Trick 'r Treat -- Review

Warning: This post contains very mild spoilers. With (subtle) guitars!

Did you know that there was a little movie called Trick 'r Treat that was scheduled for release way back in the halcyon days of October, 2007 but shelved indefinitely by Warner Brothers for -- word to The Killers -- reasons unknown? You do now. Usually, when a studio refuses to release a picture (a completed one, no less), it's because the film in question is an absolute piece of shit and there's no use promoting it because it won't make any money, and that's what makes Michael Dougherty's Trick 'r Treat such a head scratcher, because it's a genuinely good movie, one perfectly suited for the Halloween season. Depending on who you want to believe, the movie was either shelved because Warners didn't want to lose a box-office battle with Saw IV and that franchise's legion of ticket buyers/slow mutants, or the studio, upset with the lackluster box-office performance of the Dougherty-scripted, Bryan Singer-directed snorefest Superman Returns, decided to "treat" Doughery's directorial debut (which Singer produced) with the same scorn an overzealous soccer mom might treat her son to after an embarrassing loss*. Whatever the case (and I'm more likely to believe the latter**), if there's anything movie studios love more than making a lot of money it's making some money, and after two years of exclusive screenings and subsequent Internet hype, Trick 'r Treat has finally been released for the masses' consumption.

Straight to DVD.

But whatever. Aside from reinforcing my misanthropy, my stake in films released in theaters and their box-office intake only concerns whether or not good filmmakers are allowed to continue making good films, and even though I'm sure, given a proper theatrical release, Trick 'r Treat would have turned a profit, perhaps how it all played out was for the best. After all, everyone loves an underdog story; and if early sales figures are any indication, Trick 'r Treat is doing gangbusters in DVD sales. It's simply a matter of time before it's ranked No. 2 on IMDB's list of the top 250 films, right behind that other little engine that could, The Shawshank Redemption.

Sarcastic hyperbole aside, just how good is Michael Dougherty's Trick 'r Treat? Answer: damned good, somewhere in between Citizen Kane and City Slickers 2: The Legend of Curly's Gold.

A throwback to some of the more fun horror films of the late-70s/early-80s (think Creepshow or The Fish That Saved Pittsburgh), Trick 'r Treat walks a fine line between black comedy and genuine suspense. Sure, it's gingered throughout with brief moments of gross-out shock, violence, gore, and nudity, but at its heart it's a film more in love with paying homage to both Halloween as a tradition and to rekindling the magic of childhood -- if your childhood consisted of growing up on movies like An American Werewolf in London.

I've read the film described, positively and derisively, as Tarantinoesque in its structure and tribute to films of the past, which is grossly inaccurate. I have nothing against Tarantino and his particular brand of filmmaking (I quite adore it, in fact), but aside from the loose comparisons of interwoven stories and timelines, Trick 'r Treat stands on its own in the pantheon of intelligently well-written horror films. Minus a blatant wink to Evil Dead 2, the film doesn't go out of its way to hijack its influences, and for that I am extremely handsome.

It's been a long time since I've watched a horror movie so well written and acted, one that avoids all the easy tropes of the genre and instead aims for storytelling over stupidity. Shawn of the Dead, in fact. But where Shawn of the Dead liberally spiced up its zombie narrative with comedy and charm, Dougherty's film opts to entrench itself firmly in outright malevolence, effectively dashing its gruesomeness with a lemon splash of droll.

Admittedly, I suppose a case could be made against the film for being filled with characters of no redeeming moral value. They're all pretty much assholes, some bigger than others; but isn't that in the spirit of Halloween, too? In that sense, Trick 'r Treat works like Big Daddy Kane, and I'm eagerly anticipating little freaks running around with box cutters hidden inside candy bars.

But only for one day a year.


3.5/4 *_*

4/4 *_* on October 31st


* No Dairy Queen!

** There's also a third theory that Warner Bros. was hesitant to release the completed film because it features -- mostly offscreen -- a fair number of child murders (as in kids getting killed, not kids killing others, although there's some of that, too).

