horror

Miss Don’t Touch Me, Vol. 2

gwen — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

My knowledge of graphic novels is limited to having only read The Watchman. When you’re reading a book you imagine what the character looks like and maybe even the environment where she lives. When you experience a graphic novel, an interconnected array of words and colors awaits you much like what a child sees when looking at a picture book. I think it’s a fabulous genre and I look forward to reading more.

Miss Don’t Touch Me, Vol. 2, takes place in Paris in the 1930s. I recommend you read Miss Don’t Touch Me, Vol. 1, first, as there is good back story to the characters in Volume 2. Miss Don’t Touch Me, Vol. 2 centers on a frightened and nervous young woman named Blanche, who is overshadowed by her sister Agatha, a fun-loving free spirit who frequently goes out dancing. They both work as maids and are barely getting by financially. Blanche experiences a tragedy when someone very close to her is shot. She takes it upon herself to find the people responsible, which leads her to the Pompadour, a house of call girls. Blanche becomes a dominatrix and is given the name “Miss Don’t Touch Me,” because she is still a virgin and her male customers are not allowed to touch her.

The other prostitutes at the Pompadour are jealous of Blanche and are constantly bullying her, but she stands up for herself. Through Blanche’s eyes we see a division between the prostitutes and the people with all the money and power—who are often the prostitutes’ customers. In Blanche, we see an advocate for her friends that are abused or mistreated. She has a complicated relationship with her mother and she falls in love with a man who is struggling with his own sexual identity. Blanche grows from a nervous woman to someone who fights the male dominance and the power hungry individuals that threaten to bring her down. She is still frightened, but she works through her fears and tries to survive in a world that is very much against her.

The Miss Don’t Touch Me series is not for everyone and if you’re easily offended by images of men getting whipped or women being tied up, this is probably not the best introductory graphic novel. But if none of the above bothers you, then you will enjoy this strange—albeit entertaining—tale filled with horror, S&M, mystery, and romance.

Written by: Su Lin Mangan, March 23rd 2011

I Spit On Your Grave

admin — Fri, 01 Oct 2010 02:00:00 +0000

Directed by Steven R. Monroe

CineTel Films

There's very little chance of spoiling anyone with this review. The original I Spit On Your Grave is notorious, if not for its legend then for its lingering controversy, especially amongst feminists. Meir Zarchi, writer and director of the 1978 film, apparently based his simple rape-revenge story on his own experience finding a woman who had been brutally beaten and raped near a park in New York City. Zarchi's vision, a tale where the victim would get bloody revenge on her attackers, may not have been an act of feminism, but it was certainly intended as one of sympathy. How it managed to end up the most infamous exploitation film of all time—complete with ads featuring a half-naked heroine shot from behind, her rear-end prominent and her hand clutching a butcher knife—was probably mostly the result of marketing (Zarchi's original title for the film, the one that he still prefers, was Day of the Woman).

Still, Zarchi's film is extremely misguided, even within its own context. There is little to no character development, for the attackers or the attacked, making the rape scenes implausible, and Jennifer, the film's "heroine," uses her sexuality to lure her rapists in for her revenge, even going so far as to have consensual sex with one of them. For this and many other reasons, I do think I Spit On Your Grave was begging to be remade, if not for Zarchi's redemption then for those of us who were left deeply uncomfortable (and dissatisfied) by it.

Steven Monroe's revamp may tell the same story, but it's a different film altogether. The actors are much more relatable and likeable, even Jennifer's attackers (including a charming Jeff Branson and Daniel Franzese of Mean Girls fame), and though we aren't given too much of anyone's history, every character comes off as thoroughly real, many with both dark urges and childlike insecurity. Jennifer (Sarah Butler) is written as much more skeptical than her predecessor, a young but smart, feisty, modern update.

