11 Awesome creepy doll movies

"Who doesn't love ya, baby?"

As Halloween is on the horizon and the Frankenstorm bares down on us, I think it's the perfect time to take a look at one of the most reviled horror movie staples: the creepy doll. 

It's a wonder that kids aren't utterly terrified of Raggedy Ann & Andy with all of these dolls coming to life and killing people in the movies. They are supposed to bring joy to the little girls and boys, but they really just bring anxiety and fear. Like clowns.

All creepy doll movies have similar hallmarks:

• Nine times out of 10, the doll is possessed. The other one time, they're enacting revenge for mistreatment.
• The dolls always talk, even if they don't have strings.
• If the doll is moved or thrown away, it always comes back.
• Ventriloquist dummies are always the ones in control of the act.
• Every time the doll shows up, tinkly nursery rhyme music plays.
• If the doll is insulted or mistreated in any way, someone dies.

Today, I've listed my personal favorites for your enjoyment (I know I usually do 13 in my lists, but frankly, I've just about had it with creepy doll movies):

11. Child's Play (1988)

I love horror films where the killer says funny things before he slices and dices his/her victims in creative ways. Here are a few of the best lines from one of the most infamous creepy dolls in filmdom...Chucky:

"Goodnight, asshole." 

"You have a date with death." 

"You stupid bitch! I'll teach you to mess with me!" 

Lady: Ugly doll.  Chucky: Fuck you.

That Chucky...he's such a jerk!

Creep factor: 3

Hilarity factor: 10

10. Dead of Night (1945)

Why do ventriloquists in horror movies always sell their souls for a successful career? I mean, who really wants to be a professional ventriloquist that badly? Anyway, the doll portion doesn't come until the very end of the movie, so you'll have to wait a bit for it, and it's good in the meantime. I'm not sure if the puppeteer really sold his soul here, but he is definitely crazy and thinks the dummy is alive and operates completely under its' Svengali-like control...and it drives him to kill. 

Creep factor: 4

Hilarity factor: 7

9. Demonic Toys (1992)
This movie is actually really stupid (I know, crazy, right?), but is worth a watch for 1.) the man-eating teddy bear and 2.) the cussing baby doll who has more funny lines than Chucky, such as: "Hi, you fat fuck! I'm Baby Oopsy-Daisy, you lardass! Will you be my special friend?", "Mother of Satan!" and "You're heavy, you Moby fucking Dick!"
Creep factor: 1 (clown doll)

Hilarity factor: 6

8. Poltergeist (1982)

Everyone knows clowns are creepy. The only person in the world who probably likes clowns is someone like Mary Lou Retton, who I'm guessing likes everybody. The parents in this movie deserve the hauntings and the decomposing corpses in their swimming pool for buying their buck-toothed son a horrifying clown doll that he throws under his bed so he doesn't have to look at it. Of course, Bozo comes to life and tries to yank him under there, too. And then a tree comes to life and tries to eat him, his sister gets sucked into a closet and talks through the TV and a guy who looks like my elementary school guidance counselor claws his own face off. P.S. This movie is rated PG!

Creep factor: 7

Hilarity factor: 3 (the medium is kind of funny)

7. Dolls (1987)

This is one of those satisfying movies where all the awful people get creamed and the nice ones get a shiny, happy ending. It's also one of those satisfying horror movies with live-action animation of tiny dolls blocking the paths of full-grown adults, gang-tackling them and sawing them up with tiny weapons. The awful people in this one include two drifter chicks with fake British accents who are both sporting Boy Toy-era Madonna wear and a stick-in-the-mud stepmother in a turban and floor-length fur who signs her own death certificate by throwing a little girl's teddy bear away.

Creep factor: 3

Hilarity factor: 8

6. Magic (1978)

Anthony Hopkins' ventriloquist/magic act is a big hit, thanks mainly to the asshole persona of his dummy Fats. Burgess Meredith gets him his own TV show (which I hope is way better than that one guy with the puppets who is on Comedy Central all the time—he blows) and Hopkins freaks out because he's afraid of success. He takes off for some alone time in the Catskills with Ann-Margaret, but it soon becomes clear that Fats is far more than just a wooden creeper: HE'S ANTHONY HOPKINS HIMSELF. Or something like that. Anyway, it's really good and also very sad.

Creep factor: 6

Hilarity factor: 0

Someone opened the ark...and didn't look away!

5. Puppet Master (1989)
This straight-to-video classic features an incomprehensible "plot," a protagonist with feathered Robert Wagner hair and a cavalry of unforgettable living dolls, including:

• One with a tiny head, huge hands and brute strength
• Mr. Drill Head
• A lady doll who spits up leeches
• My personal favorite, Lil' Skullface, complete with a mini hook hand (see picture at left)!

There's also lots of doll throwing in this movie, which always makes me laugh at first because, come on...the doll is about 1/18th of your size and weighs as much as a pillow, and yet it's somehow overpowering you and eating your face off. But the laughter doesn't last long, because I know damn well what's coming next.
Creep factor: 0

Hilarity factor: 10

4. Dead Silence (2007)

The cast alone should make you want to see this one: True Blood's Ryan Kwanten as a widower who just has to find answers, Donnie Wahlberg as a wisecracking cop, Amber Valetta as a gold-digging socialite (the only role she ever plays) and the warden from Shawshank Prison as an aging fatcat. Despite lackluster reviews, I personally really enjoyed this fun romp that includes some some genuine humor and genuine scares (and a doll cemetery complete with little wooden coffins!!!).

Creep factor: 8

Hilarity factor: 8

3. "The Twilight Zone" (Episode 126; 1963) 

It's not a movie, but it's a classic. Telly Savalas threatens a talking doll by holding a match close to her, throwing her across the room, tossing her in a trash can and putting bricks on the lid, squishing her plastic head in a vice and running her neck through a ban saw. The doll doesn't take to kindly to Telly's torture. Her infamous (and awesome) response: "Hi, I'm Talky Tina and I'm going to KILL YOU!" 

