Why Must Women Ruin EVERYTHING?

If you’re looking to kill a fandom, there’s no quicker way of doing so than injecting it with females.

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This Week in Social Justice Warrior-Dom (Nov. 12, 2018 Edition)

Trigger warning activated! Our biweekly recap of everything that irked, irritated and aggravated SJWs is back with a vengeance!

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Wonder Woman ISN'T Empowering, You Dumb Broads

If you think a movie based on a comic written by a polygamist bondage fetish is a blow for gender equality, you DESERVE that 77 cents to every dollar a man makes.

By: Jimbo X
JimboXAmerican@gmail.com
@JimboX

For a moment, just think how absurd it is for someone - ANYBODY - to take pride in a make-believe person. How bereft of living, breathing role models are you to vaunt a fantasy figure as some sort of exemplary pillar of whatever you think you represent? If anything, the celebration of non-existent, fictitious people ought to be your first clue that something ain't right with the identity politics group you associate with; even grade-schoolers can recognize such behavior as patently absurd and wrongheaded.

Which is why I just can't wrap my head around why so many "feminists" consider this new Wonder Woman movie to be such a huge blow for gender equality. Sure, the movie made $100 million its opening weekend, but due to inflated ticket costs and IMAX and 3D surcharge revenue, practically every mainstream Hollywood offering these days is guaranteed to reap the same amount of dough (for those of you in pursuit of the proof in the pudding, look no further than Split and its $276 million global gross.) And - as expected - Wonder Woman's second week box office dropoff was substantial, with the movie generating barely half it's opening weekend take. By week three, the film's domestic box office take was roughly a third its bombastic opening weekend gross - rather fittingly, that same week it was dethroned from the top of the B.O. by Cars 3, a film almost wholeheartedly anchored around the juvenile male fascination with machinery.

Still, the movie has posted formidable financial numbers. Three weeks in the film's total global gross is north of $500 million, although the movie's domestic take puts it well behind the heaps of cash generated by more male-centric superhero films such as Deadpool, Batman v. Superman and the Iron Man trilogy. When the abacuses are finally adjusted, it appears Wonder Woman will have made about two-thirds what Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 made, yet only half what the latest Fast and Furious movie grossed. So yes, while Wonder Woman is - for the most part - a relative economic success, it's not like it's an aberration to see a big-budget, Hollywood offering anchored around a heroic female lead making exorbitant sums of money. The Hunger Games movies have grossed well over $1 billion, while the two most recent Star Wars films - both of which had "heroic female leads" - have combined for a global gross of nearly $1.5 billion. And of course, that discounts the pioneering work of Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2, Angelina Jolie in The Tomb Raider films and Sigourney Weaver in the Alien franchise - that last one, a film that came out almost 40 years before this newfangled Wonder Woman allegedly shattered the cineplex gender barrier.

Still, the progressivist blog-o-sphere has convinced themselves that this Wonder Woman redux indeed represents some sort of poignant "female empowerment" milestone. The Guardian, for example, hailed the new film as "a masterpiece of subversive feminism." One HuffPo columnist wrote at length about how she found the film's intrinsic "fatherlessness" delightful. And at Bustle, columnist Kelsea Stahler wrote about how the film's fight scenes - essentially, the same old "Apocalypse Porn" CGI overkill we've been seeing at the multiplex for the last 20 years - literally moved her to tears because, this time, all of the wanton, consequence-less violence was being wrought by a fantasy character with a vagina instead of a penis. Interestingly, the same author described Wonder Woman as the first major female superhero film - which would be true, had films like Barb Wire and Tank Girl not been made 25 years ago (and for the record, Wonder Woman isn't even the first major D.C. super-heroine to get her own feature film - lest we forget, 2004's abysmal Catwoman and 1984's downright turgid Supergirl.) 

Rather than take these overly-emotional, hyperbolic displays of identity-politics-informed immaturity as signs of XX arrested development - lord knows, that's what the other would be saying about men who wept during The Avengers - the mass media machinery has latched onto the rebooted Wonder Woman as a genuine, "turning point" for gender equality in entertainment history. Much has been made about director Patty Jenkins - whose last movie sought to portray a psychotic murderess as a "victim" of our cruel, cruel patriarchal society - breaking the so-called "celluloid ceiling," but such is pure nonsense. Female directors like Jennifer Lee (Frozen), Vicky Jensen (Shrek), Catherine Hardwicke (Twilight) and Sam Taylor-Johnson (Fifty Shades of Grey) have already made bajillions of dollars at the box office, while Kathryn Bigelow has already taken home a Best Director Oscar (which, in one of the greatest cosmological coincidences of all-time, was in direct competition against her ex-husband.) Furthermore, Nora Ephron, Penny Marshall and Penelope Spheeris have been making financially successful, big-time Hollywood productions since the 1980s; indeed, women have been making quite the pretty penny directing big-budget opuses ever since the heyday of Leni Riefenstahl in the 1930s.

The feminist jubilee also strangely overlooks the fact the script was written by a gay man, based on story by two other men - all of whom, incidentally, just so happen to be Jewish. Or the fact all but one of the movie producers is female, or especially the fact the company that made the movie, Warner Bros., is a C-level sausage fest. Lost on all these whack-a-doodle feminist moonbeams is the inescapable reality that virtually all of the money they paid to see the movie will wind up in the coffers for rich as fuck Hebrew and Asian men. Ironically, by financially supporting the Hollywood Industrial Complex, all these Wonder Woman-loving women are doing nothing but making the virtually-all-male film industry executive brass even wealthier.

Along those same lines, none of these ever-so-chipper fangirls dare dwell the notion that Wonder Woman brazenly appropriates and rewrites patriarchal Greek mythology and actually demeans the millions of men who died in the trenches of World War I by attributing final victory to a super-powered Amazon. During the film's climax, it became clear why the film wasn't set during World War II - after all, revealing Hitler to be the literal, supernatural embodiment of toxic masculinity probably wouldn't have gone over too well with those of the Jewish persuasion (and more on that interesting little angle in just a bit, readers.) 

