Really Awful Movies

There will always be arguments over when Punk Rock started or what truly constitutes Punk, but what cannot be denied is that Punk Rock was a genre of music made by music lovers for music lovers. Before it got co-opted by the mainstream (as everything cool eventually does), what could not be denied was the spirit of the genre. The DIY sensibility of the songs plus the fact that musicians need not be 100% proficient at their instrument nor require the backing of major label financing (and with that, of course, interference) defined the genre. Punk bands were disparate, but if there was any singularity that tied early Punk bands together, it was the desire to return Rock N’ Roll back to its simpler three-chord, back-to-basics roots.

So what does this have to do with the upcoming indie-horror film Scarewaves? Well, Scarewaves is directed by Henrique Couto, and Henrique Couto is a director in the Punk tradition. The man behind Babysitter Massacre works well outside the confines of the studios, makes entertaining horror movies with a DIY aesthetic, is an obvious fan of the genre, and most importantly, strips horror back to its blood, beasts and babes basics.

With Scarewaves, Couto tackles the anthology film – a sub-genre this reviewer is quite fond of. A few short one and dones plus a good wraparound is usually a recipe for some fun entertainment. In this one, the wraparound revolves around radio DJ Amos Satan who is broadcasting the final episode of his titular program. Ostensibly a call-in show where listeners regale Satan with “scary, true” stories, Satan tires of hearing the umpteenth variation of the “beehive hairdo, colony of insects” urban legend and decides that instead of listening to yarns, he’ll weave a few himself.

Tale number one, entitled “Painting After Midnight,” mixes a splotch of Color Me Blood Red with a smidge of the Faustian legend and just a dab of Dorian Gray. It begins with a model posing nude for an artist named Garrett. Model is a bit of a pretentious bitch and keeps interfering with the creative process by refusing to sit still and stop yakking. Suddenly, the lights go out and a sinister hand reaches up from below and grabs her.

The next day, there’s a knock on the door and it’s cute, busty photographer Linda (Erin R. Ryan) answering a room for rent ad. Garrett takes her on and she strikes up a fast friendship with his next model/victim Jenna. As Linda is taking a swim in her bikini or changing clothes, Garrett simply cannot take his eyes off of her. Linda, however, begins to find clues indicating that all may not be as it should in the artist’s studio. Realizing this, Garrett hits her over the head with a shovel, binds her to a chair and cuts off her clothes. It is then that we find out where the artists truly get their muse from.

The second number, entitled “Fair Scare,” deals with the aftermath of a heist. Two cousins, Mitchell and Robbie, are speeding away after absconding with nearly $2 million from a baseball stadium. They take shelter in Mitchell’s house, where his wife, who is decidedly less than respectful to her husband, talks about how to split the loot. She attempts to seduce Robbie, who speaks in a hilariously overwrought Southern accent, and tries to convince him to take out Mitchell. Robbie rebukes her and tells his cousin. Milquetoast Mitchell takes a measure of revenge on his other half and is then haunted by visions. Things, naturally, do not transpire as planned, leading to an unexpectedly poignant ending – that is until the zombie appears!

Next on the setlist is “Office Case” where gruff, disgraced veteran cop Officer Easterly is forced to take a job as a night security guard in a law office. Easterly is your Dirty Harry type who considers everyone a “scumbag” and is of the shoot first, ask questions later school. Over the course of his first night at his new job, Officer Easterly will have to face the ramifications of a lifetime of career decisions.

The final segment is “Is it Worth the Wait?” This one shows just why patience is indeed a virtue. With allusions to Polanski’s Repulsion and macabre visions aplenty, the closing number is another fun one.

Ah, but what about the encore? The wraparound involving DJ Satan closes with an unexpected and satisfying coda.

So yeah, Couto may only be employing three chords, and his gear may not be the latest and greatest, but it doesn’t matter because it works. His love for the roots of the genre shows and Scarewaves is fun, fresh and entertaining. And for that it gets a place on our turntable.

***1/2 (out of five)

Zombie Killers: Elephant’s Graveyard

Here’s a film rule of thumb: Name-checking movies practically guarantees a bad movie. Case in point, Zombie Killers: Elephant’s Graveyard, a lumbering, dreary zombie contagion movie. A pachyderm may never forget but this is extremely forgettable.