The motive behind the boys' invasion of Jennifer's lakeside cabin, though disturbing in its implications for the dynamics among young men, is made clear, and appropriately, their torment of her starts off as much more psychological than physical. In fact, it's not until Jennifer escapes from them and stumbles upon the town sheriff (Andrew Howard) in the woods that the attack begins in earnest. It becomes unclear whether or not the boys would have gone so far as to rape Jennifer if the sheriff hadn't gotten involved, as he becomes a despicable sort of ringleader for the entire incident. Considering Zarchi's overseeing of Monroe's remake, this choice could very well have been a nod to his personal experience taking the young rape victim he encountered to an unsympathetic police station.

Monroe's rendering of Jennifer's rape is frantic and horrible, shot not unlike a battle scene in a war film. He never empathizes with her attackers, though Jennifer is certainly not made out to be completely helpless; we see her fighting or seeking escape at every given opportunity, creating an interesting harbinger of the ruthlessness she'll later inflict on them. There is an eerie strength in the way she walks away from them afterward, bloodied and beaten, and lets herself fall off a bridge, disappearing into the water below like a ghost.

The revenge portion of the film is gratuitous in its violence and, for that very reason, incredibly satisfying. The original's seduction is taken out of the torment, Jennifer subjecting her attackers to a long, torturous death that is somewhat symbolic for each of them. Though I'm more squeamish than most, I actually found myself laughing out loud at these horribly gruesome scenes—and I wasn't the only one. So long as Jennifer's rapists were getting theirs, the entire audience wasn't anything less than thrilled.

Unlike with Zarchi's film, I never found any of Jennifer's nudity gratuitous or even vaguely sexual in the remake. Even so, I Spit On Your Grave Redux reprises the exploitative marketing of the original, the film's poster nearly identical to the first. Whether this is a ploy to attract exploitation buffs or simply homage to Zarchi's film is irrelevant to Monroe's intentions. I suppose sex sells, even if it's non-consensual.

Still, I think it's important to realize that the new I Spit On Your Grave is not meant to be a political statement on rape or a realistic portrayal of a rape victim coming to terms with trauma. It's meant as a catharsis, pure and simple. Is it a feminist one? To answer that would require answering the question of what feminism is, which, these days, is more dangerous than some of the acts committed by the film's heroine. When political debate fails, I have to go with my gut (or guts, as the case may be) for a verdict: I Spit on Your Grave is a refreshing and deeply gratifying film that left me feeling somehow vindicated.

Written by: Caitlin Graham, September 30th 2010

Manhater

admin — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 00:01:00 +0000

Directed by Anthony Doublin

Canyon Falls Productions

I recall visiting a horror movie convention soon after Kill Bill had come out. Nearly every film production table had at least one "sexy lady getting revenge" movie poster predominantly on display. Attractive female murderers are the perfect shortcut to fulfilling violence and sex in films. Over the years, the number of "lady revenge" movies has dwindled.

However, there are a few stragglers being produced, like Manhater. Manhater is described as "horror... with a good, unique story," but to consider it a horror film is questionable. Instead, I consider it a supernatural film with a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde plot, punctuated with gore and nudity.

The story is neither good nor unique. The plot is, well, this: An abuse survivor takes a magic potion from a witch, and the potion makes a demon appear. The demon kills all the men that hurt the woman, but the witch is actually involved with the woman's rapist. The rapist wants to control the demon and has a glowing necklace that he holds while talking gibberish at the demon. Yes, you read correctly.

First, kudos to the crew and performers who stuck it out until the end! I wonder if they were paid; hopefully, they were at least fed lunch. Some of the performers went by aliases in the credits. Were they embarrassed to be in this film? Also, the film score earned "Best Original Soundtrack at Idyllwild," though I hardly noticed it.

This film’s creators don't seem to have valued good production in any form. The camera work varies anywhere from poor to acceptable quality. I noticed camera shakes, awkward movements, and questionable shots. The lighting is sometimes off or completely absent. There are a few outdoor scenes in pitch-black darkness. The audio doesn't always sync up with its source. Lips are moving without sound at times, like in poorly dubbed kung-fu films. The editing is unclean. Many cuts did not mesh well with others or were abruptly cut off.

