Rack and Ruin

It is funny what passes through your brain when something as monumental and horrible as Kobe Bryant’s unexpected death is heard (even more heartbreaking that his thirteen year old daughter Gianna, and seven others died in the helicopter crash). Logic and reason no longer control your mind, and it is as if a movie reel flashes before your eyes. For me, I immediately thought of a day almost fourteen years ago to the day when the Toronto Raptors seemed to have things in complete control (up fourteen against the Los Angeles Lakers at half). It was January 22nd, 2006, the day Kobe took over – almost forty-two minutes, twenty-eight field goals made (forty-six attempted), seven threes. . . a total of eighty-one points (that helped further his legend – the second highest total ever behind only Wilt Chamberlain’s one hundred). Then, the horrific 2011 Lokomotiv Yaroslavl plane crash flashed before me – 44 dead, including former NHL superstar Pavol Demitra (who I knew). You think of Jordan, Shaq, the championships, and the colossal loss. . . in complete pain for his wife, daughters and parents (who must now try to pick up the pieces after this tragic accident). You start to hear the reaction coming out – shock and disbelief. . . perhaps Tiger Woods’ forceful “excuse me” upon hearing the news from his caddy after finishing his round of eighteen sums that up nicely – for it seems surreal.

If you’ve always thought that the Christmas classic Home Alone was a bit sadistic, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Better Watch Out, co-written and directed by Chris Peckover (the story was conceived by Zach Kahn – who also co-wrote the script), plays like a combination of the above mentioned Chris Columbus directed, John Hughes scribed film, and a twist on the home-invasion horror sub-genre – something along the lines of When a Stranger Calls or The Strangers. A tough sell during the holidays, Better Watch Out really didn’t deliver at the box office, yet, in its three years since its 2016 release, it has slowly built a cult following. Twisty as much as it is twisted, Peckover relishes in this horror-fused Hughes-style world. Set in an upper-middle class home, it could sit on the same cold wintery Chicago street found in the 90s gem.

Like some sort of quirky hybrid of a Dr. Seuss story and an Abbott and Costello comedy sketch transported to the dark alleyway of a film noir, 2019's Word on the Street is a five minute foray into the wacky world of English wordplay. Written and directed by Austin Hillebrecht and Sean Parker, the former plays flat cap wearing Bugsy, a low-level ruffian who has heard that the word on the street is “implication”. Meeting up with fellow criminal Rat (Conor Eifler), the fedora wearing fella claims that it is “insinuation”.

Only David Cronenberg’s second feature film (which he both writes and directs), 1977's Rabid continues his precedence for a very unique form of horror, often referred to as ‘body horror’. . . a study in human beings, their fears, apprehensions, an awkwardness revolving around their own (and others’) bodies. Set in and around one of the most unique cities in North America – Montreal, the genesis event finds a couple, Rose (pornstar Marilyn Chambers) and Hart (Frank Moore), getting in a horrific motorcycle accident in the country. Though Hart is beat up, it is Rose that is truly in rough shape. Stranded in a most unpopulated place, they are fortunate that the exclusive Dr. Keloid Clinic for Plastic Surgery (a sort of touch up resort) is nearby. . . taking the severely injured woman in for immediate surgery.

Like bathing in the seductively sweet smells of incense and peppermint (and we mustn’t forget to add a tinge of hallucinogenic drugs), writer/director/producer Anna Biller’s 2016 fantastical multi-genre film The Love Witch is an amorous hand penned letter to the classic Hollywood era, as well as both the sexploitation and horror pictures of the 1960s and 70s. Shot in glorious 35mm film (a rare thing these days), the narrative follows Elaine (Samantha Robinson), a stunning young woman getting away from San Francisco to start a new life in Arcata. The first time we see her she is entirely in red. . . a classic vermilion tinged convertible, ruby dress, and even luggage to match – a stop light with mixed messages that is somehow prompting you to go. Yet it is her perfectly done eye makeup that must be watched. . . for it draws you into her piercing gaze, a look that will force you into those chestnut orbs – turning you into a reverse narcissist, only obsessed with a women you’ve never even met.