As a special treat for you hardcore fans of The Driller Killer, B-Movie Bonanza offers more than 200 super high quality screencaps of the 1987 cult classic Slumber Party Massacre II, all from Scream Factory's awesome new Blu ray and taken by yours truly. Enjoy and please don't forget to check out my personal commentary track for the film!
For the first weekend of March, the Amazon Kindle Edition of The Facility is free, free, absolutely free!!! Hurry up and grab it while you can! Read, enjoy, and please don't forget to leave a few words in the reviews section!
“Never mind the stupid
cape, bonehead. Just give me the crown.”
The universe can be a
strange, unpredictable, and oftentimes nefarious place, as I’ve discovered lo
these three-plus decades. So many unanswered questions keep our ever-spinning
minds at work. Who built The Pyramids? Why are we here? What is the true
meaning of it all? And, more recently, what in the name of Christ is up with
the amount of attention, and/or lack thereof, B-Movie Bonanza has been
receiving?
The blog itself gets a
pretty consistent 200 hits per day, which I can’t complain about, since I don’t
advertise as aggressively as other podcast do. What befuddles me is the
questionable hits the episodes themselves have been receiving. I don’t mean
“questionable” in the “doubting accuracy of numbers” sense, but in the “why the
hell has audio consumption so drastically shifted?” sense. I’m sure you’re on
the edge of your seats for further explanation, so here we go.
It’s been pretty hard to
attract attention on YouTube, but with the endless hours of readily available
content, I can’t compete. Why listen to 90 minutes of me rambling on about
movies no one likes, when there are thousands of stupid human tricks and cat
videos to keep one entertained? As I so often say, Vimeo has been where my bread’s
buttered. There have been episodes of B-Movie Bonanza that received
upwards of 30 hits within the first ten minutes online, this without any
promotion at all. For most installments, a steady climb would follow with the
passage of time, except for a few, which couldn’t quite reach the 25-mark.
In recent months, however,
Vimeo hits have begun to taper off. Most of the newer episodes haven’t been
able to reach double digits, while over on YouTube, the show earned more than
10,000 cumulative hits. The Strip for Action and Stripteaser episodes
alone have surpassed 3,000 listens each. Alas, I think this has more to do with
horned-up Millennials, who stream hoping to find actual strippers in a state of
undress. Others believe the channel contains the titles themselves (the Serial
Slayer episode received a comment that stated simply: “Where’s the
movie?”).
There’s been other unusual
activity on YouTube as well. Don’t get me started on the 4 pricks who gave the Eyes
of a Stranger episode “dislikes.” I’m not entirely sure what it is
these few find so contemptible about this particular endeavor. Nevertheless, I
hope they fall bare-assed onto a fresh pack of Gillette’s. Why the hell is the
“dislike” option even there? It only makes it easier for faceless trolls to be
even nastier than they already are. If you can’t say something nice, then shut
your clap trap or I’ll be forced to go all South Philly on your asses.
Despite this steady stream
of turmoil and strife, I managed to bang out a brand-spanking’ new episode for
your listening pleasure. It only makes sense to follow up the 1980 slasher
essential Prom Night with its completely unrelated 1987 sequel? While I
favor The Last Kiss over Hello Mary Lou, the latter is not at all
without merit. I think it deserves much adulation for being one of the only, if
not the only, horror movies to include a character named after Frank
Henenlotter, one of my schlock idols.
My source for this episode
was, of course, the MGM disc, running 1:36:42. This edition can easily be found
on YouTube, so why not slip into your favorite tiara and watch along?
“It’s not who you go
with, honey. It’s who takes you home.”
When I started recording B-Movie
Bonanza again, I promised myself I’d post at least one new episode per week
and, for the most part, I’ve stayed true to that promise. At the start of 2017,
however, my motivation has been lacking. I can’t see how anyone can be
motivated to do much of anything when we’re clearly at the dawning of
the apocalypse. News reports over the weekend are clear proof of that. But I’m
not (much of) a political person and this was never intended to be a safe space
to talk politics, so let’s get on with the blood n’ guts.
I’m sure this will shatter
your impression of me (damn, there goes another Sarcaz-O-Meter), but I was not
at all popular in high school. Didn’t have many friends. Spent lunch periods in
the library reading books, or in the computer lab penning pretty pathetic R.L.
