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Artist's Blog #231 - Baba Yaga (1973)

You Had Me At John Wick

There are certain films that pull you in before you ever hit play, and Baba Yaga did exactly that for me. The title alone carries weight, especially if you’ve spent any time around modern action mythology like John Wick, where the name “Baba Yaga” gets tossed around as something close to a boogeyman. That was the hook. Then you see the poster—pure 1970s hand-painted energy—and it seals the deal. There’s a certain kind of artwork from that era that feels alive, like it was built with intention instead of assembled, and Baba Yaga walks in wearing that identity from the very beginning. It doesn’t try to modernize itself for you. It just exists, and you either step into its world or you don’t. Grab your cyborg witch assistants, get her on her job, and read my thoughts on this, I think, interesting Italian movie.

Pace is Lethargic and Visuals Are Stunning

Once you’re in, the first thing you notice is the pace. This film moves slow—deliberately slow. Some might call it lethargic, and they wouldn’t be wrong, but it never crosses the line into being dull. Instead, it operates like a slow burn that keeps your attention without needing to raise its voice. There’s a confidence in that kind of pacing that you don’t always see, especially when compared to American horror, which often leans heavily on quick hits and reaction-based moments. Baba Yaga invites you to sit with it, to think about what you’re seeing rather than react to it, and that alone makes it stand apart.

Visually, this is where the film really earns its place. You’re not just watching a story—you’re stepping into 1970s Italy. The fashion is loud, the interiors are bold, and everything from the furniture to the hairstyles feels like it belongs in a time capsule. There’s something special about seeing that era preserved through a completely different cultural lens. It’s not just the decade—it’s the location. The architecture, the cars, the mannerisms—they all carry a distinctly Italian identity that gives the film a texture you don’t get elsewhere. If you’re someone who appreciates aesthetics as much as narrative, Baba Yaga offers lot here to take in.

Not Scared but Unsettled - Italian Horror is Different

What continues to draw me deeper into this corner of cinema is how Italian horror separates itself from the pack. I’ve spent some time with the work of Dario Argento, especially Suspiria (read my blog on this gem here), and while Baba Yaga isn’t his, you can feel that same underlying philosophy. These films don’t rely on shock—they rely on atmosphere, tone, and the ability to make you question what you’re seeing. It’s not about being scared in the traditional sense; it’s about being unsettled in a way that lingers. There’s a uniqueness to it that’s hard to pin down, but once you notice it, you start to crave more of it.

Really Impressive Story and Doll to Match

The story itself leans into witchcraft and control, but what stood out most to me was how it presents its ideas visually rather than spelling them out. The transformation of the doll into a living woman is one of those moments that sticks with you. It’s strange, a little eerie, and undeniably creative. Then it flips again—violence, transformation, and suddenly reality itself feels questionable. By the time the film reaches its conclusion, you’re left in that familiar space where nothing is fully explained, yet it all feels intentional. It’s the kind of ending that doesn’t hand you answers but instead leaves you turning it over in your mind long after it’s done.

Watch One Form of Art Document Another

Another layer that adds to the experience is the photography element. The main character’s work gives you a window into vintage camera technology—those upright, boxy designs and practical effects that feel almost foreign compared to today’s digital world. There’s something fascinating about seeing how images were captured, manipulated, and brought to life in that era. It adds an artistic authenticity that fits perfectly with the tone of the film, almost like you’re watching one form of art document another. The soundtrack deserves its moment too. Built around classical compositions, it complements the film’s pacing instead of competing with it. Nothing feels rushed, nothing feels forced—it all moves together in a way that reinforces the mood. Add in the setting of the house itself, filled with animals like cats, snakes, and birds, and you’ve got an environment that feels just as alive as the characters. It’s atmospheric without trying too hard, and that balance is not easy to pull off.

Get Outside the Mainstream

At the end of the day, Baba Yaga isn’t something I’d call a favorite, but it is something I respect. It held my attention, gave me something different, and introduced ideas that don’t feel recycled. It’s the kind of film that reminds you why exploring outside of the mainstream matters. You may not revisit it often, but it leaves an impression—and sometimes, that’s exactly what a film is supposed to do.

Artist's Blog #230 - Universal Soldier (1992)

Universal Soldier Follows the Formula But...

There’s something about late-80s action films starring Jean Claude that seems to always work at least some for me when I need a film and the Tubi list just ain't brining that fire. Universal Soldier lands right in that space. I went into this one thinking I had seen it before, but by the time the credits rolled, I wasn’t entirely convinced that I had. It carries all the familiar DNA—high-octane pacing, larger-than-life characters, and a heavy dose of explosive spectacle—but it never quite separates itself from the pack. Starring Jean-Claude Van Damme and Dolph Lundgren, the film leans into that classic clash of physicality and presence, but it feels more like a repetition of a formula than a reinvention of it. Grab your cyborg parts and infrared monocles and let's talk about this one or listen to me talk about this one rather.

Dolph Lundgren Plays a Good Bad Guy

Van Damme brings what you expect: the kicks, the athleticism, and that signature movement that defined so many action films of the era. But here, it feels dialed back in favor of gunfire, grenades, and broader action set pieces. The choreography is there, but it’s not the centerpiece. Instead, it becomes one ingredient in a louder, more chaotic recipe. Lundgren, on the other hand, steps comfortably into the role of the antagonist. He has a way of playing a villain that feels both controlled and unpredictable, and it works here. There’s a coldness to his performance that gives the film some needed tension, even when the script drifts into familiar territory.

A Road Trip of Snapshots

What stood out most in Universal Soldier wasn’t necessarily the action itself, but the scattered moments of atmosphere. A mobile military command bus cruising through open roads, a lonely gas station sitting miles away from anything with a weathered sign promising nothing but distance ahead, and a neon-lit motel that feels like it belongs in a different, more stylized film altogether. Those moments stick. They feel lived-in, almost like snapshots from a road trip you wish you could take. There’s even a quiet charm in the details—an old car resting off to the side, vintage drink cans, the kind of scenery that feels more authentic than the story unfolding around it.

Typical '80s

Of course, this is an 80s action film, and with that comes a certain suspension of logic. There are sequences that simply don’t hold up under scrutiny, and they’re not really meant to. A runaway bus continuing on just long enough for a dramatic intervention, explosions that somehow spare the characters they shouldn’t, and fight scenes where bystanders make questionable decisions at best. It’s part of the experience, but it also keeps the film from reaching a higher level. You accept it, but you don’t necessarily believe it.

Will This Be What ai Infused Soldiers Are Like?

One element that did catch my attention was the underlying concept. The idea of engineered soldiers, stripped down and rebuilt into something nearly indestructible, feels like a fusion of The Terminator and RoboCop. It’s a concept with weight, something that could have been explored with more depth, but here it mostly serves as a backdrop for the action. Still, there are flashes of something more thoughtful, especially when the film touches on the psychological and historical elements tied to its characters. It briefly hints at the darker realities of war and the kind of decisions that leave lasting marks, and those moments carry a different kind of gravity. Note - this may be what ai infused soldiers are like.

Finally, A Movie Where Van Damme's Accent Makes Sense

There’s also a small detail that I appreciated more than I expected—the Louisiana connection. It gives Van Damme’s character a bit of grounding and even offers a subtle explanation for his accent, something that films often ignore entirely. It’s a minor touch, but it adds just enough context to make it feel intentional. By the time the film reaches its final act, it leans back into spectacle, delivering a conclusion that feels fitting for the tone it’s maintained. It’s not groundbreaking, but it’s effective in its own way. There’s a sense of finality to it, a resolution that matches the film’s overall approach—direct, uncomplicated, and rooted in action.

Universal Soldier is Not a Rewatch For Me

In the end, Universal Soldier isn’t a standout of the decade, and it doesn’t quite reach the heights of the genre’s best offerings. It sits comfortably in the middle ground: a solid, watchable entry that delivers what it promises without going much further. If you’re a fan of 80s action, it’s worth your time at least once. For me, it’s not one I’ll revisit, but I can appreciate what it brings to the table and the era it represents.

Artist's Blog #229 - Night Vision (1987)

It Took 4 Nights to Watch This One...

There are certain films that feel less like a straightforward viewing experience and more like a slow drift through a specific time and place, and Night Vision landed squarely in that category for me. This is one that didn’t unfold in a single sitting—it took four nights to work through, not because it’s overly complex, but because it moves at a pace that demands patience. It’s undeniably a low-budget horror/thriller, and you can feel that in nearly every frame. The production is modest, the energy is restrained, and the overall execution leans heavily on atmosphere rather than momentum. That said, beneath that slower delivery is an idea that actually has some creative weight to it. Grab your remote to your stolen TV and let's jump into my thoughts on Night Vision from 1987 - I was only 5yo.

The concept taps into something that horror has revisited time and time again—the notion that everyday objects can carry something unsettling beneath the surface. In this case, the focus revolves around recorded media, a theme that would later be explored more effectively in films like The Ring. There’s something psychologically effective about taking an object we interact with regularly—televisions, videotapes—and turning it into a source of unease. Night Vision plays in that space, even if it never fully capitalizes on the potential. It flirts with the idea of something lurking within the media itself, something that crosses over into reality, but it never quite pushes far enough to leave a lasting impression. Watching it now, especially through modern streaming, that intended tension feels distant rather than immediate.

A Chain-Smoking Time Capsule & Fond Newspaper Memories

What stood out more than anything, though, wasn’t necessarily the horror—it was the time capsule effect. This film unintentionally becomes a window into the late ‘80s in a way that feels authentic and unfiltered. There’s a constant presence of cigarette smoke drifting through scenes, with characters chain-smoking in a way that feels almost foreign today. It’s a small detail, but it anchors the film in its era more effectively than any set design ever could. You don’t see that anymore—not in the same way—and it adds a layer of realism that’s hard to replicate.

That same feeling carries over into the background details. Phone booths appear without a second thought, something that now feels almost like spotting a relic. Newspaper boxes line the streets, operating on a kind of honor system that feels unimaginable in today’s world. Those small touches sparked a sense of nostalgia that went far beyond the film itself. It brings back memories of flipping through classifieds, circling job listings, or scanning pages filled with items for sale. There was a directness to it—a human connection—that’s been replaced by digital distance. You can’t call up a hiring manager from a newspaper ad anymore, and you certainly can’t walk into most places and follow up the way people once did. I remember because I did it.

