NIGHT WATCH is the first episode of a trilogy, just like LORD OF THE RINGS or THE MATRIX. After a huge box office run in Russia, Fox Searchlight snagged distribution rights and the remake rights as well.

It’s a big event film that stars an all-Russian cast because it is, well, a Russian film, after all. But just like nothing about RINGS was New Zealand, nothing about NIGHT WATCH is Russian. It feels like an American film and, for that matter, it feels bigger than any cheap recycle passing for the so-called blockbuster films these days.

The story is nothing new to film geeks, all about the “real” world spawned underneath the actual human world. It is about a prophecy of a chosen one to balance the power of good and evil. It’s UNDERWORLD meets REVENGE OF THE SITH. Now if that wasn’t enough, there are many subplots going on that get rather confusing. There are many things that are rarely explained and raise more questions than are answered, but being the first of a trilogy, I hope the filmmakers know what they are doing.

If the film has a problem, it’s in the pacing. I never thought a fast pace could be a problem, but this one feels like it outruns thunder, jetting through the story at high-octane speed, so that sometimes it is hard to realize what you are seeing or where the plot is taking you. It’s edited with so much energy. Even the special effects are wild.

That said, the stylish camera works, quick editing and special effects are the heart of the film. Or at least it feels like it to me, since it’s a bit hard to understand most of the storyline. But no matter how confused you are at the end, as the film closes with a cliffhanger, you will sure ask for the next chapter right away. DAY WATCH and TWILIGHT WATCH will soon follow. –Shogo

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What’s Spanish for “pure sleaze”?

I’m beginning to think it’s ESCALOFRIO, the original title of SATAN’S BLOOD, a nasty little Satanic shocker from Spain. With a dash of diabolic mumbo-jumbo, a severed head or two and whole lot of swinging, sweaty sex, you have a tasty little pot of sopa de sexo y sangre, with enough left over for seconds.

Bored couple Andy and Anna head out for a drive in the city, only to come upon a strange couple, of which the man claims to have been a schoolmate of Andy’s. So while you and I would be content with a quick handshake, a “how’s life been” and a meaningless exchange of phone numbers (of which you’d never call), somehow Andy and Anna are tricked into going to the couple’s house, conveniently located in the middle of Cogida del Vago.

Almost immediately, the weirdness starts, as the creepy couple like burying their faces in plates and eating unseen blood-covered foodstuffs from the cupboard, bickering about botched suicide attempts and, most intriguingly, having hardcore, dirty-fluid exchanges with one another as part of a Satanic ritual. And even after all this, the couple still agrees to stay the night.

Things get weirder as they’re set up for murder and the strange couple start dying and dying, repeatedly. Is it a joke? Are they zombies? And what’s up with the creepy dude wandering the grounds? And just what are they eating in those plates? These questions are answered in the film’s oft-repeated “twist” ending, using a device that seemed to be very popular with Italian and Spanish thrillers of the ’70s.

While I personally could have used more “horror” – there are definitely a few chilling moments — the selling point of SATAN’S BLOOD lies in the overt sex scenes that, even today, go shockingly further than even the most fuck-drenched Skinimax flick. Every naughty position, every orientation you can think of is done, all in the name of the Dark Lord. Satanic spankings all around!

This Mondo Macabro DVD would go great on a double bill with the label’s other exercise in hellish hedonism, Paul Naschy’s PANIC BEATS. Fun for the whole family! –Louis Fowler

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You know, just as the weeks of stress involved in packing up everything we own, getting our new house ready for the move, working late every night and having no free time being to build to a head that feels like it may explode, life suddenly gets good.

The Da Silva family has a problem: Their daughter – cute but creepy, in true horror film fashion – has strange visions while she sleepwalks, and awakes screaming of “Silent Hill.” When the poor girl’s crazy meds fail to kick in, Mom (Radha Mitchell) looks Silent Hill up on the Internet, discovers it’s a ghost town and decides it’d be a good thing to tote her tot there and not tell her hubbie (Sean Bean).