Creep factor: 9

Hilarity factor: 8

2. Devil Doll (1964)

Here we go again with the career ventriloquists. In this film, the dummy Hugo helps his "master" The Great Vorelli become a sensation when he astounds audiences by actually getting off Vorelli's lap, walking to the front of the stage and greeting the crowd. The morons around Vorelli think he's really just an amazing magician, but the truth is MUCH. MORE. SINISTER. Hugo is a loose cannon and needs to be locked in a cage every night. Hugo and Vorelli even have a stand-off at a cocktail party where the dummy menaces the magician with a butter knife. It's a must-see for that scene alone.

Creep factor: 9

Hilarity factor: 9

The next person who recommends Pantene gets stabbed in the face.

1. Trilogy of Terror (1975)

The "zulu fetish doll" segment, starring the always awesome Karen Black, has the dubious honor of being both legitimately creepy and unabashedly hilarious. If the little zulu statue with the piranha-like teeth, itty-bitty spear and cat-on-a-fence-at-midnight screechings isn't fabulous enough, his "attacks" are even better. He pops out of the bathtub! He somehow manages to open a door, despite being about a foot tall! He jabs a steak knife under doors! He saws his way out of a suitcase! And of course (spoiler alert!) he wins in the end. They always do!

Creep factor: 10

Hilarity factor: 10,000

How do you screw up a documentary called Nazi Pop Twins?

Not as awesome as you
might think.

When I discovered that there existed in the world a documentary about our favorite racist imps Lynx and Lamb Gaede, I nearly wet myself with excitement. 


And when I discovered said documentary was entitled Nazi Pop Twins, I did wet myself and nearly soiled myself, too. Imagine: a full hour of embarrassing caterwauling from the twins' band Prussian Blue and whining about persecution from white power stage mom April.


Well, I finally watched what should have been cinema gold. It was kind of a let-down. Let me recap and you can see for yourself (spoiler alert!).


The movie kicks off with a little introduction to the Gaedes. One of the twins is shown saying, "Blacks have the more tendency [sic] to rape people" and April is filmed reading the ABCs with her (admittedly adorable) youngest child Dresden (yes, really). Of course, with April, A stands for Aryan and B stands for Blood. At least it won't be difficult to find an example word for X in April's alphabet.


Next we have the pleasure of meeting April's dad, Bill, who looks like he might be the black sheep sibling of Santa Claus  and is wearing suspenders over a t-shirt. Bill is shown buying an M-16 military assault rifle, which I'm sure is illegal. He claims Mexicans had sex with his mare (he says he's personally shot six "muds") and marks his cattle with swastika brands. You can practically smell the flop sweat, Copenhagen and wolf piss through the screen.


April holds up one of the infamous Hitler smiley-face baby tees Lynx and Lamb were photographed wearing years ago and says she doesn't understand why people didn't think they were "hysterically funny." April is practically giddy talking about all the media attention the t-shirts and the girls got. She's a gigantic sloppy frump, but she swears she's not living vicariously through her kids.


At the radio interview, the girls look to April for cues on how to answer the DJ's questions before saying things like "illegals act nasty and they don't throw their toilet paper in the toilet." I've got news for you, girls: that's a universal issue. Based on the bathrooms I've been in lately, it seems like hipsters in particular have the same problem.


Soon, we start to see the tiny cracks that are forming in the little white utopia April seems to think she's created for her family. Lynx and Lamb are actually much more normal than I expected, and when they think April is asleep, they share their reservations about their white power lifestyle with the filmmakers. Hmmm, now this is starting to get good!


Actually, now it starts to get really, really ooky. The girls are shown talking on the phone with their pen pal David Lane, a white nationalist leader who is serving a 190-year prison sentence (you read that right) for killing a Jewish radio show host. Just the kind of guy you'd want your teenage daughters befriending, right? It quickly becomes evident that April has managed to score some kind of esteem with David by pimping out the girls to him. Over the phone, David says "I better be careful what I say, but right away I thought of Lynx and Lamb and their blue eyes. They were like daughters, fantasy sweethearts." Oh god, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, yucky, icky, shower, shower, shower! Bleeechhhh! When April hands Dresden the phone to say hi, I vomited on the TV and had to go by a new one to finish watching the movie. Luckily, David Lane is now dead, so the girls are safe from at least one letch for the time being.


Next up, we're treated to a "branding party" at Bill Gaede's ranch and this is where everything really starts to go south. April is policing the filmmakers and making it very clear they shouldn't speak to her mother, Dianne. When they get Dianne alone, it's clear why. She says, "All because if this goddamn nazi shit, it's just fucking ruined my life. It really fucks you up. We've lived here 30 years and I don't have a single friend because he's so hateful. My kids are just torn apart by it. Not April—she loves it." Awesome! I love grannies who cuss!


Tensions are reaching a fever pitch all around. While having lunch at a cafe, April starts yammering about her "vision" for the girls' next music video, but Lynx and Lamb are in no mood to be managed. "A lot of people think we're a bunch of psychos!" one whines. "We want to take a break!" April opines that the new music isn't pushing the nazi agenda. Who does she think she is...Stacey Keach?


Anyway, a bomb is dropped. Bill reveals that April was once attacked and almost raped by a black man. This was back when she had big dreams of becoming a rodeo commentator. The truth comes out! Luckily, Dianne has higher hopes and bigger plans for Lynx and Lamb. She interviews that she and the twins have made a plan that when they turn 18, they'll get a car and all go up the California coast together and look for a place to live. Shit, this is really sad! Dianne says she wouldn't put it past her husband to kill her. Cripes! Let's all band together to save Dianne!


At this point, it's evident that April and Bill are completely nuts and grandma and the girls are living under an iron thumb and they want to crawl out. If the filmmakers would have run with this storyline, the doc would have been a winner. But instead, much like the SVU squad, they start getting too close to the case, as you'll soon see.


