Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #20: DOUBLE FEATURE! Dead Snow (2009) / Dead Snow 2: Red vs. Dead (2014).

Seven young, horny medical students have arrived in Oksfjord, Norway for an Easter holiday in the snow. Their itinerary consists basically of drinking, skiing and fucking. They are Martin (Vegar Hoel), Roy (Stig Frode Henriksen), Hanna (Charlotte Frogner), adventurous Vegard (Lasse Valdal), Liv (Evy Kasseth Rosten), movie geek Erland (Jeppe Laursen), and Sara (Ane Dahl Torp). They are just settled into their cabin when an enigmatic wanderer (Bjorn Sundquist), arrives, after a cup of coffee, to warn them of the area's murky history. It turns out during the Second World War, the Nazis abused the local residents for three years until, with the war's end and Germany's defeat imminent, the soldier's looted all the village's valuables. After the locals them ambushed and killed many of them, the survivors then were chased into the mountains where they were thought to have frozen to death. But they did not. And now our gang are about to awake angry Nazi zombies who want their gold back.

Obviously, Dead Snow (2009) is no respectable Holocaust drama, but it was never meant to be. Director (and co-writer with Henriksen) Tommy Wirkola, who's since made the modern horror adaptation of Hansel and Gretel in Hollywood, massacres good taste here with extreme prejudice and takes to the pacing of the whole thing like a kid with a new toy. There's even an arm amputation scene (leaving 127 Hours for dead) that still challenges even me, but if you have the stomach for it as I do, you'll lap it right up.

Now if you're up for seconds, Dead Snow 2: Red vs. Dead (2014) may be even more enjoyable, which is literally miraculous for a horror sequel. It immediately picks up where the first left off, with our sole survivor (who I won't name for spoiler reasons) having a car crash and then waking up, sedated and strapped down in hospital. After now hearing of a so-called American "Zombie Squad" from a tourist who sneaks into his room and then surviving yet another zombie attack which the police pin on him, he flees their custody and has to learn what the squadron's commander Herzog (Orjan Gamst) wants. Now the Zombie Squad, after he contacts them, are revealed as nerdy friends Daniel (Martin Starr), Monica (Jocelyn DeBoer) and Blake (Ingrid Haas), and once they arrive they get sucked right into the battle to truly make the Third Reich history once and for all.

As much as I still love Dead Snow, this one has revealed more of itself to me over repeat viewings, and its gore is slightly more convincing given the bigger budget (although both still stand on their own well enough), and its in-jokes are broader and cleverer. That's essential in any horror comedy, and these two, it must be said, leave most of their American counterparts for undead. And finally, after seeing Dead Snow 2: Red vs. Dead, I promise you will NEVER listen to Total Eclipse of the Heart in the same way ever again.







Australia's Owners.

The first Australians are a proud, ancient race,
Whose culture and identity leave a long and deep trace.
From philosophy to farming, from trade to arts,
They've given this country its unique, beating heart.

And while since white settlement they've endured a plight,
Not once have they gone down without a fight.
When their babies and lands were taken they took a stand,
And when the dirt was poured the shook Whitlam's hand.

But today as we all have to earn enough wages,
Sadly for them the battle still rages.
And the only way we will escape history's trap
Is if we all work together to at last bridge the gap.

 

Our pollies and their expenses...

Our politicians are servants. That's common knowledge. And all servants deserve a buck, even if (in this case) their initiatives and motivations aren't always popular or even ethical. I also believe, at least more often than not, it's not so much how much money you make as what you spend it on.


But now, since 2015 Australia has seen three significant abuses of taxpayer funded political entitlements. Firstly we had Bronwyn Bishop hiring a fucking helicopter, of all things, to attend a Liberal Party fundraiser. Then last month Sussan Ley forked $795 000 out to buy a Gold Coast apartment which I refuse to believe she needed (ever heard of a motel, love?), and as Health Minister her job is to help people who either are staying in hospital or will likely never be able to live independently. How can she sleep at night?


Finally, we now have Julie Bishop under investigation for spending $2700 to attend a polo match (and to non-Australian readers: no, she and Bronwyn are not related), but while I don't know her personally, with her well-honed death stare I'd be too scared to confront her about this even if I did.

Now, let me very sincerely stress it would be no different if any male and/or non-Liberal (they're the conservatives here, by the way, for you non-Aussies) politicians abused their earnings; I just can't think of any such examples besides Sam Dastyari. But the spendings themselves aren't the point. We, the working- and middle-classes, pay their wages, and if they serve long enough, prime ministers even get a lifelong,, taxpayer-funded pension upon leaving office. (As do former US presidents.) Now, in fairness Bronwyn Bishop resigned from parliament after her chopper scandal and Ley has vacated her cabinet post, but... they both had to get caught first.

Obviously, pollies deserve pay for at least life's essentials. But when they disregard or forget whose money has become theirs, that's corrupt ignorance and ingratitude in my book, and they should all hang their heads in shame.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #19: Deathgasm (2015).

New Zealand has given the world many interesting things: the Haka, pavlova (whether, as an Aussie, I like to admit that or not), Hobbits (via England and Middle-earth), Split Enz/Crowded House. kiwis and, of course, sheep jokes for Australians. But they've also produced many great films, like The Piano, Once Were Warriors, Whale Rider and, of course, again The Lord of the Rings. Then in 2015 came one (literally) devilishly entertaining entry into that pantheon: the death metal horror comedy Deathgasm.

