Category: Repeat Offenders

Nothing can really put a damper on some quality father-son bonding time on the beach quite like an assassination attempt. One minute Peter and Robin Sandza (KIRK DOUGLAS & ANDREW STEVENS) are rolling on top of one another, topless in the sandy surf and then, before you can say, "Dad get off me, people are starting to stare!", supposed friend and colleague Ben Childress (JOHN CASSAVETES) orchestrates a failed hit on Peter with a dozen or so men in Iron Sheik regalia wielding Uzis. An army of Arabians with automatic weapons is clearly no match for KIRK DOUGLAS (I mean really, who is?) and he does manage to permanently injure CASSAVETES arm, thus necessitating the use of a dapper, black arm sling for the remainder of the film; however, CASSAVETES makes off with boy wonder Robin, a young man whose flawlessly feathered hair and dashing good looks are only surpassed by his telekinetic powers. CASSAVETES runs one of those unnamed, shadowy government agencies exploring the use of telekinesis as potential super weapon in the quest for world dominance, and STEVENS is the heir apparent to the atomic bomb.

Meanwhile, across the globe at an elite private girl's school in Chicago, it is discovered during one of those psychic power presentations that were so prevalent in high schools in the ‘70s that teen Gillian Bellaver (AMY IRVING) can use telekinetic alpha waves to derail a toy train set. More disturbing than her disregard for Lionel locomotives is Gillian's inexplicable ability to cause spontaneous hemorrhaging with the touch of her hand. In the name of science, a parlor trick of this magnitude requires investigation, and IRVING willingly submits to observation and intense study at the Paragon Clinic run by Dr. McKeever (the reliably slimy CHARLES DURNING).

At first, everything seems hunky dory at the Paragon Clinic; IRVING becomes fast friends with staff nurse Hester (Unkle Lancifer's undying crush CARRIE SNODGRESS) and two share a smile over ice cream sundaes. Of course, the Paragon Clinic is nothing more than a grooming stable for the aforementioned shadow agency run by CASSAVETES, and before long IRVING starts receiving psychic transmissions from STEVENS who's being studied at some lavish mansion across town under the care of Dr. Susan Charles (FIONA LEWIS, or as I like to call her, the poor-man's SAMANTHA EGGAR).

In one of those "It's a small world after all" plot points, DOUGLAS resurfaces as SNODGRESS' paramour, and he uses her to get to IRVING to get her to help him get to STEVENS. Does that make sense? Regardless, that's how it plays out in the final act and the reunion of father and son is (SPOILER ALERT!) tragic. IRVING, who spends the bulk of the finale sobbing and being (how do I put this delicately?) an all around spaz, delivers one of the most explosively ecstatic final girl scenes, firmly securing her place on Aunt John's short list of cine-magical moment makers (full list to follow one of these days):

Directed by the once genius BRIAN DePALMA, THE FURY is well worth a lookie-loo. Watching it for the first time today, your Aunt John was fully expecting the trademark DePALMA split-screen camera tricks that dominated his earlier works SISTERS and CARRIE. And don't get me wrong; I am a huge fan of the way he does it, no one does it better. Surprisingly, this never happened in THE FURY and I have to commend him for the innovative (at the time) sequence involving IRVING and DURNING on the stairwell of the Paragon Clinic. Nowadays such things would be shot using C.G.I, and I did hit the pause button to see if there was that telltale green-screen line around IRVING's figure, but I couldn't see it. Also, DePALMA gets major points in my book for effectively utilizing a musical score to manipulate the tension during pivotal action sequences. Case in point, IRVING's escape, with the help of SNODGRESS, from the Paragon Clinic (Note to UNK: Do Not Watch THIS!). Mad props to you Mr. DePALMA for creating another cinematic chestnut, but to quote JANET JACKSON, "What have you done for me lately?" And this not to say that he owes me anything, but did anyone really make it through BLACK DAHLIA satisfied? Really?

I suppose it was only a matter of time until a remake was announced for 1981s AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON. It's only one of the best horror films ever made so I'm sort of surprised it took them this long. (I guess its lackluster 1997 "sequel" AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN PARIS probably slowed things down.) All I know is that no matter how good the remake might end up, it will never have the atomic bomb effect on me that the original did. You see, that crazy movie had the nerve to land smack dab in the middle of a horror movie that was happening in my own life: a horror movie called "puberty". Although that time period is far, far in the rear view mirror, AMERICAN WEREWOLF will always bring to my mind the fear of losing control of my body and the confusing rush of energy that made me kind of like it.