Six Shots till Summation Part II

Hellbound: Hellraiser II (1988)

Trivia

In his review, Roger Ebert asserted that "This movie has no plot in a conventional sense. It is simply a series of ugly and bloody episodes strung together one after another like a demo tape by a perverted special-effects man" and to be honest, he's correct, but that's precisely what makes it enjoyable for me, and a solid twenty years since the film's release, the scene with a resurrected, skinless Julia poking through the bloody mattress to assimilate a hapless inmate still manages to make me wince.

Six Shots till Summation

It's October, folks (the spoooookiest of all months), and you know that means some horror films are in order. With that in mind, I'd like to offer up one of those films, summarized in six pictures because, in all honesty, that's all you'll need to get the gist of it. Let us waste no -more- time!

Basket Case (1982)

Trivia

I first saw Basket Case on the USA network's Up All Night program, although I'm tempted to say that it was on one of the Gilbert Gottfried nights (as opposed to, say, Caroline Schlitt or, later, Rhonda Shear).

Not a Second Too Late

[Translated from the vernacular]

"Minjeong-si, a word, please."

Nervous, she stands and walks over to Lee 팀장's desk like she's stepping on

(egg shells)

cicada husks. She doesn't know what she's done wrong this time, but she's about to find out.

"What time did you arrive at work this morning?" he asks, his breath a fetid mixture of cigarettes and coffee.

Forty-seven minutes before you, asshole, she'd like to say, but that would be inappropriate, would fly in the face of accepted social and business policies.

"Six o'clock, I think," she says, looking down at her slippered feet. Ankle-high white socks.

"Actually, well..." Lee 팀장 inhales a deep breath and lets it out slowly, like he's about to impart the secret of the universe as interpreted by cocksuckers. "Your time card says that you punched in at six o'clock and thirty-seven seconds."

Minjeong waits.

"As you know," Lee 팀장 continues, "official office policy states that if an employee is late twice within a month, he or she must work eight full hours on Saturday to make up for his or her tardiness."

"Oh..." Minjeong manages through a larynx constricted by anxiety.

"Yes," Lee 팀장 goes on, "and since you were also late last week -- wait, I have the record here somewhere...

[shuffling through papers]

"Ah, yes, Tuesday. You punched in at six o'clock and, wow, one second past the hour."

Minjeong's hands, hitherto placidly touching the sides of her navy-blue skirt, are slowly balling into fists.

"A commendable effort, I suppose, but late is late, and I have no other option but to schedule you in for work this Saturday."

"But it's my sister's wedding on Saturday."

Lee 팀장 poorly conveys an apologetic expression over his unmerciful smirk. "What time is the wedding?"

"Two."

"Ah, that's regretful, Minjeong-si. But I'm afraid I cannot in this case make an exception. If I did, every employee would be turning up here late, claiming one reason or another for their lack of punctuality, giving any sort of excuse for why they can't work on Saturday. Homin over there, for example, might say his mother is sick with cancer, and Wooseok next to him could claim it's his father's death anniversary. Or, like you, they'd most likely use a wedding as an excuse. Really, Jaeseok has tried that one so regularly that his relatives must be marrying each other he has so many family members getting hitched. I'm sorry to say it, Minjeong-si, but if your sister's wedding was so important, you never should have shown up late for work, twice, in the first place. You can apologize to me, but who you should really be apologizing to is your sister."

"That's..." Minjeong starts before cutting herself off.

"Unfair?" Lee 팀장 asks as though he anticipated her response all along. "Tell me, what is fair, you poor flower of a girl? Is homelessness fair? Is starvation? Is the execution of innocent men or the freedom of the guilty unjust, or is it natural selection? I will admit that our justice system is flawed, but it's getting better! So, too, is the way we do business. The Darwinian business module has no place for people who cling on to such outdated traditions as funerals, hospital beds, and dying relatives, nor for happy young couples and the sap they drip all around. No. Employees are bred, and a late worker is an undesirable one. You may consider me a hardass for my attention to detail as it relates to the nearest second, but keep in mind that you're afforded such a luxury, because the day will soon come when fractions of seconds will determine a person's worth, and if you're alive then I dare say you'll be an old woman hunchbacked and scraping off sidewalks the remnants of our rapidly advancing society."

"I see, Lee 팀장님," Kim Minjeong responds.

