Thanks to an alignment of the stars, I have in my possession a set of the Anchor Bay featured DVD releases for the month of March, which we featured here and our lovely advertisement sidebar. One lucky Chewer will get all four discs, courtesy of Anchor Bay and your friends and enemies at CHUD.

I’ll pick a winner sometime around the middle of April, and notify him or her by e-mail. Shortly after that, you’ll receive a discreetly-wrapped package in the mail.

BUY IT AT AMAZON: CLICK HERE!
STUDIO: Sony
MSRP: $24.96
RATED: PG-13
RUNNING TIME: 90 min.
SPECIAL FEATURES:
• trailers
• chapter search

The Pitch

It’s Dragonheart without Connery… or Quaid… or David Thewlis… or Dina Meyer… or ILM… or a dragon…

The Humans

Jonathan LaPaglia (Inferno), Larry Drake (Dr. Giggles), Amber Benson (Buffy the Vampire Slayer), Andrew Pleavin (300), Sarah Douglas (Conan the Destroyer)

The Nutshell

Two kingdoms are locked in civil war. One king has an ace up his sleeve: the right, by blood, to command a deadly magical beast. His court sorcerer (Drake) betrays him, taking control of the gryphon for himself and his hootchie wives. Can Princess Amelia of Lockland (Benson) and Prince Seth of Delphi (LaPaglia) see past their differences and stand together against a common foe? Well, duh.

Ray Harryhausen made this look so easy.

The Lowdown

This is an agreeable timewaster with a CGI monster that might have been passable ten years ago on Hercules- The Legendary Journeys. The Bulgarian locations add a lot of production value, although you can tell how long a character’s going to live by how Eastern Bloc his accent is.

The story is slight, even by Sci Fi Channel standards: our heroes have to assemble a mystical artifact in order to defeat the monster, and there are only two hidden pieces instead of the customary three. To pad things out, various fantasy-type episodes transpire, including a fight with a ‘living statue’ that is clearly a stuntman in grey makeup.

In the role of the resident warrior princess, Benson is believable until she opens her mouth. Also, she’s stuck playing the kind of action heroine who’s all kick-ass until her love interest shows up, and then spends the rest of the movie doing battle in a flimsy off-the-shoulder number.

Don’t tell Willow.

LaPaglia fares better, somehow managing to make his Middle-Agey dialogue sound natural and conversational. Perhaps it’s because he’s already faking the American accent? He’s an actor I’d like to see working more in genre films: he hasn’t had the professional success of his elder brother, but anyone who remembers 7 Days should know he’s got the makings of a solid action hero.

If the movie has anything going for it, it’s the familiar faces. Douglas doesn’t get much to do, but she’s a welcome presence. Drake always seems to play villains, but he really isn’t very good at it. Maybe he’s been cast against type so often nobody can remember what his type is.

Fine by me. I was going to grab some white meat anyway.

The Package

A couple good trailers. That’s it. You are spared the usual making-of spectacle of producers defending their low budget and visual effects technicians assuring us they’re proud of their work.

BUY IT AT AMAZON: CLICK HERE!
STUDIO: Lionsgate
MSRP: $19.98
RATED: R
RUNNING TIME: 92 minutes
SPECIAL FEATURES:
• "Behind the Screams" featurette
• Sanity "Stay Away" music video
• Trailers

The Pitch

"It’s
The
Pit and the Pendulum meets The Hitcher!"

The Humans

Rachel
Miner, Mimi Rogers, Chad Todhunter (watch out, Tod!)

The Nutshell

Young
Penny (Miner) lost both her parents in a car accident when she was a child.
Since then, she has had a paralyzing fear of being in cars. To break her of
that fear, her psychiatrist (Rogers) takes her on a road trip. High up in the
mountains, and late at night, they come upon a hitchhiker. Despite Penny’s
frantic objections, the psychiatrist stops to give the guy a lift. After the
ensuing violence, Penny finds herself trapped in the car with the
psychiatrist’s dead body, and the hitchhiker tormenting her like a cat with a
mouse.

The Lowdown

This
review will be presented in two forms: haiku, and prose. First, the former:

seventy minutes
of hyperventilation
and nothing much else

Sure,
there’s more to talk about, but the above is the impression that will survive
the longest. Penny Dreadful holds the distinction of being the most boring
horror movie I’ve ever seen. The scenario is a simple one: bad guy stalks
innocent girl. Other writers and directors have taken a premise no more
complicated than that and spun it into a tense, or at least enjoyable, ninety
minutes of thrills. Penny Dreadful‘s problem is that instead of escalating the
confrontation between the victim and the torturer, a stagnancy settles into the
script at around the fifteen minute mark and makes itself comfortable.

