Category Archives: horror

Get Out (2017)

So you say you want to see The Stepford Wives repurposed to accommodate the latest #WOKE narratives around white privilege and white supremacy? Look no further, identity politics addicts! Get Out is here to confirm every current political narrative, every ideological bias, reinforce your racial self-loathing AND vicariously satisfy your murderous revenge fantasies! Idiotic, predictable, and supremely hateful, Get Out is one of the most vile examples of contemporary racial politics I’ve yet witnessed. Despite being the villains, the film is mostly geared for smug progressives who take Buzzfeed privilege quizzes seriously, retweet Tim Wise, think gender studies is a legitimate field of knowledge and have one or more #Blacklivesmatter merchandise items prominently displayed. The type of p*rsxn who thinks microaggressions are a thing and genuinely gets zer panties in a twist over the usage of #AllLivesMatter. Based on some of the responses in #WOKE Twitter, it apparently served its purpose of stoking the racial animosity industry which doesn’t exist for blacks cuz white institutional power and shit. 

Black people can’t be racist. So STFU. Take some critical race theory, racist.

The premise is very straightforward and there’s not a single real surprise to be found. Daniel Kaluuya plays smart, handsome, upwardly mobile photographer, Chris Washington. As Rose Armitage, the utterly charmless, vapid and detestable Allison Williams is perfectly cast as his seemingly #WOKE, sensitive, totally-not-racist girlfriend who has taken every article from Everyday Feminism to heart. They’re presumably in love and getting ready to spend a weekend with her parents. UH OH! GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER, AMIRITE? DO THEY KNOW???? “Oh, don’t worry,” assures Rose. “My dad would’ve voted for Obama for a third term.” GOT THAT, #RACISTS? THEY THINK THEY’RE TOTALLY NOT RACIST. BECAUSE THINKING YOU’RE NOT RACIST JUST PROVES THAT YOU’RE RACIST. IF YOU’RE WHITE, YOU’RE A RACIST, RACIST! With this current article of faith firmly established, it’s merely a matter of waiting to see which phantasmogoric manifestation of racial malevolence surfaces.  

Peak #WOKENESS?

It’s as though there’s a recurring theme.

Could it be that the media has….an agenda???

When they arrive at the Armitage estate, Chris is taken aback by the presence of black servants whose behavior is strangely vacant. Bradley Whitford’s Dean Armitage tries to reassure Chris that he’s totally-not-racist by affirming his wish for a third Obama term just like Rose said. Dinner time brings some additional tension when Rose’s unhinged, nutbag brother asks a few too many uncomfortable questions and initiates an awkward invitation to wrestle. Chris’ unease heightens as as his attempts at conversation with the servants only reinforce his concern that something is deeply wrong here. The tension reaches a crescendo during an outdoor party in which all of the Armitage’s rich, effete liberal aristocrat friends are in attendance. Every performance is a cringey stereotype of shallow cosmopolitanism. Chris is relieved to find another black guest, but is taken aback yet again upon discovering that he exhibits the same vacant mannerisms as the servants. He attempts a parting fist bump, but OH SNAP THE DUDE GRABS HIS FIST INSTEAD. A REAL BROTHA WOULD HAVE RETURNED THE CULTURAL GESTURE. When Chris returns to his room, he bugs out completely when he discovers that the charger cord on his phone has been disconnected yet again. WILL CHRIS ESCAPE THIS #RACIST PRISON OF RICH, WHITE LIBERAL PROGRESSIVES?????

To be perfectly fair, there is some deeper subtext pertaining to the dissolution of the black family and the deleterious effect it’s had on black culture. Catherine Keener plays the matriarch of the Armitage family and possesses the ability to induce hypnosis on the black victims. While under hypnosis, Chris finds himself imprisoned in a psychic netherworld called The Sunken Place. She exploits Chris’ guilt over a childhood trauma he experienced losing his single mother. Naturally, we have another well adjusted black male who grew up with a single mother and no father. The Sunken Place could have been explored further as a metaphor for debased state of the black family. Now before you post that Mother Jones article preaching against spreading hate facts about single mothers, the data reveals overwhelmingly negative effects for black children growing up with single mothers. The Armitage family can be seen as an archetypal legacy of white progressive elites which stretches back to Margaret Sanger through Lyndon Johnson and up to Hillary Clinton who’ve wrought vast destruction on the black population. 