The PK 27 -- Game No. 4 (1 2)

As much as I love video games, I rarely find myself so invested in a game that I play it for more than a few hours at a stretch, if that. Though I'm far from what you might consider a casual gamer, it takes a superlatively good game to hook me, make me play for hours on end until time seems to pass as though it were on fast forward -- you know, those games that eat up your day so that the living world becomes some vague afterthought. Because I have a job*, it's hard to really immerse myself in any game these days, but when I have enough time (word to Henry Bemis), and when the game is good, I'm there like Legs at an all-you-can-eat smörgåsbord**.

Picross for the Nintendo DS is one such game. At first glance a picture-puzzle game with numbers (think sudoku with carrots, giraffes, and quite possibly user-created pornography), it is so much more. Released for the DS in 2007, it's a game I still love playing, spending hours upon hours of squinting at numbers and using deductive logic to chip away at puzzles, grinning like a mentally retarded person every time I complete one. It's a bear! A bear! I'm tempted to cry out upon finishing a puzzle, embarrassed by the simplicity of my joy but still satisfied in my accomplishment.

What makes Picross for the DS so great is how near perfect the game is on Nintendo's handheld. The touch screen is the game, and I can't imagine why anyone would prefer traditional, paper-based nonograms. Put away the pencil and eraser, Slim; Picross DS was made for you like the flux capacitor was made for time travel.

Honestly, I can't do the game justice in my praise of it. You'll just have to play it and become entranced by its easily addicting persuasion yourself. Assuming you've never played it, that is, and in which case I should also add: make sure you're wearing glasses/contacts. Also: the game can be pretty hard to play when intoxicated or suffering from alcohol/nicotine withdrawal.

Steady hands, Doctor.


* perhaps not a real job, but a job nonetheless

** Girl eats half her body weight in food every day yet manages to keep her svelte figure. So jealous.

Sparktoberfest!

The most kickin' of celebrations, brought to you by Levi Strauss & Co. and the WMGA.*

* Worldwide Marijuana Growers' Association.

Yosuga

I mean, if anything, it seems like

Thirty-three seconds of life lost, spent amidst the void. A venomous lacuna, these thirty-three shades of singularly impotent dream. An abscess labeled veracity, coupled with the inflow of oblivion. Yeah.

I mean, if anything, it seems like

Nothing will change, let alone 'run out,' and that's the primary concern. People shall suffer, people shall die, and still, nothing.

I mean, if anything, it seems like

A revelation is in order, but there's no secret to disclose, no epiphany to encapsulate. Thirty-three seconds of retrospectively maddening vapidity, and that's all there is to it.

I mean, if anything, it seems like

A few bones have cracked, a few more are broken, and a compound fracture lies somewhere in the mix. Some desperately territorial canine tirelessly bemoans the disturbance at length. Movement elicits a torrent of sparkling pain; not in the twisted limbs but, rather, the addled brain. Alien Crush is the first thing that comes to mind, even if there is no why.

I mean, if anything, it seems like

Humans are meant to die, yet one refrains. Hooray. So make the most of it, okay?

Good Times Roll

Well, that was fun. On Sunday, September 27th, 2009, I married the loveliest, sexiest, and downright most perfect woman I've ever known (when she's not farting and blaming it on me, that is). Readers of this blog know her as Legs. I know her as 유래언. I like her very much.

The ceremony was indeed memorable, minus a conspicuously absent Shih Tsu. But the Shih Tsu is now back home after the missus and my whirlwind week of bliss, and it looks as though my Psychedelic Kimchi proclivity is about to resume, not now but right now.

After the wedding reception, our party of merry revelers headed to The Best Bar in Bundang for warm milk and witty repartee, but since Bride and Groom had flight tickets the next day for Osaka, that traditional Korean honeymoon locale, we had to retire relatively early. (Sucks, right?) The next morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed, we took a limosine bus to Incheon Int'l, then an hour-and-a-half plane ride to Nihon, land of video games, pachinko, sake, and bukkake.