Speaking of phone booths because these things interest me, here's some photos from my personal collection. The first was one I captured in Tignal, GA area and the second is an antique outside a Pendelton, SC restaurant.

Even the smaller, more personal memories start to surface when watching something like this. The back pages of newspapers filled with dog listings, the excitement of seeing what was available, the curiosity of what you might find—it all feels tied to a different pace of life. It’s the kind of detail that has nothing to do with the film’s narrative yet somehow becomes one of the most memorable aspects of the viewing experience. Night Vision doesn’t necessarily intend to evoke that, but it does so naturally. Quick story about dog ads. I once saw a newspaper ad, when I was a kid, for a black wolf dog w blue eyes for sale. It was half wolf and half dog. My dad wouldn't let me buy it. Looking back, that was probably a good idea. Let's roll on.

Pick a Flic Video...and Others

Then there’s the video store element, which might be the strongest nostalgic thread running through the film. The presence of VHS culture—rows of tapes, the idea of renting and rewinding, the physicality of media—is something that resonates deeply if you grew up around it. Places like small-town rental shops or chains that eventually disappeared were more than just stores; they were experiences. Seeing that environment reflected on screen brings back the tactile side of movie watching, something that streaming simply can’t replicate. There was effort involved, and that effort made the reward feel different. Here's another story for you. About 20 minutes from where I live, there was a Family Video store. This was the last video rental store I remember seeing it is now a laundry mat. Family Video, if you remember, is the video store in Stranger Things. Check out the photo below from 2021.

Beyond the nostalgia, the film also brushes up against a familiar contrast—the pull between small-town life and the overwhelming nature of the city. That dynamic feels just as relevant now as it did then. The idea of leaving a quieter place to chase something bigger, only to realize that the noise and pace aren’t what you truly want, is something many people can relate to. It’s interesting how that theme quietly sits in the background, never fully explored, but still present enough to resonate. I have to say, I left a small town to move to a small city that is trying its best to be its next-door neighbor (even bigger city) and I can't wait to get back to my small-town life. The noise, crime, and light pollution, honestly, make me sick to my stomach.

Closing Things Out

From a technical standpoint, Night Vision doesn’t offer much in terms of scares or intensity. It’s not particularly frightening, and it doesn’t aim for high-impact moments. Instead, it lingers in a space that feels more observational than immersive. The pacing works against it at times, making it difficult to stay fully engaged, and it’s not a film that calls for repeat viewings. However, that doesn’t necessarily make it without value. In the end, Night Vision feels less like a standout horror film and more like a quiet artifact from another era. It’s a reminder of how stories were told on smaller budgets, how everyday objects could inspire unease, and how much the world around those stories has changed. It may not deliver on its full potential as a thriller, but it offers something else instead—a chance to step back into a different time, if only for a little while.

Artist's Blog #228 - Turkey Shoot (1982)

Humans Being Hunted for Sport

There’s something about digging through the overlooked corners of early ‘80s cinema that always pays off, and Turkey Shoot—also known under the alternate title Escape 2000—is exactly the kind of film that feels like it’s been sitting in a dusty VHS bin waiting for the right audience to rediscover it. This is one of those gritty dystopian exploitation pieces that leans fully into its premise without overcomplicating things, and in many ways, that’s part of its charm. It doesn’t try to be overly profound, yet it still taps into a concept that has echoed through decades of film: the idea of humans being hunted for sport. It’s a formula that would later show up in more polished productions like The Running Man (read my thoughts on the one - the OG version - here) and even mainstream hits like The Hunger Games, but Turkey Shoot operates in a much rawer, stripped-down space.

Direct Drop In

The setup is familiar territory—an authoritarian system, prisoners deemed “undesirable,” and a brutal game where survival is the only objective. What makes Turkey Shoot interesting is not necessarily the originality of its premise, but how confidently it embraces it. There’s no hesitation here. The film drops you into its world and lets the chaos unfold, and while the narrative itself is straightforward, it works because it understands exactly what kind of movie it wants to be. This isn’t layered social commentary dressed up as action; it’s a direct, unapologetic ride through a bleak and exaggerated vision of control and punishment.

Attempt at Unique Hunters is Appreciated

Where the film really sparks curiosity is in its lineup of hunters. There’s a clear attempt to create memorable, almost comic book–style antagonists, each with their own distinct presence. You can see the blueprint for something deeper—something that could have rivaled the character-driven flair of franchises like G.I. Joe—but the execution stops short. These characters are visually and conceptually interesting, yet they never quite evolve beyond their surface-level traits. It’s reminiscent of films like The Mutations, where unusual figures are front and center, though in that case the concept feels more fully realized. Here, you’re left wanting just a bit more—more background, more personality, more reason to invest in who these hunters are beyond their immediate role in the chaos.

No Fear of Being Outrageous

Still, there’s no denying the creativity on display. From weapon choices to the bizarre companions that characters bring along, Turkey Shoot thrives on its willingness to be a little outrageous. It’s that same kind of imaginative spark that shows up in other cult films of the era—ideas that feel just unique enough to stand out, even if they aren’t fully explored. You get glimpses of something bigger, something that could have been expanded into a richer world but instead remains a series of striking moments.

Realism Takes a Backseat & Predictability

And then there’s the action and gore—very much a product of its time. This is practical-effects territory, where realism takes a back seat to spectacle. The violence is exaggerated, occasionally clumsy, and often unintentionally humorous, but that’s part of the appeal. There’s a certain authenticity to these effects, even when they’re clearly artificial. You can see the effort behind them, the physicality of how they were created, and that gives the film a kind of personality that digital effects often lack. It’s not about convincing you it’s real—it’s about giving you something memorable. Like many films built on this premise, there’s also that underlying predictability. You can sense where things are heading, and the structure doesn’t do much to hide it. But in a way, that familiarity works in the film’s favor. It allows you to focus less on what’s going to happen and more on how it unfolds. The tension comes from the scenarios, the encounters, and the environment rather than any major narrative twists.

Sun-bleached Film

Visually, the film carries a slightly faded, almost sun-bleached look that adds to its atmosphere. It feels worn in, like something pulled straight from another era, and that aesthetic complements the tone perfectly. There’s a grounded roughness to everything—the setting, the costumes, the overall presentation—that reinforces the film’s identity as a product of its time. Watching Turkey Shoot is ultimately about appreciating it for what it is rather than what it could have been. It’s not a film that demands repeat viewings for everyone, but it offers enough originality and energy to make the experience worthwhile. For fans of dystopian action, exploitation cinema, and early ‘80s genre films, it’s an easy recommendation. For others, it may simply be an interesting detour—a glimpse into a style of filmmaking that prioritized bold ideas and practical execution over polish.

Where Did this Idea Originate?

There’s also something to be said about how enduring this concept has been. The idea of survival as entertainment, of turning human lives into a spectacle, continues to resurface in different forms across decades of storytelling. Turkey Shoot may not be the most refined version of that idea, but it’s certainly one of the more unapologetic. It doesn’t dress itself up or try to soften its edges. It presents its world as harsh, exaggerated, and at times absurd—and that’s exactly why it stands out. This seems like something that might would have happened on an island in recent times. In the end, Turkey Shoot is a film that knows its lane and stays in it. It’s rough around the edges, occasionally uneven, and full of missed opportunities for deeper character work, but it never loses sight of its core identity. It’s a straightforward, imaginative, and sometimes unintentionally funny entry into the dystopian action genre—one that may not become a personal favorite, but is still worth the watch for those who appreciate the era and the style.

Artist's Blog #227 - Barbarella (1968)

Living Artifact of '60s Psychedelic Culture

Barbarella lingers in your mind long after the first viewing, even if you cannot fully explain why. The first time I watched it years ago, I admittedly fast-forwarded through much of it, absorbing only pieces of its strange energy. This time, however, I sat down with intention and paid attention for the purpose of writing, and my appreciation changed completely. I absolutely love this movie while simultaneously being completely confused by it, and oddly enough that feels like the correct response. Inspired by a classic comic source from the era, Barbarella feels less like a traditional science fiction film and more like a living artifact of late-1960s psychedelic culture. Everything about it reflects that movement — the visuals, costumes, music, set design, and overall tone. The narrative almost feels secondary because the real focus is the sensory experience. As someone drawn to retro aesthetics and the artistic movements of the 1960s and 1970s, I found myself fascinated not by the story itself but by the overwhelming creativity placed into every frame. Put on your space boots and let's look at my thoughts on Barbarella, a psychedelic/sci fi classic.

Psychedelia with No Apologies - I Love It!

What stands out most about Barbarella is how unapologetically psychedelic it is. There is absolutely nothing grounded or ordinary about the presentation. The environments constantly shift between fantasy, science fiction, and surreal art installation, creating an experience that feels imaginative rather than logical. The story itself is not particularly complex or impressive, but that almost becomes irrelevant because the psychedelic presentation transforms the film into an adventure driven by visuals and atmosphere instead of plot. Watching it feels like stepping into a moving piece of pop art where color, texture, and imagination matter more than narrative structure. For fans of vintage sci-fi aesthetics and experimental cinema, this approach makes the film endlessly interesting. It becomes something you watch not just once for understanding but repeatedly for appreciation.

My Favorite Costumes of All Time

The costume design may honestly be my favorite aspect of the entire film. Every outfit feels imaginative, bold, and completely committed to its futuristic fantasy world. Two costumes especially stood out to me. The first is the unforgettable skunk-inspired suit complete with tail elements, given to Barbarella early in the film, which perfectly captures the playful creativity of the era. The second is the iconic space outfit featuring asymmetrical design elements with transparency on one side and exposed midriff detail, creating a look that feels equal parts comic book and high-fashion experimentation. Whoever conceived these designs understood how clothing could become storytelling through visuals alone. If I could design clothing inspired by cinema, this film would be the reference point. The wardrobe alone elevates Barbarella into something visually unforgettable and helps explain why its imagery remains so iconic decades later.