During the waning moments of the film, I felt sorry for all of the female lib types praising the movie. It became apparent that these flashy, computer generated acts of mock heroism is all they and their-alike ovaried kin can celebrate. After all, they weren't out there with machine guns traipsing over landmine strewn fields in Danzig, and they most certainly weren't chasing down Japanese war criminals in the Philippines. As men, we can take great gender pride in the valor and bravery of Sgt. York, Audie Murphy and Jack Churchill; yet while we can look up to Dwight Eisenhower and George Patton as patriarchal heroes, women have no battlefield greats to call their own. There is no female equivalent to Bhanbhagta Gurung or Tommy MacPherson - real life individuals whose bravery, selflessness and audacity in the conflagration of war serve as eternal testaments to the willpower and grit of the species. While our grandfathers and great grandfathers were fighting Hitler and Hirohito's war machine, our grandmothers and great grandmothers were left stateside canning tomatoes and maybe putting together spare car parts. World War II - the greatest drama in the history of mankind, bar none - is littered with courageous, valiant and noble male heroes, while the best feminine icon that can be culled from the epoch is Rosie the Riveter - yet another fictitious character supposedly embodying the power of womanhood. In that, to interject a gigantic sword swinging mega-woman into the middle of World War I as the savior of the West might just be the greatest example of contemporary feminists' profound penis envy we could ever hope for. 

Of course, one must wonder if this Wonder Woman truly is a symbol of women's empowerment, seeing as how the character was created by ... gasp ... somebody with a penis. But it's not just that Wonder Woman was created by a man, it's the fact the character was created by a man with a bizarre bondage fetish who admitted his creation was meant to be some sort of perverted dominatrix fantasy instead of a bona-fide female role model. Creator William Marston - a polygamist who said he was inspired to create the iconic character after watching sorority hazing rituals - NEVER set out to make Wonder Woman a valiant, patriotic figure a'la Superman or Captain America. Instead, he just wanted to get his jollies by repeatedly subduing his idealized female form. "The secret of a woman's allure (is that) women enjoy submission, being bound," he stated in one interview. Well, so much for that feminist narrative, eh?

Thankfully, there are still a couple of decent gals out there who haven't had their brains turned to mush by all that incessant third-wave feminist claptrap. Writing for The National Review, Heather Wilhelm succinctly sums up the inherent absurdity of the identity-politicization of the character: 

"Much of the hullabaloo, however, comes from the assertion that 'Wonder Woman' will empower women and encourage the positive 'representation' of women that is supposedly so rare in Hollywood. It achieves this representation, apparently, by featuring a gorgeous woman clad in metal lingerie who effortlessly deflects bullets with her bracelets and eventually upends a giant tank. This, we are to assume, will immediately inspire millions of little girls across America to rush home and launch their own neighborhood STEM-research teams."

Continuing, she notes how the syrupy response from "feminist" film-goers only serves to reinforce the old tropes about feminine weakness.

"For everyone's sake, avoid buying into the idea that women are fragile creatures who need a thousand different obsessive gender-based affirmations just to make it through life. Despite the anxiety-laden chorus of modern feminism, they aren't, and they don't."

Rather fittingly, however, the cannibal cult of intersectional feminism might just be looking to put a damper on the Wonder Woman love-in. Even before the movie came out, the United Nations was pressured to stop using the character as an honorary ambassador of women's rights because - surprise! - she's just too damn white for some people's liking.

And then there's that old Jewish question. As it turns out, the latest incarnation of Wonder Woman is played by one of God's Chosen People, and if you think that's sitting well with the Muslim populace, think again, muchacho. 

Enter Al Jazeera's Susab Abulhawa, whose Palestinian roots give her permission to criticize Jews without everything that comes out of her mouth begin automatically declared "anti-Semitism." In an especially abrasive screed, she more or less declared Wonder Woman to be a miniature war crime because the bitch under the tiara, Gal Gadot, was a member of the Israeli army in 2006. Let's let Abulhawa herself take it from here, why don't we?

"Discussions of feminism around this film have sidelined this crucial fact about her. They've omitted the actor's cheering of wanton killing, which took the lives of 547 children in less than two months. Instead, the focus is on her impossible physical proportions. This is just another way that the destruction of our society is normalized."

Well day-umm, and here I was thinking the only acceptable political undercurrent for the new Wonder Woman flick was "fuck men!" But no, Abulhawa ain't quite finished yet ...

"Make no mistake. Zionism cannot reconcile with feminism, and such antiquated imperial feminism belongs to another era, when feminists fought for the right to vote, but only for white women."

Of course, that's a flat out lie seeing as how the ratification of the 19th Amendment allowed women of all colors to participate in the electoral tradition, but FACTS are just a part of the evil, white, Jewish patriarchal war machine, you TOOL! To finish off her spiel, Abulhawa qyotes Jaime Omar Yassin, a member of the Occupy Oakland organization:

"Feminism cannot be Zionist, just as it cannot be neo-Nazi - feminism that doesn't have an understanding of how it intersects with racial and ethnic oppression is simply a diversification of white supremacy."

Well, there you have it ladies. If you think Wonder Woman is empowering, you're actually supporting white oppression and Islamophobia. And you fine, outstanding women wouldn't want to be doing that, now, would you?

Of course you wouldn't, you thoughtful, little multiculturalists, you. Of course you wouldn't.

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Double Review: 'Aftermath' / 'The Hatton Garden Job' 2017 Movie Reviews

Are you ready for a two-fisted double shot of two of 2017's manliest fuckin' movies? Well, you better be, because these two movies exude so much testosterone, women will be walking out of the theater with full mountain man beards.

By: Jimbo X
JimboXAmerican@gmail.com
@Jimbo___X

You know, there's this great verse in the Book of James where Jesus' brother (boy, talk about a hard act to follow!) says something along the lines of "a double-minded man is unstable in all his ways." Over the years people have sorta' distorted that to mean that no man can serve two masters, but I think the original King James prose is much more interesting - and relevant - considering the state of affairs in the U.S. these days.

Now, it's not secret that I ain't exactly too fond of liberals. This is pretty funny, seeing as how most of my life, I was a dyed-in-the-wool blue "free abortions for all illegal immigrant gays who need universal healthcare" democrat. I suppose I still have some classical liberal leanings - I'm mostly in favor of gun control, I think big businesses are mostly evil devil worshiping conglomerates and pretty much everything libertarians believe, I reject out of pure principle - but as I've gotten older, the more and more I realize that the great big liberal Tao is just one enormous golly-whopper of a contradiction.

That's not to say that Republicans and anarcho-capitalists and whatever flavors of conservatism that are in between AREN'T free of hypocrisy and logical shortcomings. They are. But in most cases, that stuff is circumstantial, and usually, there's some sort of "you've got to crack a few eggs to make an omelette" reasoning that can justify the cognitive dissonance. Liberals - the transgender-lovin', white people-hatin', free healthcare, education and rent-wantin' identity politicians they are - however, subscribe to a much greater logical fallacy. In fact, the entire contemporary liberal progressivist ideology is a humongous, waddling, reason-resistant contradiction of terms. There's no way that the modern liberal ideology can work, because it absolutely defeats itself at every pillar and plank of the platform.