I wish I could tell you our trip went off without a hitch, Constant Retard, but since Japan is a country that ostensibly rejects English like it's a drunk Kmart hitting on twenty-year-olds, we did have some language difficulties. Fortunately, the universal language of Sapporo and okonomiyaki was understood, and our first night was spent venturing in and out of izakayas in the Umeda area. I will say this: never have I tasted beer with such creamy foam and refreshing boldness. As the old Korean saying goes, it tasted all the better because I was with the woman I love. (Aww~~)

The next day, we braved the incomprehensibly difficult Osaka subway system, fighting off INKlings left and right, and made our way to Universal Studios. Did you know that Terminator: Salvation is called simply Terminator 4 in Japan? You do now.

After spending seven hours at the theme park (where, I must note, I had the most superlatively delightful pint of Kirin beer I've ever tasted), we headed to Shinsaibashi, eye shopped, and then walked to Nanba; but since we'd been standing all day in the humid, early fall Osakan heat, we were both too exhausted and sweaty to venture on. Instead, we went back to our hotel room, showered (together!*), and ate at -- surprise! -- an izakaya close to the hotel. I love takoyaki as much as the next slow mutant, but I hope I can be forgiven for stating that I'm not anticipating having that particular treat anytime soon. I think I ate my weight in the stuff. (Word to Chocolate Chip Charlie.)

On Day Three, our planned trip to Kyoto was, unfortunately, canceled due to inclimate weather and poor foresight. Mrs. Forbes**, you see, sorely underestimated the cost of traveling in Japan, so we had no other option than to take the train (take the train) to Kansai Airport and kill five hours. For my part, I made lemonade out of lemons by ordering a Quarter Pounder avec cheese and eating it with relish (not the condiment). Heaven.

I would be lying if I said that I wasn't happy to return to the peninsula. Landing in Incheon felt like reentering normalcy -- or a reasonable, hand-drawn facsimile thereof. In the neverending argument over whether Korea or Japan is a better place for Western expatriates, I'll take Korea any day, and twice on Sundays.

Still, our trip taught me that Japan is superior in four ways:

1) Better convenience stores. This one isn't even a fair fight. It's unbalanced in Japan's favor like elephants and ants on seesaws.

2) Japanese can actually walk in straight lines and watch where they're going. Props.

3) Beer. Korean beer couldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight. As I type this, I'm drinking a glass of Cass Fresh and crying like a baby.

4) Hello Kitty!


* No, not really. Have you ever been in a Japanese hotel bathroom? It's like being in Lilliput.

** My wife, not my mother. God, that would have been weird.

Fottergrafs:



















PS - It's good to be back. 보고싶었지?

Sweet, Sweet Chuseok

(image from http://discoverkorea.co.kr/)

Emporium*

(note: it would help to imagine a Muzak version of this playing in the background)

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Have we met before? I swear-"

"Yeah, sorta," the eerily anomalous woman cuts him off, "I used to come here regularly during high school, but it's been a few years at least."

"I figured as much. I'm pretty good with faces, especially with customers."

"So," Chad interjects from over at the soft drink station, "did she look any better back in high school?"

To this, Darrel Zuniga is drawing a blank. Beyond vague recollections, he's got nothing to work with, so he says "About the same, more or less. Don't remember any taped-up fingers, though."

"It's just a diversion, really," the woman states, again examining her fingers with lax admiration. "It was either this, or take a shower, so..." She then shrugs and asks for a Big Grab bag of Cheetos. "Better make it two. I'll need something to, you know," she says, pausing briefly to wag an open hand at no one in particular, "ease the pain inflicted by the lack of Frank's Red Hot."

"Three bags," Chad commands as he's mixing Sprite with Mountain Dew.

The tray is getting pretty full now, and Darrel instructs Nina to rearrange things before adding the Cheetos, so she lays the cookie on top of the BLT, stacks the Funyuns, places three bags of Cheetos upon the tray, and has her wrist clasped firmly by the woman. Darrel's first instinct is to say or do something about it, but Nina seems to be in no pain, and honestly, any additional stress is going to make him shit his pants. And they're spending nearly thirty dollars! So he waits.