The makeup is better meant for a theatrical stage, not a film screen. Big, false eyelashes are distracting and corny on movie performers. Also, at one point, a woman has paintbrush stripes on her cheeks for blush. The acting talent ranges from non-existent to lukewarm. These performers would have shone more if they were given character roles with more than one dimension. The characters are unrealistic, unlikable, or both.

Also, there is a Token Black Female Best Friend in this film. You know, in predominantly white films, we sometimes see a black female best friend who has no real personality other than to act as a cheerleader for the (usually bitter) white female protagonist (as in the film Julie and Julia). The story gets more ridiculous by the second, the plot holes are vast, and the dialogue is vapid. The special effects, while respectable on such a low budget, are pretty dorky.

Most problematic, this film begins with a rape scene. It's obviously fake, but still graphic, and insensitive to both performers and viewers alike. If a movie absolutely requires such a scene, then it needs to do it with understanding and discretion. Later in the movie, the survivor talks to the abuser; not just once, but often, and in a mildly annoyed tone more appropriate towards someone who owes her money, not someone who has brutally assaulted her. She even accepts an invitation to join him alone in his house.

The writer of this film clearly does not understand the seriousness of sexual assault, instead confusing it with edgy sex. The fact that he botched this topic, as well as the film’s overt objectification of women and senseless gore, proves that Manhater is just another cheap combo platter of sex and violence to be devoured by stupid people.

Written by: Jacquie Piasta, August 10th 2010

Dark Hunger

admin — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 01:05:00 +0000

By Rita Herron

Forever

Where do I begin? I guess I should start with an admission. I’m a horror geek. I love horror movies, both the good and the bad; horror novels, ghost stories, midnight walks, supernatural based TV shows, and even a good Scooby Doo episode. I also love romance. Give me a good love story, and I’m hooked in spite of myself. So when I saw Dark Hunger, the second book in Rita Herron’s Demonborn series, I was looking forward to it. I learned my mistake quickly. I should have known—the title is Dark Hunger.

To summarize, Annabelle Anderson, a beautiful CNN reporter, follows a lead to Quinton Valtrez (the Demonborn of the series name), who is an assassin for a covert army group. He is fighting his demonic birthright, and doesn’t want anyone to worry. She is determined to get to the bottom of her story, and is drawn to the strong, handsome, sexy Quinton. Issues occur, as does sex. Stop me if you’ve heard this one.

This book is terrible. The plot makes little sense, the characters are poorly conceived, badly written and trite, and there is nothing original in the entire book. Quinton’s demonic side manifests itself as a desire to kill and an addiction to sex. This trait he shares with his newly found brother, Vincent. Luckily, Vincent figured out the answer to his habit in the first book of the series, and is now happily married. There are bombings and a creepy evangelical preacher, a whiny editor demanding an update every five pages and an overly sinister army General.

As for the “horror” side of things, there are crows, an angel of death, a demon named Zion (guess who he is), and some mind control. That’s pretty much it. Nothing scary, original, interesting or even clearly ripped off of someone else. The sex scenes, the real reason anyone reads romance novels, are numerous, and well written.

If you see this book in a bookstore and are tempted to pick it up, go get a Clive Barker book instead. It’ll be a lot better in every category, including the sex scenes. However, if you do get it, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Sometimes we accidentally duplicate a review. What can we say? Perfection is an illusion. Click here for another Feminist Review writer's vantage point this book.

Written by: Taylor Rhodes, November 15th 2009

The House of the Devil

admin — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 17:11:00 +0000

Directed by Ti West

Glass Eye Pix

When I realized that tongue-in-cheek horror writer-director Ti West's latest was produced by the same company that brought us last year's delightful horror comedy I Sell the Dead, I'll admit my own personal bar was raised ten-fold. But while the 80s-inspired haunted house throwback delivers a healthy dose of nostalgia, The House of the Devil is otherwise mostly dissatisfying.