Think I'm yankin' yer chain? Just take a look at these six nailed-down tenets of contemporary liberal ideology and try and tell me all these dimmicrats ain't full of grade-A bull hockey...

Contradiction One:

America is a capitalist, corporatist nightmare...

Well, this one might as well be the First Commandment of modern liberalism. Did you know that the top 1 percent of income earners in America possess 99 percent of the nation's wealth? Well, that would be a damning indictment of capitalism, if only it were true. In reality - you know, that thing Democrats spend most of their free time avoiding -  the top 1 percent of income earners in the U.S. actually posses just 20 percent of the nation's wealth, and at the same time pay a whopping 46 percent of all federal taxes. One look at the actual mathematical data shows the exact opposite of what the Democrats claim; the top 1 percent actually PAY more into taxes than the bottom 90 percent of incomers in the country combined. Now, seeing as how almost 70 percent of the $3.9 trillion federal budget goes towards Social Security, Medicaid, Medicare and welfare - you know, all those programs liberals just LOOOVE - you would think Democrats would be besotted by all those huge assed corporations, since without their massive income streams, there's no way in mathematical hell they could finance their humongous, bloated entitlement programs (especially since nearly half of Americans pay NO federal income tax whatsoever.) But no, democrats continue to criticize, condemn and actively lobby to destroy multi-billion dollar companies out of some petty, make-believe Marxist class struggle nonsense, completely oblivious to the fact that without those same turbines of commerce, absolutely NONE of their most beloved liberal policies and programs could exist. Hell, they don't even comprehend the basic tenets of their own anti-corporate ethos half the time: after all, weren't these the same kids that protested big business during Occupy Wall Street by having a candlelight vigil for a man who commandeered a one trillion dollar a year company? 

Contradiction Two:

Americans are, by and large, victims of the system...

Well, this one is just plain stupid. If the system seeks to victimize its own people, how come the feds spend more than $2 trillion EACH AND EVERY YEAR subsidizing its citizens? The mere fact that 40 percent of the federal budget goes EXCLUSIVELY towards medical and welfare services for people over the age of 62 demonstrates Americans are unquestionably beneficiaries of one of the most generous social entitlement states in the history of humanity. And say, where does the U.S. rank in terms of economic opportunity, democratic freedom and quality of life again? Hey, what do you know, our oppressive capitalist dictatorship somehow managed to outscore China, North Korea, Venezuela, Cuba and all those other socialist regimes out there. Who'd thunk it?

Contradiction Three:

The system just plain doesn't work for average Americans...

Oh, you mean our representative democracy? You know, that thing you vote in every two years? If the system "doesn't work," if anything, it's your fault for voting in shitty politicians who don't know what they're doing. Those assholes in Washington don't elect themselves, and if you don't like how things are going, get this - you can vote them out of office. Hell, you can even rally to amend the Constitution to change how people are elected or even who can run for public office, if you actually got up off your fat ass and did something other than complain on the Internet all day. Perhaps the bigger question is if you've been voting for Democrats your whole life and you still think the system is still all shades of fucked, how come you're still voting for Democrats? Which, naturally, brings us to this little sticking point...

Contradiction Four:

Only the Democratic ideals can get Americans out of poverty...

This is a nice thought, until you look at real entitlement spending statistics. If welfare programs like food stamps and the Earned Income Tax Credit were meant to be one-shot cure-alls for poverty, then how come the programs still exist decades down the road? Democrats said the food stamp program would once and for all stamp out poverty way back in the seventies, but holy shit, today one in six Americans is on SNAP. Furthermore, EITC and other income-based government assistance program spending has monumentally increased  year over year. The logic here is inescapable; all of these beloved Democrat entitlement programs aren't doing a goddamn, motherfucking thing to stop poverty in America, and in all sincerity, are actually making it worse. Instead of eliminating poverty by making people economically independent and self-sustaining, Democrats have more or less invented a permanent welfare state in which millions of poor people (many of them locked in what are tantamount to inner city war zones or literally toxic, rural no-man's-lands out in the sticks) have no choice but to subsist on whatever meager payouts the feds give them because there ARE no jobs or opportunities to earn substantial money legally anymore. Why? Because those same Democrats rallied like motherfuckers to bring domestic job destroyers like NAFTA to fruition, and they're continuing to dilute the job market by prioritizing foreign and illegal immigrant workers over the native born. We've had huge, overarching, social entitlement programs rooted in Democratic policies for more than 50 years, yet somehow, poverty has increased substantially across the board, ESPECIALLY in regions where democratic elected officials practically run unopposed at the ballot. The evidence here, really, is indisputable; not only has half a century of "democratic ideals" done NOTHING to alleviate poverty in America, it's actually made wealth inequality even worse - especially (and ironically) for poor Democrat voters themselves!

Contradiction Five:

Poverty is destroying America...

Alright, so about 15 percent of Americans - that's 45 million people - live below the Federal Poverty Line. That's a lot of people, no doubt, but it's still a smaller percentage of impoverished people than those living in poverty in other economic titan nations like Germany and Japan (and it's certainly a better lot in life than those in Mexico, where almost half the country lives in poverty.) No one is going to say America's poverty problem isn't concerning, but then again, when there are countries out there like India were literally 400 million people are poor, comparatively, we're STILL living high on the hog. The thing liberals NEVER want to address is that even if you're poor as fuckin' fuck in the U.S., you're STILL doing better than 95 percent of everybody else on the planet. Even if you are flat out broke in the States, you've still got a smart phone, air conditioning, clean drinking water, indoor plumbing and essentially free health care (remember, hospitals are forbidden by federal law from turning away people, and if they can't pay, the medical facilities usually just write it off as tax deductible charity care.) Say what you will about unemployment rates and low wage pay, even the poorest of Americans are living among the most comfortable lives of any people on the planet; rest assured, a good 5.6 billion people would GLADLY jump at the chance to live in what liberals constantly describe as our nation's "unlivable" lower-class conditions. 

Contradiction Six:

Our Democratic ideals ARE working...

