Category Archives: Reviews

Angels and Assholes

Angels and Assholes

So a while back I wrote a review (…From The Future!) of the Angels and Airwaves vanity project LOVE. Anyone with half a brain could see that it was nothing more than facetious satire. Cut to a month and a half later (because these kids are a little on the SLOW side) and the A&A community are hopping pissed. Turns out, they’re not all about peace and love like Mr. Burns after his longevity treatment; they’re a bunch of intolerant homophobic cyber-bullies.

Check the comments section of my original review to see what makes Tom Delonge’s mascara run. Click the image below for the concurrent rabble-rousing on the AVA message board.

Angels and Assholes 2

It’s sad, really. They can talk the talk, but the second someone disagrees with them or pokes a little fun, they fly off the handle (AKA Tom Delonge’s dick) and start calling people faggot. Granted, no one over the age of 16 likes this band, but still. There’s no excuse for what happened over at the jabber Facebook page. Way to represent your message, guys!

Angels and Homophobes

Not that it matters. The only thing the “message” of Angels and Airwaves improves is Tom Delonge’s bank account. He’s like the leader of a religious cult, benefiting from the unquestioning devotion of his sheep-like acolytes. Guess what, guys- there’s no spaceship/comet waiting to fly you to heaven once you drink the poison Kool-Aid. And you’re certainly not making the world a better place. Just a funnier one.

The Jabber Reviews Creeps

"The Orange Eats Creeps" by Grace Krilanovich

Huff some paint and ride the rails over to ChuckPalahniuk.net, where you can check out my review of Grace Krilanovich’s Burroughsian nightmare, The Orange Eats Creeps. You’ll be happy to know that, although greatly influenced by the man, Krilanovich doesn’t seem to share Burroughs’ fetish for sodomizing young boys hanging by their neck. Enjoy!

The Orange Eats Creeps is a surreal coming of age horror story, a drug-fueled rape fantasy threatening to overtake reality. Almost every sentence is a half-remembered dream of suppressed emotion, which makes summarizing the narrative a difficult endeavor. The synopsis on the jacket puts it best- a girl with drug induced ESP… searches for her disappeared foster sister along “The Highway That Eats People.” Throw in some comparisons to Twin Peaks and a serial killer named Dactyl and you’ve got yourself an interested me

The Triumphant Return of Movie Reviews… From The Future!

Shitty Future

Stumbling like a cyber-drunk around the nerdosphere, I recently discovered a cool little blog called The Trailer Trashers. They had a pretty inspired format wherein they reviewed the promotional trailers of upcoming films to determine how likely they were to see said films upon release. Unfortunately, by my next visit they had already abandoned that approach and were reviewing films that hadn’t even started shooting (which is still pretty cool.) So I decided to combine/steal their ideas and start reviewing films I hadn’t seen based solely on their trailers.

Then I realized, wait a minute, I was doing that shit back in 2007! For all I know, they could have stolen that idea from me! Maybe that’s why I liked the format so much. Either way, I’m heralding the return of the prophetic film review here at the jabber. With the trailer as my crystal ball, I shall gaze into the future and  judge a film’s cinematic worth.  If I actually wind up seeing a film I “review,” I’ll revisit that review in an effort to gauge the accuracy of my prognostication. My past predictions has been eerily prescient, so I’m quite confident in my abilities.

So without further ado, I present our inaugural return review- Park Chan-wook’s short film, Night Fishing, which was shot completely on the Apple iPhone. BOOSH!

Night Fishing (Paranmanjang) is a fun little flick, combining a traditional Korean ghost story with the expressionistic aesthetic of Canada’s Guy Maddin. The film is decidedly lacking in both sissy boys and slap parties, but it does deliver in the befuddled-Asian-guy-confronts-spirits department.

Not only that, the film itself is actually a long-form phone commercial, and is rife with telecommunications subtext. It is a amalgam of high-tech and low-fi with a dash of east-meets-west cultural relativism thrown in for good measure. Frankly, it’s a funny way to sell phones, but is a welcome addition to the cinematic canon from one of fandom’s most beloved directors.

Sofia Coppola Takes A Great Big Boring Shit All Over My Chest

Somewhere poster

And boy, was it loose. The lovely Ms. Coppola hasn’t written a film with a strong plot since she wrote a film with someone who actually knew what a plot was (Jefferey Eugenides, The Virgin Suicides,) but Somewhere takes the plotless fecal cake.