The film's opening sequence, while pointlessly lengthy, has an excitingly reminiscent feel: the camera alternately meanders and freeze-frames on young Sam (Jocelin Donahue) as she walks from her apartment to her college campus, listening to a clunky period walkman that blasts an upbeat synth-y tune. Unfortunately though, the "pointlessly lengthy" doesn't stop there. It takes about forty minutes of non-scenes post-opening (featuring some cringe-worthy non-acting by Donahue) to reach our creaky country mansion so the actual horror can finally begin.

Tom Noonan and Mary Woronov are the film's saving graces as Mr. and Mrs. Ulman, the disconcerting owners of the house. Both actors manage to simultaneously charm the audience and make us savagely uncomfortable. Even though there is something unarguably off about the two, we find ourselves hoping that their bizarre request for Sam to babysit Mrs. Ulman's mother is actually genuine.

There is a slew of feminist literature on the films from which The House of the Devil is derived, particularly on characters like Sam, known as the "final girl" archetype. Like the Jamie Lee Curtises and Neve Campbells before her, Donahue is meant to be a bit of a paradox: alluring but virginal, both victim and survivor, just helpless enough but too cunning to actually fall at the hands of her monster. Somehow though, West manages to miss the cunning part completely, leaving a young woman who miraculously survives despite making mistakes of the caliber usually reserved for the genre's dizzy best friend character (played here by the wonderful Greta Gerwig) or fake out protagonist (see Psycho's Janet Leigh or Drew Barrymore in Scream). Acting aside, Donahue isn't given much of a character with which to start.

Still, the time Sam spends exploring the house solo, though drawn out, is awfully disquieting. West's cinematography builds a sharp sense of doom, seemingly from thin air. Ultimately, however, the payoff doesn't nearly fit the buildup, and we're left with nothing more than a lame, half-assed rip-off of Rosemary's Baby. Perhaps West should have spent less time on foreplay and a little more time on the main event.

Written by: Caitlin Graham, October 26th 2009

The New Weird

admin — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 17:13:00 +0000

Edited by Ann Vandermeer, Jeff Vandermeer

Tachyon Publications

The New Weird takes its name from the literary movement of the same name that includes speculative fiction and horror stories popularized in pulp magazines by authors such as H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard. The New Weird movement can best be described as, well, weird, and the stories in Ann and Jeff Vandermeer's anthology tend to focus on the images created, as opposed to the plot or the characters. As a result, some of the stories feel a bit disjointed, like you are reading someone else’s fever dreams. This allows for some of the images to be truly horrible and lack easy explanations. The New Weird also includes some scholarly essays about the movement, if you would like explanations.

Michael Moorcock, famous for his Elric of Melnibone stories, contributes a fairly straightforward World War III story with a deeply disturbing rape description buried within the story. Clive Barker, writer of the game changing Books of Blood and director of Hellraiser, contributes a story called “In the Hills, the Cities,” where people tie themselves together to fight a battle for long forgotten reasons. In one of my favorite stories, “Watson’s Boy” by Brian Evenson, a boy learns to assert himself by collecting keys despite his father’s disapproval. The entire story takes place in a building that may or may not be a prison or perhaps a mental hospital. The refusal to explain the context is part of the charm of the story.

One of the interesting aspects of this anthology are the images of the female. A good number of the stories are written by women. Some portrayals, like the women so easily disposed of in Moorcock story, are traditional portrayals of women in horror stories—but they were in the minority. I was very surprised by two stories. The first, "The Neglected Garden" by Kathe Koja, tells the story of a wronged woman who, for want of a better description, cruxifies herself on a garden fence. Her boyfriend refuses to get her help, and Mother Nature helps her take revenge in a truly original and very gratifying way. I wondered while reading it, with the horror focused at the beginning and the triumphant ending, if a man reading it would see the exact opposite, with my triumphant ending as the true horror.

These stories will burn themselves into your brain in ways that are uncomfortable and thought-provoking. You can’t find anything better than this anthology.