I realize that the interwebs are the ultimate mixed company, so I'll spare you the gruesome details and keep my paws on the table at all times. The sad, dreary, basic truth is that JOHN LANDIS' lycanthropic opus pushed sweet innocent me off a cliff and I have not seen that poor creature since. Up until then adulthood was a destination that I thought was cater made for unimaginative rubes. The prospect of jumping on the coffin conveyer belt did not appeal to me in the slightest. You could pitch fame and fortune to me until the cows came home; I did not care; I wanted to be alone with my STAR WARS figurines. The shower scene in AMERICAN WEREWOLF between DAVID NAUGHTON and JENNY AGUTTER changed all that; this mortal coil now had my full attention. Sure, I was still torn between which of those fine thespians to ogle, but I rightfully figured that eventually that would all come out in the wash.

Truth be told, the avalanche of early eighties body transformation movies ALL seemed to be directly speaking to my guilt ridden, yet wide-eyed and bushy-tailed libido in training wheels; CAT PEOPLE (If you touch me I'll turn into a monster!) THE HOWLING (Everybody is in on this secret except me!) THE BEAST WITHIN (My parents must never know of the creature I've become!),VIDEODROME ( Holy crap. I'm like a RICK JAMES level Super Freak!) and even JOHN CARPENTER'S THE THING (A young me stands up in class, raises his hand and says, "Here!") The general that lead this dysmorphic brigade though, had to have been none other than AMERICAN WEREWOLF. Gosh, they even ventured inside a porno movie theater in that one, plus it was the first time I ever heard the term "quickie."

Putting lasciviousness aside, AMERICAN WEREWOLF successfully popped the top off of every other bottle in my six-pack as well. It scared the living daylights out of me (I still remember the spooky, at dusk, trek home after the movie.) It made me laugh my head off with sick glee (The dead woman in the movie theater smiling through bloody teeth helpfully offering, "You just put the gun to your forehead and pull the trigger!" as a way for our hero to escape his dilemma, still cracks me up), and, call me a softy, but the authentic affection shared between NAUGHTON and AGUTTER actually did seem like a worthwhile experience to shelve my action figures for. It's not the easiest thing in the world to incorporate all of these divergent elements together so smoothly but while JOHN LANDIS was kicking my ass out of childhood, he made a kick ass movie as well, one whose potency might be very hard to emulate in this day and age. Good luck remake people! You'll need it!

NOTE: It is important to note that Mr. DAVID NAUGHTON was successfully able to elbow JENNY AGUTTER out of the ogle race eventually (not that the WALKABOUT star didn't put up a good fight). What can I say? I guess was born to be a "Pepper!"

Do you know what traumatizes me as an adult? Thinking you know somebody and then suddenly finding out that they are an utter stranger. Case in point, I recently discovered that one Aunt John had never seen ANY of the FINAL DESTINATION films. What is that all about? Doesn't that seem like a fact that one should disclose early on in a relationship? How did this slip by me? What other cultural blind spot is he hiding? Next I'll be finding out that he has never seen CHOPPING MALL!

Luckily such a blistering personality flaw is easily repaired with a white-hot, non-stop FINAL DESTINATION MARATHON and that is exactly what took place within the cat fur carpeted halls of Kindertrauma Manor this weekend (a weekend that due to back to back tragedies in the real world, will be forever henceforth known as "THE WEEKEND OF DEATH").

You see, Aunt John simply had to be schooled in the last decade's greatest horror franchise as soon as possible, especially if I was going to drag him to FD's 3-D fourth installment this summer. The good thing was that I did not have to worry about whether or not A.J. would take a shining to the series because I knew that the disaster film elements inherent within them would be simply irresistible to him. Sure the series is sans cameos of B-grade stars like HELEN REDDY and GARY COLLINS but things blow up and they blow up real good.