Then why in the bluest of fucks are liberals hell bent on replacing American policies and programs with gigantic federal collectivist programs that have done nothing but fail and falter everywhere they've been attempted? Why are liberals so hellbent on exporting the disastrous social democratic practices of Europe and Latin America to the U.S.? Doesn't one look at the multitudes of troubles in Sweden and Germany let you know that maybe - just maybe - a laissez-faire approach to open border governance might not be the wisest decision? Considering the unmitigated disaster that was the European Union, why do Democrats think abandoning American economic independence in favor of an even larger global common market is an any way, shape or form a smart decision? Haven't all of those European nanny states - with their shitty socialized health care programs - all deteriorated into insolvency and free expression squelching lite-totalitarian systems? Sweet Jesus in a burning brick canoe, doesn't the fate of Venezuela let you know that the great liberal socialist utopia is just one big lie that can never, ever work in practice? Practically EVERYWHERE communism has been implemented, the end dividend has been crushing dictatorial regimes. New wave liberalism seeks to depower the individual and give the state more authority, which in and of itself, is the exact opposite of classical democracy. Rather than empowering the people, the democratic agenda is - and has been for decades - to accumulate as much power for itself to erect its unmanagable, open-borders and open-trade social-democracy welfare state utopia: a system that even half baked commies like Bernie Sanders know can't work, which in turn, would give the federal government an oh-so convenient excuse to assert its strength on the private market and our individual lives even more.

That's the unavoidable paradox of being a liberal in this day and age. You want freedom and equality and think the government can give you both, when - as history has proven time and time again - the inevitable outcome is the state depriving you of both liberty and egalitarianism. That's what happens when you vouch for inclusivity over autonomy and promote emotional ideals over pragmatic socioeconomic realities - not only are you destined to lose self-government, that very government might just look to deprive you of self altogether.

Even as a 70-year-old, old Ah-nold still conveys a sense of unbridled machismo that limp-dicks like The Rock or Channing Tatum couldn't dream of in a million years.

Anyhoo, speaking of things that'll blow your brain outta' the back of your skull, we actually have a damned great double feature lined up this week, with two of the best - and manliest - movies I guarantee you'll see all year long on the docket. Up first, it's Aftermath, a flick starring AH-NOLD as a construction worker who can't wait to see his family flying in for the holidays from Germany or Romania or wherever the hell they're from, but whoops! The guy at the air traffic control desk was too busy pouring himself another pot of coffee to realize two 747s were hurdling headlong into each other over New York state, and well ... let's just say AH-NOLD's wife, mama and pregnant daughter ain't going to be watching Jingle All The Way with him this Christmas. 

So Ah-nold - who, despite being in Hollywood for 50 years and being the governor of its most populous state, STILL can't speak convincing English - walks back to the parking lot in slow-mo and he just sits there in his car stewin' all night like a Christmas sweater-wearin' Terminator. Then the flick goes all Rashomon on us, letting us see what happened the day of the crash through the air traffic controller guy's eyes. He's this scrawny beanpole looking dude with a face kinda' like Rand Paul's whose eyes literally sink into his skull when the news hits that he's pretty much responsible for the deaths of 271 people. So Ah-nold spends all of New Year's weekend drinking whiskey and Pepto-Bismol and he decides to sneak into the crash site wearing a Hazmat suit and he looks at all the charbroiled headphones and sippy cups scattered all over the forest and then finds his daughter's corpse impaled on a tree limb. Then he just lies between his dead family's body bags and cries the manliest tears anyone has ever wept.

Meanwhile, that air traffic controller guy has had his life royally fucked up by the crash, too. People have spray-painted the word "killer" all over his house and he's so out of it he eats runny eggs for breakfast every morning and tells his therapist that if he don't order him some more dope, he's going next door and robbing the pharmacist. Then Ah-nold falls asleep on his daughter's grave, and - uh-oh - some nosy female reporter shows up and lets him know the identity of the air traffic control guy.

So the air traffic control guy buys a gun and ponders blowing his brains out during a Felix the Cat cartoon, but then he gets the wise idea of legally changing his identity and starting all over again two towns over. Meanwhile, Ah-nold sues the plane company and they offer him $160,000 in damages and all he does is just shove a picture of his dead wife in front of their faces and scream "I want someone to say they're sorry for killing my family," and goddamnit, you believe him. 

From there, Ah-nold goes full A Beautiful Mind, posting every nook and cranny of his basement with photos of his deceased family and news articles about the crash. At one point, he even mulls jumping to his death, but visions of disintegrating airplane wings, for whatever reason, prevent him from taking his own life.

So flash forward one year later. Ah-nold is at the newly opened victims' memorial (basically, they just put a bunch of white Target balls all over the woods, which was apparently based on his daughter's pearl necklace) while the former air traffic control guy has changed his name to Pat and works as a travel agent. Interestingly enough, Ah-nold has a new job working as a handyman for a dude who looks just like the old pro 'rassler Big Van Vader, and the first thing we see him do is literally mend fences, because symbolism, that's why. 

But just when it looks like all has been forgiven, here comes that snoopy reporter again, who now has info on the air traffic controller's physical address. At that point, Ah-nold promptly excuses himself from the dinner table, hops in his SUV, purchases a hotel room right across the street from the air traffic controller's new apartment - whose wife and son are visiting him for the first time since the accident - and ... well, you know shit is going to get real, and in a real damn hurry.

We've got 272 dead bodies. No breasts. No car chases. One head-on double airplane collision. Knife to the jugular. Multiple nervous breakdowns. PTSD fu. Dry heaving fu. And the thing that makes the whole movie possible - forgiveness fu. 

Starring Arnold Schwarzenegger as Roman, the construction worker whose life is turned upside down after his family gets blown to smithereens and spends the rest of the movie plotting his revenge; Scott McNairy as the bug-eyed air traffic controller Jacob, who represents the most diametrically opposite version of the male form you could ever possibly contrast against big, bad Ah-nold; Maggie Grace as the wife of the disgraced air traffic controller, who really doesn't do anything in the movie at all; and Glenn Morshower as Roman's next door neighbor, whose idea of helping a grieving man who just lost his entire family to a tragic aviation accident is to bring him two beers instead of just one. 

Directed by Elliot Lester, whose probably best known for helming the made-for-HBO movie Nightingale from 2015, and written by Javier Gullon, who based the script on the real life story of Vitaly Kaloyev, who only spent two years in jail for knifing the air traffic controller responsible for the 2002 Bashikirian Airlines Flight 2937 disaster and was treated as a a public hero in the wake of his release.