Written by: Taylor Rhodes, September 16th 2009

Stagestruck Vampires and Other Phantasms

admin — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 17:15:00 +0000

By Suzy McKee Charnas

Tachyon Publications

Recently, during a discussion on the flaws of Twilight, an acquaintance of mine made a rather insightful statement. “The vampire is supposed to die. Period.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love a sexy paranormal as much as the next chick, but lately I’ve noticed that a lot of vampires have, for lack of a better pun, lost their bite. The recent trend with all things horror and fantasy has been to either neuter or glamorize what were once considered spine-chilling denizens of darkness. Soul-less vampires and bloodthirsty werewolves have been replaced by pretty boys wearing leather who have brooding puppy dogs. Sexy? Yes. Blood curdling? Not so much. It is for this reason I say, thank God for Suzy McKee Charnas.

Winner of such prestigious science fiction/fantasy awards as the Hugo, Nebula, and Tiptree, Charnas reminds us why we are afraid of the dark. In her works, creatures of the night are sinister, vicious, and yes, even downright scary. Stagestruck Vampires and Other Phantasms is a collection of Charnas’s previously published dark fantasy short-stories, plus two new autobiographical essays. The first essay, “The Stagestruck Vampire,” is about Charnas’s exasperating experiences trying to turn one of her works into a play. In the other, “They’re Right, Art is Long,” Charnas explores how her own personal feminism has shaped her works and career. Both are charming, informative pieces that give the reader a nice insight into the author’s mind.

The best in the bunch is “Beauty and the Opera,” an alternate ending to the classic Phantom of the Opera story. In this version, Christine agrees to live with the Phantom for five years as his wife in exchange for Raoul’s life. Told from Christine’s point of view, the story is equal parts horror and romance. The Phantom featured here is the disturbed, disfigured killer from the novel, not the tragically romantic character that usually dominates the movies and stage. Charnas’s writing is dark, seductive and engaging, drawing the reader into a tale of macabre beauty.

My other favorite story was “Boobs,” a tale of a teenage werewolf who gets revenge on a boy who has been teasing her about her chest size. Probably the most unusual coming-of-age story you’ll read this year, it was satisfying in an A Rose for Emily kind of way. The other stories in the collection are a showcase of horrific oddity. Edgar Allen Poe meets The Twilight Zone.

This is real horror, not the gruesome blood fests that have come to dominate the genre in recent years. The stories are a creepy good time, and while you won’t lose sleep after reading them, you’ll probably want to check under your bed. Just in case.

Written by: Victoria Kroeger, September 2nd 2009

Thirst

admin — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 10:08:00 +0000

Directed by Park Chan-Wook

Focus Features

Some say the mark of a great film is that it defies our expectations. If that's the case, then Oldboy director Park Chan-wook's latest should be considered one of the best. Thirst is the story of a Catholic priest who becomes a vampire, and has thus earned the label of a horror flick, but the film itself is virtually genre-proof. Sure, the experience of watching it was somewhat similar to that of any slasher, in that I had to cringe and turn my head away from the gore from time to time (an embarrassing admission for a film reviewer). But the sheer variety and complexity of the thoughts and emotions Thirst conjured makes it much more than just "horror" and, frankly, much more than just another film.

Appropriately, Thirst is a feast for the senses, Park's sound and visuals quickly tumbling toward the operatic as priest Sang-Hyun (The Host's Song Kang-ho) surrenders more and more to his vampiric desires. Sang-Hyun's addictive relationship with the young Tae-Joo (Kim Ok-vin) nearly puts him—and us—on sensory overload. Park acknowledges—or rather, foreshadows—that this isn't necessarily a good thing, making their sex scenes alternately titillating and disgusting.

What's most startling, though, is how such carnality is often meshed with a hyperbolic, almost slapstick sense of humor. When Sang-Hyun "feeds," we find him lying on the floor of a hospital room, taking pulls from a patient's IV like he's sipping a milkshake through a straw. And when he and Tae-Joo sleep together for the first time, she literally has to pry his stubborn virginal legs apart to make it happen.