Survivors holed up in the town of Elwood, use paintball guns and padding to train for killing zombies that encroach on their territory, all the while referencing lines from superior fare such as Die Hard, Jaws and They Live.

A little self-awareness goes a long way, but in the opening voice-over zombies are disparaged for being slow-witted and slow-moving. As an opening conceit, this would work well for a movie in which the opposite is true, not for a film that confirms prejudices.

Anyway, in this town, infected people are “evicted” and tossed outside the city gates at the behest of “Doc,” a burly, measured academic in the vein of Neil deGrasse Tyson.

A young surfer-dude type Ian, asks his cynical girlfriend, “can’t we go to a better place?” And she replies, “what if Elwood IS the better place?” Astute viewers will recognize this as a variation on a verse from Corinthians or what some Christians say when a person has shuffled off this mortal coil.

Someone’s got some atoning to do.

Here’s a very dumb premise: the pandemic seems to have been caused by natural gas fracking. Fracking hell!

Billy Zane is an ex soldier and second in command. He overacts like a bladder after three espressos and Mischa Barton is rough around the edges as a pregnant wife to a weird, bearded Svengali. There are also really bad CGI deer (as an aside, it seems odd to deploy CGI for of all things, local fauna when you’re making a zombie movie).

Too much yak yak yak. No ass-kicking, no bubble-gum.

*1/2 (out of 5)

Muck

Muck is an apropos title for this one as it’s perpetually wallowed in the mire. When the most entertaining part of first-time writer/director Steve Wolsh’s film is the closing credits, you know you’re in big, big trouble.

Giving credit where credit is due, Muck starts rather unconventionally for a horror film. Instead of spending the first 20 or so minutes on exposition – introducing us to the characters; exposing their respective traits and peccadilloes so we know who will be picked off first and who’ll remain standing when the curtain calls, informing us where they’re going and why – Muck begins après attack.

As the film begins, we find one of our heroines standing terrified, shaken, filthy and clad only in her underwear somewhere in a New England marsh. She’s soon reunited with her companions. Well, not all, as one or two have already been slaughtered. The rest are equally terrified and one is on his last legs, bleeding out yet still lucid enough to pepper the banter with witty, self-aware comments about being in a horror film (see above.)

Seeking shelter from whatever storm they just faced, they find a house whose residents are nowhere to be found (naturally) which sits in the middle of nowhere (but of course). Once inside, they find that despite being nicely furnished and featuring all the mod cons, the house lacks a telephone (surely.) One, Noah, leaves to find help (yep) and the other four stay to bicker and get drunk (because that’s just natural behavior when one of your friends is dead and another is dying).

Noah’s girlfriend goes into the basement and is attacked by a group of bald, pasty, albino-like antagonists with strange scarring all over their torsos and faces, one of whom is played by Kane Hodder of Jason fame. Meanwhile, as his girlfriend is being beaten, brutalized and god knows what else, Noah leisurely enters a bar to try and find a phone.

Eventually, Noah (who thinks better of calling the police, because really, why would he want to do that?) reaches his cousin Troit whose in another bar holding court with two ladies. He tells Troit he needs help, mentions he’s in the town of Wes Craven (hilarious), and fails to inform his cousin about exactly what is happening nor the address of where he can be found. Thus, is it any wonder that Troit has zero urgency in helping his cousin and chooses first get a little more inebriated before heading out?

We’re also treated to a protracted scene of Troit’s date, played by 2012 Playboy Playmate of the Year Jaclyn Swedberg, enter the bar’s bathroom to try on an array of bra and panties because all women carry the equivalent of the entire Victoria’s Secret catalog in their purses. She spends 10 minutes posing and making duck faces in the mirror before selecting a pair and rejoining her companions. There’s a lot of T&A in Muck if that’s your thing (and it is ours), but when it stops a film dead in its tracks like it so often does in this one, it’s less titillating and more infuriating.

Noah and Troit (whose one of the more obnoxious, hateable characters this reviewer has ever come across) eventually convene at the house, learn that everyone is basically dead and have to battle the baddies in a fight to the finish. Yet the film ends so abruptly, we don’t even get that bit of resolution.

To put it bluntly, Muck sucks. Apparently a fully-funded Kickstarter prequel is in production. Perhaps it’s not too late for the backers to get a refund.

* (out of five)