Dad bod Farrell by tooth, by claw. There’s a lot of talk of stabbing stomachs at the Last Chance Hotel. Verdant bracken, the bay laps the shore. Feral singles in the turgid wood. A brutal film, richly imagined. John C. Reilly would like to be a macaw when the torture’s over.
Men’s-Rights-activist, young-Republican, Travis-Bickle-wannabe, motherfucker moves to skid row. Drinks ghost sludge. Continues to be whiny,self-righteous asshole. Murders the downtrodden. Tries to cheat on his girlfriend. Morphs into pulsating goop monster. Finally gets his in gleeful gory glory. It’s a mean-spirited, right-wing, reactionary romp through exploitation splatter in the vein of Street Trash but played a little more straight. Charmingly “flawed”, offensive, & original. There’s a cheapo Ingmar Bergman pastiche. There’s a squirting vagina-dentata chest wound. I had a lot of fun hating the protagonist, hooting at the politics, and waiting for the DIY gore FX. I recommend it.
Moose! Mammoths! Matricide! Floppy-lipped dog-bears crooning Phil Collins. A brash-headed, prehistoric eskimo learns to respect the interconnectedness of all things. This is lesser Disney but still the backgrounds are sumptuous. I watched it by lamp light in the den with my father. We snacked on caramel corn, pulled faces, wiggled eyebrows. Inside of us were tornados unmatched by the small screen’s efforts.