Traditional Intimacy Has Now Become Primative

Another fascinating element is how the film approaches sexuality. Barbarella may be one of the most non-explicit yet deeply sexual-themed movies I have ever seen. Sexuality exists everywhere in tone and suggestion rather than direct depiction. The futuristic concept where intimacy is achieved through a pill and hand contact while traditional intimacy is considered primitive creates a strange but memorable layer of world-building. There are sensual undertones throughout, from character interactions to surreal imagery like the device powered by the “essence of man” or the infamous pleasure-based torture machine designed to overwhelm through sensation. The film clearly carries exploitation-era influences, yet it remains surprisingly restrained visually. That contrast gives the movie an unusual charm, making it feel provocative without ever becoming explicit, which ultimately strengthens its surreal atmosphere.

Opinions of Jane Fonda Aside, She Does a Great Job as Barbarella

Jane Fonda’s performance sits at the center of the film’s identity. Watching today, it is easy to understand how she represented a major screen icon of the era and contributed to the film’s strong themes of beauty, curiosity, and countercultural energy. While her political history has influenced how some audiences view her over the years, I approached the film purely from an artistic perspective. Personal opinions aside, her presence fits perfectly within the psychedelic universe the movie creates. She carries the role with a sense of innocence and confidence that allows the audience to move through the strange world alongside her. Even details like her hair styling contribute to the overall visual signature of the film. The character feels less like a traditional hero and more like a guide leading viewers through a surreal futuristic landscape.

Mesmerizing Examples of Vintage Sci-fi Promotional Art - GOAT

What ultimately makes Barbarella work is its willingness to embrace oddness without apology. At times the humor leans into absurd territory, occasionally giving off hints of surreal comedy that feel intentionally playful rather than distracting. Some moments even carry fantasy vibes reminiscent of later sword-and-sorcery films, blending genres in ways that feel unexpected yet effective. This is the type of movie that works wonderfully as background viewing when you want to appreciate creativity and design as much as storytelling. I will absolutely watch it again and will likely add it to my collection. Much like its legendary poster artwork — easily one of the most mesmerizing examples of vintage sci-fi promotional art — the film succeeds because it fully commits to imagination. Psychedelic, strange, artistic, and endlessly fascinating, Barbarella remains a unique cinematic experience that celebrates creativity above all else.

Artist's Blog #226 - Crocodile Dundee (1986)

Back in Time to Wood Paneled Walls and a Living Room Floor

There are certain films that instantly transport you back to a living room floor, a wood-paneled wall, and whatever cable station happened to be looping adventure movies on a Saturday afternoon. For me, Crocodile Dundee is one of those titles. Much like Conan the Barbarian Conan the Destroyer, Predator, or Rambo: First Blood, First Blood Part II, this was staple viewing in my childhood. Anything involving wilderness survival, knives, animals, and a man living off the land immediately had my attention as a kid. That was our version of entertainment growing up in South Carolina—woods, fields, and figuring things out the hard way. In many ways, those films felt like unofficial lessons in manhood. Things have changed today, that's for sure. Grab your bowie knives and look out in murky water - let's jump into my thoughts on Crocodile Dundee, a longtime favorite!

"This is a Knife..."

Although Crocodile Dundee is officially categorized as a comedy, I’ve never quite seen it that way. Yes, there are humorous moments—some intentionally over-the-top—but to me it plays more like a fish-out-of-water story with charm. The famous “That’s not a knife” scene remains iconic in movie history, right up there with cinematic mic-drop moments. When the switchblade comes out and Dundee casually reveals his Bowie knife, it’s less about the joke and more about presence. Confidence. Simplicity. That scene alone cemented its place in pop culture. And speaking of knives, seeing Dundee’s Bowie sparked appreciation for my own field knife, a well-built survival blade that has endured some serious camping “torture tests.” There’s something timeless about a dependable cutting tool. The film captures that appreciation for practical gear. It's the Tahoma Field Knife designed by Andy Tran. Check it out in the photo below - buy one if you need one. It's worth the money.

Culture Shock & Culture BS

What really makes Crocodile Dundee fascinating is the culture shock element. Taking a man raised in the Australian wilderness and placing him in New York City is a concept that almost writes itself. As someone who moved from a two-stoplight town to a growing city that constantly tries to outdo its neighbor, a much larger city, I understand that jarring transition. Even small differences—like calling someone “ma’am” and being met with irritation—can feel monumental. I once experienced that firsthand in Pennsylvania. Now imagine scaling that up to Manhattan in the 1980s. The hotels, the concrete skyline, the glimpse of Times Square—it becomes a time capsule of urban excess meeting bush simplicity. A smalltown southern boy like me could potentially have culture shock should I visit NY city. I plan to see it one day but, I want to stay outside and ride in or just pass through...with someone who can drive there.

There are moments that stretch believability. The idea that the New York subway would be quiet enough for heartfelt conversations? That everyone in New York is friendly and cooperative? I’ve never heard that reputation attached to the city. Those elements almost feel like an inside joke. And the ending, where he traverses the crowd in a rather convenient way, could have been handled with more creativity. Still, those quirks are part of its charm. Listen, I'm not picking on NY at all but, I live in still somewhat small town in reality SC. We're the south and supposed to be friendly, etc. While that is still true for the most part, I see it dying out.

Boomerangs Returning? I'll Believe it When I See It

The film also triggered some deep nostalgia. The boomerang scene immediately transported me back to my The Legend of Zelda days—the gold cartridge, the early weapon upgrades, the thrill of discovery. My brother and I once bought souvenir boomerangs from roadside stops and tried throwing them in open church fields. Not once did one return. I remain convinced that boomerangs coming back to you requires a level of Australian skill we did not possess. Watching that limo driver tosses a decorative ornament like a returning weapon brought all of that rushing back. So silly and it would never work. Watch a video on boomerangs here. This guy is a magician or something - I still don't believe it. I had to visit one after watching this movie again just to satisfy my curiosity.

I also have to give a nod to the Rottweilers in the film. As a Rottweiler owner myself, I’m always pleased when the breed appears onscreen with presence. Strong, loyal, intelligent—fantastic dogs. If you're looking for a great dog, buy yourself a Rott. You can visit my dog's Instagram page here - yes, I'm a little bit of an enthusiast. He appreciates all the follows and likes that he gets. Check him out below.

Loud '80s Aesthetic and Family Fun

Stylistically, the 1980s aesthetic shines—fashion hits and misses alike. The red dress, the jungle attire, the limousine sequences—it all feels distinctly of its era. It’s also surprisingly clean by modern standards. A little language, a few mature moments, but nothing excessive. It’s a family-friendly adventure at heart. Rewatching Crocodile Dundee felt like revisiting a chapter of movie history and my own childhood simultaneously. It may not be high drama or intense action, but it’s enduring. A classic Australian adventure comedy that helped define 1980s cinema and introduced one of film’s most recognizable characters. I’m glad I finally hit play again. Some movies aren’t just films—they’re memories.

Artist's Blog #225 - Nefarious (2023)

Nefarious Sits With You Long After Its End

There are some films you watch for entertainment. There are others that sit with you long after the credits roll. Nefarious is firmly in the second category. When my trusted friend recommended this one to me, I’ll admit I hesitated. I’m not usually drawn to modern demon-centered films, and especially not the formulaic possession spectacles that lean on spinning heads and flying furniture. But Nefarious is not that kind of movie. It’s a psychological horror thriller that trades spectacle for conversation, and in doing so it becomes one of the most unsettling faith-based horror films I’ve seen in years. Grab your holy water and whatever keeps you sane and let's jump in.

Demon Possession is Real

From the start, I appreciated that this wasn’t attempting to outdo The Exorcist (read my blog on this one here and yes, I have autographed fan art for sale) in theatrics. Instead, Nefarious grounds its horror in dialogue—measured, intelligent, and often disturbingly calm. As someone who belongs to the Pentecostal church and believes spiritual warfare is real, I found this portrayal of demonic oppression far more believable than the usual Hollywood template. The idea that possession could manifest through manipulation, mental torment, addiction, and calculated cruelty felt closer to what spiritual struggle actually looks like in the real world than Regan pissing on herself and crab walking down some stairs. Demon possession is real - visit skid row or your local version of it.

"The Carpenter" & Satan's Perspective

One of the most compelling elements is how the demon refuses to say the name of Jesus, referring instead to “the Carpenter,” and calls Satan “my master.” That detail alone signals a careful attention to biblical worldview. The film references the temptation of Christ—Satan offering Jesus the kingdoms of the world—and even alludes to the fall of Lucifer. It weaves these scriptural threads into a tense back-and-forth that feels less like fiction and more like theological chess. The demon claims their hatred for humanity stems from hatred of God—that corrupting and destroying what God loves most is the ultimate revenge. I have followed the Lord, strayed, returned, and wrestled through faith for years, and I can honestly say I had never considered that angle in quite that way. It didn’t weaken my faith; it strengthened it. But it absolutely made me think.

Nefarious also addresses addiction and spiritual enslavement in a way that resonated personally. I’ve seen firsthand how substance abuse can reduce someone to torment—how it steals, destroys, and isolates. Scripture says the enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy. The film suggests that demons seek to enslave humanity because of how deeply God loves us. That perspective was sobering. It reframes destruction not as random chaos, but as targeted rebellion.

Nefarious Forces Reflection

The film also touches on capital punishment in a way that feels disturbingly authentic. The electric chair sequence is restrained but powerful. Regardless of where you stand politically, the presentation feels clinical and sobering. It reminded me of interviews I’ve seen—like those on Soft White Underbelly—where prison officials discuss executions with unsettling calm. Watch the specific one I'm referencing here with Charlie Jones a Warden/Executioner from Alabama. It also brought to mind American History X in the sense that it’s not frightening in a traditional horror sense, but it is deeply mind-bending. It forces reflection.

Years ago, when I was in youth group at Second Baptist Church in Belton, I remember watching an interview with Ted Bundy after his supposed conversion. The lights flickered during the recording, and Bundy calmly joked about them testing the chair. That composure—void of visible conscience—always stayed with me. Watching Nefarious felt similar. It gives you a glimpse into the detached logic of evil. It also reminded me of The Final Truth by Donald Henry Gaskins, a deeply disturbing autobiography from someone who claimed no conscience at all. He calmly penned how it would go, the preparations they would make, etc. Reading words from a man awaiting execution has a chilling effect. So does this film.

Trade Temple Robes for Surgeon's Gowns

There’s also a poetic line in the film comparing ancient child sacrifices to modern moral compromises, stating that we “traded temple robes for surgeon’s gowns.” Whatever one’s political stance, the phrasing itself is striking. I've heard several people on YouTube in different podcasts, interviews, etc. make similar comparisons and elaborate on ancient religions mentioned in the Bible and some of the sacrificial practices they had. The ancient world must have been wild! It’s thoughtful. It’s meant to provoke. And Nefarious does that repeatedly—it provokes you to thought over and over again.