Lynx and Lamb are performing their new songs in a bar and they're pretty bad, but they're singing the material that isn't pushing the white power agenda and are pretty warmly received by the crowd. April starts going around the bar passing out Prussian Blue CDs. Then she starts saying things like, "'The Stranger' is about wanting to be around your own people," and the patrons start to see what's going on. With "Paul Revere" thumping in the background, the Gaedes are kicked out of the bar. April screams that people are intolerant and the girls scream at her to shut up. "The media is so biased about white pride, people—even rednecks in a bar—are scared shitless," April foams. "They've castrated the white race." Lynx and Lamb are clearly embarrassed. And I'm suddenly reminded of how RockitPop always yelled, "Meet me in the Sears hardware section at 1 p.m. or I'm coming to find you!" in front of everyone at the mall. It was really embarrassing and sort of like this. Only not racist.


So, say you're a white power stage mom and your two blonde, teenage meal tickets are starting to think you're a big douchey weirdo and are pulling away from you, thus potentially crushing your dreams of being famous like David Duke. What do you do? Why, what anyone in any classic abusive relationship would do, of course: move to Montana!


Six months after the bar debacle, that's exactly what April did. But it wasn't a quiet transition; local news caught wind that the infamous Gaedes were moving to their small town and protesters came out in full force. April bitches that people went door to door warning that nazis were in the neighborhood. The FBI got involved because people were making death threats against the family. 


Of course, instead of just keeping her mouth shut for once, April uses the community backlash as a chance to showcase herself as a martyr again. It's April versus the Big Sky State now! And the more the twins pull away, the more April tries to make Prussian Blue happen. She shows off all the merchandise she's had printed up: Prussian Blue mugs, mousepads with Dresden's picture on them (um, ew!), white pride rubber bracelets. And, like any self-respecting enemy of the people, she starts broadcasting a whiny radio show from her home. 


Meanwhile, Lynx and Lamb are really starting to go sideways. One even says, "I'm not a white nationalist. The whole issue made me smarter and think about stuff more before you say it and do it." The even discuss a Martin Luther King Day project they did at school that made them feel guilty about their home lives.


April forces the girls to autograph Prussian Blue posters and they are vehemently resisting. "Put on a happy face and be nice," April blasts. "Then you can act like as much of a cunt as you want for the rest of the night!" Jeez, testy! And I hate to say it, but I'm actually starting to like the twins!


April starts to blame the documentary crew for putting ideas in the girls' heads and causing them to lash out at her. "You're such a self-hating white person," she yells at the filmmakers. "You suffer from white guilt. You're very manipulative with that fake British accent!" 


This could be the best part of the movie. But instead, it all falls to shit when the director starts sniping back at April. "The more people that hate you, the happier you seem to be," he says in his fake British accent. Now they are all fighting and yelling at each other.Take a time out, Detective Stabler! Too close to the case!! But now, the twins are crying about the Hitler t-shirts, saying they thought it was a joke at the time, but they threw them away and never wore them again. 


Back in California, more chaos is erupting. Bill Gaede confronts Dianne about her interviews and she screams that YES she told them how she felt and, goddamn it, she really enjoyed it! Bill says semi-threateningly to the camera, "I hope you guys don't try to destroy us so you can get a decent little story." Bill and Dianne continue their shouting match in the driveway, and then...


Cut!


Yep, that's it. April and Bill refuse to let the film crew back for anymore interviews. We come to find out later that April's husband (Dresden's dad and the twins' stepfather) left her during the filming of the documentary. Certainly he didn't want to be part of the project, because he's nowhere to be seen or even mentioned. The twins' father has come out against the racist ideologies April spews, and it appears that the girls, now legal adults, have taken their father's last name and are living apart from April. Filmmakers, can we now get a follow-up, since the girls can make up their own minds about what they want to do? It might make up for the slappy fight that put an end to the original story. 


I found a somewhat recent article that says Lynx and Lamb are now into Buddhism and TM. I'll keep an eye out and see if these two pop up online anywhere, because it might be interesting (and heartening) to see what they're up to now that they don't have to report to psycho April anymore. Maybe they really are living on the coast in a secret location with Grandma Dianne! 


Anyway, maybe I'm being too hard on the documentary. What do you think? Check it out for yourself (for free!) right here, bitches.

Eat the rich

Have you ever wanted to
kick a cartoon's ass?

I really, really, really, really don't want to write about Gwyneth again. But what Gwynnie wants, Gwynnie gets. And she obviously wants me to keep writing about her because she keeps topping herself with stupider and stupider shit.


So with that we have another edition of lifestyles of privileged and assy, starring GP and her famous friends. ld;skfhjkhnmdjfhklwejn...oh, sorry, I just vomited and passed out for a minute on my keyboard. Get ready to do the same.


You may have seen our pretty, pretty princess in the news a lot lately. That's because she's bestowed more of her valuable Secrets to Life upon us vassals in the form of a cookbook entitled My Father's Daughter: Delicious, Easy Recipes Celebrating Family & Togetherness. "In the last 10 years or so, cooking has become my main ancillary passion in life," she gushes in the introduction. Annoying us all by way of GOOP isn't enough for this woman. No, she must come at us from all angles: the television, the movie screen, the computer, Books-A-Million... she won't be satisfied until we see her in our sleep like a specter or incubus cackling manically and quoting Shakespeare. 


The New Yorker's recent profile of GOOPy will give you a little glimpse of what that nightmare might look like (Come to think of it, she should divorce Chris and marry Eustace Tilley, that cartoon prick that serves as The New Yorker's mascot. They could polish their monocles, eat Italian truffles and sniff haughtily about the gauche bourgeoisie.)

It’s tough for some people to accept Gwyneth Paltrow’s transformation from movie star to domestic goddess. Something about the combination of her willowy looks, her glam life style (she is married to Chris Martin, the Coldplay front man), and the unlikely food tips in her e-mail newsletter, Goop—“I was stationed at the deep fat fryer (Delight! Fried zucchini! Fried anchovies!)”—produces cognitive dissonance. 

OK, I already want to begin slowly sawing away at my eyelids with a cheese grater. Being married to Chris Martin, the Coldplay front man, makes her glam? That's like saying soysage is glam. 