If there is a genuine criticism of institutional racism in the film, the entire legacy of progressive legislation from Jim Crow to the Great Society to the 1994 Crime Bill must be put on trial. Filmmaker Jordan Peele claims that the film was meant as a poke in the eye at white, middle-class liberal elites. Fair enough. That’s an admirable aim and a deserving target, but ultimately, I doubt that anyone came out of the theater thinking about anything other than the evil, racist white man. 

The film also does some particularly idiotic cheerleading for the TSA.  LilRel Howery plays Chris’ best friend, Rod Williams, and he brings his suspicions of foul play to the authorities. He lays out his concern that a rich, white family is responsible for the abduction of his best friend. They laugh off his allegations (HAHAHA! WHITE PRIVILEGE, AMIRITE?) and Rod is left to investigate his friend’s disappearance on his own. As TSA gropefests make the news on a regular basis, it’s as though the filmmakers were intentionally stoking the racial animosity so that they could sneak in sympathy for a frequently embarrassing and increasingly intrusive government agency

There is something deeply depressing, nihilistic and slightly malevolent about this film.  It’s a film which could have been so much more surgical about connecting racism to policy outcomes presumably aimed at improving life for the black community. It could have addressed the Left’s absolute refusal to discuss things like fatherlessness, values or IQ. Instead, it was content to take a worthy target and exploit the narrative du jour. It felt like the goal was just to have progressives walk out engaging in another circle jerk of postmodern smugness. OMG! SO GOOD AND SO TRUE! THE FACT THAT WE CAN CHEER A MOVIE PORTRAYING WHITES AS RACIST VILLAINS PROVES WE’RE NOT RACIST! AND NOW WE’RE GOING TO GO TO A DECOLONIZING WORKSHOP TO PURGE OURSELVES OF OUR TOXIC WHITENESS! Could you make this very same film in which you reversed the race of the two leads? Of course you couldn’t. The Left have abandoned any notion of holding people to equal standards. They’re hypocrites and cowards who only want to construct a cultural panopticon filled with recursive loops of confirmation bias designed for the sole purpose of engineering a self-reinforcing consensus of pure ideological conformity. Make no mistake, they are actively engaged in the business of reshaping language and culture. By dominating media and the entire education apparatus, they’re constructing one-sided cultural narratives that are impervious to scrutiny, debate or facts. Racism is EXCLUSIVELY a phenomenon of the white race through the postmodern magic of “historical and institutional power”. Get Out is just the latest escalation of the Left’s cultural hegemony of boundless nihilism and obnoxious cynicism. Naturally, the critical echo chamber is gushing with praise. They’re already pushing it on Academy voters. I’m sure it’ll be Best Picture at next year’s Oscars.

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China Miéville: Perdido Street Station

If you have a taste for horror, fantasy, science fiction or just some virtuosic off-the-chain weirdness, pick up this book immediately.  Mr. Miéville has described his work as “new weird” and though it’s kind of dumb, I suppose it’ll have to do. What he’s doing feels new and original even if the influences are clearly evident. This is a next level genre mashup.

Squalid, gothic urban hellscape?  Check. Avian, insectoid and cactus humanoids? Yup. Bio-engineered mutants? Uh huh. A ghastly crime lord which would make Lovecraft squirm? Yes. A band of heroes embroiled in a tale of political intrigue trying to stave off apocalyptic doom? Got it. Dream eating moths which defecate psychotropic dung? Of course. Gonzo physics, chemistry, artificial intelligence, magic and some crazy shit about crisis energy? Sure. A dimension hopping spider which spews opaque riddle poems? Covered. Sentient mechagod which animates itself with junk from a scrapyard and speaks through a rotting corpse avatar? Got that too. Enough gruesome carnage to satisfy a rabid gorehound? Oh yeah.