This is quite possibly the first legitimately great movie of 2017, folks. It's an old school revenge drama, through and though, devoid of all of the forced muliculturalism and needless estrogen that usually fucks up films of the like nowadays. This is the kind of movie that would've made Sam Peckinpah and Sam Fuller proud; somewhere in heaven, you just know Lee Marvin and George C. Scott are watching this one on a loop and ain't neither one of 'em haven gotten tired of it yet. 

I give it three and a half stars out of four. Jimbo says definitely check this one out, if the opportunity is afforded to you.

Just give me four crotchety veteran British character actors and a whole bunch of dialogue about committing crimes and I am sold. 

I don't know if the second bill of our double feature is as good as Aftermath, but it is mighty close. And it's prolly the best heist flick to come out in years - no doubt about it, The Hatton Garden Job wallops the shit out of any of them overhyped Ocean's Whatever movies and it ain't anywhere next to being close. 

Now I know what you're thinking. With a name like The Hatton Garden Job - not to mention it's an all-Brit production - you'd think it'd be some kind of pantywaist melodrama or one of them dry English comedies where you can't understand 95 percent of the dialogue because everybody in the cast sounds like they're gargling on crumpets or something. Thankfully, this flick is all-man and sort of a mini-masterpiece of crime saga minimalism. The folks who made this one prolly only had one week to film everything and about 200 Euros to get the whole thing wrapped up, but by Job, they just plain managed to do it.

Based on a true story (sorta), the flick starts off with this young up and coming criminal who doesn't even have a name going to the slammer and meeting up with this one Hungarian dude who looks The Thing from Fantastic Four and as soon as he's out of the clink he's hooking up with the GMILF-iest GMILF of all-time to coordinate a robbery of a bunch of safety deposit boxes in London's ritziest jewelry store district. The only thing is, he don't trust all of those millennial wannabe gangsters to get the job done, so he meets up with this dude in a windbreaker to assemble a crack team of career heisters - who, as fate would have it, all happen to be north of 60 and about one slipped disc away from buying the farm altogether. So naturally, they bicker and banter in an abandoned warehouse for a while going over the plans, but it's only a matter of time until the posse is intimidating 19-year-old kids in pubs, buying second-hand power tools from Arabs and dressing up like fake garbage men as a lead-in to the outstanding jewelry tomfoolery. 

Since all "heist" movies dating back to The Brinks Jobs more or less have the same plot, you do get all of the expected tropes and cliches here. We've got the gang walking down the street in slow-mo for no real reason and sudden "freeze frame" shots with Goodfellas voiceovers and a whole bunch of intrigue about whether or not anybody in the robbery or paying for the robbery is actually in cahoots with the bobbies. At times, the thing sorta plays it like a REALLY low budget version of American Hustle, and the people who made the flick certainly play that to their strengths. This isn't about building up to a suspenseful, action-packed robbery scene (indeed, the job takes place over Easter weekend, when the streets of London are practically vacant), it's about developing a strong cast of personalities en route to the big heist-a-roo. 

Of course, the real drama in any heist movie worth a hoot is in telling the after the fact part of the story. The big suspense of the subgenre isn't built around whether the heist will be successful or not, but just how long the culprits can steer clear of Johnny Law AFTER said heist. And I ain't going to spoil shit for you, kids - let's just say this one'll keep you glued to the screen literally start to finish. 

We've got no dead bodies. No breasts. No car chases. No kung fu. One joke that takes three minutes of screen-time to get to the punchline. Gratuitous British slang (so expect plenty of "tits" and "sods" in this 'un.) Gratuitous construction helmet size measuring. Gratuitous Johnny Thunder (no, not the plural one.) Security camera spray-painting. Chav informant fu. Insulin injection fu. Sledgehammer fu. Giant pneumatic drill fu. Malfunctioning compressor fu. And - of course, the anchor of any great heist movie - vault cleaning jamboree fu. 

Starring Matthew Goode as the nameless central character who drops such pearls of V.O. wisdom as "luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity" and spends half the heist worrying about whether or not he tripped a silent alarm; Joely Richardson as the Hungarian mob queen whose Polident-flavored tongue you definitely wouldn't mind having in your mouth; Clive Russell as the getaway driver with chronic emphysema who initially thinks they're risking six years in jails for a $100 heist instead of a $100 million one; David Calder as the massive candy bar addict who says "this is going to be the biggest bingo blag in history!" and serves as the ragtag group's "muscle" even though pure fat makes up 98 percent of his body; and Larry Lamb as the guy who tells the group "we don't want to find ourselves with nothing but our limp dicks in our hands" and conveniently keels over dead halfway through the big job. 

Written and directed by some bloke named Ronnie Thompson, who was somehow able to not only make a movie about a bunch of senior citizens spending three hours trying to drill a hole in a wall entertaining, but one of the best light-hearted crime capers to come along in years.

I give it three and a half stars out of four - Casino, it ain't, but it's definitely entertaining as hell and, perhaps most importantly, never overstays its welcome nor tries to be anything more than it has to be. An increasingly effeminate Hollywood could learn a thing or two from this one - take note,  stewards of the Avengers and Justice League franchises, THIS is how you do an "ensemble" getting the gang together" flick right.

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DOUBLE REVIEW: 'XX' / 'VooDoo' (2017) Movie Reviews

It's a one-two combination of no-budget indie horror ... but are either of these way off the beaten path genre films actually worth tracking down? 

By: Jimbo X
JimboXAmerican@gmail.com
@Jimbo___X

Alright kids, we've got a problem we gotta' talk about - Social Security. You know, that thing that represents a third of the total federal budget and makes up easily twice what we spend on the military each and every year?

Long story short, we're starting to run out of funding. By 2023, the Social Security disability fund  is supposed to disappear and by 2034 - that's 17 years from now, folks - the general Social Security fund for retirees is expected to go kaput. Which means - despite the feds taking a generous chunk of the pay you rightly earned out of your checks to fund the program - basically, we've all been paying into a system that will NEVER, EVER pay us back.

Factor in a rapidly aging population and an underpaid younger workforce and I suppose you can see the writing on the wall. We've got too many old farts dependent on the puny ass pay stubs of underemployed millennials, and that little boondoggle of an economic equation is only going to get worse from here. According to fake news monolith CNN, to insure Social Security will be a thing 70 years from know, the gubberment is going to either have to raise the Social Security payroll tax rate to 15 percent or slash S.S. benefits by 15 percent - but probably both, and odds are that 15 percent on both ends is going to go up considerably.

