Halloween is just a few days away, but everyday can be Halloween with the Frankenstein Necklace by Peter Von Erickson. This unique choker style necklace was sculpted and cast from durable vinyl by Mr. Peter Von Erickson himself. While you will not get this choker in time for Halloween, it’s a great gift to a horror lover, or to aid in your “creature of the night” appearance. This necklace will surely have you in stitches, literally!
The Frankenstein Necklace by Peter Von Erickson is available online at www.vonerickson.etsy.com.
Is The Ward, John Carpenter’s first foray into straight horror since Halloween, a triumphant return to the big screen or simply horror mediocrity?
by Adam Rosina
Since we’ve been over this before, I’ll make it quick: I love John Carpenter. You know it. I know it. God, the Devil and Siddhartha fucking Gautama know it. Easily one of the most respected, influential, re-imagined (there’s been no less than three remakes of his work, with at least two new ones in the pipeline right now) and imitated fantasists in filmmaking, In his prime (the late 70s to the early-to-mid 80s), Carpenter was a financial cash cow, though not exactly immune to critical scorn over his films‘ violent content. Sadly, the tides began to turn with the release of The Thing and Big Trouble in Little China, films that were panned by critics (viciously) and moviegoers. Carpenter, undeterred, unleashed a string of films (Prince of Darkness, They Live, In the Mouth of Madness) that further discarded traditional notions of horror and took on such intellectually robust themes as social control, quantum physics, and consensus reality, all to the detriment of his box office grosses and the confidence of his financial backers. It didn’t help that the man had a habit of losing focus and letting his films get away from him, turning them into confused messes. Thought-provokingly watchable messes, but confounding enough to convince viewers to cease drinking the Kool-Aid by the late 90s. By 2001, the director had so much trouble securing funding for his films that he was forced into unofficial semi-retirement. But after some long overdue critical re-evaluation and the explosion of his cult fan base, Carpenter was again able to muster the funds necessary to mount a theatrical release. Thus we come to The Ward, Carpenter’s first foray into straight horror since Halloween. In watching it, I was possessed of an emotion no other Carpenter film had provoked in me: Boredom.
I have to share my obsession with the store Plasticland, I am constantly checking their website for cute and creepy items. Once again Plasticland has got me excited, this time about the Spooky X-Ray Skeleton Bones Apron, it’s such a nice relief from the boring old white chef’s apron. Whether you’re a master cook, a baker, or someone who enjoys grilling, this apron is to die for.
We all have a penchant for the dark, the macabre, and the taboo. Nottingham UK’s Krissy Gore of Gore Couture makes this otherwise “secret” fascination a part of her everyday. In a word: sick, but we love it that way. It is the one-of-a-kind artistry that goes into each corset fashioned at GC that brings the taboo to the forefront, but makes ownership of any of these creations an experience in blood-soaked craftsmanship.
photographers : Iberian Black Arts Photography and Bodó Janos Attila
models/stylists : Morgana, Elyssia, RazorCandi, and Silent Noise
interview : Vanity Kills
If sugar and spice and everything nice isn’t exactly the first thing you look for while corset shopping, there’s always broken mirror shards, disembodied doll heads, and stitched cadaver flesh. Let’s face it, sometimes gratuitous use of graphic horror violence warms the cockles of one’s blackened heart in ways pink floral brocade never will. Such occasions call for wearing something that makes a truly visceral impact. Like a gore-geously crafted steel boned underbust, bedecked with printed pages straight out of a serial killer’s diary — complete with eyelids harvested from those who perished at her hands. At times like this, Krissy Gore of Gore Couture makes exactly what it takes to quench your sartorial blood lust. This master craftswoman and corsetière, adept at glamourizing the ghastly, will clothe your inner zombie/vampire/bird of prey in tight-lacing garments designed to elicit stares of awe and admiration alike. Who says that torture and dismemberment shouldn’t be synonymous with style?
When did you first discover your love of corsetry? When did the deciding moment of merging your love of horror with your love of corsets take place?
Krissy Gore : I discovered my love of corsetry many years ago. For me they were always the icing on the cake to any outfit, whether on show or worn as a foundation garment. Gore Couture was a natural progression having already worked and been associated with other alternative clothing companies. I was already making corsets and was wanting to combine my corsetry skills with my art when I met Miss Fiendish who at the time was making some pretty awesome PVC prints. We got together and created Gore Couture. GC is now just myself, Krissy Gore, creating all the designs, prints, and embellishments from scratch.
Soooooo, what do you get when you pair up Rob Zombie and Vans? You get a limited edition Sk8 Vans shoe with original artwork by Rob Zombie! The high top sneaker is staying true to the old school skate shoe, while infusing a graphic of ghoulish woman, bats, and cemetery images for a modern take on a classic design. These would be great summer sneakers for both guys and gals, hurry up and grab these before they are gone!