The film opens with a page torn straight out of the Vincent Gallo book of filmmaking- a Brown Bunny inspired shot of a Lamborghini driving laps around a racetrack. Ugh. Our intrepid director follows that up with multiple scenes featuring the listless “stripping” of the Shannon twins, if you could call it that. They don’t even take their clothes off. We know these vacuous Hefner rejects like to get naked, throw us a bone here! Even Gallo knew enough to follow up all the self-indulgent monotony with an onscreen blowjob. It’s about payoff!

The first third of this film was a one-way trip to stink town. Thing is, after about 30 minutes, you kind of get used to the stench. I wouldn’t exactly say I started to enjoy it, but once the little girl enters the picture the film becomes tolerable. Unfortunately, some pleasant interactions between father and daughter do not a strong movie make. I attribute the warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest during these scenes to the cascade of hot intestinal offal, not the poignancy of the relationship.

It is a subtle manipulation. After the lights came up and exposed the messy aftermath, after the recycled Lost In Translation moment where the movie should have ended, after the actual, unfulfilling open-ending-  I couldn’t help but feel used and ashamed.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m too close to the material and I’m being vindictive. Maybe one day I will tell the world about the time I tried to catch Sofia Coppola on the rebound and make her my bride, but until then…

I Guess I’m Reviewing YA Novels Now

John Belushi is Dead

Accidental YA read is nothing like accidental butt sex. The realization is a more gradual process, and involves less searing anus pain. It is, however, just as unfair to the unsuspecting person on the receiving end. From Chucky P dot Knee:

I think I just accidentally read a YA novel and I’m a little pissed about it.

Granted, there were no inter-Universal Monster romances, but I should have seen the signs- the atypical mass market meets trade product dimensions, the MTV Books imprint, the cover blurb from Stephanie Kuehnert (although to be fair, I had no idea who she was until I looked it up)- so I’ve got no one to blame but myself.

I considered bailing, but fuck it- I’m gonna write a review anyway. The publicist was pushing for it, and I can’t be held responsible if they misjudged their target audience. If Belushi actually is a YA novel in disguise, it’s gonna have to grow up, and fast. And if it isn’t…

Poor JB is rolling in his grave. I suffered through the novel, now suffer through my review. John Belushi Is Dead. Long live John Belushi!

John Belushi's Grave

Why couldn't it have been Jim?

Butt In The Mean Time, I Try To Hawk One…

In The Mean Time

All floating in glass...

My review of Paul Tremblay‘s speculative collection, In The Mean Time, is now ending worlds at The Cult.

Further proof that less is sometimes more, Paul Tremblay returns with a collection of shorts that excite the imagination with their potential. Not potential as in underdeveloped ability, because Tremblay has already proven himself an accomplished craftsman, but potential as in the expressing of possibility. Unfettered by the constraints of the novel, Tremblay is free to explore the mystery of vague ideas without rendering the work unfulfilling. The spaces between the words, where these stories live and breathe, represent the author at his most interesting, ensuring that In The Mean Time will resonate  long after the last page has been read.

Read all about it HERE.

Memoir of A Crime Scene Cleaner

Jeff Klima

Somebody called about a dead grandmother?

My review of The Dead Janitors Club, from ChuckPalahniuk.net:

The Dead Janitors Club is the latest entry in the emerging genre of crime scene cleaner’s memoir. Didn’t know there was a whole crop of books dedicated to the people who sop up the blood and bits of brain in the wake of heinous acts of violence? Then you probably didn’t know people actually make a living doing that sort of thing. Like Aftermath, Inc. and Mop Men before it, The Dead Janitors Club details the ins and outs of the crime scene cleanup biz, presenting titillating tales of gore for thrill-seekers and car accident gawkers. I don’t know about its predecessors, but Janitors Club is not a book about CSI caliber professionals. It is the story of a slacker frat boy and a Los Angeles county sheriff out to make a buck, learning the ropes and breaking the rules as they go.