"Maybe I was better looking back then, maybe not. Life is beautiful, beauty is pain. Blah, blah, blah. No one cares. More importantly, and don't be shy about this, take a look at the Modern Prometheus over there, acting like Sprite mixed in with Mountain Dew is the Blood of Christ and shit. O-kay, now he's scowling, and seriously, Chad, that's like staring into a sphincter that's been stuffed with uncooked bacon, so chug that hillbilly piss and chill out for a second. Relax. Now let's assume the Elephant Man here attended high school back in, like, 1987 or thereabouts, 'cause he's gotta be pushing thirty-five, I'd say. Do you think he was this ugly during high school? I mean, is it a timeless thing, like fine art, or is it more like a pizza -minus a slice, I suppose- that's been sitting out in the hot sun for three weeks, worsening as time passes?"

Nina looks at the woman, then at Darrel, who's staring at Cynthia, who is purposely glancing at no one whatsoever, focusing instead upon a fallen mop. Darrel's looking to Cynthia for moral support or something, but knows that as the proprietor of Mr. Z's Sandwich Emporium, it's his responsibility to deal with troublesome customers even if, given the peculiarly unsettling circumstances, he'd rather not.

"Umm..." he begins, gripped by uncertainty, and hasn't the foggiest idea how to proceed. The big one's agitated, the thin one's apathetic, the woman's acidic, and the three of them seem to be abject delinquents of the highest order.

Still clasping Nina's wrist in one hand, the woman rotates the bill of her cap to a forthright position with the other, pulling the hat down low so that her eyes and nose are obscured. A enigmatic grin is all that remains, as if the Cheshire Cat were making a super-secret-unwanted-mystery-guest appearance. "I empathize with your hesitation, I do," she says, still smiling, "but Falcor the Fuck Dragon there grows ever so impatient as we speak. In other words, an answer of some kind is required."

"I'm...I'm not sure what you're asking me," Nina stammers apprehensively.

"Has that bulbous heap of fecal matter always been this ugly, or is it something he's been working toward? Don't think hard, don't think fast. Just indulge me, someone."

Nina's beginning to sweat, Darrel notes, and he's not far behind. He listens to the one called Chad slowly chew ice from his cup. Darrel quickly steals a glance toward the monstrosity and, assuming it were possible, the crunching of ice makes the man all the more frightening. The beast known as Chad's eyes are both steady and searing, and they're focused upon the three employees.

The skeletal guy, referred to as Todd, tinkers with the Dr. Pepper dispenser as the uncomfortable silence continues. From what Darrel can gather, the syrup has run out, and he's sorely tempted to go fix that problem for the next forty minutes or so. But the captain goes down with the ship, right?

"If you're asking me," Cynthia begins, her voice low and slow due to uncertainty, "I think," pausing again, as if to second guess her response, "that he's as handsome now as he'd ever need to be."

Chad folds his massive arms, saying nothing, and the look on his face has yet to change.

"An unexpected response, to say the very least," Todd notes. He then folds his arms as well in a gesture of stern disapproval for the beverage station, shaking his head in the process.

"Quite. And without much prodding to boot." The woman sounds as if she's mildly impressed, or perhaps amused. "But was it any good?"

"Didn't say it had to be," Chad thinks aloud, and the disconcerting woman lazily raises her cap before replying.

"Killjoy," she sighs, even though there's still a hint of decrepit glee present in her voice and on her face. "Alright, I never said it had to be an awesome response, and to be candid, it wasn't too shabby, either. But still."

"She says I'm handsome."

Again, a moment of awkward silence ensues. The woman relinquishes her hold upon Nina's wrist, to which the teenager reflexively tucks both hands behind her waist in response.

"We've got a lot of dead air here, my friend," taunts Todd.

"Yeah, but c'mon, I mean, he's blowing my mind with this shit!" the woman snaps back in a fit of mock hostility. She extracts numerous crumpled bills from the front pockets of her jeans, and after unfolding each one of them for closer inspection, finally decides upon a hundred-dollar bill printed in 2001.

"I apologize, but... It's store policy to accept nothing bigger than a twenty," Darrel Zuniga explains sheepishly as he struggles to reclaim mastery of his unruly bowels.

"Don't be like that, Mr. Z," the woman coos, and Darrel relents, because the sooner these freaks pay, the sooner they'll leave.

(and that's that, but me knowing me, and you knowing you, you kinda thought something terrible was gonna happen.)

* This post was inspired by kittens.