The girls arrive at the town, seemingly abandoned and forever raining ash. But wouldn’t you know it? The daughter is gone faster than you can say “shoulda stayed home, bitch,” and Mom spends the rest of the movie looking for her, sometimes with the aid of a shapely, leather-panted female motorcycle cop. This task would be so much simpler if Silent Hill weren’t full of strange and deadly creatures, like screaming burnt babies and some sword-handed thing with a pyramid for a head.

For about the first 45 minutes or so, SILENT HILL is terrific – full of mystery and atmosphere. But the remainder of it brings it down, as a witch subplot bubbles forth and the screenplay makes a valiant (but utterly muddled) attempt at explaining everything away. Strangely, the less people speak in SILENT HILL, the better it is. That opening half has stretches void of any dialogue, and these make for its most compelling moments.

Though I didn’t know this going in, SILENT HILL is based on a videogame. That’s not unusual for a horror flick these days, but approaching it with an arty, Euro edge is. Thanks to talent director Christophe Gans (BROTHERHOOD OF THE WOLF), that’s exactly what you get, so it’s a marvel to look at even when your ears wish for it to shut up. So far, I’ve liked everything Gans has ever put his hands on, and likewise, I’ve liked Mitchell in everything I’ve seen her in. Those continue here, although the film is seriously flawed and – sorry, folks – not scary.

The Chemical Brothers’ most recent album, PUSH THE BUTTON, gets the unofficial Internet remix treatment with FLIP THE SWITCH, an 11-track downloadable album featuring DJs you have never heard of, but songs you will instantly like (assuming you like the Chems in the first place).

So clear your download queue and get to clickin’ those block rockin’ beats. Thanks to Brian for the link!

In the future, cyborgs can feel, love and hate … but all of them have an expiration date. Combat cyborgs who refuse to die and be recycled launch an attack against Neucom and destroy those who get in the way. In the middle of this battle, some sort of conspiracy starts to unveil behind the curtains.

NATURAL CITY had so many opportunities to be a great film. The filmmakers’ attempt at making the BLADE RUNNER of Korea was courageous, and it has a visually stunning world of its own. Yet they failed at their attempts to make a mark on the genre and deliver the goods.

The world the filmmakers created is memorable, but not the characters within it. That is a major problem with the film. Releationships between the main characters lead to a bit of mystery. R is a sympathetic guy, but the way he is portrayed feels just the opposite. He is torn between love and his job, but he doesn’t show much of emotion at any time. It really is hard to like the guy, feel for him and care about his journey. The film’s pacing is rather slow and it becomes very tedious to follow the plot. Sometimes the action sequences are very cool and the pace picks up, but then everything is drowned out afterward. But the CGI is done flawlessly. Its post-apocalyptic world feels very moody and works out pretty well with matching the content of the film.

I really hate to say it, but NATURAL CITY isn’t a good film. I really wanted to like it. I was waiting for the moment it would transport me. It never happened. It does have a great style, but the film takes on style more than substance. –Shogo

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Whilst picking up ingredients for chicken enchiladas Saturday afternoon at the grocery store, I spotted a display for the newest Dr Pepper flavor: Berries and Cream. According to the logo on the label, it’s another entry in their soda-fountain favorites line, which in total also includes cherry vanilla.

Have you ever heard of anyone ordering any kind of soda with raspberry and cream flavorings? (If you are, you must have met your wife at a USO dance, when you weren’t plagued by incontinence.) Me neither. But that’s what this one is, and at two for $1, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try it out.

My verdict: Blech. I couldn’t even down six ounces of the stuff.

Next week, Universal releases Hollywood’s first movie about the horrific events of 9/11: the hijacking drama UNITED 93. This one’s about the plane that didn’t crash into any landmark or kill anybody (except those on board).

There seems to be some controversy surrounding this one, and not just because it’s a 9/11 film. Nope, some are up in arms because there are three different views about what exactly happened on the plane that led to its descent and subsequent crash. Now I’m not up on my conspiracy theories, so I can’t recount them here, but apparently the three stories are quite different, and everyone wants their own ending to be represented.

Well, Rod is here to solve that problem. Seeing as how a theatrical 9/11 film is already a risky box-office proposition, why not let Universal protect their multimillion-dollar and appease all three groups of theorists by going the CLUE route? If you’ll recall, Paramount milked quite a bit of publicity in 1985 when it released its board-game whodunit comedy CLUE with three separate endings. You had to check the newspaper to see which theater was playing Ending A, Ending B or Ending C!