Paltrow, who was hosting a dinner party to celebrate her publication, was not yet drinking, but she had a glow.... Dinner guests included people who do know her: Jay-Z, Cameron Diaz, Alex Rodriguez, the Seinfelds, and assorted food-world worthies. Most guests saw nothing unusual about getting cooking advice from a stick-thin actress; in fact, many said that they associated Gwyneth Paltrow with food. Mario Batali, in pink cargo shorts, was talking to Ruth Reichl. “She eats like a truck driver,” he said of Paltrow. He recalled being in Valencia, Spain, and “watching her eat an entire pan of paella as big as a manhole cover.” Michael Stipe added, “Once, a duck she was cooking caught fire, and she threw it in the pool.”

Oh, pa-hahahahahaha! Michael Stipe, do tell us again about the time Gwyneth tossed the flaming duck into the pool! Muffy, Wilhelm, you realllllly must hear this delightful story! I could hear it a thousand times and still laugh and laugh!


Seriously, can you imagine anything worse than being at a party with Mario Batali in pink cargo shorts and Michael Stipe telling some "amusing" anecdote about a Gwyneth Paltrow and a flaming duck? I mean, I want to think of something funny that could be worse, but I can't. That is as bad as it gets. That can't even be called a party; it's Dante's purgatory. 


Oh, wait a minute...it can get worse. God help us.

Christy Turlington looked on. “We are lucky in that we have been the recipients of many meals with Gwyneth Paltrow,” she said, and mentioned a stuffed-lobster dish that Paltrow and Martin had served in Amagansett. “They do everything themselves, including the killing of the lobster,” she said. “It’s not the boiling-in-the-pot-and-screaming lobster thing. It’s a different, faster approach. I could never do it.”

Was there ever a more perfect time for a recreation of Waco? 

A financier at the party said that he associated Paltrow with scungilli: “My family and I were conch-diving down in the Bahamas. They’d cook the conch right there on the beach. And they had a TV in the little hut there, and that’s where I watched the Oscars this year.” 

Readers, I could start railing about how people are starving in the world, how people in Japan are struggling to pull their lives back together, how just 60 cents a day could buy condensed milk for an entire village. But you don't need me to appeal to your sense of compassion to realize these entitled, self-important tallywhackers need to take their conch-diving and little beach huts with TVs and go fuck themselves. God!

At 9 p.m., the guests went out to a pair of long tables on the terrace. Diaz, A-Rod, and Batali sat near Chris Martin, who had arrived looking cranky. (A publicist warned, “He doesn’t want to talk.”) Paltrow sat a few seats away, flanked by Jerry Seinfeld and Jay-Z. (The next day, she and the rapper posted reciprocal interviews on their websites. Paltrow: “I could sing to you every single word of N.W.A’s ‘Fuck tha Police.’ ”) 

This is another portion of the story that intends to make us all think Gwynnie is cool and hip. She's down with N.W.A. and Jay-Z. Are they really fooling anybody here? Cripes, if Jay-Z had any kind of street cred left (hint: he doesn't, but let's pretend), it all went bye-bye when (a.) he dined with Seinfeld at Gwyneth's, and (b.) he interviewed Gwyneth on his website. 


And Chris Martin cranky? I don't believe it! I thought that frosty, ostentatious demeanor was all just part of his big, rich rock star persona and he's really a happy-go-lucky guy.


Just kidding. Chris Martin is a total dick.

Paltrow announced the menu: roasted red peppers with anchovies, escarole salad, pasta with duck ragout. Jessica Seinfeld made a toast: “There is no one who is more comfortable or more capable in the kitchen, naturally, than you,” she said to Paltrow. “I don’t know how you do it.” She turned to the assembled guests. “And you are all so lucky to be part of Gwyneth’s world. Because this is the real deal. And she’s invited all of you good people in here. I would never do that.”

Um, haha? Guests, Jessica Seinfeld just said would never have all you filthy animals dropping your cooties all over her kitchen like Gwyneth does. Is it possible there is someone at this meeting of the minds who is more priggish than the hostess? Ooh, maybe I should start blogging about little Jessi S. 


Despite what Mrs. Seinfeld says, not everyone at the monster's ball felt lucky to be a part of Gwyneth's world.

Wendi Murdoch, sitting nearby, had said that she is a reader of Paltrow’s blog: “Only one thing comes to mind—healthy and organic.” She listed her favorite recipes: “Pumpkin soup, grilled market vegetables. It’s good. I get my chef to cook it.” 

“But you’re directing the chef,” Kelly Behun, a friend of Murdoch’s, interjected. Behun, an interior designer, was the only guest who didn’t have a Paltrow-related food memory. 

“Gwyneth?” she said. “When I see her, I don’t think of food.”

OK, I don't throw around the C-word too much, but it really is the only appropriate description here. This party has officially made the Guiness Book for having the largest gathering of cunts per capita in the world. Congratulations! Ug, what a bunch of vapid snobs! It's like the rich kids in an John Hughes movie, but real. They may as well be carrying opera glasses and discussing junk bonds. 


What would have made this story better is if the duck caught on fire again, except this time Gwynnie throws it on Michael Stipe. Because of all the acrylic hair, the fire spreads quickly. And then the sprinkler system comes on, but it malfunctions and showers everyone with electricity. And then Eazy E's ghost drives by in an Impala and sprays the whole group with AK-47 bullets and they all die screaming in a pile of linen, summer-weight cashmere and burnt anchovies.


God, I'm so annoyed by this article. I think I'm having an aneurysm. sdf;lkj;eklrmn,n;glkad;m

I turned my head to the audience and smiled—and they smiled back

So.


This post has been a long time coming. I have finally and officially seen the black metal documentary Until the Light Takes Us. 


There was a time when I didn't have high hopes for this little film, as the preview clips were boring and it appeared the directors didn't really utilize the Count to his maximum potential. How wrong I was to judge so quickly. I watched it a couple weeks ago and had to let it sink in before I posted my official review. Warning: it's going to be a long one and it's not going to be the laugh riot you're used to at S&C. So here goes.