The Rob Zombie Limited Sk8 HI Sneakers by Vans are available on at www.punk.com. You can also visit www.vans.com to check out all info on the upcoming Vans Warped Tour!
Every so often, a foreign genre film finds its way to American shores (usually via bootleg file-sharing) that builds up such an underground buzz about it that it can’t help but bleed over into the mainstream. Audition was one such film, kicking off the “Asian horror” invasion (in quotations because very few of said films, including the above example, are strictly horror, regardless of what people call them). Europe, refusing to be dethroned as the premier exporter of fright flicks, fired back with the likes of Let the Right One In, Antichrist, A Serbian Film, and now, Troll Hunter. These foreign films usually resonate with American audiences for one of two reasons: either they present sex and violence with an extremity that shocks even our usually robust sensibilities (Read: America loves it some gore and tits), or they deliver a story and presentation that is remarkably novel and fresh. Troll Hunter is very much the later. While its mockumentary style may be familiar to US viewers by now, rarely, if ever, has it been used to such successful effect. And as much as the film fits into horror genre, its roots lie equally in the Spielbergian tradition of adventure films (albeit sans Spielberg’s positively fucking saccharine preoccupations), which is likely the source of its crossover appeal. Director/writer André Øvredal takes a familiar type of film and cleverly re-packages it with the “day in the life” portrayal of a blue-collar monster hunter, ups the scare factor significantly and offers up truly unique CGI creations that are culturally, not to mention visually, alien to us.
Troll Hunter opens with three college filmmakers, Thomas (Glenn Erland Tosterud), Kalle (Tomas Alf Larsen) and Johanna (Johanna Mørck) setting out to make a documentary about a supposed bear poacher operating in the Norwegian countryside. Why in god’s name anyone would want to watch, let alone make a film about some lone nut ventilating bear carcasses with shotgun slugs is beyond me, but this is all really just a vehicle to get the characters to track down the supposed poacher, an aloof man named Hans (Otto Jespersen). After a handful of unsuccessful attempts to speak with him, the students follow Hans into the woods, expecting to catch him red handed on camera. Instead, they encounter him bolting between trees, screaming “Troll!”, as he is pursued by an unseen giant. After the danger has passed, the trio convince Hans to open up about his secretive profession, that of a government-sanctioned troll exterminator. The students elect to follow Hans as he goes about his duties to expose the secret of the trolls to the public, as well as document and honor the national hero they come to view Hans as.
Otto Jespersen’s portrayal of Hans could very well be the film’s greatest asset. I was quite surprised after seeing his solemn and stoic role here to discover that, in his native Norway, he’s primarily known as a comedian. Then again, looking back on the film, many of the biggest laughs come courtesy of Jespersen’s ultra-dry delivery (his response to the question of whether or not a Muslim would have as much to fear as a Christian in the presence of a troll is priceless). Later on in the film, Jespersen delivers a haunting recollection of being forced to massacre a pack of trolls pups with all the remorse and disgust of Vietnam vet. This informs the final troll hunt in a particularly melancholic way, with Hans venturing off not to do battle with a hated foe, but to reluctantly put down a suffering animal. Outside of Jespersen, the three young actors playing the student filmmakers are also quite good, but thematically they exist more as a plot device than characters, and they resonate accordingly. Of note, though, is Tomas Alf Larsen’s very believable nervous breakdown in the troll cave, which does allow his character to rise above the rest, however briefly, before he exits the film (in a particularly frightening fashion). It’s a great Lovecraftian moment where his mind snaps under not only fear of death, but the strain of having to stare these eldritch creatures in the eye.
The third film in Tsukamoto’s series started by the staple underground horror masterpiece, Tetsuo: The Iron Man. Shot in digital HD with a theme song by Trent Reznor, will it compare?
