Short Attention Span Review: I, Frankenstein (2014)

Wow.  Just wow.  How did this movie even get made?  I'm watching it wondering how anyone involved got through the first five pages of the script without firing their agent just for suggesting they take part in I, Frankenstein.  Making matters worse, once the opening reel made it clear that this was going to be a movie where the Frankenstein monster got embroiled in an eternal struggle between demons and gargoyles, I couldn't even enjoy this in a "so bad that it's good" kind of way.  It was too bad for that.  The CGI was like something from an episode of Charmed, the demon make-up was very Buffy-esque, and the plot got worse with every minute that passed.  The drama this Frankenstein monster/demons/gargoyles saga was able to generate suffered for a great many reasons.  Having said that, here are the three most damning issues that the movie faced: 1) the Frankenstein monster was stupid, 2) the demons were very stupid, and 3) the gargoyles were so stupid that they almost made the demons and the Frankenstein monster seem intelligent.  Aaron Echkart was game throughout, though at some point he certainly realized that this lame attempt at a franchise was a true turd--I could see it in his eyes.  The harder he tried in spite of this, the worse I felt for the poor guy.  I feel like he was looking in the mirror every night after shooting saying, "I got ripped for this?"  Yet he soldiered on, carrying Bill Nighy and everyone else involved further and further into the abyss with every valiant step forward that he took.  If you're thinking about watching this one anytime soon, don't.  Save yourself.

Final Grade: F-

Yo Herman, what did you think of I, Frankenstein?

Weird Dreams - 8/24/2012 Edition

I'm a deranged horror author, so it should come as no surprise that I have lots of nightmares and weird dreams.  There's some strange stuff happening inside my cranium, and sometimes my nocturnal escapades are so bizarre that I feel the need to share them.

So, last night I dreamed that my good friend Dave Scearce (a swell guy and one of the best bassists around) took me to see a comedian perform at a stone amphitheater.  The comedian was a figment of my imagination and not an actual comedian, and I can't remember if he was any good or not.  Besides, it wasn't important to the dream.  Anyway, we were watching this guy perform and I got up to go to the bathroom.  Suddenly, I became weightless, and I began to float upward.  I reached a height of maybe forty or fifty feet, and then this zero gravity phase of my dream came to an abrupt halt.  I plummeted downward, terrified, and slammed into the cruel rock surface that the amphitheater was composed of.

This left me with a mangled arm that was bleeding freely and a deep gash in my head that was bleeding even worse than the mangled arm.  Making matters worse, I began vomiting up blood.  Lots of blood.  Dave was quick to lend a hand, and he rushed me to the hospital.  I told him not to call Kristen (my wife) until we saw a doctor because I was hoping that it wasn't that bad and I didn't want to scare her.  This while I continued to gush blood from my wounds and puke up lots and lots of blood repeatedly.

Once we got to the hospital, we had to wait a while, but finally the doctor hit the scene.  He looked like a normal enough guy, but I knew things had taken a turn for the worse when he introduced himself as Dr. Frankenstein.  My misgivings were confirmed when he pulled a gun on me and said, "My prescription: one round to the base of your skull to put you out of your misery."

At that point, I looked to Dave and acknowledged that it was time to call my wife. 

. . . . .

Anyone who wants to offer me some meaningful insight into that absurdity is welcome to do so.