Stine copycat manuscripts. Extra-curricular activities were limited to one,
Drama, and that’s only because I harbored some ridiculous delusion that I’d one
day be a professional actor. That dream died a quick and painless death when I
saw a VHS recording of one of my shows. Good thing it was the final show of my
senior year, otherwise I never would’ve had the nerve to take the stage
again—and I sincerely doubt anyone would’ve blamed me.
Seeing as how I spent most
of those four years on my own, I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise that come
prom night, I wasn’t within ten miles of the venue, which, much to my surprise,
was not our school gymnasium. I’d seen dozens of teen-oriented movies
that revolved around this rite of passage, at least in some way, so it
was more than a little jarring when I discovered there wouldn’t be crepe
paper strung along the basketball hoops, or tin foil-wrapped stars draped from the
ceiling. And, much to my chagrin, there was no prank-gone-awry which sent the
student body fleeing for cover. If that had been the case, I might’ve made the
effort. On the night of the event, I was probably curled up in bed, revisiting
one of my favorite slasher movies for the 7,000th time.
For this episode, I used the
Blu ray edition of Prom Night, running 1:32:44, so if you’d like to come
along for the ride, pop it in and feel free. Think I'll dig out my old high school yearbook and re-read the endless pages of non-existent signatures.
“I think your
sweetheart’s been taking too many diet pills.”
Happy motherfuckin’ New
Year, B-movie fanatics! I don’t know about you, but I’ve been counting the
seconds until 2017. The past 365 days were by far and away some of the worst
this country—nay, this world—has seen in quite some time. So many
deaths, so much senseless violence, and...do I even have to say it? No, but I
will: DONALD FUCKING TRUMP IS HEADED FOR THE WHITE HOUSE. If I didn’t
know better, I’d assume I was stuck in one really long nightmare. One really,
really, really long nightmare. On a personal level, things have been
less than stellar, too. And no, I’m not again referencing the suspension of my
YouTube account, or the fact that I got text message-dumped by someone I
thought I was to spend my future with. It’s a little deeper than that. But hey,
I’m not one to air my dirty laundry via public media. I know it might not seem
that way, what with the things I’ve shared in blog posts, on Facebook, and
during the commentaries (the most telling being the revelation that my very
first crush was Creepshow 2 star Daniel Beer), but believe it or not,
there’s a lot I don’t say. Perhaps I’ll save it all as the basis for an
memoir one day—a really long, really depressing one at that.
As loyal subscribers of B-Movie
Bonanza have already ascertained, all episodes of this little rinky dink
operation are recorded several months in advance. This tebds to be both good
and bad—bad because I can’t wait to share all of my oh-so-hilariously
compelling anecdotes (oh look, the needle on my Sarcaz-O-Meter just broke off)
and good because a lot tends to happen in between the recording and the
uploading, thereby giving me fodder to include in the text read by all six of
you (I know, I’m flattering myself. All three of you). In this case,
something I never thought would happen is on its way to becoming a
reality: Scream Factory is scheduled to release Slumber Party Massacre II &
III as a double-feature Blu ray set! Why did I believe this would never
come to be? Well, first and foremost, I didn’t think a widescreen print of Part
III even existed (Concorde isn’t exactly famous for keeping pristine 35mm
negatives of their titles tucked away in some fireproof vault) and, well, I was
told by whoever runs Scream Factory’s official Twitter page that it just wasn’t
going to happen. Some rabid fans, however, managed to change their minds and I
couldn’t be more excited (untrue; I’d be more excited if someone actually
tracked down Keely Christian for an on-screen interview).
So, not only are fans
finally going to see these gems in crispy clear high-definition, but...wait for
it...they’ll be getting two—that’s right, TWO—versions of both
features! I don’t know about you, but I had absolutely no idea that Slumber
Party Massacre II was available in an 85-minute version, which means that
fans of this bizarre little rock ‘n roll horror classic will be treated to an
extra 10 minutes of thrills, chills, and guitar drills! Also, Slumber
Party Massacre III will be presented in its heavily censored R-rated cut
(first released by New Horizons Home Video), which runs 75 minutes, and the
extended version, which runs 87. Why do I hear Ren and Stimpy singing “Happy
Happy, Joy Joy” in the back of my head?