Park has dubbed his own film a "vampire melodrama," and there is definitely a strong classical Hollywood influence at play here. Tae-Joo is a modern update on the femme fatale of the '40s, right down to the way she convinces Sang-Hyun to murder her husband, clutching his shoulder a la Norma Desmond. And as in the best traditional noir films, it is she who steals the show and whose story we ultimately remember most. This is due in no small part to Kim, who is both classic and creative in her journey from a ghost of a young girl to a delightfully manipulative monster of a woman. To think that this young actor's career has only just begun is truly exciting.

Certain viewers may find it jarring to watch Thirst seamlessly shift from horror to dark comedy to suspense thriller to romance, but its themes of morality, guilt, and redemption are consistent and utterly powerful. For this reason alone, it is worth seeing, preferably on the big screen for the sake of Park's meticulous compositions, and if you're anything like me, you'll crave a second viewing as soon as the end credits roll.

Written by: Caitlin Graham, August 18th 2009

Fist of the Spider Woman: Tales of Fear and Queer Desire

admin — Thu, 14 May 2009 10:34:00 +0000

Edited by Amber Dawn

Arsenal Pulp Press

A clever play on the seminal novel Kiss of the Spider Woman by Argentine writer and political exile Manuel Puig, Amber Dawn’s anthology Fist of the Spider Woman: Tales of Fear and Queer Desire promises a transgressive alternative to traditional horror literature and its stereotypical, categorical portrayals of women and their sexuality. Packed in this slim volume are seventeen individual works by sixteen authors, primarily short stories with poems dispersed in between. The very existence and formation of a work like Fist of the Spider Woman is deeply political and feminist through its aggregate of queer and progressive writers as well as its subversive representations of women, sex, love and relationships.

That being said, I really wanted to like this book. I wanted to love it with a capital L. Unfortunately, for such an exciting and politically charged production, this book ultimately failed to hook me as its reader. As is a reality for many anthologies, the quality and effectiveness varied from work to work. I did not expect shivers, gasps nor stiffened hairs as part of my reading experience; however, most of the pieces failed to render any kind of response other than blasé tolerance as I turned their pages. The promise this book carries is great, but unfortunately lacking in its execution. They did, however, contain an element of playful twistedness and imagination. I appreciated that the writers did not shy away from taboo subjects, with stories such as Michelle Tea’s “Crabs” (which I found quite enjoyable, and ended being my personal favorite) exploding in raw, corporeal descriptions fused with humor.

Overall, Fist of the Spider Woman's countering portrayal of women characters (especially its villains) is refreshing in comparison to the saturation of femme fatales and damsels in distress one is offered in typical literature, but these radical character productions are sadly overshadowed by tepid prose. Queer horror literature has such transformative potential, and though I wouldn’t say this work embodied that, it is an honest start.

Written by: Yujean Park, May 14th 2009

Linkeroever (Left Bank)

admin — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 10:39:00 +0000

Directed by Pieter Van Hees

Caviar Films

A quiet Belgian horror film, Linkeroever, which translates to mean “left bank” in English, is the story of Marie, a professional runner who has just qualified for the European Championships. Played by the remarkable Eline Kuppens, Marie meets Bobby (played by actor Matthias Schoenaerts), the head of the archery guild. Bobby lives on the elusive left bank in a creepy apartment building whose residents are even more disturbing.

Marie soon comes down with an unexplainable illness that her doctor attributes to her rigorous running schedule, and she cannot compete in the European Championships as planned. But there are other symptoms to her illness that cannot be explained. Neither can the onset of her surreal dreams.

The film is surprisingly realistic for a horror film, and relies more on character development than hokey special effects or jump scares. Each event is played out as the truth as we follow Marie deeper into the mystery of the building where Bobby lives. This film contains none of the typical horror film tropes, there are stereotypical characters and no disgusting murders. Instead it plays more like a mystery film, and at points, I couldn't help but draw comparisons to Rosemary's Baby, Ginger Snaps, or the recent Japanese horror film Dark Water.