Wouldn’t it make sense to do the same for UNITED 93? Since no one truly knows what went down in that winged tan can, let’s be true to all sides! In one, the “Let’s roll” guy can be the hero. In another, the scum hijackers overtake everyone. And in another, Martin Mull – entranced by Colleen Camp’s magnificent bosom – can trip on the carpet and spill something on his pants.

So the other piece of Big Hitch News is that we’re moving! Having outgrown this our residence for the past decade by one space-sucking child, we’ve bought a house about 15 minutes away from the one in which we now reside and are in the midst of packing up everything we own. I know what you’re saying: “Whoop-de-doo, Mr. Monopoly. But how does this affect me?”

Well, I’ll tell you, champ: Savings!

The file cabinet in my garage, you see, has long served as the Official Non-Hermetically Sealed Archive of Back Issues. As I’m in a big “less is more” phase, I’d prefer not to move it or the issues it shields from the elements. Seeing as how we only have a few copies of each issue left, I’ve slashed the prices, because EVERYTHING MUST GO! What used to be $6 with coast-to-coast shipping is now $4. I think one of the older issues is even down to $3, which barely covers shipping.

Anyway, if you’ve been wanting to add to your Hitch collection (you do have one, don’t you?), now’s the time. Visit the store today.

What the hell is going on in this film? This Jesus boy from an ’80s failed rock band shows up at this family’s house and gets jiggy with a mother and her daughter who are really his mother and his sister. And I thought this was some sort of philosophical, religious film about faith and love.

But let me try to sum up the film properly in case anyone really cares: MACHINES OF LOVE AND HATE is about said Jesus boy in a gas mask who is reborn from the ocean and finds his place in the aforementioned home. The family is comprised of Erika, who hit him with her car; Dad, who is handicapped; and Mom, who has a craving for flesh meat. Then Jesus Boy turns out to be some sort of religious experimental creation. Something like that.

Writer/director Joseph Parda has created way too much nonsense for even me to handle. So much is weird for no reason. So much is nonsensical for no reason. So much is terrible for good reason. There are many mysterious things that have nothing to do with the main plot or any plot, if one actually exists. If God moves in mysterious ways, Joseph Parda is the god. He must have been pissed off at God for some reason, so he had Jesus Boy do his sister and mother, with an ‘80’s Filipino film soundtrack (a la LADY TERMINATOR) playing in the background.

Needless to say, every player’s performance is unintentionally funny. No, I take it back, it’s unintentionally unnatural. SAMURAI COP has unintentionally funny performances. This is purely unnaturally odd. But then again, how do you play Jesus with a gas mask?

MACHINES is completely faithless, not reasonably junky for anyone. Possibly if you watch it twice or more, you might start noticing some hidden religious symbolisms and all (I kinda doubt it) and it could become much more that it appears to be. But that’s only if anyone can make it all the way through the first viewing. –Shogo

Buy it at Amazon.

Japanese horror was considered to be the new wave of the horror genre. It was creepy, freaky and scary. But as they start to milk it, most of J-horror started to be a retelling of the same spiritual GRUDGE story in different situations. PRAY isn’t one of them. But unfortunately, the film is so disjointed that even in its highest moments, the scares don’t have any effects.

The film’s structure is very nice, with the plot containing enough meat for everyone’s enjoyment. As the story moves forward, it starts to peel off layers after layers and unexpected events unfold. PRAY’s problem is that those plot twists and events seem very forced. Director Sato is trying to make sure things are complicated enough so we’re unable to figure things out. And that is a good intention if you execute it right.

But his biggest mistake is the film is not scary. He relies on a fair amount of the stereotypical eerie soundtrack and sound effects to “creep up” scenes. The film contains too many of those “something is in a locker but actually not when opened” moments. When something actually appears, it doesn’t have any effect because of the massive use of unimaginative scare tricks prior to the real deal.

Also, there are misdirected performances from two lead actors who don’t have any chemistry whatsoever. They just do things that don’t make any sense at all. They see a ghost but still wander around inside a nasty abandoned school. Their motivation of doing thing like that is more disturbing than the actual film. And the ending: As if the film is aiming to ride along the Korean film fever, it gets overly melodramatic. But of course the film just doesn’t end there. You got to have that “Damien devilishly smiles” moment.

