourney duty.” —Corey Redekop

Buy it at Amazon.

4 Movies I Saw in a Theater in 1995 and Only Barely Remember

1. Hackers — The only memory I have of this movie is the sound of someone audibly gasping the first time they saw Angelina Jolie onscreen. Luckily, I was the only person in the theater at the time, sparing me any unwanted embarrassment.

2. Johnny Mnemonic — More like Johnny Made-My-Butt-Numbic, right? Zing! I still got it!

3. Virtuosity — If there were an award for Most Ironic Movie Title of 1995, this Denzel Washington pic would still be too shitty to win it.

4. Destiny Turns on the Radio — When I was 20, I once went to see a movie just because Quentin Tarantino acted in it. If I could back in time, I’d totally kick myself in the nuts. —Allan Mott

Buy them at Amazon.

Bellflower (2011)

While I would hope that viewers give the genre-defying Bellflower a chance, I’m astute enough to know that won’t be the case. So odd is its tone and so initially awkward are some of the performances — not the least of which from its leading man, writer/producer/director Evan Glodell — that I can sense people hitting “STOP,” if not “EJECT,” after just a few minutes, if even that. I can’t say I blame them; I almost did myself.

The thin-at-first story shuffles behind 20-something best buds Woodrow (Glodell) and Aiden (Tyler Dawson), whose shared pastime is jerry-rigging flamethrowers and other apocalyptic-ready tools for kicks and out of love for the Mad Max movies; Woodrow’s car even has been modified to include a whiskey dispenser in the dash. They also drink a lot of alcohol, smoke a lot of a cigarettes, and utter a lot of “fuck”s and its variations.

Then Woodrow meets Milly (Jessie Wiseman) during a cricket-eating contest in a bar, and the two hatch an instant relationship. What occurs after the meet-cute is where Bellflower gets really engrossing … and details of which I can’t share, lest the moments be spoiled. I can say that moods are flipped like someone with an unmedicated diagnosis of bipolar, that Woodrow’s very existence is shaken to its foundation, that things unfold in a manner incongruent to predictable movie plots, that Bellflower grows considerably weird and wild and even unsettling.

I can also say that when it was over, I wasn’t quite sure what had just gone down, but was anxious to give it another spin to see if it could process it in full. A week later, I was still haunted by it. In other words, Bellflower is a challenge, but in the same way that Mulholland Dr. or even Inception were: a welcome mind-rape. It may not be for everyone — in this case, it’s safe to say it’s nearly the opposite — but don’t you owe it to yourself to take one hit? —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

Random Genre & Cult Movie Reviews