Factor in Medicare expenses, and a grand total of 40 percent of the ENTIRE U.S. federal budget today is allocated exclusively for people over the ages of 62 (which is barely 15 percent of the total U.S. national populace, in case you were wondering.) Well, by 2050, retirement-age Americans are expected to make up one-fifth of the national population, if not even more ... and since those decrepit old fucks are living even longer (thanks in no small part to all of that free - read: taxpayer subsidized - health care we're forced to give 'em), that means not only are we going to be spending MORE tax dollars on the AARP Generation in the not-too-distant future, we're going to be economically indentured to fiscally supporting their old, leathery asses for even longer.

For the life of me, I just can't fathom why the media (and ESPECIALLY Millennials and Gen Z kids, in general) are so obsessed with trifling bullshit like trannies in bathrooms and free abortions when we're all riding aboard the Titanic and hurdling headlong into a gigantic economic iceberg. The math is staring us directly in the face - this whole Social Security thing has too many beneficiaries, who are eating up way too many tax dollars, who are going to be gobbling up even more of our wages and making us all poorer as working Americans, and ain't nobody - left, right, communist, socialist, alt-right or Skrull - saying anything about this all but inevitable financial time bomb. With wages doing down and entitlement recipients going up, maintaining the Social Security program - as is - is quite literally impossible. The amount of money coming in to the program is soon (very, very soon) going to be less than the program costs to operate. Either the old fogies take one for the team, or we are going to get taxed out the ass so much we'll never be able to live even remotely comfortable, economically stable lives.

So basically, we're about to become a society of underpaid employees who are forced to live lower-quality lives (to the point that luxuries of modernity all the Baby Bommers and Gen X-ers enjoyed, like home ownership or raising a family, become economic impossibilities) so that the elderly minority can get $3,000 a month from the feds to spend on QVC cookware and Christmas decorations and go to the doctor to have their titties looked at whenever they want somebody to touch their withered, beef jerky-like bodies.

Well, to quote that dead guy from Drowning Pool, "3, something's gotta' give, eeeeyarghhh." Thus, I've taken the time, the effort and the general human decency to drum up three potential solutions to that looming Social Security crisis everybody else is too busy playing with their puds to directly address and rectify. Granted, these ideas may seem a little radical at first, but remember - desperate times clamor for desperate measures, and remarkable questions absolutely goddamn demand remarkable responses... 

SOLUTION ONE - This one's real simple. Next Tuesday, we just stop handing out any Social Security payments. Hell, for that matter, we might as well cancel all the Medicaid, Medicare and food stamp checks, too, and just get the whole guldarn welfare state over and done with in one fell swoop. Naturally, I suppose the good half to two-thirds of the country dependent on at least one kind of government assistance won't take the abrupt news too kindly, but from there, we can just let natural selection take care of things. The smart senior citizens will find a way to keep trucking along, while the ones too feeble to take care of themselves get to march into that wide blue yonder the way God intended man to live out his or her golden years - starving to death on the streets or getting raped and eventually murdered by roving post-apocalyptic youth gangs. But hey, don't worry about them too much ... by the time 95 percent of our nation's inner cities are nothing but democratic-voting tire fires, we pretty much won't even have an entitlement dilemma to worry 'bout no more. 

SOLUTION TWO - Now this one is a little more bureaucratic, insuring a whole lot of federal government workers prolly won't lose their jobs. Right now, we've got about 320 million people living in the U.S., and that's not counting all the people named Jose and Javier who snuck into the country last week and are currently soliciting odd jobs/blow jobs down at your local Home Depot. To preserve our illustrious Social Security safety net, I reckon we need to whittle that number down to about half of what it is now. Now, how could we go about doing so? Two words, folks - motherfuckin' THUNDERDOME. That's right, we put every man, woman and child in the States inside a lottery and, two at a time, force 'em to fight to the death inside a facsimile of The Road Warrior set, complete with chainsaws, scythes and rusty pick axes hanging from the top of a huge-assed jungle gym. We already have the Census in place, and since those people only work three weeks every 10 years, I'm sure they'd champ at the bit for the opportunity to round up everybody for the great human harvest. Now, the beauty here is that everything is totally random: you might get lucky and draw a fight against a paraplegic 80-year-old or a four-year-old with brittle bone disease or you might wind up drawing a Hell's Angel coked up on PCP, or Mike Tyson (prolly also coked up on PCP, but that sorta' goes without saying.) Oh, and if neither competitors want to duel for their right to exist, we'll just open the arena gates and let a whole bunch of starving lions eat both of them. Naturally, this would lend itself well to prime time television; I figure we could put the most intriguing and competitive bouts on PBS, with the really good ones slotted in for State of the Union-style multi-channel broadcast. Hell, this thing might even be worth bringing back the old Olympics Triplecast, complete with that fruity ass remote control nobody could figure out.

SOLUTION THREE - You know, for a nation of people who pride themselves on pragmatism, we don't necessarily have a keen taste for the most pragmatic of solutions no more. Let's cut to the meat of the matter, why don't we? The problem with Social Security is, what, essentially? Not so much that we have this behemoth entitlement program in place that effectively enslaves federal government and all of the nation's taxpayers to be its keeper like the mama in The Babadook, but more the fact that we've got too many damned old people in this country as is. Simply put, the Framers of the Constitution never really intended for a thing such as Social Security to exist, because when America was founded, old people didn't exist. At the time America declared independence, the average life expectancy was barely 35 years old, and even at the beginning of the 20th century most people couldn't expect to live past the age of 50. There was never any need for government subsidized old age care because nobody lived long enough to experience an age old enough that they had to be totally dependent on federally-subsidized services. So if you're a fan of natural law, you'll quickly come to the realization that the problem here isn't Social Security as a national policy, but much more so the fact that people are living far longer than nature ever intended them to. Therefore, I propose we institute a national framework in which every man and woman in the U.S. be involuntarily euthanized at the time of their 65th birthday. Come on, by that point they've pretty much done everything they're going to do professionally and from there on out, their bodies and minds are just going to deteriorate into mush and they're going to spend the next 40 pointless years of their lives doing nothing but gobbling pills like Skittles and watching reruns of Judge Judy. And in that, who in the world could consider sparing millions of people such abject degradation to be an act of "inhumanity?" 

