Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. As you may be aware, I’ve unleashed my fair share of bellyaching in regards to the Godzilla movies, namely the schlocky direction adopted by its earliest entries. But here I am, faced with quite possibly the goofiest film of them all, not to mention a heaping helping of crow upon which I must feast. To say Son of Godzilla is childish is to infer that the ocean is a tad moist, or that Uwe Boll makes bad movies. It represents the final phase of transforming what was once an icon of fear into a Saturday morning cartoon come to life — and, going against all logic and reason, it’s some of the most fun you’ll ever have watching this meanest of the green muthas.
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At this point, Ringu and the popularity it’s enjoyed need no introduction. But what made folks go ga-ga for it in the first place? Aside from scaring the bejeesus out of you better than very few could, it was a film that played fair, one whose plot twists not only came as a surprise but made sense upon recollection. That’s why it’s sad to see so many of its imitators using these devices as their own personal “get out of logic free” cards. You can’t just jerk the story where you want it to go without rhyme or reason, but movies like One Missed Call 2 think otherwise. On top of being pretty mediocre as far as mysteries go, the flick adds insult to injury by not just painting itself into a corner plotwise but by taking the most senseless, audience-enraging way out too.
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Released in 1986, Entrails of a Virgin is like the Japanese equivalent to a bad Troma film. It’s the first in a trilogy of gory pink films (also including Entrails of a Beautiful Woman and Female Inquisitor) by director Kazuo Komizu. Although most people might consider this one to be tamer than the next two installments, it still has enough awkward moments to make you feel like you just sat front-row-center at a Rod Stewart concert.
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In the realm of sexual cinema, it is hard to find a solid place away from pornography. My past reviews on films, such as the first two Emmanuelle pieces and Ma Mère, put me into factions of utter shit (Emmanuelle basically being softcore and Ma Mère being a rancid meatball of disgust and obsession). A recent attempt to find someone who can master this subject matter also failed, in the form of A Very Young Girl. But Romance may just be the knife this genre needs to slice through the mold of tits, ass, and filth.
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The gore film is arguably one of the most fun genres in cinema history. Its excessive nature and ruthless tactics make mainstream slashers look like the Care Bears. Director Lucio Fulci is one of the most renown masters of gore, most notably for his piece Zombi 2. Cat in the Brain is arguably one of his most bloody films, if not the bloodiest he has ever done. However, in its chainsaw-hacking, eyeball-gouging, non-stop slashing wake, the film leaves very little story and a terrible surprise for those that have not seen Fulci’s full line of work.
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