Criticisms are Few

If I have criticisms, they’re minor but noticeable. I think the film could have ended more powerfully a couple of minutes earlier. The final moments felt slightly unnecessary. And at times, certain mannerisms—excessive blinking and stammering—bordered on distracting. Not offensive, just a touch overemphasized. But those are small blemishes on an otherwise gripping psychological horror experience. What truly sets Nefarious apart in the 2023 horror film landscape is that it dares to be intellectual. It’s largely a conversation-driven thriller set on death row, yet it never feels stagnant. It wrestles with faith, free will, spiritual warfare, morality, and the unseen realm in a way that lingers long after 2 a.m. viewing sessions. It even touches on the idea of suicide as spiritual influence—echoing the biblical account of Legion and the swine. For viewers familiar with scripture, those details will not go unnoticed.

Nefarious is a film I would absolutely watch again. It’s not comfortable. It’s not light. Honestly, it's not really my kind of movie but it is compelling. My friend remains undefeated in recommendations. Nefarious is bold, thought-provoking spiritual horror that respects its audience enough to challenge them. And in a genre that often relies on noise, that kind of restraint is powerful and seldom seen anymore.

Artist's Blog #224 - Mausoleum (1983)

Movie Posters Were Actually Art & VHS Tapes

These old school posters, man I dig this stuff. Thus begins my relationship with Mausoleum. I had seen the VHS-style artwork floating around on free streaming apps more times than I can count. Something about it always caught my eye, but every time I attempted to watch it, I bailed within minutes. This time, I committed. I gave it my full attention—and I am genuinely glad I did. What I found was a low-budget 1983 horror film that feels like a neon-lit time capsule of American supernatural cinema. Grab your tomb inspecting clothes and let's jump into my thoughts on this gem.

The '80s - Practical Effects, Neon Lighting, and Imagination

Mausoleum is pure 80s horror excess. The story? Cheesy. The effects? Cheesy. Neon green eyes glowing in the dark, pink and green lighting washing over smoke-filled rooms, rubbery demon manifestations, bright artificial blood—it is all there. At one point, the creature design reveals what looks like two grotesque faces embedded in a torso. It should not work. And yet, in that unmistakable early-80s way, it absolutely does. There is a sincerity to the absurdity that makes it charming rather than embarrassing. This is not modern CGI gloss; it is practical effects, theatrical lighting, and imagination.

Mausoleum is Anchored in '80s Atmosphere

One of the film’s biggest strengths is its atmosphere. The cemetery setting is expansive and memorable, almost theatrical in scale. It actually reminded me of an old cemetery not far from Anderson—those large, rolling graveyards that feel both peaceful and ominous. The mansion used in the film is equally impressive, filled with dramatic interiors and classic 80s décor. There is a silver screen time-machine quality to it all. The clothing alone—retro nightwear with red fabric and white lace trim, knitted rainbow sweaters displayed in a mall shop window—anchors the film firmly in its era. Hairstyles, textures, lighting—it is a visual archive of 1983.

Pre Elon Electric Cars?

Car enthusiasts will also find plenty to admire. A 1958 Cadillac hearse appears in the background, perfectly suited to the gothic tone. There is a sharp Lincoln featured as well. But the most fascinating vehicle is an electric sports car styled almost like a Ferrari. An electric car from the 1970s and early 80s, reportedly capable of highway speeds, and considered high-end for its time. That detail alone caught my attention. When you adjust original pricing for inflation, it becomes clear this was no novelty—it was a serious luxury experiment decades before today’s EV boom. You can check out this Bradley GT II Electric in the photo below.

B Movie Horror Queen Style Awesomeness and Quirks

Performance-wise, Bobbie Bresee carries the film with full commitment. She embodies that classic B-movie horror queen energy—dramatic, intense, and entirely dedicated to the role. I found myself wanting to explore more of her filmography. The supporting cast also includes LaWanda Page, known to many as Aunt Esther from Sanford and Son. Seeing her outside that sitcom world was a treat. She even delivers a familiar phrase that longtime fans will recognize, creating a strange but delightful overlap between television nostalgia and supernatural horror. There are small quirks, of course. A few continuity slips. A moment in the graveyard where a tombstone flashes by bearing vertical kanji characters—an unusual and intriguing detail that made me pause and rewind. Little things like that add texture. Even a scene involving levitation and an unfortunate fall onto an umbrella feels like it belongs in this specific era of horror filmmaking.

Graveyard Exploration as a Hobby and Closing Remarks

Overall, Mausoleum surprised me. It is a supernatural horror film that leans into demon lore and slasher-adjacent imagery without losing its identity. I watched it in one sitting and would gladly revisit it. Sometimes the films that sit quietly in your watchlist for years turn out to be the most rewarding discoveries. This one certainly was.

Artist's Blog #223 - Scream (1996)

A Pleasant and Rewarding Rewatch

There are certain horror films that don’t just exist in the genre—they redefine it. Scream is one of those rare American slasher films that managed to arrive in the mid-90s, look at the exhausted state of horror, and somehow breathe new life into it. For years, I avoided revisiting it. I lumped it in with “newer” horror, assuming it would not resonate with someone who digs the grit of the late 70s and 80s. Ironically, 1996 now feels nostalgic. Time has a way of humbling our assumptions. Anyway, I've noticed a lot of hype around this film at recent horror cons and after rewatching, I see why. I have to say, I enjoyed Scream and I'm glad I rewatched. Grab your sleuth garb and let's jump into my thoughts on this classic.

A Funny Parenting Story...

My history with Scream is layered. I had watched the first few entries in the franchise years ago. I even remember watching them when my daughter was very young—far younger than we probably should have allowed. We thought she was unbothered until my wife checked her pulse and realized her heart was racing. That was a parenting moment. Still, the film clearly left an imprint. Ghostface has become a permanent fixture at horror conventions I attend. Entire convention themes revolve around Scream. Cast members draw long lines. The fandom is massive and loyal. Remember - your kids are paying more attention than you think folks!

One of the Greatest Opening Sequences in Horror History

Revisiting Scream with fresh eyes, I can say this: it earns its reputation. It may not be my personal favorite slasher, but it is undeniably well constructed. I had forgotten how strong the cast is—Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox, David Arquette, Skeet Ulrich, Matthew Lillard, and Drew Barrymore. That lineup alone signals that this was not a throwaway horror production. The performances elevate the material, giving weight to what could have easily been another masked-killer formula. And then there’s that opening. Drew Barrymore’s sequence is one of the most iconic introductions in horror history. The phone call. The isolated house. The horror trivia game. The voice. Even seasoned fans get caught by the trick question about who the killer was in Friday the 13th. (For the record, it was Pamela Voorhees—not Jason.) That scene alone sets the tone for everything that follows. It is tense, clever, and self-aware without turning into parody.

A Slasher Movie About Slasher Movies

That self-awareness is what separates Scream from so many 1990s horror films. It is a slasher movie about slasher movies. The “rules” discussion—never say “I’ll be right back,” understand the final girl trope, recognize genre patterns—adds a meta layer that feels intelligent rather than gimmicky. At the same time, the film fully commits to those very conventions. Bodies fall. Suspicion shifts. The structure plays out like a cinematic game of Clue. You know the killer is within the circle—you just do not know which face hides behind the Ghostface mask.

A Nightmare on Elm Street... I Agree

The production value is strong, the pacing tight, and the atmosphere consistent. The ending still works, especially if you manage to avoid spoilers. I remembered there was something clever about it, but I had forgotten the specifics. That made the final act feel fresh again. There were small observations. One chase sequence involving a van escape felt slightly illogical to me. And Deputy Dewey, as likable as he is, would benefit from serious remedial firearm training—muzzle discipline and trigger discipline matter. But those are minor critiques in an otherwise polished horror experience. I also appreciated the commentary on A Nightmare on Elm Street. The line about only the first one being great made me smile. I agree completely—the original stands tall. It is interesting trivia territory considering the connection to that franchise and the broader horror legacy of the era.

Ghostface Fanbase - I Get It Now

Overall, Scream is not just hype. It is a smart, well-executed 1996 horror film that revitalized the slasher genre and created a pop culture icon in Ghostface. I would absolutely watch it again, and I now understand why it commands such loyalty among fans. Sometimes revisiting a film with maturity changes everything.

Artist's Blog #222 - The Gladiator (1986)

Half-Remembered VHS Tapes of the '80s

I love finding half-remembered from a VHS shelf somewhere in the late Reagan years movies. That’s exactly how I stumbled into The Gladiator (1986), an American action thriller that quietly sits in that mid-80s vigilante pocket—never quite blockbuster, never quite forgotten. If you’re hunting for 1980s action movies, retro car culture cinema, or obscure vigilante films from the decade of chrome and shoulder pads, this one checks a few interesting boxes. It isn’t built like a Schwarzenegger spectacle, and it doesn’t pretend to be. Instead, it lives in that lower-budget, earnest corner of the era where grit tried to substitute for gloss. Grab your wrenches and let's jump into my thoughts on The Gladiator.

Ken Whal

The lead isn’t a martial arts machine or a muscle-bound icon. He’s more of that blue-collar 80s archetype—an actor who clearly worked hard in the trenches of the decade but never quite crossed into household-name territory. And honestly? He’s not bad. The films he appeared in may not have been classics, but there’s a sincerity to performances like this that I appreciate. It reminds me of how many actors from that period hovered just outside the spotlight, carrying entire productions on determination alone. Who is he? Ken Whal is the name. You can read more about him here if you'd like. I watched him in a movie called Omega Syndrome and that's where I would have recognized him from. Looking for a rabbit trail? Read my blog on this one here.

No Martial Arts but Twisted Metal, Yes

At its core, The Gladiator operates as a vigilante revenge story, but with a vehicular twist. Instead of martial arts showdowns, we get a tricked-out square body pickup truck. Now, I’ll admit—I half expected something wildly over-the-top, like the modified dump truck chaos I talked about recently in another 80s action outing. This truck, though? Surprisingly restrained. Practical. Almost believable. Part of me admired that grounded approach; another part of me wished for just a touch more neon insanity. That was the 1980s, after all.