I once received a response to one of my black-metal-kooks-are-HYYYlarious posts that said something along the lines of, "If you really feel that way, then you don't understand black metal at all."


This anonymous commenter was correct. I didn't understand black metal. I still don't and I never will, in the same way you can't understand anyone's experience until you walk in their shoes. But I can now see how the whole sordid tale played out. And much to my surprise, I found myself thinking it all made sense.


The movie starts off showing a 30-something, long-haired metal dude on a train being searched by police. "They busted me on fucking tear gas—they didn't find the drugs of course," he says. This is Gylve "Fenriz" Nagell from the pioneering black metal outfit Darkthrone. He talks a little bit about Norway ("It's like New Zealand, only just grimmer") and talks about how hands-off his fellow countrypeople are.


Suddenly, we're whisked away to a maximum security prison, and you know exactly where this is going. It's the Count! He talks about how the early black metal musicians "rebelled against traditional song structure," getting the worst equipment they could find and using a headset as a microphone to create guttural noises that sounded like hell. 


Norwegians were afraid of the black metallers almost from the get-go, and the Count says they survived on reputation alone during the '80s. Then Dead joined Mayhem.

Dead's vocals sounded like he was channeling demons from the anus of hell and he scratched himself until blood ran down his face and arms during stage shows. But then you see grainy footage of the Swedish teenager running through a field of tall wildflowers and mugging for the camera. It was hard to watch, knowing what's going to happen. He's really just a kid.


We all know what happens next. Dead's bandmate Euronymous finds the 19-year-old Dead actually dead with his brains falling out from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. The photos Euronymous took of the body famously became the cover of Mayhem's Dawn of the Black Hearts album (seriously, that link is not for the faint of heart), and Euronymous allegedly cannibalized Dead's brain and made jewelry out of pieces of his skull.


After that heartwarming scene, Fenriz is back to discuss the state of Norway in the early '90s. The establishing shots they pan through are beautiful: charming snowcapped chateaus, idyllic town squares. But in '91 the first McDonald's opened up in Bergen and Fenriz and friends didn't like it. They grabbed some rifles, rode their bikes to the restaurant and shot the windows out. "We hoped there would be a third world war," the Count says of those halcyon days. "We knew that if you want to build something new, you have to destroy the old first."


Enter the church burnings. The Fantoft Stave Church was built in 1150—on top of a pagan holy site. "It's stigmatizing to talk about heritage," says Count Grishnackh. "Christianity erased our original cultures anyway. We might have known worse periods, but they destroyed records, wanted to replace our culture. Christianity is the root of all problems in the world. They have no respect for the Norwegian culture. Why should we respect their culture?"


It's at this point in the movie that I start to get scared because...wait for it...I THINK THE COUNT IS MAKING SENSE. Forget all the racist, screamy rants and the diva-like bitching about his domain name. I am nodding my head in agreement with what he is saying and thinking, "Fuck yeah! Fight the power, Count!"


In 1992, the wooden Fantoft Church went up in flames. It was the start of a series of fires that was eventually blamed on the Count. Hysterical news reports warned of satanists in Norway's midst. Then Kerrang! magazine published an in-depth report on Norwegian black metal in 1993. Suddenly, the underground scene was front and center on the news. Copycat church burnings, satanic symbols and extreme concerts began popping up around Scandinavia and the rest of Europe. Black metal was a trend.


Fenriz is shown waiting for a phone call from an interviewer. The reporter calls and he is so friendly and kind to her. He gives an interesting, insightful interview, engages in some playful back-and-forth about his lyrics and then thanks the reporter for her time. It's a telling moment. This is the man that everyone fears, whose life's work has been reduced to a shocking moment in a cable channel countdown.


Next we see indie director Harmony Korine, who helmed the movie Kids and dated Chloe Sevigny before she was an it girl. He's dancing around like a fucking moron in corpsepaint and talking about how he's really in to black metal. "I went to Norway where all the guys burned the churches down and killed each other," he foams. "And I visited Euronymous's grave!" I couldn't have expected anything more from the director of Gummo. I fucking hate this raging douchebag so fucking much.


At first, I didn't really get why the filmmakers included this short but epically annoying scene with Harmony, but it suddenly hit me. He was practically giddy talking about  the death and destruction that occurred in Norway, and what he was saying was exactly what Fenriz and Count Grishnackh said they hated. Their art, their outlet, was viewed as the exact opposite of their intent.


Fenriz is shown attending an art gallery exhibit of black metal-inspired paintings (that are actually pretty cool). He quietly views the art and the photographs of the original black metallers hanging in the lobby. He greets the artist and leaves the gallery, hands shoved deeply into his pockets.


Now we've come to the defining moment in black metal history: the murder of Euronymous. The Count explains that he heard through the grapevine that Euronymous was pissed off that the Count granted an anonymous interview to a newspaper in which he copped to being the mastermind behind the church burnings. "He said he was going to knock me out and kidnap me and make a snuff film while torturing me to death," the Count remembers. "And I took it serious."


We all know the outcome of this little feud. The Count recounts the evening when he stabbed Euronymous to death and maintains that it was in self-defense. "He was swimming in glass fragments in his underwear with a broken lamp," he recalls. "I finished Aarseth off. I stabbed him in the skull so he died immediately."


The 20-year-old Varg "Count" Vikernes was sentenced to 21 years in prison, the most allowed under Norwegian law, for the murder of Øystein "Euronymous" Aarseth. The media referred to him as "the satanist Varg Vikernes."


On the day of his sentencing, he says,"I already knew they were going to give me the 21 years. [The judge] wanted to underline we don't tolerate this rebellion in Norway. They were expecting me to be wetting my pants or something, but it just made me smile, really. I just turned my head to the audience, you could call it, and just smiled. And from what I gathered they smiled back." 