I'll save you dear readers individual synopsis of each of the three films on account of they are all for the most part wonderfully the same (if it ain't broke…) At the beginning of each film a character has a vivid premonition of a disaster that kills a bunch of folks that are in the wrong place at the wrong time. That character then warns and saves a small group of these individuals from their fates. Next, "death" represented as a mostly invisible force, gets all pissed and kills them all anyway in exceedingly elaborate and devilishly gruesome ways (please give me one brownie point for not mentioning Rube "no relation to Whoopsie" Goldberg). In other words, some absolute genius out there figured out a way for you to see the same characters killed twice(!) in one horror move. What's not to love?

My favorite aspect of the series is the fact that it does not shy away from the actual horror and fear of dying. In all three films there is a palpable sense of mortality that is sadly missing from most modern horror (and especially the film's contemporaries.) Characters are required to be aware of their impending downfall and to squirm like flies in a spider web waiting for the scythe to fall. These are also films that incite a lingering paranoia within the viewer (I am always particularly careful not to walk in front of buses after having viewed the first installment.) In addition, they all inspire you to be hyper aware of "signs" and to look for double meanings within the everyday. In my opinion any movie that makes you see the world around you differently is called "art" even if it does incorporate someone almost choking on a rubber fish and sometimes involves a JOHN DENVER tune being used as a harbinger of doom.

Anywho, Aunt John did love the series all in all. We both agreed that the third and most financially successful of the group is the weakest (but still worthy) and that the best death belonged to JONATHAN CHERRY in the second film where he got spliced apart by a flying wire fence. We both cooed over KRISTEN CLOKE, gave props to ALI LARTER and laughed when that kid got flattened by a falling plate of glass. We both recognized the dude from LIVING SINGLE and balked at the duel tanning booth deaths, yet were impressed by how the tanning beds dissolved into coffins at a funeral. Gee, now that I think about it, maybe I really do know do know that Aunt John after all.

NOTE: Speaking of the KRISTEN CLOKE, the reason I carry such a torch for her is because of her stint on the second season of CHRIS CARTER's MILLENNIUM in which she co-stared opposite my hero in life LANCE HENRIKSEN. The below scene is one of the coolest things that I have ever seen on television (plus it kind of fits in with the whole "death" theme.)…

Once upon a time, yours ghoulie had his very own "Name That Trauma!" Picture a young, vital (O.K., more like idle) Unk Lancifer living it up back in the early nineties, on his own in the big city for the first time. Technotronic's "Pump up the Jam" had children and oldsters alike dancing in the streets, SKI PATROL was blasting box office records worldwide and dear cousin Pam had just moved into the Cosby house. The world was my oyster (stinky and impossible to pry open.)

One night after drinking far too many Meister Braus and passing out on my trash picked couch I awoke to find I had left the television on (as ever I didn't care how Top Ramen poor I was, I had to have cable!) A movie was playing that involved a group of teenage girls lost in a warehouse district of some city being terrorized by wild dogs. Maybe I was half asleep or maybe it was the Meister Brau fairies tap dancing on my head, but I thought the whole thing to be pretty unnerving and it tapped instantly into my steadily growing urban paranoia. It was an anthology movie, but I didn't stick around for the following chapter. Instead I went back to sleep surely to dream of snarling pooches.

I forgot about the whole thing and soon it was too late to track down the flick's title. (This was before the Internet and before Google became my third eye.) Still, every once in a while the movie would spring back into my consciousness. As always with such things, whenever I asked others if they ever saw, "The movie with the girls being chased by dogs in the warehouse district" the answer was a big fat "No!"

Well, a couple years back while reading somewhere about the release of AFTER MIDNIGHT on DVD I realized that it was indeed my missing nameless jam. I bought it immediately and jumped happily head first into the wayback machine. Now I can't tell ya that AFTER MIDNIGHT is the best movie in the world but if you dig anthologies or even just late eighties horror as much as I do, you could certainly find worse ways to spend your time.

Directed and written by the brother team of KEN & JIM WHEAT who also had their hands in such pots as SILENT SCREAM, ELM STREET 4 and even PITCH BLACK, AFTER MIDNIGHT is a strange little package. It opens with a couple of young ladies (one of them is pint-sized PAMELA SEGAL of not only GREASE 2 but THE GATE 2!) on their way to a college class entitled "The Psychology of Fear". Once there they are witness to something, to put it lightly, a teacher wouldn't get away with these days. To illustrate some point or other about fear the professor whips out a gun and points it at his students. He then feigns blowing his own brains out.

