Sisters Are Doin' It...

These days, trying to find a good lesbian movie is like trying to find…ummm…Name one, I dare you…Personal Best?  Nope…The Children’s Hour?  HA!  Making Love?  Maybe…Windows?  Almost!  Have you seen Windows?  Talia Shire plays a stuttering straight woman stalked by her lesbian neighbor, shittily played by Elizabeth Ashley, who hires a man to rape Adrian, err, I mean, Talia Shire and record her stuttering moans and screams…Really!  I heard stutterers protested this movie back in 1980.  I still can’t believe Talia Shire has 2 oscar nominations.  Makes my head spin, really…

So...Good lesbian movies…The Killing of Sister George, you say?  YYYYYES!!!  My most favorite dykodrama ever.  Now, I don’t pretend to know how lesbians live.  I don’t even have a lesbian friend, but this movie comes pretty darn close to what I think lesbians are about.  It’s a UK film, so it’s even more foreign to me…It stars Beryl Reid and Susannah York as a bickering, May/December couple - one of whom is a dreadfully aging actress, the other a hot, young piece of sapphic flesh…They argue, sing a little, dance a little, scream a lot, throw stuff, yell some more while Beryl Reid, aka June Buckridge aka Sister George, yells at everyone else and is one big cranky ass mother fucker.  I love her…She gets shit on left and right and just pops up again, fists in the air like Bea Arthur’s Maude (but a lesbian…).

I always thought The Killing of Sister George was some murder mystery involving nuns, but it ain’t…It’s pure lesbianness of the highest order. An unapologetic look into a dysfunctional duo and a sad commentary on what we scumbags here in Hollywoods would once refer to as “THE BIZ”.   Beryl Reid’s final word at the end is just about the most heartbreaking thing I ever did hear in a movie that I still don’t entirely understand and really, why should I?  Lesbians are weird…But they get shit done ‘cause they ain’t out dancing and sniffing poppers with the likes of Al Pacino.  AAAAAADRIAN!!!!!!  From, Rock Hard

Your Adaptation is Hurting My Asshole

It's a Meryl day!  Just as soon as I posted Chick Flick Haiku #8, Schlockhausen sent an email from the Tri-State Area.  Thanks Schlockhausen, your review of Adaptation made me shit...Twice:

 

What kinda bitch made this piece of shit? The kinda bitch who uses the fucking word 'meta' and orders decaf espresso and thinks, "Hey, I'm drinkin' espresso!" Bitch you're not drinking espresso you're drinking your espresso flavored lifestyle and washing it down with fuck, fuck and shit.  You know, the kinda bitch who thinks you give a shit about what they're talking about while you're yawning and thinking about getting drunker quicker just so the bitch's bullshit might go down slightly more easily. But it doesn't, because the bitch doesn't just talk, the bitch talks about what the bitch is talking about but never just talks. Talking about what you want to talk about and how you want to talk about it, that's what this bullshit is. Like a dog that takes a shit in your house, then eats the shit before you can clean it up, then throws the shit up but eats that too before you can clean it up, then throws that up too and wags its tail for approval.

Oh yeah and Nicholas Cage is just an asshole. 

 

Lovingly, Schlockhausen

Chick Flick Haiku #8

the kikuyu – who?

redford so lost in kenya

great theme music though

Gurrrl Power Redux

The Stepford Wives is a 2004 remake of the 1975 classic, staring the waxy Nicole Kidman as Joanna Eberhart, a television executive who survives a flashy assassination attempt by a disgruntled reality TV show contestant, only to be fired from her position of power. After a sparky bought of electroshock therapy, Joanna and her husband Walter, played by Matthew Broderick, move the whole family (two nameless, faceless children included) to the picturesque town of Stepford, Connecticut. Johanna stands out as a dry, emaciated and monochromatic career woman (the human equivalent of VIA instant coffee) in a town where all of the other women are shiny, elegant and vacant, (the human equivalent of Jordan almonds). Joanna encounters a friend in the loud and disagreeable misfit writer Bobbie (Bette Midler), as well as an adversary in the magnificent town matriarch, Claire (Glenn Close). Well, eventually, through a series of unlikely occurrences, like a cameo of Faith Hill literally do-si-do-ing into oblivion at a town Square Dance, Johanna realized that the charming women of Stepford are in fact housewife/RealDoll robotic facsimiles of a group of power hungry women who were once CEOs, judges, etc. (keep an eye out for a portrait of Faith Hill in a Hillary Clinton costume during Johanna’s research). And it was none other than their emasculated husbands who forcibly placed them into this state of fabulous limbo. Matthew Broderick has a change of heart just as he is about to oblige Johanna into sublime Stepford submission (it is not made clear how this happens, but there is a hairless, eyeball-less Joanna robot in once scene), and instead simply presses many buttons all at once in the main control room of the Men’s Club. All of the brain microchips go berserk and short out, the Stepford ladies come to their senses, and oh boy, do the husbands have some hell to pay! All in all, this movie didn’t make much sense, but it looked fantastic. For example, we are to accept that there is a woman who dispenses money out of her mouth like an ATM, and to not question how Joanna’s sad and floppy brown administrative hairstyle becomes icy blond and waist length. Apparently, a lot of content had to be edited out for various reasons (including a scene where mutated Bette Midler spreads open her breasts to reveal a frosty cavity for beers) so what was left was this Crazy-Quilt of a film? Perhaps The Stepford Wives would have benefitted from some more decidedly dark content, like all of the wives electrocuting their husbands with a “shocking” kiss goodnight...Written by the Cole Chickering