Then they show this:

I had to rewind this scene several times. It was at this point that I remembered the anonymous comment that I didn't understand black metal. It's easy to make fun of...the corpsepaint, the ridiculous outfits, Immortal. And I'll continue to make fun of it, because it is fun. But it was at this point that I came the closest to understanding that I probably ever will. The first time I watched this scene, I gasped. By the fifth or so time I rewound it, I smiled, too.


I don't like to talk about myself in too much detail on this blog. But one of the main reasons I love rock so much is because it was an outlet to my feelings of isolation from growing up in a small town. It felt like someone else out there understood feelings I couldn't explain, someone in a place I assumed was better and cooler and more fun than where I was. These crazed rockers in Norway who burned churches and killed each other were kids like me who felt misunderstood, except they also felt helpless to what they believed was a rape of their culture. 


Fenriz describes Norway as a place that's even, with no real cultural scene. It's easy to see how something extreme can simmer up from a place that's artistically barren, freezing cold and neutral. It got out of control, but I can't say that I, as a small town girl, never felt like burning down a building or mowing a few people down out of frustration. Don't report me to Homeland Security; I'd never do that, mofos! But teenage isolation and feeling misunderstood can cause crazy thoughts to pop into your head. You've felt that way, too, and you know it.


The movie winds down with a few words from the Count about the media. "You're bombarded by commercials and senseless information every day," he says. "If you turn your head, you see a sign or a commercial, news, magazines, products being sold. Everything is meaningless."  He's sitting in prison, where he says he's had time to think and read. "It's a sea of lies and it's impossible to find the truth, unless you know where, when and how to look," he continues. "You will eventually weed out all the lies and you will end up with something at least similar to the truth. It's hidden under rocks. You'll stumble and get branches in your face and make mistakes before you finally find it."


Fenriz laments that their original music is now out in the open. "It's everyone's property and it's out of our hands," he says, shaking his head. "It's a brand now. What can I do? What's the point?"


The ironic twist at the end is that Helvete, the music store Euronymous once owned that was considered the center of black metal culture in its heyday, has been transformed into a bright, white art gallery. "I wish this whole thing didn't turn into a trend," says Fenriz.  "Then again, people like to dress up."

It's All Saints Day and everyone's Irish

The sequel to one of the greatest violent movies ever—The Boondock Saints—comes out on October 30 an it actually looks pretty fucking cool. And Peter Fonda is in it? Totally there.

Check out the trailer here.

Plenty of bitchery to come soon.

True tales of horror and depravity

Men reject their prophets and slay them, but they love their martyrs and honor those whom they have slain.
— Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I'm not even sure where to begin on this one. It's taken me a while to really post on it, because the movie made me think for a while. Wow...it's been a while.

Not too long ago, I thought Funny Games was the scariest movie I've ever seen. If you're a horror fan, watch the original Austrian version. If you're a watch-through-the-fingers type, watch the American version, starring Naomi Watts, Tim Roth and Michael Pitt. Both will elicit equal amounts of horror, depending on your horror experience. The American version is a shot-for-shot remake of the original by the same director, Michael Haneke. It's just scarier for horror fans when you don't know the actors. At least for me.

Part of why I'm writing about this now is the impending U.S. release of Lars von Trier's Antichrist. I've only seen two von Trier films and loved/was emotionally scarred for life by both. If you haven't heard about this movie, it stars Willem DaFoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg, and that's it. Yes, that's THE Charlotte Gainsbourg, originally made famous by the creeptastical duet she did with her father Serge at age 13, "Lemon Incest." And it features a rusty-scissor clitorectomy. Which caused some haughty Cannes attendees to require medical attention.

The horror genre has needed a slap in the throat since Hostel, in my humble opinion. In order, the scariest movies I ever seen were Halloween, The Omen, Rosemary's Baby, The Last House on the Left, The Exorcist, The Changeling, (the George C. Scott one, not the Angie J. one), Hostel, The Ring...and now this.

I watched Martyrs. This is a French horror film that's been getting quite a bit of buzz. On Rotten Tomatoes, it's divided exactly down the middle: 50/50 positive and negative reviews. Some say it's the torture porn disguised as a "higher meaning" thinker. Others say it is brilliant, brutal and groundbreaking.

This is officially the movie that is taking horror to the next level, again, in my humble opinion. No one is terrified by seeing slutty high-schoolers or dopey sorority chicks getting slashed and burned anymore. And because of the never-ending Saw franchise, no one wants to see people who deserve it in general get it in a super-creative way anymore. Now it's all about the higher meaning.

If you're a horror fan, don't click on that Rotten Tomatoes link...actually DON'T READ ANYTHING ABOUT MARTYRS if you haven't seen it.

As a horror-movie aficionado, I can tell you I have never seen anything like this. For a while we were all fascinated with the Japan/Asia horror films. Battle Royale, Ringu, Ju-on, A Tale of Two Sisters, Shutter, Ōdishon, One Missed Call...all good movies (some of which were made into inferior U.S. versions [excepting The Ring, in my humble opinion]) that inspired an uprise in supernatural horror. Now, it's all about the French. I couldn't make it through Man Bites Dog.

But I made it through this, albeit reluctantly, because it was not only completely horrifying, but also completely compelling. What the fuck is going on? Spoilers: it goes from supernatural horror flick to revenge flick to supernatural horror flick to OH MY FUCKING GOD horror flick to existential I-think-I-almost-understand-why flick.

I love violent movies, but this has the most horrifying abuse I've ever seen put on film. As a bleeding heart, it was really hard to make it through...but it's worth it to stick with it. The acting is superb, the story is fantastically intriguing and the horror is most certainly not torture porn. But you don't really know until you reach the very end. Just stick it out, if you can, and you'll be thinking about the movie and its themes for days. It will make you wonder why you watch this stuff and why you like it, and you'll be glad it's only a movie, but you'll still feel really dirty for a long time, if you're like me...and if you're like me, you'll love it. 'cause it's totally smart and brilliant and a horrifying look at human fear.

Now consider that there are currently negotiations going on to make an American version. WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD? Why can't people just let good foreign horror movies be? Once you've seen it, try to imagine it being made with, say, Megan Fox and Jessica Alba in the two lead roles. Completely ridic and depressing.