Rather than call the police or switch schools, a group of the kids meet up with the Prof at his home to exchange scary stories while a humiliated jock who wet himself during the presentation wanders around with an axe outside planning retribution. The stories told by the students become the meat of the film.

The first story told is a classic old dark house tale with a twist finale, the second, my doggie dilemma tale and the third involves CSI's MARGE HELGENBERGER battling a ski injury, an empty building and a raging psycho. The middle segment remains my favorite. It is not nearly as frightening as I recalled but for compensation it stars PENELOPE SUDROW the, "Welcome to prime time, bitch!" from NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 3 and the wonderous TRACY WELLS of MR. BELVEDERE fame illustrating that life may actually NOT be "more than mere survival" by being chomped on hounds and left for dead in the street by her awesomely outfitted gal pals.

I'll admit it, I've had a giant soft spot for horror anthology movies ever since I was traumatized by the weak in retrospect SCREAMS OF A WINTER NIGHT. AFTER MIDNIGHT may not curl your toes, but it has a more successful wrap around story than most and you just can't underestimate the power of MR. BELVEDERE alumni. Plus it has the scene below in its favor. How can you turn your back on a stop-motion skeleton and the classic decapitated talking head routine? Faults and random lameness aside I say this baby is one LEON REDBONE theme song short of being a keeper. It's not nearly as good as I remember, but then again I'm sure the same could be said about Meister Brau.

If you watch the extras on the DVD for the original PHANTASM, one thing director DON COSCARELLI was particularly proud of was his casting choices. He felt that the audience automatically sympathized with characters that they could recognize from their own lives rather than perfecto Hollywood types. I agree with that thought but guess what? UNIVERSAL PICTURES didn't, and so PHANTASM star A. MICHAEL BALDWIN was replaced by JAMES LEGROS for PHANTASM's nearly decade later sequel. Apparently BRAD PITT was also up for the role so I guess the word we can use is "compromise." Hey, JAMES LEGROS is a likable enough guy and I don't have my glasses on right now, but nobody could accuse him of being a pretty boy, right? Let's give him a break! Still for some PHANTASM fans this was a bit of a disappointment although they must have been at least partially appeased by the presence of Mr. Irreplaceable himself REGGIE BANNISTER.

PHANTASM II was released in 1988. Do you remember what song the world of horror was singing in 1988? I do. It went a little something like this: "Freddy Krueger, Freddy Krueger, yea, yea yea!" So ironically, even though our Mr.Krueger pretty much climbed up out of the dream world on ANGUS SCRIMM's back, now "The Tall Man" has got to start dancing to Freddy's tune! At least that's how I read an early scene where his tallness appears as a worm creature protruding from a hunchback in order to bark out nasty threats. Once the ELM STREET pandering is out of the way, COSCARELLI begins a rather brave attempt at expanding his PHANTASM universe triple fold. By which I mean, instead of one killer ball you now get three and instead of one cemetery you're now conceivably dealing with every cemetery in the world. MICHAEL (now JAMES LEGROS) and REGGIE, their families wiped out by "The Tall Man" and his minions, hit the road HIGHWAY TO HEAVEN style and decide to destroy the scourge once and for all.

PHANTASM II has somewhat of different tone than its predecessor. It's post apocalyptic, it always seems to be night and, whereas the original sported vibrant crayola box hues, we now get muddy watercolors. You also suddenly get two, count ‘em two, pretty lady characters. One is Liz (PAULA IRVINE) who shares a lovey-dovey psychic link with Michael and one is Alchemy or "Chemmy" (SAMANTHA PHILIPS) who has a very convenient for Reggie case of Acomophilia (sexual attraction to baldness). Although the first half of the film putters around a bit as it tries to get newbies up to speed, the second half, where it is decided that THE EVIL DEAD is the film to cuddle up to and emulate, gets to be more rousing. Cameras bust through doors, chainsaw fights ensue, one liners fly about and we even get a bag of ashes marked SAM RAIMI. I prefer this half to the earlier one, but it is still a bit difficult for me to adjust to this new approach. Look at me, I just called something from 1988 "new," how sad is that?