All in all, PRAY can’t reach its ultimate potential because of poor execution. Its original structure within this genre is interesting, but it is a horror film after all. Scare us. Having a spooky ghost isn’t scary enough these days. –Shogo

Buy it at Amazon.

The way many kids remember going to baseball games with their dads, I remember trips to the video store. It was a small mom-and-pop operation in the small town of Blooming Grove, Texas, and they had the greatest collection of trash, low-budget horror, mostly in over-sized boxes with immediately eye-catching covers, screaming lurid things at me, with titles like ALISON’S BIRTHDAY and DR. BUTCHER, MEDICAL DEVIATE.

One box I’ll never forget is that for CRIMINALLY INSANE – with its puke-green casing, painted-on blood squirt and visage of the monstrous Ethel wielding a cleaver in my direction, with the box telling me she’s “250 Pounds of Maniacal Fury!” It always freaked me out a little.

My dad was always pretty good about letting me pick what I want, so I grabbed it and as soon as I got home, slammed it into the top-loading VCR, only to have it snap before the credits could roll. Even in 1987, that tape in the oversize box was well-worn and ancient. I since had seen it a various video stores for years, but never rented it. But that box has always been in the back of my mind. For years, I considered it one of those lost films that would never see the light of day.

Imagine my shock when I received my copy from Retro Shock-O-Rama that not only contained CRIMINALLY INSANE, but director Nick Phillips’ shot-on-camcorder sequel CRIMINALLY INSANE 2, as well as the spooky devil shocker SATAN’S BLACK WEDDING.

And as entertaining as those two are (WEDDING is a dark curio worth a look and CI 2 is good for all the wrong reasons), the main selling point for this is CRIMINALLY INSANE. It might as well be the best John Waters film John Waters never made.

First off, the whole premise is that ex-mental patient (and grossly obese) Ethel moves out of the nuthouse into her grandma’s house. What’s the first thing she does? Cook up a dozen eggs and a couple pounds of bacon for breakfast. Not able to afford this kind of grocery bill, Grandma locks up the Nilla Wafers, prompting Ethel to stab her repeatedly, thus beginning her killing spree.

Apart from Ethel’s comically insane obsession with food intake, there’s also some incredibly brilliant, incredibly offensive dialogue that sounds like it could have come straight out of FEMALE TROUBLE. For example, when Ethel’s sister is banging her sleazy, abusive boyfriend, he rationales: “Girl, you need to be beaten. All women need to be beaten. But especially you…”

The icing on the already-eaten cake is the hilarious effects, from the thick, latex-paint blood to the LSD-esque dream sequence, shot in various filters, as Ethel runs down a hall repeatedly, stabbing a mannequin.
Priscilla Alden as Ethel is wholly believable – I mean, shit, I know people like that right in the office next to me: Quiet with darting eyes and a penchant for being caught in the refrigerator, usually digging through someone’s lunch. After seeing this, she can have it.

This is one of my favorite DVD acquirements so far this year, not only for the cheesy goodness that lives within, but for the sheer nostalgic feeling for a time when video store horror shelves were laced with box after box of these films. Good times, good times. –Louis Fowler

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All this weekend, AMC will be showing all three films in THE GODFATHER series, over and over. Two-thirds of these films are certifiable classics, so at least AMC is justifying their name again, but this is exactly the way you don’t want to see THE GODFATHER movies: each one stretched out to four hours or more, loaded with commercials and with all “objectional” material cut out.

Plus, they’re calling it their “Original Gangstas” weekend. Ha. So cute.

I ask you, was there a better way to celebrate Zombie Jesus Day (as a friend called Easter) than to sit in front of your monitor for a minute and a half and watch this?

The answer is no. No, my friend, there was not.

• Oscar-winning mega-producer Brian Grazer is getting divorced from his wife of eight years, Gigi. She wrote the movie STEPMOM and a book which I’m too lazy to look up, and now the crystal ball says she can expect no more movies or books in the cards from here on out. No real reasons for the split were given, but I’m betting she cited his “cocaine hair.”