If you’re into retro automotive culture, there’s genuine appeal here. A Dodge Charger in the hands of the antagonist, a Mustang tearing down open roads, a classic Corvette that car enthusiasts will clock immediately, sprawling junkyard scenery, and even hints of an antique car collection. You don’t always get prolonged glamour shots, but you do get enough rubber-burning and metal-on-asphalt energy to satisfy anyone who grew up loving old Detroit steel. Fans of vehicular combat video games like Twisted Metal will likely see the connective tissue.

When Does Civic Responsibility Become Vigilantism?

One thing that genuinely surprised me is how clean the film feels. There’s minimal language, restrained violence, and no nudity. In a decade often remembered for excess, The Gladiator keeps things relatively tame. It moves at a steady, sometimes slow pace—but consistent. It never rushes, never explodes into spectacle. It just stays its course. What lingers most for me, in the absence of these more common themes, isn’t the truck, though—it’s the idea of “citizen’s arrest” woven through the narrative. That concept always makes me uneasy. When does civic responsibility become vigilantism? When does personal justice turn into personal authority? The film suggests police ineffectiveness as a catalyst, which is an argument people still debate today. But there’s a difference between frustration and deputizing yourself. We aren’t trained in law the way officers are trained—imperfect as that system may be. The line between justice and chaos is thinner than most want to admit.

Unlike The Gladiator, I Am Riding Off Into The Sunset - Closing Out

Interestingly, the ending avoids the typical vigilante fantasy. There’s no triumphant walk into the sunset. Actions carry consequences. That choice gives the film a grounded, almost sobering edge that many 80s revenge films sidestepped. It doesn’t glamorize the aftermath. It acknowledges it. Will I rewatch The Gladiator? Probably not. It doesn’t sit in the same category as the endlessly replayable comfort films I rotate through—especially with horror staples queued up this week. But as a snapshot of 1986 action cinema, as a time capsule of square body pickups, Chargers, Mustangs, junkyards, and moral gray areas, it has its place. Sometimes a movie doesn’t need to be spectacular to be worth the ride.

Artist's Blog #221 - X (2022)

Some Films are Great but Just Ain't Your Thing, Enter X

X is one where I can openly acknowledge that it is a well-made movie while also being honest that I did not enjoy the experience of watching it. From a technical standpoint, the production quality, performances, and visual intent are all clearly there. That much is undeniable. However, the subject matter itself is simply not something I connect with, and that personal disconnect colored the entire viewing experience for me. I want to put that right out front. Sometimes a movie can be competently made and still not be your thing, and X firmly falls into that category for me. I don’t think that makes it a bad film, but it does make it one I won’t be revisiting. So, grab your personal morals and let's jump into my thoughts on X.

X Reinforced Boundaries for Me

Watching X reminded me of other films I’ve seen once or twice and made a conscious decision to never watch again. There are certain movies that leave you feeling unsettled in a way that doesn’t feel productive or thoughtful, just unpleasant. I don’t enjoy films that make me feel uncomfortable for the sake of discomfort, and this one drifted into that territory for me. That kind of reaction isn’t about fear or tension—it’s about tone and intent. I know there’s an audience for that, but it has never been something I gravitate toward, and X reinforced that boundary for me rather than challenging it.

Blood on the Headlights

Visually, though, X is doing some interesting things. There are clear stylistic connections to Pearl, especially in framing and overall atmosphere. While Pearl (read my thoughts on this one here) leaned more heavily into bold color, X is more subdued, largely due to how much of the film takes place at night. Still, there are moments where the visual choices really shine. One scene in particular stood out to me: when the headlights are splashed with blood and the lighting shifts, washing the frame in red. That was a strong, deliberate use of lighting and color, and as someone who pays close attention to visual storytelling, I appreciated that moment quite a bit.

Loretta Lynn Would Have Handled This Differently Because You Ain't Woman Enough to Taker Her Man

The music also deserves credit. I’m a longtime Loretta Lynn fan and a vinyl collector, so noticing the Decca label immediately caught my eye. Hearing her cover of “Act Naturally” was a genuine surprise for me, especially considering how much that song connects to my own musical interests and even recent artwork I’ve done. Sometimes a small detail like that can ground a film in a very personal way, and that moment worked for me. The score overall fit the tone well, and whoever handled the music understood how to support the mood without overpowering it. On a side note, I had the privilege of doing some artwork for, in my opinion, the greatest piano player alive Jacob Tolliver that was indirectly "Act Naturally" themed. You can find Jacob on social media here.

Ortega and the Power of Acting

Jenna Ortega’s performance is another element that stuck with me, though not comfortably. Prior to X, the only thing I had seen her in was Wednesday, so seeing her in such a different role was jarring. There is a specific injury scene involving her character that genuinely troubled me, and I can say without hesitation that I will never look at her the same way again in future roles. That reaction isn’t a criticism of her performance—it’s a testament to how effective it was—but it’s also part of why this film left such a lasting negative impression on me. One of the more interesting aspects of X is the dilemma faced by RJ. The conversation leading up to that moment raises questions that, while uncomfortable, feel honest. I don’t know much about that particular industry, and I don’t have much interest in learning more about it, but the questions raised felt valid. I could understand his reaction, and I could also sense regret in Ortega’s character afterward. That complexity was one of the film’s stronger narrative elements, even if it unfolded in a context I didn’t enjoy.

MaXXXine Maybe? & The Ending of X

The ending of X helped clarify why the film began the way it did, and I appreciated how it tied things together. The reveal involving the television preacher was an interesting twist, and it added a layer of commentary that I wasn’t expecting. I also liked how the ending transitions into the teaser for MaXXXine. While I haven’t seen that yet, I would watch it if the opportunity came up, if only to see how the larger story resolves itself.

Alligators - The Apex Predator & And Go In the Cellar - Sure...

The alligator scene, however, struck a very personal chord. Years ago, while training in Florida, I watched a massive alligator slide into the water and slowly swim toward where we were standing. It was a clear reminder of what an apex predator really is, and how quickly things could go wrong. That memory came flooding back during the swimming scene in X, and that tension worked. It was effective because it tapped into something very real. They told us when we arrived in FL, treat every body of water as if there's a gator in it. This proved to be true.

There are also moments where the logic of the film made me laugh unintentionally. The whole “go into the cellar to get the only other flashlight” scenario is one of those horror tropes that just doesn’t work for me anymore. No matter how creative the filmmakers are, that choice felt unnecessary and avoidable. There had to be a smarter way to get that character into that situation, and instead it pulled me out of the film for a moment.

Recognizing When Things Don't Align with Your Tastes

What I did appreciate was how X connects back to Pearl. Seeing Pearl as an older version of herself, still driven by the same need to feel loved and validated, brought that character full circle. The presence of her husband helped answer lingering questions left by Pearl, and the way that generational cruelty echoed forward was one of the film’s more effective thematic elements. In the end, I’m glad I watched X, but I’m also confident that I won’t watch it again. I respect the craft, the performances, and the visual intent, even if the film itself wasn’t for me. Sometimes appreciating a movie doesn’t mean embracing it—it just means understanding what it was trying to do and recognizing when it isn’t aligned with your own taste.

Arist's Blog #220 - Pearl (2022)

Thank you Tubi! I Finally Got to Watch Pearl!

Pearl had been sitting on my watchlist for a long time, one of those films that somehow remains just out of reach no matter how much interest you have in it. I had been actively looking for access to it for quite a while, but I never quite found a way to watch it that felt worth committing to. It was another familiar situation where timing and availability dictated the experience more than intention. I didn’t want to pay for it, and as a result, it kept getting pushed further down the list. Now that it’s 2026, Pearl finally appeared on Tubi, and that changed everything. With no barrier in the way, I jumped in immediately, and I can say without hesitation that I’m completely glad I did. Very quickly, this film became one of my favorite movies I’ve ever seen, which is not something I say lightly. I’m looking forward to watching X and MaXXXine as well, but Pearl deserves to be discussed on its own terms, because what it accomplishes as an origin story is remarkable. Grab your red dresses and axes ladies and let's jump into my thoughts on this awesome movie!

Surrealism and The Wizard of Oz Vibing in Pearl

One of the first things that stood out to me was how much Pearl visually and thematically echoed The Wizard of Oz. The cornfields, the scarecrows, and even the way Pearl moves through the landscape immediately brought that imagery to mind. There’s a moment with a bicycle that feels like a deliberate visual nod, especially in the way it travels through open farmland. There’s no Toto, of course, but the fantasy-leaning framing is there, giving the film a heightened quality that never feels accidental.

That sense of fantasy blends seamlessly with surrealism throughout the film, and the use of color is a major reason why. The palette is bold, saturated, and incredibly intentional. Pearl’s bright red dress is unforgettable, standing in sharp contrast to the surrounding farmland, while the blue ribbons in her hair add a striking secondary accent. Inside the house, the wallpaper patterns are overwhelming in a way that feels psychologically purposeful, creating a visual environment that reflects the pressure building inside the character. Set in 1918, the old farmhouse, wide skies, and endless fields are beautifully presented, to the point where the location itself feels like a character.

Pearl is Artistic Through and Through

The presentation of Pearl is consistently artistic, right down to the smallest details. The opening text, with its bold white lettering and subtle drop shadow, immediately establishes a sense of confidence and style. Throughout the film, the camera frequently frames Pearl through doorways, windows, and oddly shaped architectural elements, turning the house into a series of visual cages. Shots from inside the house looking outward through grated windows are particularly effective, creating strange geometric divisions that heighten the sense of unease without calling attention to themselves.

Pearl’s dance sequences are another standout element. When she dances, the film shifts into something more internal and impressionistic. Her dress twirls, her movements become exaggerated, and reality begins to bend around her. The scene where she imagines herself dancing alongside women dressed in men’s G.I. uniforms feels hallucinatory, as though her inner fantasy is briefly allowed to overwrite the world around her. These moments are not just visually striking; they provide crucial insight into how Pearl sees herself and how disconnected she is from the life she’s actually living.

Pearl's Timing and Psychological Impact

Initially, I was concerned about the pacing of the film. Pearl takes its time, moving slowly enough that it demands patience. However, that concern completely disappeared as the story unfolded. There is a point where everything clicks into place, and when it does, the pacing adjusts organically to match the narrative shift. From that moment on, the rhythm feels perfect. The slow build isn’t a flaw; it’s essential to the film’s emotional temperature and adds to the cold, creeping dread that defines the experience.