PHANTASM II is a likable enough sequel but it often breaks a noticeable sweat in its effort to please. As fun as it is to visit with the characters and to witness the special effect upgrades, I kind of miss the laid back, lazy summer charm of the original film. I also can't help wondering what could have been had COSCARELLI been left to his own devices and allowed to let his imagination run wild (preferably with A. MICHAEL BALDWIN in tow). That said, even with the forced action set pieces and panting attempts to keep up with the times, PHANTASM II still keeps at least one bony finger on the morbid wonder that made the first movie so great and I thank it for that. I also thank it for my favorite Tall Man line of the series, "You think that when you die you go to heaven…YOU COME TO US!"

NOTE: Even though the movie PHANTASM II doesn't exactly knock my tube socks off, this promo spot sure does. I can remember the anticipation it injected in me like it was yesterday. Is it a dream? No, it's not!

OPRAH says, "Love doesn't hurt;" pretty big words for someone who has never had a romance with a person whose genes have been fused with those of a common housefly. Investigative journalist Veronica Quaife (GEENA DAVIS) knows better, for even with the best intentions going in, her love affair with scientist Seth Brundle (JEFF GOLDBLUM) ends up mutated beyond recognition, completely unsalvageable and very, very painful.

Things begin in the typical manner between Veronica and Seth; playful jabs give way to longing looks and before you know it, sheets are flying and Chinese take out is being ordered. At this point their radical personality differences are mutually celebrated. Veronica is an aggressive yet amiable career gal who'd like to forget a recent bad relationship with her sleazy editor Stathis (JOHN GETZ), and Seth is an introverted loner married to his work who, "hates vehicles" and confesses to being not very knowledgeable about "the flesh."

Together they are a perfect symbiotic team. When not canoodling he creates machines that can transport baboons from one side of the room to the other, and she diligently records it when they get all turned inside out into mush. Their future hopes include a bestseller for her and a world without vehicles for him (plus maybe a Nobel Prize or two). Much like in real life everything was going great until everything started going great. See, Seth finally did get his baboon transporter to work BUT just when he did, Veronica stepped out to meet with her ex to tell him to shove it and Seth got all wicked jealous. Jealousy my friends can sometimes lead to drunkenness and poor decision making. Sometimes it can lead to you jumping into a baboon transporter without checking to see if there is a fly in there too.

For a while Seth does not realize how much he has screwed up, in fact quite the opposite. He begins to see himself as the greatest guy on Earth and just can't shut up about it. He even starts thinking he's too good for Veronica because she can't keep up with him in the sack! Soon he is biting her head off for no reason, making wild claims and dragging home the biggest sluts in town.

Veronica did not sign up for this shit. In fact, didn't she just get out of a relationship with a douche-bag? All signs point to drop the zero and eat a hero sandwich but Veronica is in love and she realizes that this pimply faced whack job is not her Seth! Rather than going on a shopping spree, starting a career as a hat designer or singing into a hairbrush she wisely takes a few of his gross back hairs to a lab and finds out he's THE FLY!

Sadly, knowing the problem is not always the answer because Seth is on a downward spiral and acts more like THE FLY with each passing day. Hey ladies, grab a bunch of your gal pals and invite them to play "I'm out!" while watching THE FLY. As soon as Seth does something that you know you'd have to give him his walking papers for scream "I'm out!" Is it when those first back hairs appear? Is it when his ear falls off? Is it when he squirts puss out of his face onto the bathroom mirror? I say the "I'm out!" moment is when he vomits on a donut and then eats it. Many people see THE FLY as an allegory for AIDS or cancer, but I see it as an allegory for sharing a living space with your significant other. (I kid, Aunt John, but really, using your hands instead of a fork to get pickles out of a jar? That's grody).

Veronica, as it turns out, is more understanding than the lot of us put together. Director DAVID CRONENBERG gets one of his biggest gross out moments just by showing her embracing Seth right after he does some sliming on himself. This really is a movie that requires love itself to put up or shut up. It dares love to quit. It requires love to be exactly what it boasts it is.

"I'm an insect who dreamt he was a man and loved it. But now the dream is over…and the insect is awake."

When Seth dreamt he was a man, was he in fact dreaming that he could be capable of a relationship? Was he dreaming he could put himself in the vulnerable position of caring about somebody else? Is his awakening back to insect form the return to a life as a meticulous self sufficient emotion free drone? If you really think about it, it was the fear of losing Veronica that turned this poor guy into THE FLY. That's what you get for being jealous.