To lighten up this review, have a picture of the nicest man near Hollywood.

The
limited setting ought to provide a pressure-cooker for Penny’s emotions; I’m
sure that was the intention. Rachel Miner shoulders the task of keeping the
audience’s attention through the interminable second and third acts with
aplomb, but there’s not enough content there for her to work with. There’s only
so many times we can see her character panicking, trapped in the car, before the
sympathy wears off.

Penny’s
fear of cars exists in the hope that it will sustain some of that sympathy,
but, in fact, Penny’s phobia is so loosely defined and so unimportant to the
progress of the plot that it could be removed without damaging any of the
structure. While we’re on the topic, the entire first act could be excised without
harming the film’s minor effect. That’s never a good sign.

Dangerously close to the Gonzo method for catching a cab.

The only
source of diversion I got from Penny Dreadful was from listing the
minor infractions against common filmmaking decency, such as including a few
characters who exist solely to be cut up by the hitcher, pulling a Saw-like
game with a dead body and a key, and resolving the whole thing with the ol’
"escaped inmate at an asylum" explanation. That’s not even mentioning
that there’s not even crazy-man logic to the hitcher’s torment of Penny. It’s
simultaneously too much, and far too little.

God, it’s
hard to conclude this review of Penny Dreadful without resorting to
the obvious pun.

The Package

It’s kind
of telling that the back of the box has a synopsis that’s only one sentence
long, and only about twenty words.

Content-wise,
the disc has a behind-the-scenes featurette, trailers, and a music video for
the Sanity song "Stay Away." You know, it’s kind of dangerous putting
up all these warning signs for potential viewers. If they turn out to be
warranted, then the thing has a sort of terrible prescience. If the film
doesn’t live up to the warning signs, then you get some terrible poop.

3 out of 10

Way back in the old days (for example, here)
I used to do a thing called ‘CHUD Slang’. It got tiring for me, but I
enjoy the concept. That was three or four years ago. Now, I have a new
thing I want to run past you. The CHUD Deli Menu, the vibe of which
most of you will get off the bat. If you dig it, I’ll continue it. If
you treat it with indifference, so will I. Here is your very second
installment. Hope you dig it.

Welcome
to the eatery, where the food is served pipin’ hot and the waitresses
are shaved and willing. I’m your chef, Master Nicky Nunziata. I have a
degree at the Lovecraft Culinary Institute and I studied under Grand
Cookery King Lucifuge himself. You will leave us well-fed and stinking
of sex, that I assure you. Today’s specials are:

The Courteney Cox: First the sandwich seems bony and unimpressive, but when you’re not looking the chefs add meat in all the right places, next thing you know, it’s delicious. $5

The Brian Cox: First the sandwich seems pale and pockmarked, but when
you’re not looking the meat adds chefs in all the right places, next
thing you know, it’s delicious. Served in a Canadian Tuxedo. $1,000

The Gere: For Display Only. Put this sandwich on a countertop and it will attract window shopping housewives and Dali Lamas. $6

The Larry Clark Hoagie: Nothing tastes better while watching underage people fuck. $1.50

The Love-Hewitt: You thought this was the sandwich with huge knockers, but it isn’t. That’s the Suplee Burger. This one is delicately meaty, so much so we can’t hardly weigh it. $30DD

The Liotta: An intense sandwich, garnished with eyeliner. $4

The Demme: Lamb, served quietly over sourdough. A very overrated sandwich. Do not eat after 8pm, as it gives you the shits something wild. $5


The Demme 2.0: Don’t eat while playing basketball! $50


The Apatow: The sandwich in the corner being blown by Devin Faraci. $22

The Shyamalan: You have no idea what you’re eating until it’s over and then you realize you’re not eating it in Colonial America. 6¢

The Lynch: Ham on Pullman. Halfway through this sandwich, Balthazar Getty eats this sandwich instead of you. $19

The Emilio: A small sandwich for breakfast. Club with Ham, Turkey, and Monterey freeJack cheese. $4

The Thomas Anderson: Indulge! Shit, OVERINDULGE! $455

The WS Anderson: A large British sandwich that will gladly fuck all of your favorite older sandwiches up. $10

Discuss this new Leak Feature here.