by Adam Rosina
Tetsuo: The Iron Man was, and in many ways still is, the extreme film proving ground. When exploring the labyrinthine world of underground cinema, you either stumble upon this flick or have it forced upon you by an all-too-eager (and likely somewhat sadistic) friend, and how you react to it determines whether you continue down the rabbit hole or retreat back to the safety of mainstream cinema. Shinya Tsukamoto’s 1989 feature-length debut (“feature length” is generous; it clocks in just over an hour) was pure weaponized cinema; a violent speed-freak take on cyberpunk built upon a foundation of existentialist and psychosexual themes. Also, it had a drill penis. Tsukamoto made a name for himself with Tetsuo, and built a career that paralleled that of David Cronenberg (his closest western analogue), making films that slowly moved away from the fantastic and into the realm of the psychological (Tokyo Fist, Bullet Ballet, A Snake of June), while maintaining his focus on the visceral. Tsukamoto returned to the world of Tetsuo in 1992 with the release of Tetsuo II: Body Hammer, an ambitious follow up that, while a good film in its own right, didn’t have nearly the same impact as its predecessor. Which brings us to 2011, and the North American release of Tetsuo: The Bullet Man, the third film in the series and Tsukamoto’s first English-language film, designed to reintroduce the Tetsuo concept to the international film world. Does it succeed in matching the artistic triumph of the original? Not exactly…
When asked what movies I was looking forward to in 2011, Hobo with a Shotgun consistently topped the list. It’s no secret that I’m a huge fan of the current “grindhouse revival”, kicked off in 2006 with the aptly-titled Tarantino/Rodriguez double header, Grindhouse. Since then, we’ve seen modern takes on blackploitation (Black Dynamite), biker flicks (Hell Ride), spaghetti westerns (Sukiyaki Western Django) and whatever the hell Nude Nuns with Big Guns is supposed to be. The great thing about these throwback flicks is they’re made to resemble the way you remember classic exploitation films, not necessarily how they actually were. We often forget how subjective our memory is, and while your 13 year-old self couldn’t help but relish in the mind-blowing awesomeness of movies like The Amazing Mr. No Legs or Bloodsucking Freaks, go ahead and watch them now. The strings show, the plots stop dead for 20 minute chunks, and they just don’t work. They’re little gems of weird cinema and still well worth a watch, but charming ineptitude aside, their audacious punch often doesn’t mitigate our adult scrutiny. These latter day exploitation films play like 90-minute versions of old-school B-movie trailers; “…every shot is a money shot.”, to quote Eli Roth. The other great thing about this new wave of trash films is they’re getting even better as they go, in utter defiance of the law of diminished returns. This is especially true of the official Grindhouse releases, with both Planet Terror and Death Proof proving to be good, not-so-clean fun, Machete reaching near operatic heights of insane bloodshed, and now Hobo with a Shotgun comes along, loaded with so much bad taste and brutal-yet-cartoonish violence that it may be the final word on the sub-genre.
Rutger Hauer stars as the Hobo, riding the rails straight into a shit-hole called Hope Town (making him an actual hobo and not just a homebum as the term is often incorrectly applied). Within mere moments of his arrival, the Hobo becomes acquainted with the crime-ridden nature of the city, witnessing local crime lord Drake (Lexx‘s Brian Downey) and his two sons (Nick Bateman and Gregory Smith) performing a brutal execution in front of a fearful mob. Growing increasingly fed up with Hope Town’s criminal element, the Hobo finally acts, preventing young hooker Abby (Molly Donsworth) from being raped by Drake’s son, Slick, and attempts to turn him in to the local authorities. He finds out very quickly that the cops are on Drake’s payroll, and he’s mutilated for his trouble. Abby finds the Hobo bloodied in a dumpster and takes him in, forming a bond between the two. Finally, after witnessing yet another atrocious crime, the Hobo snaps, grabs a shotgun and begins his crusade, dispensing his own brand of street justice.
I have major spring fever and have been buying up dresses like a crazed women. One of my coveted purchases is the Bat Attack Dress in gray by Sourpuss Clothing. I’m in love with the batty print, the sweetheart bust, and the comfortable fit. Take a look at Sourpuss website as the Bat Attack dress also comes in pink and red!
Surrounded by controversy by its nature; an artistic film with a legitimate sociopolitical message or exploitative torture-porn trash?
by Adam Rosina
If you’ve ever fooled yourself into believing in the existence of a just and loving god, I present to you A Serbian Film (Srpski Film in its native Serbia) as evidence to the contrary. If the world was truly a good and decent place watched over by a benevolent deity, something like this would simply not exist. It is the most soul shattering and (sadly) accurate cinematic portrayal of human cruelty and capacity for sadism ever made. Nothing even remotely comes close to the sickness of this film. Not Salo. Not August Underground. Nothing.
The film, directed by first-timer Srdan Spasojevic, tells the story Miloš (Srđan “Žika” Todorović), a former porn star with near-superhuman sexual endurance who’s fallen on hard financial times. He gets a job offer through an old fuck-movie colleague to work on an art porn flick (later revealed to be an outright snuff film) for an ungodly amount of money. Wanting to provide for his wife and young son, he reluctantly agrees, and is slowly walked through a series of increasingly bizarre and violent sex scenarios under the direction of the mysterious Vukmir (Sergej Trifunović). Miloš’ grip on reality slips as his sexual appetite and disgust grow, until it’s revealed that he’s been drugged all along with a combination of mind altering substances and bull Viagra (not even making this shit up). He is taken captive by Vukmir and his film crew to be coerced into a series of still more depraved acts of sexual violence. From here on out the film rockets toward a climax so shocking it doesn’t put Oldboy’s twist ending to shame so much as it bends it over the chair and fucking humiliates it several times over.
