Slashers and screwball comedies are the comfiest.
27 years old
Totally not freaking out
He / him
A Bay of Blood: A Ranking of Slashers (1974 - 1990)
Directors Suite: John Carpenter (Dirty Synths, Stabs, and Eyepatches)
Black silhouetted madness. A Hitchcock-fused brew of style and suspense; a cold-blooded thriller in the simplest of terms, amplifying towards a slick spit of snazzy horror sensation with its distinct sense of reality that lurks within each brooding shot. Bleached strains of coldness drifting from its mask of evil; the devil's eyes sitting with scopic vision. Stalking, waiting, and pursuing;…
A true hodgepodge epic slathered in too much showiness. A hate/love letter to Hollywood (I guess?) that wears thin pretty quick. Couldn’t care less about the majority of characters in this, but I did appreciate some of the exquisitely good looking moments. Biggest thrill I got out of it was the awesome red tint during the film’s most exciting set-piece, despite how long it took to get there. Nevertheless, I’m still pretty confused and disappointed by what I saw. I really wanted to like it.
Truly baffled by the ending, too.
Pretty good! Some exceptionally tense moments and my god is there some gorgeous things done with the camera. Still unsure if I liked the ending, but overall it was mostly solid.
A vessel of John Carpenter gloss and shock. The Fog meets Assault on Precinct 13 meets The Thing, fizzling in a flimsy array of Carpenter claustrophobia. Cults, cloaks, and crosses (not to mention triangles); an illuminati-astronomical parasite honing to a drained abyss. Emergency-red brightness cascading on victims and heroes, drowning in an dissolute echo of dread. An urge to fight, run, and creep. A shitstorm of a night for the characters and the audience. A hell-bent creation of freaks and…
The Year is 2017: Ranked and Reviewed
The wettest kind of consciousness, percolating memories that flood with no specific significance, nor cascade with the true essence of meaning—they sit, stir, and rattle the brain with all of its attempts at explanation. Beckoning an existential gaze that beautifies the believers and the heroes—surrounded in a stream of fake electronic components and fake matter. To these wanderers, life is fenced in and forgotten, intact with their provisions and protocol—this is the future,…