BUY IT AT AMAZON: CLICK HERE!
STUDIO: Danger After Dark
MSRP: $24.98
RATED: Unrated
RUNNING TIME: 83 Minutes
SPECIAL FEATURES:

• English Subtitles
• Photo Gallery
  
• Trailer

The Pitch

How do you say ‘poop’ in Greek? To Kako.

The Humans

Meletis Georgiadis. Yannis Katsambas. Andreas Kontopoulos. Pepi Moschovakou. Argiris Thanasoulas. Mykeyboardis Takingabeating.

This MAY have been shot on video.

The Nutshell

Greek television finally got Dawn of the Dead and 28 Days Later (which I assume was known as XXVIII Days Later over there*). People who knew how to do special effects were watching and decided to emulate, filmmaking chops be damned. The result is To Kako, which never would have been released had it not come from Greece. It’s like when a ballplayer makes it to the major leagues simply because he’s Australian or something.

"Let’s parade the oddball out, see what happens."

"And the winner, by split decision…"

The Lowdown

"You’ve given us a mouthful of Greek Salad." – Joe Pilato, Day of the Dead

The plot of the movie involves people going batshit and biting the living piss out of each other. Hirsute male and female zombie sorts shamble about and try to hurt the innocent, but lo and behold, people are there to kill them in ways that are inventive if you’ve been in stasis since 1974. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s apparent from frame one that this is a movie built entirely around a few remotely inventive kills and an editing technique that seems the bastard offspring Run Lola Run and an episode of 24. Without the savvy. Shot on video, the film features tons of split screens and fast cuts and it seems as if the goal seems as much to be as much about unleashing jets of blood in the air (a favorite of To Kako, I counted at least five lingering shots of torsos shooting little red bloodfarts) and jagged editing techniques as it is about delivering horror. Actually, there isn’t much horror. Just people running about, sitting about, and delivering awkwardly choreographed second death to non-actors.

Corey won the gold medal in squash.

That’s really it. A few people in a cave get attacked by a first-person cameraman and go batshit. People go batshit at supper. People go batshit at a futbol game. A few boring people (including the Jennifer Grey of Greece) band together to fight the evil and we as an audience look at our watch and wait for either the end credits or the merciful Grim Reaper to take us home. It is a bad movie. A dumb movie. Proof positive that though every single person on Earth thinks they have the definitive zombie movie in their head or at least a great contribution to the genre, more often than not they have Jack Elam at best.

Fuck Evil. It’s a formula zombie flick. The worst formula ever.

"δίγαμμα δίγαμμα, δίγαμμα Shitstuffs" …………………. "κάππα ήτα ἄλφα!"
"I did what you asked, now please no more To Kako" …… "Can’t afford shoes!"

The Package

"You’ve given us a mouthful of Greek Salad." – Patron of Mellow Mushroom Pizza

There are thankfully almost no special features on this DVD, a fact I am so proud of. Typically, no-budget horror flicks that suck the life from a man have 11 commentary tracks, 9 documentaries, and a photo gallery of everything everyone did on the set every day. This one just has the film and some photos and a trailer.

I hate this movie a lot.

2.5 out of 10

Because nothing sells tickets like a poet and his friends getting stinking drunk for two hours, here comes The Best Time Of Our Lives, the biopic of celebrated Welsh optimist and drinker Dylan Thomas. If he can get his schnozz out of the tumbler for at least a scene, you might recognize Matthew Rhys from Titus (Shakespeare, not Fox) as Thomas. Opposite as the husband of his childhood friend is Cillian Murphy, with Kiera Knightley as said friend. Dylan Thomas and his wife weren’t exactly known for thier fidelity to one another, so expect some poet/pirate shagging.

Directing is John Maybury, whose last known feature crammed Adrian Brody, still smelling vaguely of Oscar, into both a little box and a really goddamn ugly (The) Jacket. Consider my confidence inspired! Then again, watching The Jacket made me want to drink for at least two hours, so maybe this is a perfect pairing.

Once…a long time ago…the counterculture was counter. Now – you buy it at the mall. Why spray-paint the “Anarchy” symbol on a T-shirt when you can buy a shirt that already has one for $22.00?

Movies are no different. Mainstream films are desperate to court an edgy “underground” feel. They try so hard to feel like counterprogramming – but when you’re dumping rich cake into prints and advertising – it’s all big business.