Unfortunately, since this
episode was recorded several months ago (and I had absolutely no idea that this
incredible two-disc set was on the way), I was forced to use the version of the
film included in Scream Factory’s Slumber Party Massacre Collection,
released back in 2010. Hopefully, the episode will whet your appetite and keep
you licking your chops in anticipation of the Blu ray, set to be released on
January 27th!
“Punishment is absolute.
Punishment is necessary. ...Punishment is good.”
We all have our little
holiday traditions, don’t we? While so many like to sing along to their
favorite Christmas standards performed by the likes of Bing Crosby ans Nat King
Cole, I prefer to rock out to the shrill wail of The Crypt-Keeper as he shrieks
such classics as “Deck the Halls with Parts of Charlie” and “We Wish You’d Bury
the Missus” (both featured on the dementedly delightful Tales from the Crypt
Presents: Have Yourself a Scary Little Christmas album). While some like to
kick back and revisit It’s a Wonderful Life (the movie title I couldn’t,
for the life of me, remember while originally recording this episode), I always
revisit Silent Night, Deadly Night, sometimes all five of ‘em. Most
holiday-themed movies are just too damned wholesome, so it always warms the
cockles of my little black heart to watch a bloodied axe blade decapitate a
snowman lovingly assembled by orphaned children.
Though I’d always had an
affinity for all things horror, there was once a part of me that temporarily
set aside dismemberment and decapitation to join in on Christmas festivities.
It would start the day after Thanksgiving, when I’d spend an entire afternoon
cutting inch-wide strips of construction paper to create one ridiculously long,
multi-colored chain used to decorate the walls and ceiling of my tiny little
bedroom. As the years went on and the tradition continued, I’d add little stars
and twinkle lights to the elaborate set-up. A three-dimensional Santa head soon
joined the equation. Finally, the piece de resistance, a foot-high re-creation
of a traditional Christmas tree, complete with grape-sized balls of cherry red.
This treasure would stand atop my TV, where I’d line wrapped goodies for my
family and close friends. I’d work myself silly each year. In early January,
when it came time to take everything down, I was beyond crestfallen. Oh, how I
hated to see it all come to an end.
As evident, Christmas once
brought me such joy and, like all children, was a time of year I’d spend so
many months looking forward to. That all changed shortly after my 18th
birthday, when I got my first job as a cashier at a large department store.
Encountering holiday shoppers quickly became a part of the day I learned to
loathe. With all the griping, groaning, and grappling for sale items, I
discovered just how nasty the holiday season made so many people. Patrons
entered my line positively itching for confrontation and seized the
first opportunity to unload all of their personal frustrations. I’d always
assumed the time of year made everyone as happy as it once made me, but that
first year standing behind a register showed me just how miserable visions of
red and green could make people, and how horribly they often behaved as a
result.
Being on the receiving end
of such animus and vitriol quite literally changed my entire outlook on “the
hap-happiest season of all.” No longer did I look forward to the colder months
and the jingle-jangle of holiday bells. I lost the desire to create my own
little Christmas village, stopped making paper chains. hanging lights, and yes,
I even did away with the mini Christmas tree. December no longer made me smile.
It made me sneer, grimace, and grind my teeth in anticipation of inescapable
chaos. I worked retail for several years after that and my stomach always
tightened with nervous knots when summer came to a close and the smell of
autumn hung in the air, for that smell signaled impending doom.
I’d like to say that since
those horrors are long behind me, my love of “the most wonderful time of the
year” has been restored, but sadly, I cannot. I’m more apathetic than
celebratory and see the 25th as a day not unlike any other. I suppose watching
splatter movies while everyone else is merrily decking the halls is my way at
flipping the bird at all those painted smiles and turning my back on what Silent
Night, Deadly Night’s embittered store clerk accurately describes as “phony
sentiment,” Thank Christ I don’t have kids. No one to act all fake and jolly
for.
I do, however, hope
that you, my B-movie fanatics, are all jollied-up for this latest episode of B-Movie
Bonanza, as it’s centered around my favorite Christmas movie. So pour
yourself a tall glass of egg nog (preferably spiked, as you’ll need a bit of
alcohol to truly understand my breed of wit) and get ready to watch the studly
Robert Brian Wilson hack up some bitches. My source: the Starz / Anchor Bay
Entertainment Blu ray, which runs 1:24:54.
