What in the sweet fuck did I just watch?
My bewildered queasiness is somewhat my own fault. When this movie opened with a black and white slow motion scene of Willem DaFoe boning a chick that looks like Joseph Gordon-Levitt while a baby jumps out a window, I should have known right away that nothing good could come of this. Hell, I should have known the second I saw a black and white Willem DaFoe. Problem is – I’m a fucking idiot. So I just kept on munching my Family Time Gourmet Hot Cheese Popcorn™ all like “I wonder when the demons are gonna show up derpa derpa derp I like movies”.
After being lulled into a false sense of security by a confusing, dynamically odd, and downright boring first hour (in which there is a lot of crying and weird fucking and silence), I was ready for some action. “Bring it on!” I seemed to say with my cheesecorn filled fist. The film obliged by showing me a deer with a stillborn fawn hanging out of its vag, apropos of nothing. This came suddenly and gave me pause, but being the asshole I am, I laughed it off as a weak attempt at a metaphor-laden gross-out preluding awesome demonic gore.
“Ha!”, I sneered. “Is that all you got Lars Von Trier, critically acclaimed Danish director of such stunningly artful films as ‘Dogville’ and ‘Dancer in the Dark’?!”
I could almost hear Lars himself say “Alright, faggot. Buckle the fuck up.”
It was then that I stared in silence, mouth agape, as I was optically assaulted by two scenes that regrettably, I can never un-see.
It should be noted that neither of these scenes are merely suggested. There is no cut-away to a screaming face, leaving us to fill in what happened with our imaginations. Just a steady camera shot capturing the events. Absolutely fucking horrifying on a level so primal that my lizard brain wanted to barf.
And to what end did I sit through these jaw-droppingly abhorrent scenes? Other than showcasing the great advancements in labia prostheses, they essentially served no purpose. They were just horrible, fucked-up, vomit-inducing things that happened. Then, a little while later, the movie just sort of ends without explaining anything.
I’m sure some would argue that the myriad of bizarre happenings in this movie can be chalked up to symbolism, but you know what? Fuck that. I’m not that smart. That’s why I watch movies called “Antichrist”.
And in case you’re wondering, no – there are no demons or devil-babies or sacrifices or secret cults. There’s not even an appearance by the Antichrist himself, which may seem weird being that the movie is named after him, but is understandable considering he’s never even mentioned in passing. This movie should have been called “Dead Babies Make You Do The Darndest Things” or “Hey, Do You Never Want To Be Able To Get A Boner Ever Again? Watch This Movie”.
I give Antichrist 2 out of 5 buckets filled to the brim with vomit (the vomit symbolizes the fact that this movie made me vomit).
Two things you should know about my mom to understand my review of Escape From Darwin:
Here is my mom’s recipe for Taco Puffs:
This is Zed Wilson. Chances are you’ve never seen him before, but go ahead and get used to that face now because as soon as the right person stumbles upon a little indie-horror film called Trippin’, this dude is gonna be everywhere. At first he’ll probably just appear in some Doritos commercial or something (or maybe Gamefly.com…Jack Link’s Beef Jerky would also work). Then, when he pops up in some horrible direct-to-DVD National Lampoon’s teen sex romp as a stoner frat guy extra with one line (something like “Yeah, man…they’re like…special brownies”), you’ll be like “Oh, hey, that’s that dude from those Burger King commercials”. But it won’t stop there, friends. Suddenly he’s a convenience store clerk that remembers what color shirt a suspect was wearing on Law and Order. Then he’s a bumbling waiter that spills wine onto Vince’s date’s dress on Entourage. Then he’s the old high school friend that accidentally ruins Michael Cera’s chance to impress a mousey indie-rock girl in any given Michael Cera movie. Finally, when he can’t fulfill his obligation to host the Oscars because he’s just been nominated as King of Movies, America will understand and smile politely as Wayne Brady tries to keep the show moving along.
Well, based on the cannabis-laden cover and marijuana pun in the tagline, I was pretty apprehensive about Trippin’. See, I hate stoner comedies. I absolutely fucking abhor them. With the exception of a few gems (Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back and Pineapple Express for example), comedic moments in the majority of stoner comedies never progress beyond “BRO THIS MOVIE IS HELLA FUNNY THEY ARE DOING DRUGS LIKE I DO DRUGS LOL”. However, writer / director / forgivable beret enthusiast Devi Snively decided to take the not often traveled high road (that wasn’t a weed joke) by eschewing the “Let’s hotbox Air Force One and watch the president drop it like it’s hot” crap and instead, amazingly, used her characters’ proclivity for substance abuse as a means of furthering a coherent story. I know – nuts, right? (The only exception to this is a few token “fwahuhuh…drugs are good” jokes from our buddy Zed, which is somehow exculpatory due to his affability.)