• Scientology hostage newcomer and actress Katie Holmes “gave birth” to “her baby” yesterday. The father of the health girl “is” Tom Cruise. They named the fruit of “their” loins Suri. As in Suri Cruise. In other words, she can expect to be ridiculed as Syracuse all her life. As opposed to being ridiculed all her life for having a maniacal control freak as her “father.”

• Last seen in THE ARISTOCRATS, comedian Gilbert Gottfried has been named the “unsexiest man alive” by The Boston Phoenix. Whew! I escaped again!

When released in 1982, I can see how easily laughable CLASS OF 1984 must have been: I mean, c’mon – metal detectors in schools? Warfare in the hallways? Overly liberal principals who refuse to take responsibility? Well, that’s just crazy, right?

What a difference 25 years makes.

It’s amazing how a schlocky, punk exploitationer turned out to be one of the most socially prophetic films ever made. And maybe it was for those camp reasons that this wasn’t taken seriously upon original release – to be honest, its greatest detriment lies with the stereotypical punks, who while completely entertaining, were really no-more than parental scare-tactic rejects from THE WARRIORS (and subsequently done a tad better in the Troma (homage? rip-off?) film CLASS OF NUKE ‘EM HIGH) that made the film never quite rise above its B-grade surroundings.

Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing, mind you. As a matter of fact, it’s a damn good thing. It’s easy to make films like this either too maudlin (DANGEROUS MINDS), too TV movie-of-the-week or just plain bad (Tom Berenger is…THE SUBSTITUTE!). CLASS OF 1984 avoids these pitfalls by creating one shocking scenario after another, from a haggard teacher pulling a gun on his students to the unexpected rape of a main character.

Liberal, bleeding-heart noob Andy Norris (Perry King) moves to a crime-infested inner-city neighborhood, where he takes a job as a music teacher for the perpetually graffiti-covered Lincoln High. Almost 10 minutes after walking into the building, he’s already pissed off the gang that rules the school, led by Peter Stegman (Timothy Van Patten channeling a smarmy asshole that would even make William Zabka proud). One thing leads to another and his wife is ultimately gang-raped by the vaguely Nazi punks.

The film then takes a STRAW DOGS/DEATH WISH turn, where Andy puts his foolish pacifist leanings aside in favor of extreme justice, which, thankfully, includes sawing off limbs, immolation and car crushings, as well as one of the most well-deserved on-screen deaths ever captured on celluloid.

Perry King has always been an underrated actor. From MANDINGO and LIPSTICK to ANDY WARHOL’S BAD, he’s always added a notable aura of class to his work, no matter how sleazy it gets. CLASS OF 1984 is no exception — his on-screen transformation from war-hater to war-machine is on par with (if not better than) Dustin Hoffman’s in the aforementioned STRAW DOGS. And let’s not forget the always-incredible Roddy McDowell as the on-the-edge teacher Terry, who proves in spades that if you put a gun to a kid’s head, they’re guaranteed to learn something.

Per usual, Anchor Bay gives this the deluxe treatment, complete with a fully interesting doc featuring the main cast and a info-taining commentary by director Mark Lester, who’s awareness of the predictions of the film at times goes a little overboard, but never in an intrusive way. Throw in the memorable Alice Cooper theme and this CLASS is most definitely in session. And yes, there will be a pop quiz. –Louis Fowler

EDITOR’S NOTE: I can’t believe Louis forgot to mention Michael J. Fox’s supporting role, King’s stellar work in NBC’s RIPTIDE and the two sequels: CLASS OF 1999 and the inanely titled CLASS OF 1999 II: THE SUBSTITUTE, starring Sasha Mitchell.

Buy it at Amazon.

MAREBITO is the latest horror from Japanese director Takashi Shimizu to hit North America. And mostly it is his first outside of the JU-ON (aka THE GRUDGE) franchise. It is a low-budget film, shot in eight days with digital medium, and the resulting look is appropriate and adds nice atmosphere. The problem is that it loses what it sets out to be in the beginning and doesn’t remember until somewhere in the middle.