Miéville’s imagination and storytelling gifts are dazzling. Perdido Street Station is overflowing with strange, vividly rendered characters and ideas. It’s the kind of material you could imagine being adapted for Heavy Metal. The cinematic detail Miéville brings to the world of Bas-Lag and New Crobuzon deserves special mention. The city is a character in and of itself and Mr. Miéville has succeeded in creating a fantasy cityscape which is simultaneously grand and squalid. 

Thematically, this book is essentially a meditation on choices and the impact our choices have on others. To a certain degree, it is also about the pursuit of individuality and the price you pay for that pursuit. Mr. Miéville’s politics are hamfisted, naïve, and cartoonish, but I’m not going to withhold my recommendation because it is such a flat out tour de force. Miéville is a self-professed Marxist, and he always manages to find ways to portray entrepreneurs and the pursuit of profit as morally degenerate. It’s dumb and predictable, but his novels are so good, it shouldn’t be a deterrence.

The Green Inferno (2013)

When a film stirs controversy, you must first consider who’s pissed off by it or trying to manufacture the illusion that their film is stirring controversy. Broadly speaking, you can tell which films are truly subversive based on whether they affirm establishment narratives or defy them.  For example, in the case of the Ghostbusters remake, it was patently obvious that establishment media went out of its way to portray criticism of the film as irrational, hate filled backlash instead of reasonable people who saw it as another lazy, opportunistic exercise in social justice revisionism desperately trying to be edgy gender swapping. On the other hand, if the criticism is directed towards the film itself and includes accusations of “racism”, “sexism” or “misogyny”, chances are good that it’s pissing off the right people and is probably genuinely subversive in one way or another. The Green Inferno is most definitely in the latter category and is a giant middle finger held gleefully aloft at the current trend toward Hollywood social justice activism and political correctness. 

Most films made these days have a political editorial of one form or another, and anyone who thinks that horror is just pure exploitation isn’t giving the genre enough credit. Horror has the potential to deliver a biting commentary that other genres can’t touch, and The Green Inferno is one of the finest exemplars of this phenomenon. Needless to say, the entire film is a giant piss take on social justice activism and social justice warriors, but it succeeds so brilliantly because it attends to the twin mandates of good filmmaking: tell a good story and respect the tradition to which your film belongs. 

The Green Inferno is a variant of the cannibal-horror genre which tells the story of social justice activists who set out to save a Peruvian tribe and things go horribly wrong. Horribly, terribly wrong. It undoubtedly draws inspiration from films like Cannibal Holocaust, but the fun of The Green Inferno is all in the setup and the ultimate payoff. 

The victims in horror films in the slasher genre meet their inevitable demise at the hands of the killer generally for exhibiting an excess of stupidity, hubris, or naïveté. This simple storytelling hook can give the filmmaker ample opportunity to comment on any social or political phenomenon he pleases. In this film, Eli Roth uses this device to maximum effect.  

When the film opens, we are introduced to college student protagonists, Justine and Kaycee.  After leaving a class where they are horrified to discover female genital mutilation practices in African and Middle Eastern countries, the roommates pass by a group of social justice warriors agitating for free health insurance. From the thrift store garments to the dumb slogans to the mindless fist pumping chants, Roth invokes the stereotypical AnCom/Bernie Sanders/OWS/Greenpeace leftist douchebag perfectly. Justine catches the eye of charismatic leader, Alejandro, but Kaycee snaps her out of her hypnosis and warns her not to get involved with guys like him.  They leave the scene of the protest with Kaycee contemptuously pronouncing the activists “gay”. 