The psychological elements of Pearl are handled with precision. Pearl’s responsibility for caring for her incapacitated father and her emotionally rigid mother creates an oppressive domestic environment. Her mother, a stern German woman, switches between English and German, sometimes refusing to engage with the outside world altogether. Her refusal to read newspapers out of fear of hearing about Germans dying during World War I adds a layer of historical authenticity, reminding us how German Americans were often viewed with suspicion during that time. Another thing about her mother that I loved - she was a Stoic no doubt.

One of the Best On Screen Psychopaths I've Ever Seen

What impressed me most about Pearl is how it depicts psychopathy through conversation rather than spectacle. Pearl engages people calmly at first, but as she speaks, her grasp on reality begins to slip. You can see the moment when the person she’s talking to realizes something is wrong, and that realization is where the real tension lives. They try to disengage, but Pearl continues talking, pulling them back in, refusing to let the interaction end on their terms. These scenes feel disturbingly authentic. I’ve known people in real life who later turned out to be genuinely dangerous, people whose casual conversations hinted at something far darker beneath the surface. Pearl captures that uneasy moment when your instincts tell you something isn’t right, but you haven’t yet processed the danger you’re in. The film does this especially well in the scenes involving Pearl’s boyfriend and, most notably, her sister-in-law.

That sister-in-law scene is absolutely spellbinding. The monologue feels endless in the most effective way possible, as Pearl genuinely believes she’s speaking to her husband while completely unraveling the person sitting across from her. It represents one of the most convincing portrayals of a cinematic psychopath I’ve ever seen. Films like Natural Born Killers come close, but Pearl feels more grounded and unsettling because of how real the interactions feel.

Even when the violence becomes more stylized, it never crosses into excess. The brief kaleidoscopic visual effect during one of the dismemberment sequences didn’t fully work for me, but it’s a minor complaint in an otherwise incredibly controlled film. The ending, with Pearl holding that unnaturally long smile as her husband returns, is deeply uncomfortable and completely perfect for the tone of the film. I have very few complaints about Pearl. This is a film I will absolutely watch again, and it’s one I’ve already recommended. As far as portrayals of psychopathy in cinema go, Pearl stands at the very top for me. Another quick note, I really dig her "pet" crocodile too. I wonder if she jumped in would he eat her?

Final Thoughts and Buy My Art

One thing that Pearl touched on that I gave some thought to was the idea of the boyfriend and the husband. First, I don't condone extramarital affairs but, I can imagine that in 1918 life was hard on a young married woman. She would have been lonely for sure and in constant worry over her husband's return. Would he die? Would he return maimed? The torment of worry would have been almost unbearable. 1918 wasn't like today where we have emails, etc. that allow information to travel so quickly. She would have to wait on a letter from overseas and wonder if the husband had died in a battle days after sending. Would her reply letter never reach him? It reminded me of a haunting story my grandmother told me. She said that during WWII she remembered that every so often a "black fellow" would walk down the street she lived on. The woman would go onto their porch and hope he passed them by because if he stopped, it meant one thing.

Artist's Blog #219 - Devils Three (1979)

Devils Three from 1979 is one of those films that immediately feels a little unsteady, like it never quite figured out what it wanted to be. Shot in Manila in the Philippines, it exists under a surprising number of alternate titles depending on the country and distributor, which is usually a sign that a movie had a long, messy journey through international markets. That alone made me curious, because films like this often carry strange creative decisions that reflect how they were packaged and repackaged over time. It can be challenging though to find more information on movies with several titles too. Anyway, call your psychic buddy and let's jump into my thoughts on Devils Three.

Speaking of Turtles, Devils Three Has the Pace

That curiosity only carried me so far. Devils Three was genuinely challenging to watch, and I say that as someone who has a high tolerance for rough, low-budget, and misguided cinema. I watched it in essentially one sitting, not because I was enjoying it, but because it held my attention just enough to keep me from turning it off. It is slow in a way that does not feel intentional or atmospheric. Instead, it feels like a movie that struggles to move itself forward.

Bullshido

For a late-1970s martial arts action film, the fight choreography is especially disappointing. There is no sense of urgency, danger, or creativity in the combat. The familiar problem of opponents politely waiting their turn to attack is on full display here, and it never improves. Punches are telegraphed, kicks land without weight, and blocks feel more like rehearsed gestures than genuine reactions. Nothing escalates, and nothing ever feels threatening. If you like the "Bullshido" videos on YouTube, you know exactly what I mean. What makes this more frustrating is how heavily the film relies on these sequences. For most of the runtime, this is supposed to function as an action-driven crime film. Instead, the action feels obligatory, as if it is simply checking boxes rather than trying to engage the viewer. The lack of energy becomes more noticeable the longer the movie goes on.

Organized Crime with No Guns?

One of the strangest choices is how long it takes before firearms even appear. This is a movie about organized crime, betrayal, and kidnapping, yet for roughly the first eighty percent of the film, the antagonists are unarmed. When a gun finally does show up, it is handled awkwardly and never becomes a meaningful source of tension. It feels almost accidental, as if the film suddenly remembered what genre it was supposed to be working in.

Devils Three has a Good Story, Poorly Told

The core story idea itself is not bad. A crime boss betrayed by his own people, a kidnapped daughter used as leverage, and a recovery plan built around using people no one would ever expect is a solid foundation. Unfortunately, Devils Three never fully capitalizes on that setup. Interesting ideas are introduced, but they are rarely developed in a way that feels thoughtful or cohesive. A major issue is how the supporting characters dominate the film in unhelpful ways. One flamboyant male character, presented in an exaggeratedly feminine manner, receives an overwhelming amount of screen time. Rather than serving as effective comic relief or an intentional tonal contrast, the performance becomes repetitive and irritating. The film never decides whether this character is meant to be humorous, subversive, or serious, and that uncertainty becomes exhausting.

Adding to that confusion is the fact that this character is also portrayed as a capable martial artist. That contradiction is never explored or explained. It simply exists, layered on top of an already uneven presentation. Meanwhile, the main female lead, who should clearly be the narrative and emotional center of the film, often feels pushed aside by these choices. The clairvoyant character represents the film’s biggest missed opportunity. Introducing a psychic presence into a gritty crime-action framework could have added something genuinely unique. Instead, her abilities are barely used in any meaningful way. When they finally surface during a fight, it happens abruptly and without proper setup. Suddenly she is nearly invulnerable, she is extremely strong, and none of it feels earned or logical.

Devils Three Name is a Let Down

The finale leans heavily on cheap illusion rather than convincing tension. A character buried in sand is revealed in a way that is so obviously staged that it completely breaks immersion. There is no effort to sell the danger or maintain the illusion, and the moment feels unfinished rather than stylized. It becomes another example of an idea introduced without follow-through. The devil imagery suggested by the title is mostly symbolic. A character name hints at deals with the devil, but there is nothing supernatural actually happening here. It is more of a suggestion than a theme, and it never develops into anything meaningful. Once again, the film gestures toward something interesting and then moves on without committing to it.

Accidental Documentary Qualities

Visually, Devils Three does have moments that remind you why seventies international cinema can still be compelling. The Manila locations, beachside cabanas, and coastal scenery provide a genuine sense of place. There is something appealing about seeing real environments captured on film, giving the movie an accidental documentary quality in certain scenes. One detail that genuinely stood out was a motorcycle with a sidecar, something you rarely see on screen today. It immediately dates the movie in an authentic way, firmly placing it in its era. Small details like that often end up being more memorable than the intended highlights.

Ninja Meets Rambo

One action sequence veers into unintentional comedy. A fast-forwarded fight involving a hook weapon, exaggerated music, and an electrical shock plays out like a misplaced television gag. Instead of adding excitement, it pulls the viewer completely out of the film. The main character’s suitcase full of specialized weapons is one of the few genuinely creative touches. A bow that unfolds, arrowheads attached to cables, and hybrid tools that feel surprisingly inventive briefly suggest a more imaginative version of this movie. Unfortunately, these ideas are never used to their full potential.

Mission Completed and Thank God, Closing Thoughts

In the end, Devils Three is not something I would recommend or revisit. It is not a hidden gem or an overlooked classic. It is a difficult watch that occasionally becomes interesting by accident rather than design. Still, I do not regret seeing it. There is value in understanding why certain films fade into obscurity and in recognizing when ambition outpaces execution. Sometimes seeing what almost worked is enough.

Artist's Blog # 218 - Barbie (2023)

Picture This If You Will...

Toy Story, Roger Rabbit, and Pinocchio meet up at Pee Wee's Playhouse and watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show - there you have Barbie recapped. Oh yeah, Salvador Dali is in the director's seat. I realize that's a lot to wrap one's dome around...it was for me too. Just by the way, you can read my blogs on Pee Wee's work (Pee Wee's Big Adventure), Roger, and the Horror Picture at their linked titles if you want to know my thoughts on them. This doesn't surprise me but, it's becoming evident to me that I really dig almost all things weird. Grab your pink, well anything and whatever I guess, and let's jump into my likely surprising thoughts on this live action Barbie movie!

I Must Admit, I Watched Barbie with Hesitation

I went into Barbie with hesitation, which is probably the most honest way to approach a movie that arrived already wrapped in marketing, opinions, and expectations. I remember first seeing the trailer in a theater, it was the kind of preview that feels like it belongs to another movie entirely. The image that stuck with me wasn’t dialogue or jokes, but scale. Giant Barbie in the OG Barbie bathing suit. That surreal sense of size and artificiality immediately hooked me. Anyone who has affection for films like Attack of the 50 Foot Woman (read my blog on this midcentury classic here and another giant woman movie called Attack of the 50ft Cheerleader here) understands that appeal right away. Plus, it was very plainly surreal. I got my serious art start in surrealism so, you know I was digging this preview. I had a brilliant artist from Belton named Joe Park tell me that before I could become a good surrealist, I had to learn realism. I've learned that he was right and now I've learned realism so I can become an impressionist - art and the gift thereof is a wild ride! I digress and let's move on.