On the other hand – many of the weakest, high-concept, Z-grade films are conceived at a studio level…polished to an A-grade sheen – and most people never know the difference.

I’m talking to you, “Ghoshridir”…

Certainly, there are the filmmakers who can straddle the line – but it’s because they’ve lived it. They hit the dirt-malls and conventions and calendar houses – they’ve done the dumpster diving. They found the balls-out crazy you don’t get in a lot of films nowadays – and in turn, that insanity has found its way into their work.

And it’s easy to appreciate that work – because it’s right there at the multiplex, not even ten minutes away.

But it used to be a mail-order crapshoot. It used to be some insane dirt merchant on a convention room floor swearing that you needed to see this flick. That it was “the baddest hardcore-rotgut-explo dog-shit you’ll EVER see!”

And you’d end up dropping two bills for a bunch of Ruggero Deodato debauchery (which guy was selling Cut and Run uncut again?)…you’d end up with a copy of Dellamorte Dellamore (“off Japanese laserdisc, maan!”) you’d show everyone you knew…you’d find that print of Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 with the added gore (and the cameo by your lord and savior Joe Bob Briggs)…or that grainy workprint of Return of the Living Dead with the documentary-style ending and audible direction from Dan O’Bannon.

“Okay, Linnea – rub yer’ butt!”

You’d pay anything for two extra minutes of Evil Dead 2 – there HAD to be a copy with that Evil Ed dismemberment footage somewhere (nope – the extra stuff was just a pillow on a couch with some smoke coming out of it).

You discovered that Chang Cheh has never made a bad film ever.

And no matter how many Fulci films you watched, you discovered there’s always room for Giallo.

You got to know Al Cliver personally.

Somewhere along the line – the feeling died. Dellamorte Dellamore, Texas Chainsaw 2, and Return of the Living Dead are available for purchase at Wal-Mart.

I’m not bemoaning the availability of these films. In all actuality, I love it – but I am mourning the fact that the feeling of discovery is pretty much a thing of the past. That feeling you got when you stuck some tape in your VCR and realized that you were indeed watching a film where a midget rapes a junkie prostitute with his cane…where a well-oiled and ridiculously-coiffed Metal Warrior wrestles Satan for our very souls…where blaxploitation and exorcism and rotoscoping collide…

…where zombies…use UZIs.

I want the feeling back. I want it back for all of us. And if nothing else – I want us to get to know Al Cliver.

You and me are going for a little ride. Welcome to Sewer Subterranea. Whatever crazy shit’s out there – we’re gonna’ find it together. Whether it’s forgotten silver or Mini DV…in someone’s basement – or in another part of the world. We’ll do a bit of history…talk to whoever’s willing (I hope someone’s willing – someone like Al Cliver)…watch anything – and smash everythang! Smash everythang! Smash everythang!

Strap in.

Rod Lurie has a film on the CHUD Essentials list (Deterrence). Now he’s remaking a movie that could have been a contender (oh snap, pun intended) for that list – Straw Dogs. And he’s remaking it for the House that Shitty Movies Built: Screen Gems.

*I mean this beyond the obvious ‘What the fuck are you going to bring to this movie that the great genius Sam Peckinpah didn’t? And do you really think you’ll make a film as rough as the one he made? You fucking jerk.’ sort of thing.

Today marks the arrival of the first real Ocean’s Thirteen trailer. It’s similar in tone and format to the teaser everyone’s seen, but it gives more background as to what the caper is this time and why they’re getting together again under even riskier circumstances to make it happen.

There’s a neat visual flourish or two, some odd prosthetics, a smidgen more Ellen Barkin, and most surprisingly, an expanded role for the Chinese acrobat fella this time around. All good things, as far as I’m concerned. I know I stand with the proud few when I defend my love for Ocean’s Twelve, but so be it. It’s such a carefree, playful, and gorgeous film that I never get tired of looking at it. And all of those quantities seem to be plentiful this time around, too.

This baby hits theaters June 8, but you can shorten the wait by checking out the new trailer in your choice of crystal clear HD formats right here.

If you’ve been paying any attention to the site lately, then you’ve probably already read our damn good back and forth with Will Arnett and Amy Poehler regarding Blades of Glory. Hilarious stuff. And if you were on the fence about the film, that probably did a lot to push you over toward seeing it. After all, it is starring Will Ferrell in trademark unhinged mode. It’s got Arnett and Poehler as the antagonists. There’s lots of comedy stalwarts in smaller supporting roles like Romany Malco, Rob Corddry, and Nick Swardson. Hell, it’s even directed by the Geico Caveman commercial guys. Oh, and I didn’t even mention Jenna Fischer, who gets a scene to parade around (awkwardly, but intentionally so) in hot lingerie. What more do you need?

