First there was Doomed Fulci-Thon and then there was Argentophobia. Now, I have set my sights on Italian horror master, Mario bava. I will call it BAVA DOOM. 17 films will be viewed. It is most definitely not his entire catalog but I think that I’ll be doing the guy justice with my selections. If Bava is the father, Argento the son, I guess that makes Fulci the holy ghost!
The schedule:
Friday Night
Black Sabbath
Danger: Diabolik!
The Whip And The Body
Hatchet For The Honeymoon
Saturday
Hercules In The Haunted World
Planet Of The Vampires
Four Times That Night
5 Dolls For An August Moon
The Girl Who Knew Too Much
Baron Blood
Sunday
Black Sunday
Rabid Dogs
Shock
Kill, Baby, Kill
Blood And Black Lace
Twitch Of The Death Nerve
Lisa And The Devil
I never want Immoral Tales to end! I’ve been reading this in smaller and smaller bits before I go to sleep each night. This book is a fantastic and decadent read on European erotic horror films. Entire chapters on Jess Franco and Jean Rollin?!? Oh yeah, you need this one.
This awesome 2 volume set, Horror Films of the 1970s, is staggering in its awesomeness. I keep picking this one up and putting it down because I know it will consume me and crap me out. There’s an image for you. In reality, it will just feel like I’ve been crapped out. My brain will be jelly and I’ll just have another list of 70s horror titles I need to see.
Now that’s entertainment! The Book of Lists: Horror is one addictive pop culture assault. This skirts the line between trivia and totally useless information. Hmm… Yeah, this is some good stuff that I had to force myself not to read in one sitting.
I love ABBA! What real man doesn’t? I’ve been listening to them (thanks to my mom) since I was 2 years old and they will always have a special place in my heart and musical development. The next thing I know, there’s a musical film called Mamma Mia with many of ABBA’s most popular songs integrated into the story. I was moderately curious but the trailers didn’t look very promising. My wife and I both agreed that it was a rental. Last July, when we went to theaters, it was Hellboy II: The Golden Army that got our money, not Mamma Mia!.
The musical seemed even more promising after a friend of mine began to rave about how brilliant it was. In fact, this person saw the film 8 times (!) in theaters. One of those 8 times was a special singalong version which had the lyrics to the songs subtitled on the bottom of the screen so that the audience could get in on the action. When the DVD came out, my friend made damn sure that he (did I mention that this friend of mine is a dude?) got the 2 disc special edition of Mamma Mia!.
While visiting the mother-in-law in Virginia Beach during the holidays, I noticed that she owned a copy of the film and I expressed interest in seeing it. Of course, my mother-in-law loved the movie as well so we fired it up. The next thing I know, my soul is shattered and there are chunks of my brain splattered on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. I wanted to scream, to heckle this atrocity, or at the very least, to giggle maniacally but my mouth had been melted shut from the molten lava temperature tears, sweat, and snot running down my pulverized face.
I cannot remember the last time a film has hurt me this badly (although Hamlet starring Ethan Hawke broke my shins and ruptured my armpits). Watching Mamma Mia! was like watching my own funeral (except less uplifting). The scene in which Meryl Streep is running through the streets singing “Dancing Queen” with her friends and the female population of the little Greek island in tow, took me to a very dark place. A VERY dark place. But when she does her little halfhearted kick-jump in slow motion, blood began jetting out of every pore on my body and my eyes farted.
Why all this hatred? What is the crime that this film has committed against me? It totally fucked up my mind’s eye! This movie has replaced my lovingly crafted ABBA imaginings with insufferably trite and shameful molecules of Hades! I’ve spent 30 years with “Chiquitita”, “Voulez-Vous”, and “Money, Money, Money”, wrapped in the arms of their pop solace. And now these special things have been Brosnaned and Streeped! And Skarsgårded!! These aren’t even verbs. If “On And On And On” (my favorite ABBA song of all time) had been among the casualties, there would be hell to pay, I assure you.