Why I Watched Barbie...In Addition to Surrealism

Margot Robbie was another reason, I must be honest, I paid attention to Barbie. My exposure to her work is limited to her portrayal of Harley Quinn in Suicide Squad, where she managed to balance chaos, humor, and charisma without losing control of the character. Casting her as Barbie made sense almost immediately. It’s difficult to imagine someone else carrying that combination of precision and presence without tipping the film into parody. I think the chick that was in Legally Blonde could have done a good job too but, Robbie was a great in this role. I’m also a father of three girls - a girl dad thrice over - which means Barbie has never been an abstract cultural symbol in my life. Barbie lived on the floor of my house. I played Barbies with my girls and used my best Meatwad voice for Ken because that’s what good dads do. I watched my daughters build entire worlds around those dolls. We picked up '60s models with ''60s clothes from yard sales in addition to the newest doll on the shelf. That familiarity matters, whether we want it to or not. Barbie has always been around me in one form or another. My grandmother collected the Christmas Barbies and had them all from #1 to the one closest to her death a few years ago. I’ve watched The Toys That Made Us episode about Barbie and found the history genuinely fascinating. This isn’t nostalgia blindness. It’s cultural saturation. Barbie is American iconography whether we like it or not.

Politics - Here We Go

I was honestly worried this movie wouldn’t work. I expected a great trailer followed by a disappointing experience which tends to be the norm for me. About ten minutes in, it becomes very clear that Barbie is political. Normally, that’s a hard stop for me. I’m exhausted by politics in every corner of life. Workplaces. Television. Conversations that used to be about movies and music. YouTube. Everywhere. I will not take sides in this blog or any blog really on this topic, but we must talk about it some. And yet, this is where the movie surprised me.

But Holy Dog Crap, For Once - They Work!

Somehow, against my own expectations, the political layer actually fits. It doesn’t feel stapled on. It feels necessary to the concept. A live-action Barbie movie that ignored cultural commentary would feel dishonest. What impressed me most was that the film doesn’t hammer one narrow viewpoint. It touches multiple ideas, often contradicting itself, which is closer to real life than any single message could be. There’s a line about California, for instance, being its own country, and that moment alone told me the movie wasn’t playing favorites. It understands the absurdity of extremes. That sense of balance runs throughout the film in quiet ways.

Surrealistic Beauty - Visually Barbie is Wild!

Visually, the movie is relentless. Pink dominates everything. So much pink that it becomes exhausting, which I believe is intentional. Your eyes get tired. The artificiality becomes the point. The cartoon smoke, the exaggerated environments, the flat reality of Barbie Land all blur together in a way that feels controlled rather than chaotic. One of the most impressive details is how Margot Robbie physically moves like a doll. The way her heels never touch the ground. The way she lies down stiff and perfect. These moments aren’t jokes. They’re studied. Someone paid close attention to how Barbie exists as an object. This added to the surrealistic feel that the trailer I initially saw at the theatre created - this is the main thing that intrigued me about this movie and it landed perfectly. Another visual detail I loved was the painted lines around doorways in the office scenes. The effect is mildly psychedelic and strangely practical.

Barbie and Her History in Barbie

The history woven into the film is one of its strongest elements. Midge appears, with a quick acknowledgment of why she was discontinued. Skipper’s infamous “growing up” doll gets a nod. Classic outfits appear with names and logos flashing on screen like museum labels. These aren’t throwaway references. They’re rewards for anyone who has paid attention over the years. When Barbie meets Ruth, that moment carries weight. Knowing Ruth Handler’s role in creating Barbie adds another layer entirely. It turns the scene into something reflective instead of sentimental. I have three daughters and have played a lot of "Barbie" with each of them. I have also watched the amazing series by Netflix called The Toys That Made Us which had an episode on Barbie so, I'm familiar with a lot of these historical references. This was a really cool element to this movie.

Comedic Elements and Statements

The comedy works more often than I expected. A moment involving President Barbie coming down the stairs, upset that it’s no longer Barbie’s Dream House, lands perfectly. It’s funny without undercutting the scene. There are also sharp observations about education, status, and hierarchy. A line about needing an MBA or PhD to advance hit closer to home than I expected. The boardroom scene, where only the men in suits are allowed to stand, says more in silence than dialogue ever could. The idea of putting Barbie back in a box is another recurring image that works on multiple levels. Boxes. Labels. Categories. It recalls how society prefers neat packaging over individuality. The construction site scene is brutally honest. I worked construction one summer, and the way those men talk is not exaggerated. Placing Barbie in that environment rings true, whether it’s comfortable or not. I'm not picking on construction workers here - trust me, I participated as a 16yo working on a construction site.

Odd Commercials and Nicki Minaj

Midway through the film, an old-school Barbie commercial interrupts everything. Depression Barbie. Sleeping all day. Watching Netflix. Endless scrolling on Instagram. It comes out of nowhere and somehow lands perfectly. The soundtrack is uneven. The opening Barbie theme works, especially when it returns later with altered lyrics. The closing Nicki Minaj track makes sense conceptually. Beyond that, the music rarely adds anything meaningful.

Ending is Wild and My Ending of this Blog on Barbie

Despite its PG-13 rating, Barbie is loaded with innuendo. As a parent, that rating feels questionable, especially given the subject matter. The ending comes out of nowhere. Just when you think you know what kind of movie you’re watching, it pivots. Barbie in blue jeans. A normal office. A gynecologist appointment. Cut to black. I didn’t expect to enjoy Barbie. I certainly didn’t expect to respect it. The last fifteen minutes don’t fully work for me, but everything leading up to them does. It’s surreal, thoughtful, visually exhausting, and oddly sincere.

I don’t know how often I’d revisit it, but I know I would watch it again. The fact that I’m saying that at all still surprises me. No Rachel? That's my question here - where was Rachel? With the rolling R. She was in Barbie's TV shows that I got to watch with my little girls - why wasn't she in the film?

Artist's Blog #217 - Road House (1989)

OG Road House - A Pleasant Rewatch

I’ve seen Road House before, but it had been a very long time. Long enough that I had forgotten just how much of this movie had slipped out of my memory. Watching Road House again, this time with the intention of writing about it, completely changed the experience. I wasn’t watching it passively. I was paying attention, and that made all the difference. Revisiting it now, I understand exactly why this film has endured and why it continues to be discussed as a classic of late-1980s American action cinema. Grab your beers and fighting shoes and let's jump into my thoughts on Road House.

Patrick Swayze, An American Film Icon

Patrick Swayze occupies an interesting place in pop culture. For a lot of people, he was always the lead you watched simply because he was Patrick Swayze. That was never really the draw for me. My wife, however, has always been a fan. I didn’t grow up chasing his movies, but Road House reminded me that there was more going on beneath the surface than I remembered. This time around, I appreciated the performance and the character work in a way I hadn’t before.

Ferraris and Period Clothing

From the opening moments, Road House knows exactly what it is and never pretends otherwise. The opening scene sets the tone perfectly: a Ferrari, neon lights, an unmistakably late-1980s nightclub atmosphere, and a woman stepping out in a bold black-and-yellow dress that immediately locks the film into its era. It paints a picture without explaining itself. You aren’t eased into the world—you’re dropped into it. That confidence is part of what makes the movie work. Cars play a surprisingly memorable role throughout the film. The Ferrari at the beginning stuck with me because it was one of the two Ferraris I wanted as a kid. There’s also a monster truck that feels right at home in this world, and while Patrick Swayze’s Mercedes didn’t leave much of an impression on me, the small car he buys later absolutely did. What fascinated me were the headlights. When they weren’t in use, the front of the car looked like a continuous grille. When turned on, the headlights opened like a clamshell. I had never seen that before. I’ve always enjoyed paying attention to mechanical details like that, and it’s little things like this that give a film texture. You can read more about the cars in Road House here.

Road House and Real-World Applications

One of the most interesting aspects of Road House is how much it has to say about leadership and temperament. When Swayze’s character takes over, he immediately fires two people. There’s no hesitation and no drama. They simply don’t fit the culture. That moment hit differently this time around. Leadership is often about making uncomfortable decisions early, and the film presents that idea clearly. Being polite doesn’t mean being weak, and accountability matters. I’ve worked in security and leadership roles, and that philosophy still holds up. In fact, it might be even more relevant now than it was then. There’s a scene in Road House that I’ve actually seen used as a real-world training example. I once took a tactical communication class where a clip from this film was referenced. The idea of being calm, respectful, and firm while maintaining control is something that translates directly into real-life situations. Words matter. They can damage people and completely change a situation. That balance is something you learn over time, often the hard way.

Soundtrack

The music in Road House deserves real recognition. The house band is excellent, and anyone who can convincingly play “Long Tall Sally” immediately has my respect. “Hoochie Coochie Man” is another standout. These aren’t random choices; they reflect an understanding of rhythm, soul, and musical history. The soundtrack goes even further, featuring tracks like Fatz Domino's “Blue Monday” and Otis Redding during one of the film’s most memorable moments. Otis Redding, in my opinion, is one of the greatest male vocalists of all time. No hesitation. No debate. Wilson Pickett’s presence only reinforces the depth of the soundtrack. There is real soul here, not just background noise. Learn more about this film's soundtrack here.

There’s a line in Road House about music no longer having heart, and I found myself agreeing with it more than I probably should. Somewhere along the way, soul and authenticity started slipping out of popular music. Too much of it feels manufactured now, disconnected from lived experience. That observation felt surprisingly sharp coming from this movie. It also didn’t go unnoticed that the character has a degree in philosophy. As someone with a background in philosophy myself, I appreciated that detail. Philosophy changes how you see the world when you genuinely engage with it, and that influence is felt throughout the character’s decisions.

Visuals, Transitions, and Filming Locations

Visually, the film has moments that really stand out. There’s a transition involving flickering signs and neon that caught my attention because I enjoy dabbling in visual art and film aesthetics. Transitions like that don’t just move the story forward; they allow you to sit in a moment and appreciate the environment. The upstairs room above the barn is another striking element. While it would be impractical in reality—open windows, insects, and serious safety concerns—it’s undeniably beautiful. The idea of living above animals, with horses acting as an early warning system, is appealing in theory if not execution. You can read about some of the filming locations here.

Patrick Swayze and the Martial Arts

The film also dips into martial arts in a way I hadn’t fully registered before. Watching it now, with experience studying Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, I couldn’t help but view certain scenes from a grappler’s perspective. Some of it made me laugh, not because it was bad, but because reality doesn’t always cooperate the way movies do. Still, the action feels grounded for its time. It isn’t excessive or cartoonish. One fight in particular stood out to me, and while I liked the implication of what was happening, I couldn’t help but think how effective a more direct, realistic moment would have been. Even so, the restraint works in the film’s favor.