Granted, your mileage may vary on any of the solutions proposed above, but hey, at least I'm trying to do something about this Social Security nightmare nobody else seems to give half a shit about. And if you think making random people fight to the death or offing senior citizens before they can start collecting discounts at Denny's is too ghoulish to consider, just imagine what the consequences would look like if two-thirds or even four-fifths of all U.S. tax dollars went not to defending our borders or promoting domestic industry or achieving energy independence, but to keeping 60 million Golden Girls conked out of their minds on high-powered psychotropic pills while they shit all over themselves 35 years after Alzheimers' transformed their minds into gingivitis-pockmarked pickles. Welcome to America, 2060: an entire nation of severely underpaid workers with 40, and sometimes even 50 percent income tax burdens, forced to live like transient community college students for the entirety of their lives so a bunch of blue-haired old farts can down free prescription drugs like Hungry Hungry Hippos and waste valuable healthcare funding to get their buttholes looked at every time they feel one too many dingleberries. Yeah, some future to look forward to, ain't it? 

Yeah, you don't know who any of these broads are, and to be honest, you don't really need to know who any of 'em are, either.

Speaking of things better left unseen, the first flick in our double header this week is XX, a horror anthology where all the mini-movies are directed by women. Ever heard of Jovanka Vuckovic, Roxanne Benjamin or Karyn Kusama? Well, me neither, and that's for a reason: none of these skirts really know how to make a movie scary, or unsettling, or really, any good for that matter.

This is one of those movies financed by people who think stop-motion porcelain dolls with busted eye sockets and time lapse rotting apples are hip and edgy and horrifying. Granted, that may have been the case when Tool music videos were in heavy rotation on MTV 25 years ago, but today? That kind of stuff just comes off as all kinds of hackneyed and uninspired, and unfortunately, the movie don't really get much better after the opening credits. 

To be fair, the first story - which is actually an adaptation of a Jack Ketchum story - is pretty good, but it still has more flaws than positives. It's about this suburban mom who's riding the subway train with her two kids and they're sitting next to this old creepy pedophile looking dude with a wonky eye and one of the kids asks if he can see what's in his spooky red gift box and he shows it to him and after that, he stops eating altogether. Right then and there you realize this had to be made by some hoity-toity upperclass suburban-weaned post-mallrat broad - prolly  born and raised in some cosmopolitan Yankee hellhole, like Long Island, Boston or, heaven help us, Toronto - because if this kinda' thing happened to a family in the Deep South - white or black - the movie would be over in five minutes. The very moment Little Billy would have told his ma he doesn't want a third helping of blueberry cobbler with a double dollop of Cool Whip, she'd reach over the table, slam a plastic funnel down his gullet and force feed him deserts until he weighed as much as a blue ribbon prize pig at the annual FFA convention. But since this is one of those white families, the parents don't do shit except slam their fists on the table and sneak outside to smoke Marlboros because their kid refuses to eat pizza or eggrolls. Strangely enough, it takes them a full four days before they take their kid to a doctor, and even THEY don't do anything for the anorexic little twerp, who then whispers something into his sister's ear that makes her not want to eat, either. And then he tells dad something, and naturally, he stops eating, too. Then there's this dream sequence where mom is laying on a dinner table and the rest of the family is eating bloody chunks of her thighs, but that's not the real ending. By Christmastime everybody in the family except mom weighs approximately 50 pounds and then they all starve to death at the hospital. Now, as to why she didn't get them shipped out to a psychiatric facility for their eating disorders ... or why she waited until they were at death's door before taking 'em to the hospital ... or why she was even cool with her family wasting away to skeletons over the course of two months ... or why the medical personnel couldn't stick an IV in them or force feed them muscle-building milkshakes from GNC until they looked like something other than Auschwitz victims ... well, the movie never tells us. And if you're looking for an explanation for why the family suddenly decided to stop eating, there's no exposition - it just ends with mom riding the subway, hopelessly trying to find the guy with the wonky eye and the gift box. Bad and stupid endings, I can do, but filmmakers who are too lazy to come up with any ending? Next to the film itself exploding and the theater refusing to hand out any refunds, I can't think of anything that infuriates audiences as much. 

Still, that first vignette is far and away the best thing about XX, seeing how boring and formulaic the other three stories are. The second one isn't even really a horror short - it's basically a re-do of Weekend at Bernie's about a grandma trying to hide her son-in-law's corpse in a giant panda costume so it won't ruin her grandkid's birthday party, where all the kids are dressed up like shrimp and toilets, for some inexplicable reason. The third one is a total ripoff of The Evil Dead (and Scalps and Equinox) about these four hippies that take their RV into the desert and smoke pot and then one of them gets possessed by some Native American demon spirit and turns into a terrible-looking CGI chicken nugget herky-jerky zombie, and the fourth one is a total ripoff of The Omen and The Babadook and even We Need To Talk About Kevin about this single mom who has convinced her son his daddy is some Hollywood movie star, but he's actually the Antichrist and he's running around nailing squirrels to trees and ripping the fingernails off girls at school but he never gets in any trouble because he's (unwittingly) using his devil worship mind control powers on everybody.

So needless to say, after the 22 minute mark, there ain't Jack Shit worth anybody sticking around for. This stuff don't come anywhere close to matching other contemporary horror anthologies - V/H/S and The ABCs of Death and especially Three...Extremes - but I will give it some credit for not being filled to wall-with-wall feminist-propaganda identity-politicking, which is pretty much what all of us expect out of something called XX. It still sucks, but hey - at least it doesn't suck for ideological reasons.

We've got six dead bodies. No breasts (kind of a shocker there, huh?) One dead squirrel. One CGI zombie monster. Gratuitous stop-motion animation baby dolls and grungy teacup sets. Gratuitous rapping panda telegram. Gratuitous slow-motion kids' birthday party reaction shots. Gratuitous devil toenail clipping. One dudebro tossed through a window. One nasty compound fracture. Anorexia fu. Cannibalism fu. And the thing pretty much responsible for this film even existing, obvious-regret-over-pursuing-a-film-career-instead-of-having-children fu.

Starring Natalie Brown as the mama that doesn't really find it odd at all that her kids haven't eaten anything for three weeks and look like gaunt elementary-school-aged heroin addicts; Melanie Lynskey (the other chick in Heavenly Creatures) as the GMILF who thinks zipping her daughter's dead husband into a giant furry costume makes more sense then just telling everybody she found him keeled over on his work desk; Angela Trimbur as the girl who gets possessed by really, really shitty looking Final Cut Pro effects; and Christina Kirk as the mother of the Antichrist, who tries really, really hard to channel the spirits of Essie Davis and Tilda Swinton before a demonic whirlwind makes her puke blood all over her kid's birthday cake.

Eh, I'll give it two stars out of four simply for refusing to lay on the women's lib rhetoric too thick. It still prolly isn't worth your time, though, unless you REALLY need to get out of the house for an hour and half, and even then I'd recommend doing something else with your disposable income and free time, like hitting up an all you can-eat pizza buffet or going mini-golfing.