DAVID CRONENBERG's retelling of THE FLY is in a class all by itself. Besides single handedly justifying the existence of remakes in general, it somehow fuses classic fifties era monster movie tropes with squishy eighties era body horror all the while creating what has to be one of the most heart wrenching relationship films ever made. It is simply a true blue classic that works on several levels at once and seems not only to stand up to the test of time but become more potent with age.

I'll be honest with you, the first time I saw CLIVE BARKER'S NIGHTBREED I didn't really get it. I loved the beginning and most of the middle, but by the end the movie had lost me. I was simply unconvinced; sections seemed implausible or downright ridiculous. The whole thing was just too fantastic and weird for me. Some of the monsters were "cool" but a couple I thought were pretty damn lame.

The truth is, it was I who was lame. I just wasn't ready to let go of my slasher expectations and go with the flow. CLIVE had created something so unusual and original that I automatically withdrew because it wasn't what I expected. The sad thing is that the movie is pretty much about idiots like the one I used to be, who, rather than take a second to try to understand something, reject it outright just because is different.

The good news is that I eventually grew the hell up and my mind expanded. Eventually I became worthy of appreciating NIGHTBREED for the flawed but brilliant film it is. It was all there all the time (well, at least the parts that were not jettisoned by an apathetic FOX studios). All I had to do was settle the hell down and listen, rather than try to direct the film psychically from my theater chair.

Based on his novella CABAL, and adapted by BARKER himself, NIGHTBREED tells the tale of Aaron Boone (CRAIG SHEFFER), a tortured soul who has been having dreams of a subterranean hive of variant monsters and phantasmic ghoulies . Having been convinced by his cold as an ice pick psychiatrist that he is responsible for the death of innocents, Boone, rather than fearing the monster world, yearns to find solace amongst societal rejects.

Boone's psychiatrist is played by, none other than, director DAVID CRONENBERG, and perhaps it is he who I should place the blame on for dampening the rest of the picture for me. Speaking in monotones that make the computer from 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY seem emotionally hysterical and often slipping into an awesome button-eyed, zipper-mouthed bag mask, my fascination with this character was so fervent that anytime he was off screen I was basically twiddling my mental thumbs awaiting his return. Furthermore, his character's name, Dr. Philip K. Decker, was a nod to the brain behind BLADE RUNNER so I was pretty much on cloud nine or should I say cloud nerd. Honestly, none of the other characters stood a chance with me.

Well there is a lot more going on in NIGHTBREED that I might have noticed if I did not have hearts in my eyes for the psychopathic main villain (who, by the way, is a total dickhead and whose mask of normalcy and blatant hypocrisy is the true evil presence in the movie). Many see NIGHTBREED as openly gay BARKER's coming out story and he backs that idea as well (We're here, we have extendable centipede arms, get used to it!). BARKER allows us access to a world of bizarre characters that, as it turns out, are not quite as monstrous as the accepted "normal" people who are bent on destroying them. In the end our pal Boone is required to embrace his differences in order to gain power from them (in other words, let his freak flag fly). Really this tale works for anybody gay or straight who at one time or another has felt different, like an outsider or somehow not complete (I'm looking at you entire world -don't try to front!) Certainly all that is enough for a little monster movie but wait there's more…

NIGHTBREED is a great love story (Clive's CABAL even more so). Lori (ANNE BOBBY), Boone's faithful girlfriend, in my opinion, is the real catalyst for all the action that takes place here. Her image might not be painted on the prophecy walls in the underground Oz, but it's her and Boone's mutual acceptance and regard for each other that is really steering this ship. Lori's love is unconditional and she can give a crap about the weirdoes her man has been hanging out with lately, and Boone risks rejection by his new crew when he can't stand by and watch her die at the hands of his hyper clinical, sick-o shrink. Aww shucks, I'm getting ferklemp again! Anyways, I was hoping these two knuckle head love birds would make it work. To quote my pal Nini, "Love conquers Biology!"

NIGHTBREED, thanks to studio interference (over 20 minutes of BARKER's director's cut was chopped out), a half-assed ad campaign (which reused an image from the poster from BAD DREAMS), and dumb-dumb audience members like myself, was a bit of a flop. It's too bad because even though it is in no way perfect, it's still a great tale. So I guess this review is really more of a public apology…

NIGHTBREED I'm sorry I threw you out, I'm sorry I sided with that dickhead Decker and if it's not too late, I'm ready to embrace your wonderful, absolutely unique monstrousness!