After watching The Atomic Cafe, I felt a lot better about my lot in life. Sure, today we have to worry about shoe bombers and exploding underwear on airplanes, but these stupid sacks, they had to worry about total nuclear annihilation! And how did they cope with this horrifying threat? They drank a lot. So next time your watching Mad Men and you’re all like, “Jeez, Don’s such a scumbag for cheating on Betty” give the guy a break. Alcohol makes people do stupid things, and the Cubans have the goddamn bomb! 
Zombies are fucking terrifying. Whether they be dead old dude, dead little girl, dead accountant, whatever, it doesn’t matter; dead anything shuffling towards you in droves is the ultimate, end all, be all, scariest thing in horror. So who gives a shit if the zombies happen to be nazis? But “Dead Snow” comes from Norway, and all I know is that Vikings come from there, and they churn out super scary black metal bands (those dudes burn down churches… with people in ‘em). Based on those two things, I knew these nazi zombies were going to scare the shit out of me. Whoops, I was wrong (sorry).
It is indeed the sweetest and rarest of treats to watch a movie whose plot you have no knowledge of and whose trailers you haven’t seen – especially when that movie turns out to be awesome. Quite frankly, I don’t know how I did it. A movie about space with Sam Rockwell and Kevin Spacey? My intrinsic connection to the ethereal nerd hive-mind should have alerted me to this movie’s existence the second it was greenlit. Yet somehow, (perhaps my link was weakened when I got to touch boobs for free), it slipped past me until the other day when it was suggested to us on the 
Netflix has spent the last month trying to get me to watch “Dear Zachary” and I finally caved. Oh man, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. The premise sounded sweet and endearing: A guy named Andrew Bagby died, leaving behind an infant son who would never know his father. So, Andrews best friend Kurt decides to make a movie for the poor kid. That’s the only thing I knew about this movie prior to watching it, but that’s not the half of the story… not by a long shot. I’m not too proud to tell you I cried. I turned into a blubbering mess of tears and sobbed uncontrollably. Kurt Kuenne sought to make a documentary that would tell the life story of his best friend, but wound up documenting one of the most shocking and heart-wrenching stories I have ever seen.
When Kurt Kuenne discovered that his best friend had died, he wanted to put together a movie to preserve his memory, but when it’s revealed that Andrew had been murdered by a jealous ex-girlfriend, his movie takes a dramatic turn. It’s then discovered that Andrew’s murderer, Shirley Turner, is pregnant with his child. What follows is a moving story of two grief-stricken parents, Kate and David Bagby. When Shirley flees the United States for Newfoundland, the Bagby’s sell everything and move to Canada, hellbent on rescuing their grandson and seeing that this sociopathic maniac pays for her crime.
The story of the custody battle and extradition process which emerges within this documentary are bound to unleash all sorts of terrible emotions. I found myself cupping my hands over my mouth in disbelief, anxiously bitting my nails, and crying honest to god tears of pain and horror, but the movie isn’t all heartbreak. Balanced evenly throughout the movie are interviews with everyone who knew Andrew, and Andrew knew a lot of people. His friends, and family are interviewed, including his relatives in England with whom he spent summers. When all the parts come together, Kurt Kuenne is able to weave the most compelling story about a mans life I have ever heard. By the end of it, I felt things for this guy and his family that I have never felt (and probably never will feel) about my own family. I regretted the fact that I will never be able to meet Andrew Bagby.
Mark another point for me in my ongoing battle to have a more impressive and diverse movie-viewing history than an eel and a fish COMBINED. They were going to call for the mercy rule, but I’m finally catching up! (Both fish and eels get to watch a lot of movies because they don’t have to sleep or work which is TOTALLY UNFAIR but whatever.) Anywho, the movie that put me back in the race is called “Delirious” – a title which, the more I type it, the more certain I become that I can’t possibly be spelling it correctly. And that, my friends, is the only negative thing I have to say about this movie (other than its glaring lack of boobs and robots).