The story follows Takuyoshi (Shinya Tsukamoto, director of TETSUO), a camera operator who becomes obsessed with the death of a man he videotaped. He wants to see what the man saw that drove him to suicide. His curiosity grows and his voyage to fear begins. Shumizu made a fascinating choice to make the film to seem like a documentary. Viewers’ curiosity will certainly arise as we feel like we are following the actual events that took place. But that really only lasts until the end of the first act.

Takuyoshi finds this girl in the underground world and takes her to observe her. She is cute, and she has a watcher, a man in black who tells him he thought he could possibly take care of her. Yes, you guessed it, she is a bloodsucking version of Gizmo! Did he know he shouldn’t feed her after midnight? From that point on, MAREBITO takes a completely different direction. The entire search for true fear that the first act established disappears and it simply becomes about the observation of behavior.

And what happens? Confusingly, the film goes down another path, becoming about alternate realities and alternate dimensions. Yes, the man in black was actually studying Takuyoshi’s behavior. It tries to say so many things and Shimizu seems to be lost in a mess of occult theories, scientific ideas, and facts mixed with fictions. He must have forgotten why his previous films were good. They were scary. A bit of conceptual mess, too, but he did give us some good, uneasy creepiness, and even those moments could save the film.

That said, MAREBITO isn’t ultimately full of the fear that Shimizu want us to feel. Or maybe that wasn’t his intention. If it isn’t, I truly can’t figure out what his intention was. But for better or worse, it is impressive that he shot it in just over a week. –Shogo

Buy it at Amazon.

So I turned 35 years old young old on Sunday. I always imagined my 35th birthday would be a real momentous one like 30 was. And since it would be my last to fall on a weekend for another four years, I assumed I could make it an all-day funfest like I did for birthdays 33 and 34.

Instead, as I stepped one year closer toward death’s door, I worked all day and had a 100˚ fever. In the middle of the afternoon, I told my wife, “Have the kids come tell me ‘happy birthday,’” because they apparently forgot. My 6-year-old daughter scrambled to her room to make me a card; one minute later, she brings me a piece of paper with a heart drawn on it. That’s it. No special design. No words. Just a heart. And it wasn’t even symmetrical. I assume she’s in her abstract period.

I think it was the worst birthday I’ve had in maybe 15 years, if not ever. At least I got one gift that day, when Borders e-mailed me a coupon for a free dessert. I redeemed that yesterday morning for a gigantic Rice Krispie treat that was so big I couldn’t get my mouth around it. I ate maybe a third of it before throwing it away. The day before, some friends gave me a Home Depot gift card, which my wife promptly confiscated to use for paint, and my brother and his wife gave me a Starbucks gift card … this after a long discussion amongst us the week prior about how I detest coffee and the Starbucks experience. (Isn’t that like giving your priest a punch card to the Mustang Ranch?) But not wanting it to go unused, I decided to try some newfangled coffee-less green tean frapawhatever they have. I literally couldn’t swallow the first sip. It was disgusting. I couldn’t even pawn it off on my kids.

So I’m considering Sunday to be a “practice” birthday and postponing my “real” 35th birthday until things calm down and I can do something fun. Hear that, God? I’m still 34, so let’s keep it that way until further notice.

(If you’re wondering, that’s not me in the photo, but my son Owen, who just turned 1. I did look like that at that age, though. And though he burst into tears seconds after this pic was snapped, I still think he had a better time at his b-day than I did.)

UPDATE: Postponing my birthday is a good idea. I have yet to officially reschedule it, but my parents gave me some money, which I used to buy a couple of DVDs (HOSTEL and the new SE of EVENT HORIZON). Things are looking up! Plus, it’s no fun to have birthday sex when you’re sick, so I’ll definitely have to pencil Sharpie that in with the wife.

Packratshow tells me that I should use the remainder of my Starbucks gift card to get a vanilla creme frappucino, which is “literally a vanilla shake.” His wife manages a Starbucks, so he should know these things. And I like shakes almost as much as sex with the wife. My wife, not his.

Lastly, as I look back, I have to say my worst birthday was in 1995. It was on a Saturday, before I had kids, and my wife had to work all day long, so I had the whole day to myself to do whatever I wanted. I sat down to watch one of four movies in a row, and there was a knock at the door. It was my dad, showing up unexpectedly, greeting me with, “Let’s go dig up your backyard.” That sucked hard.