Whatever You Do, Don’t Click On The Link For My Review of The Electric Chair

The Electric Chair

And if you do click on it, for the love of god, don’t read it. And if you do read it, whatever you do, don’t seek it out and watch it.

via TWITCH:

What do you get when you Frankenstein scenic documentary footage of a desolate island with a filmed stand-up routine written for the stage? You get an avant-garde miasma of self-loathing and Jewish paranoia called The Electric Chair. Part King of Comedy part Death of a Salesman, director Mark Eisenstein’s little (never?) seen black comedy is most note-worthy for being veteran character actor Victor Argo’s sole starring role. In it he plays a shoe salesman turned comic working out his marital issues in front of an audience that includes his domineering mother and himself as a boy. On stage with him- an electric chair, which he is continually warned to stay away from.

Encapsulated Movie Reviews: The Returnening

Blood River - Lake Mungo - Mother

Blood River- Another belt of moonshine from the Mason jar. Just as tough to swallow and as poorly acted as the previous batch, but for some reason I keep drinkin’ it.

Lake Mungo- One of those pseudo-documentary style horror flicks that are all the rage these days. This one’s about a missing girl with a mysterious past. More interesting than Paranormal Activity and less annoying than The Blair Witch Project.

Mother- Tell your children not to walk my way. Especially if they are sexually frustrated and legally retarded. A bad combo that makes for a good movie about the complicity of family.

Never Let Me Go - Rush - Last Exorcism

Never Let Me Go- Emotionally restrained adaptation of Ishiguro’s quasi science fiction novel. The only thing flatter than Keira Knightley’s performance is her chest.

RUSH: Beyond the Lighted Stage- A chronicle of the greatest drummer in the world, the ugliest woman in rock and roll, and that other guy. Kinda like a longer, better produced episode of Behind The Music. If you like Rush even a little, you’ll like this movie.

The Last Exorcism- Another one of those pseudo-documentary style horror flicks that are all the rage these days. Blair Witch meets The Exorcist meets Rosemary’s Baby. Better than at least one of those movies.

God Who Wasn't There - Galaxy of Terror - Winter's Bone

The God Who Wasn’t There- Sorry, Margaret, I’m not here to take your call. You’ll have to deal with your first period on your own. Those old school maxi-diapers are a bitch. Good thing it’s 2010 and people don’t use them anymore, although they still believe in me for some reason.

Galaxy of Terror- Galaxy of terrible. Except for the infamous giant worm rape scene, which is a bit of brilliance. It’s like the rape scene in Straw Dogs, on an intergalactic level.

Winter’s Bone- Ozarkian hillbilly noir about a young girl’s search for her deadbeat dad who might be dead. I don’t really have a joke for this one. It’s that good.

Restrepo - Beast in Space - Beautiful

Restrepo- A year in the life of a platoon stationed in one of the most strategic (and dangerous) valleys in Afghanistan. Intense doc. Makes me thankful I’m middle class and white and didn’t have to join the army. Let Them Eat War.

Beast in Space XXX- Ridiculously bad euro-sleaze that makes Galaxy of Terror look like 2001. The XXX version features spliced in porno sex, where the genitals don’t match the action. In one such scene they intercut a blond white woman with almost no pubes and a black vagina with a giant, curly bush. That’s how bad this movie is. (Click HERE to be on the receiving end of some giant beast cock. NSFW)

Beautiful- Australian Blue Velvet ripoff that suffers from a lack of Dennis Hopper, Isabella Rossellini’s bush, the chicken walk, and David Lynch behind the camera.

PREVIOUSLY:

Encapsulated Movie Reviews

Another Exciting Installment of Encapsulated Movie Reviews: The Pirate Edition

Encapsulated Fantastic Fest Reviews

James Ellroy Has Mommy Issues

Hilliker Curse

He also has a new memoir, which I have reviewed, over @ the Cult. 224 pages of scar-laced neuroses called The Hilliker Curse. The Demon Dog has no secrets (or shame.) It is very raw and very good.

Onanist. Pervert. Peeping tom. Glue huffer. Panty sniffer. Homeless drifter. John. By his own admission, James Ellroy has been each of these things; he wears it like a badge of honor. In his mind, as a child, he was a murderer. As an adult- a dedicated son and a devoted husband. But what a lot of people don’t realize, is that above all else, he always has, and always will be, a man whose life is ruled by women.

Click HERE for full review.

Also: Blood’s A Rover.

Share