Well, a much funnier movie would be at the top of that list. The sad fact is Blades of Glory has every reason in the world to be a very funny and entertaining film, but just isn’t. This is a movie that fundamentally misunderstands the talent it’s given to work with, and while you can see Arnett and Ferrell doing their best to liven the proceedings with random ad-libs and unscripted quirks, they’re constrained at every turn by a one-joke script that gets old quickly. It’s not helped by the over simplistic story which starts with co-stars Ferrell and Jon Heder at the top of their game as showy, polar opposite Olympic skate champs who get in a public fracas, get banned, and then must re-enter the sport as a couple, thereby introducing lots of homoerotic humor and placing them squarely in the evil sights of America’s top skating couple, Stranz and Fairchild Van Waldenberg (Arnett and Poehler). Along the way, Heder’s Jimmy MacElroy falls for the sweet, shy Van Waldenberg sister, Katie (Fischer), and their forbidden coupling is the only other subplot of the film.

Although it’s no flimsier, plotwise, than most other modern mainstream comedies, those films tend to work in one of two distinct formulas. The first is starting with a raucous premise, but supplementing it with a good story and genuinely likeable and real characters that keep you invested in the movie between joke onslaughts and sight gags (e.g. The 40 Year Old Virgin). The second is to start with a raucous premise, throw narrative reason and characterization to the wolves, and then let your improv-happy stars go off on every tangent they please so that they’re free to fully unleash their talents, logic be damned (e.g. Anchorman). Rather than stick to either of those lanes, Blades of Glory adheres to strict convention about romantic comedy plotting (it’s just that the “romance” is between its two male leads), thereby curtailing the chance for improvisation and weird tangents, yet just can’t be bothered to give any sort of distinction to its characters so that you care where any of them go or end up. It’s the worst of both worlds.

Thus, Ferrell’s Chazz Michaels-Michaels is really just a dull Xerox of his previous attempts to refine the undeservedly egotistical manchild persona that is his signature. Heder’s Jimmy MacElroy (and this is probably more a fault of Heder’s limited range than the script) evokes Napoleon Dynamite a whole lot more than he should. The stale formula continues right down to the prominent announcing team of Jim Lampley and Scott Hamilton, who try (and fail miserably) to pepper the film with smaller jokes like Dodgeball’s dynamic duo of Gary Cole and Jason Bateman. There’s just far too much “been there, done that” in this movie. The supporting cast fares no better. Poehler and Arnett are handcuffed by repetitive scenes of scheming and manipulating Fischer to sabotage our heroes’ comeback attempt, so they rarely get a chance to strut their stuff. There’s even less for bit players like William Fichtner and Craig T. Nelson to do. Their brief scenes are pretty much joke-free, so if you’re not already slapping your knee at their mere presence in this film, don’t expect anything once you see them onscreen. There’s some innuendo indicating some sort of gay history between Nelson and Romany Malco’s choreographer character, but this film is only comfortable skirting the edge of homophobia for a few broad jokes and doesn’t have the time or inclination to focus on a genuine male romantic relationship.

In a way, none of this really matters. This is a concept-driven film, and if the concept of two supposed straight guys being figure-skating maverick rivals who are forced to uncomfortably team as a man and a woman would doesn’t make you laugh before you see a frame of this film, the odds are that no amount of talent could fully redeem it. Even the talent in this film are basically pre-selling themselves, which is why the jokes you see Will Ferrell doing in the commercials are indistinguishable from his Ricky Bobby or Ron Burgundy material. But just evoking prior, funnier films isn’t enough. But in that spirit, I can sum up this film perfectly. Blades of Glory is really the Black Sheep of Will Ferrell movies, if you would consider Talladega Nights or Anchorman to be his Tommy Boy. It isn’t completely devoid of laughs, but damn, it should be a whole lot better given the talent involved. And while Ferrell’s schtick has been aging not too gracefully for a bit now, this film basically digs the grave for it and starts the dirt pour on top. It’s certainly possible for him to continue to milk this for a few more films still, but the principle of diminishing returns is already in full effect. The question is how much longer will we continue to enable it?