When Ron Jeremy provides the bulk of your movie's star power, you know you either did something really, really wrong or something inadvertently really, really right.

We do, however, have ourselves a slightly better female-oriented horror flick making the rounds at local arthouse cinemas with really low standards nationwide in the form of the second half of our double feature, Tom Costabile's VooDoo. Now, it is, unfortunately, one of those damned found footage movies, but at least this one has the horse sense to use a steadicam instead of shaky cam so you can actually see what's happening onscreen instead of having to just sorta' guess at what you're looking at like in Blair Witch and Unfriended. We start off with a guy finding a woman with her guts torn out in a kids' sandbox, and then this ebony hoodoo priestess gets possessed by African-American Satan and starts speaking in tongues and stabbing a still living victim with a butcher knife and rubbing blood all over her face before singing the preamble to "Circle of Life." Then we cut to this actress with the worst Southern accent you have ever heard in your life (at times, she sounds more like she's doing an imitation of Katherine Hepburn more than anything else) arriving in California so she can visit her wannabe punk rocker cousin's place and admire the voodoo beads and baby doll masks just laying all over the place.

So they shoot the shit by the pool for awhile and then talk about Mardi Gras and go sightseeing in Hollywood while smoking kush. Then they do shots at The Rainbow and dance with Ron Jeremy (yes, that Ron Jeremy) and the visitor from New Orleans talks about her husband leaving her for his ex, a voodoo queen (uh-oh) and sure as sugar, as soon as she flips on nightvision mode, a whole bunch of invisible shadow demons pop up on camera and two things become quite apparent: one, nobody on the payroll had any idea how to animate anything with a computer, and two, the shit is about to get real crazy in a real hurry.

The next morning they pour Bloody Marys into Gatorade bottles and hit up Venice Beach and this homeless dude won't stop staring at them while they sunbathe and then a fortune teller freaks out on 'em. Then they monkey around on Rodeo Drive then Louisiana Girl gets a phone call from her ex and learns that his crazy-ass ex is in L.A. looking for her. And NOW is the part where Devil-Mania 2017 starts running wild; after a shitty shadowy CGI monster attacks her and crucifixes start spinning around on the wall, our leading lady goes down stairs and - yikes - the whole damn house has turned into Dante's Inferno - a Dante's Inferno built using $20 worth of art supplies from Michaels and the services of part-time community theater actors for half an hour, but Dante's Inferno nonetheless.

We've got disemboweled drummers nailed to the cupboards. We've got the prodigal cousin turning into a really, really bad Evil Dead ripoff demon. And worst of all - or maybe best of all, depending on your sense of humor - a chorus of Satanic minions take over the soundtrack, only they didn't do the audio mixing too good so they either sound like Bill Cosby on autotune or E.T., the Extra-Terrestrial. 

But we haven't gotten to the really wacky part yet. Then a whole bunch of imps literally drag the "final girl" into the bowels of hell, and I don't know what it resembles more: that really, really bad port of Doom on the Game Boy Advance or one of those really, really shitty Dungeons & Dragons-ripoff VCR board games from back in the day. The fog machine is turned on ultra-blast, there's red Play-Doh smeared all over the walls and for the demonic statues, I'm pretty sure they just glued some horns on some lawn gnomes and called it good. 

And now we're finally at the part where things get kooky. This guy in a Shriner's cap chains her up so these albino S&M elves can smell her feet, then he brands her with a big old pentagram. Then she walks into a room full of meat hooks and you can just tell they went down to the seasonal Halloween supply shop and just tossed as many plastic arms and heads around the set as possible. THEN she walks into another room (actually, I'm pretty sure they just used the same room over and over again, only with the plastic skeletons arranged differently to create the illusion of a different set) and we get to watch pregnant women choked to death with their own umbilical cords and zombies literally chowing down on newborn infants. Then she watches a priest have his butthole sawed open and she runs into the ghost of the uncle who used to molest her then demons kill her dead mama all over again and for the grand finale? Well, let's just say it involves one of the blunter devil rape scenes in horror history; and, I, for one, never would've guessed the Prince of Darkness would've been that into anal. 

Sure, sure, all of it sucks, but at least it sucks in a refreshingly non-ironic way. Unlike a good 90 percent of the no-budget genre movies getting made nowadays, at least these people TRIED to make a serious movie. Corny, cheesy and shitty on purpose I can't tolerate, but corny, cheesy and shitty because that's literally the best the filmmakers could do, I can't help but admire and appreciate.

We've got 11 dead bodies. Two breasts. Ritual blood drinking. Multiple disembowelments. Zombies. Demons. A Satanic knight that appears to be wearing a suit made out of tinfoil. Fetus chewing. A flaming hot branding iron right to the stomach. Priest torturing. Satanic rape (complete with a Lucifer that looks like an extra from 300 spray-painted red.) Gratuitous demonic cackling. Gratuitous molester uncle. Gratuitous bloody pentagrams. Gratuitous devil worship graffiti. Heads roll. Arms roll. S&M fu. Butcher knife fu. Perverted imp fu. And, the thing responsible for the whole movie ... the world's sturdiest video camera fu. Hey, you have to admire the craftsmanship on anything that has enough battery life to make it sightseeing on the Sunset Strip and going through all nine circles of hell in just one night. 

Starring veteran TLC dramatic recreation actor Samantha Stewart as Nawlins' vacationer Dani Lamb, whose trip to L.A. involves slightly more contact with slimy sadomasochist sex demons than your average three-day stay in Hollywood; Ruth Reynolds as Stacy Cole, the Louisiana transplant who named her shitty pukola punk band "Rapeseed" and eventually winds up turning into an albino crater-face necro-cannibal; Dominic Matteucci and Daniel Kuzul as the bandmates who spend more of the movie with their guts hanging outside of their body than inside them; Constance Strickland as the child-murdering Santeria practitioner who really can't stand seeing her former lover move on; and Ron Jeremy, who I'm pretty sure wasn't scheduled to appear in the movie, but since he was already on set at the Rainbow, they gave him a few lines anyway.

Directed and written by Tom Costabile, who you can tell is going to have a long and fruitful career making movies like this for a long time to come, as evident by his showstopping dialogue "choke on your mother's bowels, you fucking cunt."

I'll give it two and a half stars out of four. Jimbo says check it out, especially if you ever wondered what a stage production of Hellraiser produced and financed by GWAR would look like.

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