Justine receives an invitation to join the activists from one of Alejandro’s amiable but vacant underlings who hands her a flyer which appropriately reads “ACT! Don’t think”.  Justine attends the meeting, but is immediately expelled for the insolent microaggression of speaking out of turn and triggering everyone in the group. She is eventually invited back because Alejandro is intent on working his faux-Che Guevara routine all the way into her pants. In the second meeting, Alejandro sets up the gambit. Go to Peru, prevent the evil corporation from destroying the habitat and indigenous tribe by strapping themselves to bulldozers, transmit the incident to social media, attract global sympathy and government support, and everyone goes down in #hxstory. Justine is sold. She ignores the warnings of her bigwig UN lawyer father after taking his money, and joins her merry band of SJWs on the flight to the rainforests of Peru to Change the World®. 

Roth smuggles in little pieces of editorial at unexpected moments. When discussing the details of their plans, Alejandro reminds them that the militia protecting the company assets will be armed.  One of the activists suggests that they get their own guns so they can protect themselves. In a typical leftist fashion, Alejandro torpedoes the idea and says that their cellphones will save them and if any one of them is greased, then they’ll just have to kill all of them. Ain’t collectivism grand, proles?  

The activists pull off their little stunt, but Justine barely escapes with her life after she’s threatened at gunpoint by one of the militia. Justine is appalled to learn that Alejandro was willing to allow her to die if it came down it. He confesses that he didn’t really give a shit about the cause or the tribe, and that they were just paid by a competing firm to give the company bad press. Hello, George Soros and MoveOn.org. The activists are basking in the glory of their social media fame when the plane’s engine sputters and begins plummeting into the jungle. The crash sequence is brilliantly executed and truly harrowing. The pilot is impaled in the skull, the cabin splits in half and dumps half of the passengers on to the jungle floor.  Once on the ground, they think things can’t get worse, but soon discover that their troubles have only just begun. The remaining activists are tranquilized by blow darts and imprisoned by the indigenous tribe they set out to save in the first place.  

This is where the film kicks into overdrive. Roth takes obvious pleasure in violating PC taboos and doesn’t pass up a single opportunity.  The biggest of which was the casting of the indigenous tribe themselves. You won’t have to search too hard to find some irritating Puritan bitching about “racism” or some other comparably idiotic whinging. This casting choice is a masterstroke and lends the film a feeling of authenticity that makes the film truly terrifying. The tribe wastes no time picking out their first victim, and they choose the poor bastard who brought Justine into the fold. It’s some brutal shit. I realize there’s plenty of gruesome stuff out there these days, but this is a pretty rough scene.  

And it doesn’t stop after the butchery is over. The tribe then prepares the human parts for a tribal feast!  It’s disgusting, but utterly outrageous all at once. 

Roth doesn’t limit himself to grand guignol; he pushes the boundaries of gender correctness, too. In another scene, the female leader of the tribe inserts a giant talon up the vagina of each of the female captives to test for virginity. He draws out the tension by allowing you to experience how terrified each of the women are.  That’s right. Women expressing actual fear. It’s exactly the kind of scene that’s drawn the ire of feminists and culture cops for years, but the thing the Puritans fail to grasp is that seeing a woman fear for her life is, in fact, horrifying. And it’s especially transgressive when the contemporary orthodoxy mandates that women be portrayed as physically stronger, smarter, and more capable than men.

The remainder of the film is a race for survival and ends with an unexpected twist which hints at the possible beginning of a franchise. 

The Green Inferno is a nasty little horror film that achieves exactly what it should by mixing a genuinely scary premise with black humor and attitude to spare. It’s not completely out of line to point out that there are echoes of Herzog here as well. The jungle itself is very much a character in the film and there’s little doubt that Roth and company were cribbing from Aguirre and Fitzcarraldo just as much as Cannibal Holocaust. Roth and company achieved their ambitions with this film.  He deserves credit for his ambition and for being unafraid to piss off people who deserve every bit of ridicule he dishes.