Linkeroever plays horror in a more realistic, dramatic circumstance. The longer I watched the film, the more I began to believe in secret fraternities and secret holes to hell as commonplace and ordinary. Because of this, the ending pleasantly crept up on me. It definitely gives an entirely new spin to the 'final girl theory'.

Linkeroever is beautifully filmed in Duerne, Belgium, and has the same aesthetic as fellow Belgian director Dimitri Karakatsanis, who contributed to the screenplay. I wouldn't pass this film up if you are a fan of character-driven horror films or strong female protagonists.

Written by: Chrissie Thornburg, March 19th 2009

Grindhouse

admin — Sat, 21 Apr 2007 13:44:00 +0000

Directed by Quentin Tarantino, Robert Rodriguez

Dimension Films

(spoiler alert) It is settled. Grindhouse is officially deemed a feminist film because, well, I say it is. Okay, truth be told, Grindhouse never goes beyond the kind of surface level, individualistic, pop feminism that's all "rah-rah for girl power," but given the history of this directorial duo, that seemed obvious going in. I mean, have you seen the advertisements? Cherry Darling (Rose McGowan) kicking some undead ass with a machine gun for a leg? That's, like, sooooo feminist! Don't ya think? And when arrogant stalker Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell) feels the wrath of a turning tide after he fucks with the wrong group of fierce and fearless ladies in a car chase that you must see, I was cheering for more than Rosario Dawson's hot legs as she delivers a fatal high kick. Who says feminism can't be heteronormatively sexy? Seriously.

Planet Terror: I'm a huge fan of zombie flicks, especially ones by George Romero (Night of the Living Dead et al.), though I always watch them with a grain of salt. I enjoy the campy humor and the underlying (or sometimes blatant) social criticism that one tends to get from this particular horror sub-genre. Take, for example, the cause of the mayhem in _Planet Terror: _the military kills Osama Bin Laden before the Bush administration was ready for him to die. Since his death takes a chunk of the fear factor out of the so-called War on Terror the Bushies react by using biochemical weapons on the battalion of U.S. soldiers that exterminated Bin Laden in order to prevent them from leaking the confidential and (possibly) detrimental information to the media. Given the complete incompetence of the Bush Administration, it shouldn't be a surprise then that the biochemical exposure actually causes the soldiers to get their undead on and reek bloody havoc. This is classic zombie film anti-government sentiment that I can appreciate since I’m a bit of a cynic.

Speaking of cynicism, our lead character, Cherry Darling, has a healthy dose of it at the beginning of Planet Terror. Throughout the film, she reinforces an internal doubt that her “useless talents” (like the ability to do a backbend) will some day serve a greater purpose. Before all is said and done, they do, of course, which gives Cherry a big boost of self-confidence. The absurd number of subplots pertaining to the numerous semi-major characters in Planet Terror leads me to believe that Robert Rodriguez was trying to cram every zombie cliché in the book into his allotted 105-minute time slot. Fortunately, it works flawlessly, giving undead fans a chuckle every few minutes. (My giggle at a mother’s sardonic advice to her son to shoot a gun “like you do in your video games” turned into a hearty laugh when her second line of advice — "Be careful not to shoot your own face off.” — yields just this outcome.)

Death Proof: One gender stereotype that has been played out in tired movie cliches is the one about guys being obsessed with cars. Death Proof turns this little ditty on its head when the bad-ass dude in a bad-ass car makes the mistake of attacking some bad-ass women, who simply don’t know the meaning of the word victim. Zoe Bell, an amazing stuntwoman who worked with Quentin Tarentino on a few of his past films (including being Uma Thurmond's stunt double in Kill Bill), is featured here in a car chase that has moments that might make your heart stop - literally. Half of the lightning-speed chase features the uber-talented Bell clinging to the hood of the car. Yeah, that shit is crazy! And hence the title of the Tarentino half of this double-feature: it's the girl, not the car, that is death proof.

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, April 21st 2007