So I think because I made it through Martyrs, I might be able to finally make it through Man Bites Dog. And I've been told I need to give Cannibal Holocaust a try. Um, OK. I love all you sickos who recommend these movies to me. Watch Martyrs and we'll go from there. Love ya!

P.S. Serious horror fans, don't even bother with Inside (À l'intérieur). Stupid and like a V.C. Andrews novel come to life. Casual horror fans, see it immediately, 'cause it's pretty good! But just not really that scary.

I watched the Oscars and all I got was this lousy hangover

So the Oscars. Blah blah blah.

I enjoyed the ceremony. I thought Hugh Jackman was a good host. I thought all the winners were deserving. I cried when Heath Ledger's family accepted his award. I smiled when the lovely Kate Winslet finally got a trophy. I thought all the dancing Indians were great.

And I was drunk off my ass. So of course I loved everything.

The problem with the Oscars is the seven-second delay. It takes all the fun out of it. Imagine if Mickey Rourke had won, for example—the orchestra wouldn't have stopped playing at all. They would have played him onstage and right off. Before the stupid safety delay, all kinds of fun shit went down at the big ceremony. In celebration of the land before Oscar night censorship, let's take a look back at the best unexpected Oscar moments in history

Cher (1986)
No one does bad fashion like Cher...and she does it fabulously. We would expect nothing less. And the most infamous example is the feathered headdress, showgirl glitter-strap crop top, zig-zag skirt and matching wrap thing she wore to

Angelina Jolie (2000)
Nine words: "I'm so in love with my brother right now.

Greer Garson (1942)
Greer won Best Actress for Mrs. Miniver and she also wins for the longest acceptance speech in Oscar history. The little stick man wasn't around to cue up the orchestra while Greer pontificated on the nature of competition for SEVEN FUCKING MINUTES.

Sacheen Littlefeather (1973)
When he won the Best Actor Oscar for The Godfather, Marlon Brando sent a Native American woman to publicly reject the award and not because beached whale Brando couldn't get his giant beluga ass off the sofa to make it to the ceremony. It was a boycott in protest against the mistreatment of American Indians in movies and on TV and at Wounded Knee. Backstage, Sacheen read Brando's 15-page speech to the press. She later took off her Apache garb for Playboy.

Robert Opel (1974)
Robert is a photographer, gallery owner and gay rights activist, but you probably know him as the guy that ran naked across the stage while David Niven was presenting an award. The timing is impeccable—Niven says "And now to divulge the contents of this year's most important envelope is a very important contributor to world entertainment..." then BAM! Peen and a peace sign! For some reason, the music starts up. The Niven quips, "Isn't it fascinating to think that probably the only laugh that man will ever get in his life is by stripping off and showing his shortcomings." Oh, Niven, you lovable old queen you!

Joe Pesci (1990)
I've said it before and I'll say it again. Pesci is my all-time favorite Oscar moment because of what he didn't do, and that is go on and on in his speech thanking his golf caddy, his masseuse, god, buddah, allah, mohammed, xenu and his 50 lawyers. Instead, he accepted his award and said, "This is an honor and a privilege. Thank you."

The end.

Hollywood shitavalanche!

I can't stand Mike Myers. He's not funny and I heard that he's also a dick.

Every time I see ads for his new movie The Love Guru I want to drive sharp sticks under my nails just for a little enjoyment and comic relief. As if this movie wasn't ridiculous enough already, Jessica Alba plays the owner of a hockey team. If there's anything worse than precious resource-wasting bad comedies, it's movies with stupid skanks cast as thinkers. Sort of like when Tara Reid played a street-smart anthropologist and when Denise Richards was cast as a brilliant nuclear physicist in that James Bond movie.

Anyway, The Love Guru is just one in a long line of offensively unfunny-looking comedies that are currently (or about to be) crapping all over the big screen. You Don't Mess With the Zohan is the latest Adam Sandler vehicle. He's another one that I don't get. The man is not funny by any stretch of the imagination. This latest abomination has him doing a stereotypical impression of an Israeli who fakes his own death to follow his dream of being a hairstylist in New York. Wow, that sounds fucking HILARIOUS! How far into it before they make a hairy crotch joke?

Here's another one for you. Read this synopsis and just guess who the star is: "A crew of miniature aliens operate a spaceship that has a human form. While trying to save their planet, the aliens encounter a new problem, as their ship becomes smitten with an Earth woman." Surprise! Eddie Murphy is playing the "spaceship"! And he's also playing the alien pilot! And about 50 other roles in the movie! One of which I'm sure is a fat black woman in a bikini! And another of which is a fat kid who farts a lot! Get in line now for your tickets to the cleverly-titled Meet Dave because it's going to be a cult hit! And maybe it will even win an Oscar like Norbit did!

Also coming out soon is the movie version of He's Just Not That Into You, starring Tinseltown's favorite sad sack Jennifer Aniston. Now there's a casting director with a sense of humor. This is a movie that's based on a self-help book. Oh my god, it's going to be excruciating! I predict the "plot" will revolve around a group of friends who meet up regularly in a hipster-filled coffee shop/mojito bar to lament their latest hilariously lousy dates and good-naturedly grouse about their hopeless love lives. Yippee, another one! I'd almost rather watch Meet Dave. Almost.

So anyway, the point is that we can pretty much count on no haw-haws this summer. No laffs for you! Just comic book movies.

Here's what Hollywood needs: a new rating system that labels comedies by how fucking stupid they are. The Lowest Common Denominator Rating, as it were. Here are some suggestions to get the ball rolling:

F(D)S: Fat (Drag) Suits

DCCC: Descecration of a Cherished Childhood Character, i.e. Doctor Doolittle, the Cat in the Hat, Garfield

F125: lead character will essentially Fart for 125 minutes straight

DB: Dating Bitchfest

EES: Eisenhower-Era Stereotypes, i.e. mincing gays, loud black women, boob-grabbing Down's kids

Any other ideas, you mad genii?