I Hate Guest Critics: Cole Chickering

One of my favorite sites these days is Woman's Day  For me, it's the non plus ultra of these Tumblr sites the kids are doing.  I don't get it, makes no sense to my eyes, but what the fuck do I know...I have grey pubes and I'll soon need bifocals according to my Armenian eye doctor.

Woman's Day

I never met Cole Chickering.  He lives in Chicago or some place I visited 8,000 years ago.  If Cole lived in LA he'd hate me 'cause I'd follow him around and try to smell the youth that no doubt seeps from his every pore.  I hate him.  I love him.

Anyway, Woman's Day makes me cry.  Or makes me wish I could cry.  Look for Cole's smart-ass review soon.  Hugz, Rock Hard

Chick Flick Haiku #7

bette and lily twinned?

that frog’s ass ain’t water-tight

still, you’ll piss yourself

Pet Semenary...

First of all, I'd like to preface this review by saying I am usually pretty lenient when it comes to accepting small grammatical errors like ending sentences with prepositional phrases or accepting the occasional “their/there/they’re” confusion in text messages.  However, I think the fact that this movie is purposely misspelled speaks volumes about the movie I’m about to describe. Not only was it not integral to any sort of “plot device” but I’m pretty sure Stephen King thought he was being really fucking clever when he did it. I can just imagine his smug Mongoloid face smirking from above his stupid fucking clunky '80s typewriter. Then again, I’m probably just butthurt because I didn’t realize it was misspelled until someone in the movie mentioned it.

Pet Sematary has a pretty simple plot to understand- seemingly perfect family moves into a new country home near a dangerous highway in which trucks haul-ass down. Within the first 5 minutes of moving, their obnoxious semi-psychic, but not smart enough to listen to her mother, daughter injures herself on a tire swing and their 4 year old toddler almost walks into a street and gets hit by a truck. The son is saved by a world weary old man who cryptically mentions the pet sematary. Foreshadowing with a capital F.

However, what seems to be more of an impending doom is the awkward family dynamics. Although an attractive pair, the mom, played by Star Trek NextGen actress Denise Crosby, is totallllllly a closet-case while the dad, played by Dale Midkiff, has the dead stare that only someone with a violent porn career or a Canadian can have. There are so many times where Dale Midkiff struggles in terror only to look as if he is preparing to blow a load.

The last member of this family is the cat. Pretty much from the get-go everyone anticipates this cat to be hit by a truck and to be killed. However, it waits to do this when mom and the kids are away, probably visiting with mom’s “friend” Pat. The cat dies. The dad buries it in the pet sematary. It comes back to life. It is evil.
Also, there is some weird subplot with dad not being able to save some dude who had half of his brain oozing out and he comes back as a friendly zombie ghost to give advice but I wasn’t paying that much attention. There is also more sub-subplot about mom killing her sister/first girlfriend, who had some crippling spine disease that made her character look like a man in drag, dressed up as some Marnie Weber character. Also, the cat flings a dead rat into porndad’s tub while he’s taking a bath…hilarity ensues.

So FINALLY, the son gets hit by a car. He gets buried. He comes back to life. He’s evil. HE STABS THE SHIT OUT OF SOMEONE’S ANKLE. POSSIBLY THE MOST TERRIFYING MOMENT IN ALL OF HORROR HISTORY. He kills the mom. Dad buries her. She comes back to life. She’s evil. She kills the dad. See the ingenious web that Stephen King has spun?

However, despite the schlock, Pet Sematary is still a scary movie and ended up giving me the following nightmare:

I dreamt I was walking around the Grand Library in Glendale and outside their gallery space was a tv talk show set up like Space Ghost Coast to Coast with two demons that looked like they were from Buffy displayed in those monitor-chairs. The dialogue was like “Oh you killll me Beazebub”. “AHHAHA, that’s what your mother and the 40 million souls I’ve collected said”. Then I walked into the gallery space and it was a 3-D video installation of these horrifying shadows that would creep and surround you and it felt like I was trapped in hell. I remember blinking and trying to wake up from within the dream and when I finally did I was dropped off in a family reunion. This reunion was my mother’s Texan family and it ended on a high note when I ran into '90s boy next door, Breckin Myer and we tried to figure out how related we were so we could make out.

THE END...Dirty Pillows.