Short Attention Span Review - Jungle Heat a.k.a. Dance of the Dwarfs (1983)

Short Attention Span Review - Jungle Heat a.k.a. Dance of the Dwarfs (1983)

This is one of the first movies that I ever saw, and it may be the first horror movie that I watched.  That honor belongs to either this cheap horror/thriller hybrid or The Boogens.  Recently, I snagged a copy of Jungle Heat on VHS and revisited it.  Despite some pronounced shortcomings that it can't quite overcome (namely, the budget--or lack thereof), Jungle Heat does enough well to deserve a little more love from the horror community.  For starters, I found Peter Fonda to be on point, and the fact that his flawed hero is both a struggling alcoholic and a real dick made the character more intriguing.  As a general rule, you don't want your leading man to be an asshole, but hey, if you go that route, at least you're doing something different.  Deborah Raffin is way too good for the picture, and does a fine job of stumbling into jeopardy and putting up with Fonda's shit.  Which is somewhat understandable, since his role requires him to rescue her whenever he isn't getting drunk or being a dickhead.  The mood is a definite win; Jungle Heat has a wonky vibe that slowly descends into serious dread during a bleak closing reel that feels more 70s than 80s.  The sound design also warrants praise--when we finally get to the creature element of this low rent creature feature, the little boogers may look lame as fuck, but they sound terrifying.  Those roars are seriously gnarly, and an otherwise mundane score ramps up as everything goes bad in that grim finale.  Of course, the script is uneven, the direction is lackluster, and the budget is a genuine embarrassment, so Jungle Heat often runs cold.  Still,  while it's frequently regarded as abysmal by those who remember it at all, I rate it passable at worst and pretty damn dope in brief splashes of creepy mayhem.

Final Grade: C

Peter Fonda is a total dick in this cheap horror flick that I may be somewhat biased toward--it was one of the first movies I recall seeing.

To revisit this childhood fave, I had to seek out a copy on VHS.  Kicking it old school, peeps.

Short Attention Span Review - The Kindred (1987)

Short Attention Span Review - The Kindred (1987)

I plucked one from the archives today.  The Kindred is a late 80s monster movie that I may have rented a few too many times during my unruly youth.  It is rather gooey, and while I can't rightfully say that it is very good, it is a fun little monster movie.  Like many such affairs that go big often, it lands a few solid punches when it isn't getting knocked on its slimy ass.  Translation: there are some bits that work well and some gnarly effects, and there are also some sequences that fall flat and some effects that miss the mark.  By a lot.  The cast is game, with a young Amanda Pays standing out here and there while Rod Steiger slums it up.  To his credit, while many performers of his caliber would shift into neutral while slumming, Steiger actually seems pretty into it.  And the poor boy does take his lumps in the closing reel, so that is rather commendable.  Our lead (David Allen Brooks as John Hollins) doesn't exactly light up the screen, but he doesn't fall flat either.  Peter Frechette seems a little fierier in a lesser role, and this may be why he suddenly rises to the forefront in the closing reel.  The atmosphere is nice and sinister, the premise is just kooky enough to keep us involved, and an average monster movie is always better than even the greatest love stories captured on film.  That's how I see the world, anyhow.  So, yeah, this is just an average monster movie, nothing more, nothing less, but it was nice to take a stroll down memory lane.  Yes, good people of the internet, I enjoyed revisiting these crazy kids and their grotesque vaguely humanoid siblings.  And if you dig creature features too, you could do far worse.

Final Grade: C

The Kindred is a gooey mess, but it's a lot more entertaining than Gone with the Wind or Titanic.  True story.

My Sleeping Brain Writes Good Lines for Sam Elliott

There are three things that stand out about a recent dream that I had:

1) The dream was pretty damn weird.

2) While dreaming, my mind is apparently capable of writing killer lines for Sam Elliott.

3) The way my brain works, when my mind writes a killer line for Sam Elliott while I'm dreaming, this experience is potent enough to wake me up.  Whereas some people might wake in the midst of a nightmare, scared out of their minds, dreaming up good material for Sam has the same effect on me.  I was literally jolted awake.  I sat there in the darkness thinking, "Wow, that was a really good line."

So, the dream involved a woman I do not know and Sam Elliott.  These two had partnered in an attempt to operate a video rental business.  Given that my dreams tend to be rather absurd, this venture was located in a canyon and their inventory consisted of VHS tapes from the 80s.  The fact that this operation utilized VHS tapes from the 80s makes a bit more sense when you take into account that the Sam Elliot present in my dreams was also from the 80s--think The Quick and the Dead.  The canyon location is a bit more puzzling, particularly since I should probably specify that there was no structure situated within the canyon.  The VHS tapes were displayed on natural formations of rock that were roughly akin to shelves. 

Anyway, some marauding band of raiders vandalized this burgeoning enterprise one night, shooting up all the tapes.  Naturally, upon discovering this carnage the following morning, the woman and Sam Elliott were both greatly upset.  The woman was crying, lamenting the fact that they had not built a structure to house and protect their merchandise as well as her inability to find those responsible and make them pay for the damage.  Sam was equally distraught, but he was too pissed off to show it.  As he climbed atop a horse and prepared to go out looking for revenge, he said the line that I'm still stuck on.

"You're wishing you had done one thing and you're wishing you would do something else," Sam growled, yanking his six-shooter from its holster and proudly displaying it with a grin.  "Well, I'm fixing to do something--and it ain't wishing."  Then he promptly holstered his weapon and rode off, blazing a path toward a violent revenge, all while I sat up with a start, pondering my brain's ability to generate quality Sam Elliott material while I'm snoring.

If you somehow wind up in one of my dreams,
I strongly advise you NOT to fuck with Sam Elliott's VHS tapes.