That all said, I completely loved Semi Pro. And I think I might be the only person in the world that thinks Dead Man on Campus starring Mark-Paul Gosselaar is fucking hilarious. Yeah, I'm all about dopey comedies, especially if they involve mascot abuse and Will Farrell in his manties. I just hate Mike Myers, Sandler, Eddie Murphy and Aniston.

Here comes your 19th nervous breakdown

"I'm a celebrity and I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

Immortal words from you, Blohan! You screamed these lines while on a coke-fueled bender that ended with you in cuffs by the end of the night and in a posh Club Rehab by the end of the week. Who do you think you are? Neeley O'Hara? If you've ever actually seen Valley of the Dolls you'll recall that after ripping the wig off the head of the woman who made her in a bathroom catfight, Neeley ended up drunk, strung out and sobbing in an alley, friendless, fanless and career in shambles.

This year, many celebs channeled their inner Neeleys with award-worthy meltdowns. Some actually had to pay for their actions. All were laughed at. Here are the years best and brightest.

13. Anna Nicole Smith
I've got big love for Anna Nicole. Poor thing ended up doing herself in after her son's death. My question is: whatever happened to her assistant Kimmy? I want to know where she is in all this. I'm actually kind of surprised she didn't come forward and claim to be Dannilynn's father.

12. Paris Hilton
Call me crazy, but I actually felt for this poor little simpleton when she was being toted away in the back of a police car sobbing like a poopy-pantsed toddler. I even felt a little bad for her when she wrote her fluffy little notes from prison, simpering about how frightened she was and how the bedsheets were itchy. But then when she sauntered out of the jail like she was walking a Heatherette show and then went right back to her uselessness. I was duped! Never again, Hilton, never again.

11. Joe Simpson
OK, so Jessica and Ashlee's creepy dad didn't actually have a breakdown, but he is so fucking ooky that there's no way he should be skulking among us. He is so hot for his own daughter that he will do anything to shine up her tarnished little star by foisting her upon us in horrible movie after horrible movie that all end up going straight to video. My guess is that he's got a basement full of heads, an attic full of dildoes and a few connections to missing kids, all who have dissed Miss Jessica at some point in the past. Next year, expect Ashlee and Wentz to disappear in the Rockys on a private flight.

10. Chris Crocker
This will be the last and final time I ever mention this douchebag on this blog because god only knows we should all immediately forget about "LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE! SHE'S NOT WELL RIGHT NOW! YOU'RE LUCKY SHE EVEN PERFORMED FOR YOU BASTARDS! WAAAAAAA!" even if it was pretty fucking funny the first time.

9. Vanilla Ice
The Surreal Life: Fame Games was destined to make TV history in some way. One of the most outstanding was Vanilla Ice's batshit breakdown when Ron Jeremy voted him off the show. He threw a total shit fit and destroyed the set, tossing drums at Ron's head and cymbals at a giant lit up "Vegas" sign. Stop, Rob! Collaborate and listen! You're bananas.

8. Jenny McCarthy
Jenny's been going around to all the requisite talk shows blaming her son's autism on his childhood vaccines. Don't forget this is the chick that got famous for picking her nose and eating it on a regular basis on MTV. (For the record, this bitch is an idiot and she is spreading dangerous conspiracy theories that are being validated by the likes of Oprah, Queen of the Hausfraus. Learn more here.)

7. Heather Mills
Late this year, the former Lady McCartney went on a frenzied smear campaign against the beloved Beatle. She claimed on any talk show that would have her that the guy that wrote the immortal lyric "The love you take is equal to the love you make" called her a "one-legged bitch" and drove her to suicidial thoughts. Her little Pity Party Media Tour only succeeded in making everyone hate her more.

6. Dog
I don't want to talk about it.

5. Owen Wilson
Poor Hansel! Who knew he was a tweaker? And who knew someone like Kate Hudson could have such a death grip on someone's manhood?

4. Lisa Nowak
Official announcement: starting in 2008, February 5 is Diaper Drive Day! Celebrate by donning some Huggies and driving from Houston to Orlando. No need to actually kidnap someone, but it does help to have a desperate crush on a hunky astronaut.

3. Blohan
Never minding the coke-fueled bender, frantic partying and speeding SUV chasings, what was up with her hooking up with that ugly dude in rehab? What was she thinking? Also, now she's boring. I never thought I'd want the crunked out Blohan back because I was so fucking sick of her over the summer, but I at least expected her to be knocked up before Ritchie. Someone needs to catch up.

2. Winehouse
I kind of love Amy Winehouse, sort of the same way I love Mary Kate Olsen. I just want to pick her up and put her in my pocket and keep her as my little pet. I'd comb her hair into a little tiny bouffant and draw little tiny Cleopatra batwings on her eyes. I'd give her little tiny hits of crack and take her to the little tiny jail so she can visit her crackhead husband Blake Fielder-Civil. But it wouldn't be my fault if she wandered around London at 5 in the morning in only a bra sobbing or being arrested for fraud, because she's little and tiny...AND CRAZY.

1. The most beautiful fall of them all
Ah, Britney. You've taken over my blog—your biggest accomplishment of '07. Among your other achievements this year, you:
• shaved your head and beat up cars with an umbrella,
• performed several "mini-concerts" by way of comeback and fucked all of them up royally,
• appeared on the VMAs in what was perhaps the most important show of your career and fucked it up royally,
• offered an exclusive, my-side-of-the-story interview to OK magazine and fucked it up royally,
• "fought" for custody of your kids and fucked it up royally,
• took your clothes off and romped in the Pacific for the paps in your bra and undies,
• exchanged clothes with strippers then puked all over yourself in the same night,
• got naked in a hot tub with some random frat specimen,
• performed multiple traffic violations, all captured on film,
• filed a restraining order against your mom,
• rambled incoherantly on your official website,
• made the lamest video ever,
and et cetera ad nauseum. Congrats, kook, and keep it up! I'm like Nero playing the fiddle while Rome falls through this beautiful disaster. Can't wait to see what '08 brings!