Closing Thoughts on Road House

The ending of Road House is bold in a way you don’t often see anymore. There’s a sense of collective accountability, and while it’s morally complicated, it feels honest within the context of the story. Small towns operate differently. Loyalty matters. Silence can be a statement. Whether or not it would hold up legally is beside the point—the moment works thematically.

I’ll absolutely watch Road House again. What I won’t be doing is watching the remake. I like Conor McGregor, but I’m not a remake person, especially when it comes to films like this. Hollywood has a habit of stripping away the very things that made the original special. Road House doesn’t need updating. It’s a snapshot of a specific time, place, and attitude, and that’s exactly why it works. Patrick Swayze comes across as a genuinely respectable figure beyond the screen. He was married to the same woman for decades, something that’s rare in that world, and I respect that. It’s unfortunate that he passed away when he did, but we’re all appointed a day. Road House remains, and I finally understand why it has never gone away. It’s a classic for a reason, hands down.

Artist's Blog #216 - Attack of the 50 Foot Cheerleader (2012)

A Reasonably Cool Piggyback Off a Classic

Attack of the 50 Foot Cheerleader is one of those movies that clearly exists because someone looked back at 1950s drive-in science fiction and decided to give it a modern, self-aware spin. It draws obvious inspiration from Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, which also happens to be one of the first films I ever wrote about on my blog, so revisiting this concept felt a little like coming full circle. This film isn’t a straight remake so much as a loose reimagining filtered through college culture, low-budget digital effects, and a very specific late-night cable sensibility. I gotta' say too - this one was heavy on the sleaze. Grab your skirts and pom poms and let's get our cheer on for this oversized sorority chick.

A Film That Knows What It Is & Acts Like It

The story centers on Cassie Stratford, played by Jena Sims, a shy and intelligent college student desperate to belong. After pledging a sorority dominated by cruelty, arrogance, and power games, Cassie becomes exposed to an experimental drug connected to a shady pharmaceutical company. The result is predictable but still entertaining: she starts growing, eventually becoming a literal giant towering over the world that has spent the entire movie belittling her. That thematic connection to the original film is clear, but what stood out to me here was how unapologetically artificial the effects are. The green screen is obvious, the scale shots are imperfect, and the compositing never quite tries to convince you it’s real. In a strange way, that actually works. The movie knows what it is, and it doesn’t fight its own limitations. Honestly, I can appreciate when films do this.

That said, there are moments where the lack of effort is harder to ignore. When Olivia is shrunk back down at the end of the film, she is very clearly just kneeling on the ground. Considering that earlier scenes used more convincing visual tricks, this felt like a missed opportunity. A little more care there would have improved the illusion significantly. Still, the giant sequences themselves are serviceable and even charming in their roughness, especially when compared to the practical limitations of the 1950s original.

Olivia & Are Sororities Really Like This?

Speaking of Olivia, one of the stronger performances comes from this dark-haired sorority leader. She plays arrogance exceptionally well, coming across as genuinely cruel rather than exaggerated. Her anger feels real, her screaming fits are effective, and she fully embodies the role of an entitled antagonist. She makes for a believable villain long before the film leans into its science-fiction elements. The portrayal of sorority life is broad and stereotypical, filled with hazing, humiliation, power hierarchies, toga parties, and heavy drinking. I don’t know much about real sororities, but the movie treats them the same way films often treat fraternities: cruelty framed as tradition and bonding disguised as dominance.

Marked As a Comedy...But I'm Not Sure Why

Despite being marketed as a comedy, The Attack of the 50 Foot Cheerleader doesn’t rely heavily on big laughs. There are humorous moments, but they’re scattered. The one scene that genuinely made me laugh was the cheerleader fight at the end on the football field, especially the sports-style commentary layered over it. Hearing things like “b*$#@ slap, counter b*$#@ slap” was unexpected and worked surprisingly well. Outside of moments like that, the humor is more situational than outright funny.

DMT for Art?

The film also includes a giant spider, which immediately took my thoughts in an unexpected direction. Years ago, someone once tried to trade me DMT for artwork. I never took it, but I did read about DMT, and one of the most common hallucinations people describe is seeing giant spiders. That alone was enough to turn me off completely. I don’t mind spiders in real life—I respect writing spiders and black widows—but I have no desire to hallucinate something that large crawling toward me. Seeing the spider here definitely stirred that old memory. DMT wasn't even a thing in my wilder youth.

Attack of the 50 Foot Cheerleader - More Sleaze Than Satire

This movie leans more toward sleaze than satire, and it doesn’t pretend otherwise. The camera lingers, the framing knows exactly who it’s for, and subtlety isn’t really part of the plan. Still, that doesn’t mean the film is empty. One of the more interesting moments comes from the pharmaceutical villain, who comments on how people walk around staring at their phones, unaware of the world unless something appears on a screen. He talks about how easily people believe whatever the internet tells them, and that observation feels uncomfortably accurate. You don’t have to look far—whether it’s public health, elections, or media manipulation—to see how true that is. People are distracted, misled, and constantly consuming information without questioning its source. A good companion piece to that idea is They Live, which I’ve written about before, and which remains one of the best films ever made about manipulation and control. Next time you're in public, pay attention to how many people you see around you that are clueless and sucked into their phones. It's alarmin.

Closing Thoughts on This Giant Cheerleader Film

In the end, The Attack of the 50 Foot Cheerleader isn’t a movie I disliked, but it’s not one I’d reach for often. On a slow day, I might watch it again just to pass the time, but if given the choice, I’d still rather revisit the original Attack of the 50 Foot Woman. That said, I don’t consider this film a waste of time. It knows what it is, it commits to that identity, and it delivers exactly what it promises—for better or worse.

Artist's Blog #215 - Three the Hard Way (1974)

3 Big Names on the Same Exploitation Ticket

If there’s one thing I love about digging into classic genre cinema it’s discovering how filmmakers in the 1970s blended cultural commentary with pure escapist action. That’s exactly what Three the Hard Way delivers — a 1974 blaxploitation action thriller directed by Gordon Parks Jr., with a cast lineup that reads like a dream for anyone who loves genre cinema: Jim Brown, Fred Williamson, and martial arts icon Jim Kelly. So, you can read more about Jim Kelly in my blogs on, mainly, Enter the Dragon and last week's Death Dimension. As for Fred Williamson, you can read my thoughts on Black Cobra, Black Cobra III, and From Dusk till Dawn. I have talked about Running Man too which has Jim Brown in it but, I don't know that he was a real focus. I've written so many of these blogs at this point that it's hard to keep up. Grab you gun or karate suit - your choice - and let's jump into my thoughts on Three the Hard Way.

A Government Conspiracy? No, These Can Never Be True.

From the very first moments, Three the Hard Way grabs your attention with a stark and chilling premise that feels as if it was pulled from the darkest pages of a lurid comic book: a white supremacist organization led by the sinister Monroe Feather schemes to poison major U.S. water supplies with a toxin engineered to be lethal only to Black citizens.  This premise may sound sensational — and it is — but it’s exactly this blend of audacious plotting and social urgency that made 1970s blaxploitation films resonate then and continue to intrigue viewers today. If you dig into government conspiracies, you'll even find that people believe that the government was behind the crack epidemic and even HIV. I have not done any research into any truth into either of these ideas but, let's face it, regardless of your political opinions, would you really put anything past the government today? I certainly wouldn't.

Kidnapping the Wrong Chick - Because Her BF Has Friends

The narrative kicks into high gear when Jimmy Lait (Jim Brown) learns his girlfriend Wendy has been kidnapped by the same fringe group that killed his friend House after he escaped their lab and brought news of the genocidal plot. Lait’s search for Wendy sets the stage for the alliance that gives Three the Hard Way its title: he enlists old friends Jagger Daniels (Fred Williamson), a sharp and stylish Chicago businessman, and Mister Keyes (Jim Kelly), a disciplined martial artist whose fierce presence brings a dynamic physicality to the film. Together, things get taken care of three the hard way.

Gunplay, Car Chases, & Explosions - Three the Hard Way Has Them All

Watching the trio assemble has a kinetic energy that reflects the era’s hunger for heroes who were confident, capable, and defiant. Director Gordon Parks Jr. — fresh off the success of Super Fly — stages the action with a committed sense of style that keeps the plot moving briskly across cities like Los Angeles, Washington D.C., and Detroit as the heroes split up to thwart the deadly plot.  In true 1970s fashion there’s a blend of martial arts moves, gunplay, car chases, and explosive set pieces. The genre’s fingerprints are all over the film, including memorable wardrobe and iconic vehicles that feel straight out of the era’s vibrant cinematic culture. Speaking of Super Fly, I need to watch that one. I'm certain I would enjoy it.

Jim Kelly is Not Bruce Lee but Fun to Watch

One of the pleasures of Three the Hard Way is how it showcases Jim Kelly’s martial arts prowess alongside the commanding screen presence of Brown and Williamson, creating a trio that feels balanced yet distinct.  There’s a sort of joyous exuberance in seeing action heroes take the lead in a story that tackles such a bold conspiracy. It’s pulpy, it’s stylized, and it confidently straddles the line between meaningful and wildly entertaining without ever losing its footing.

Three the Hard Way is Somewhat of a Cultural Artifact

While the script doesn’t dwell on elaborate character backstories — we never get deep into how these men came to be as skilled as they are — that simplicity also serves the film’s relentless pace. Instead, what we get are vibrant performances, memorable set pieces, and a sense of unity and purpose that carries even the most outlandish parts of the narrative. Throw in a vintage soundtrack by The Impressions, and the whole experience feels not just like a movie, but like a moment — a cultural artifact that celebrates Black resilience, solidarity, and cinematic flair. Ultimately, Three the Hard Way is not only enjoyable to revisit — it’s the kind of film that rewards repeated watches. Its blend of action, martial arts, and socio-political overtones makes it a classic of its time and a fascinating time capsule of 1970s genre cinema. Whether you’re discovering it for the first time or returning as a fan of Brown, Williamson, or Kelly, this is a film that continues to kick, punch, and drive straight into the heart of action cinema.