Meet Brodie (Milo Cawthorne), the new kid in town. After his crack-addicted mother is sent to the nuthouse, he's thrown in with his bible-bashing uncle, aunt and cousin who immediately ostracise him for his love of metal. Not even seeing the gorgeous Medina (Kimberley Crossman) can shake his contempt for his new environment... until, at the local music store Alien Records, he meets Zakk (James Blake), a fellow headbanger who happily has the social skills of Ted Bundy.

Brodie and Zakk now join forces with their equally outcast mates Dion (Sam Berkeley) and Giles (Daniel Cresswell) to form a band, Deathgasm, and then find some sheet music they commit to playing. But this music should've stayed hidden, for it summons an ancient demon which curses the whole town. Now our thrashing foursome must save the day.

Consider yourself forewarned (if necessary): if you're a feminist or even mildly religious, do not watch this one. And it's obviously not one for the kids either, based on the gore alone; it could make even George A. Romero run to the toilet. But that's just the point, and I can think of nothing stupider than expecting subtlety from a death metal horror comedy.

First-time writer-director Jason Lei Howden clearly loves those three genres and he melds both them and their different mediums with a take-no-prisoners approach which fits like a glove, and under all the fake blood and guts, he sneaks in a very sincere condemnation of exlusive modern New Zealand society, and quite relatable character dynamics.

To top it all off, the young leads all have a bundle of fun with their performances even while they get drowned in all manner of shit, the make-up and visual effects are very effective in a deliberately tacky way and Howden also embellishes it with several fresh animated sequences. Deathgasm is shameless, gleeful, relentless, headstrong and authentic, but best of all: it truly never gives a FUCK what you think of it.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #18: 7 Boxes (2012).

7 Boxes (2012) follows Victor (Celso Franco), a teenage porter in Asuncion, the capital of Paraguay. One afternoon while hanging out in the markets with tearaway girl Liz (Lali Gonzalez), he intercepts a package of seven mysterious wooden boxes which he must urgently deliver to a local crime boss. Victor believes this is just another delivery until he and Liz are shocked to discover the boxes contain a woman's hacked-up body. Now when the thugs learn of this discovery, Victor and Liz must really run for it.

7 Boxes is the only South American film I've seen, but it sure is a good one. As we follow Victor and Liz on their frantic journey, it provides a very vivid, clear exploration of contemporary Paraguay: the poverty, organized crime, and those citizens clinging to their old-world traditions, but also the other side where Western technologies and slang have permeated the culture. This is especially thanks to the frenetic but natural cinematography and suitably methodical editing, all at directors Juan Carlos Maneglia and Tana Schembori's command.

Also, Celso Franco and Lali Gonzalez are both perfectly cast, with solid chemistry as this uncouth, dirty street kid and cynical tomboy who slowly learn to understand and respect each other, propelled as they both are into a very dangerous predicament.

7 Boxes occasionally evokes early Scorsese and Tarantino, but it ultimately proves South American cinema can match those two geniuses, and with its own distinctive vibes.

Me as Aspie.

Most well-known diseases or conditions have well-recognised symptoms now. Frequent headaches can mean brain cancer or a tumour, AIDS can bring bodily lesions, heavy coughing can mean cystic fibrosis. But autism spectrum disorders are a quite different beast. With each one there are definitely common tell-tale signs, but unlike those of genuine diseases, they can differ markedly between cases. This may be one reason why autism awareness, even in medical circles, didn't really emerge until the 1980s, and why understanding of it still has so far to go.

I have Asperger's syndrome. If you don't know, that's a high-functioning autism spectrum disorder, characterised by deficiencies in social and interpersonal interaction, motor skills, spatial awareness and sensory processing, with very specific, intense interests.

Its namesake, Hans Asperger, was an Austrian paediatrician who, in the 1930s and '40s, studied the behaviours of numerous children who'd been referred to him. He found a psychiatric pattern between them, which led to his discovery of the condition that would be named in his honour in 1994. Intriguingly, Asperger himself, reportedly exhibited many of its "tell-tale signs": he was frequently lonely and struggled to make friends as a child, he often referred to himself in the third person, and would recite obscure poetry to his uninterested university classmates, among other things.

But anyway, this entry's main purpose is for me to reveal my particular Aspie traits. I'm not ignorant of others'; I just can't speak for them.

- I'm sensitive to being poked, and EXTREMELY ticklish.
- I'm very prone to overthinking and can easily trip over my words.
- I often talk to myself conversationally.
- I value routine (but too much can be boring or constrictive).
- I can be rudely honest or assertive.
- I sometimes have a different sense of hot and cold to most.
- I'm easily bored or distracted.
- I play with my hair constantly.
- I have all my books arranged by height and/or weight, all my DVDs and Blurays arranged alphabetically, and all my CDs arranged alphabetically with ones by the same artist arranged chronologically.
- I have a very high physical pain threshold (several GPs have told me so).
- I can very much hold my liquor (mind you, I also have Irish ancestry).
- I often have trouble with following or remembering choreography or new procedures.

These are the most common ones I have, anyway. I have numerous friend with it who share some of them but also have ones of their own. But the spectrum is vast and needing guidance is simply human. Cure autism? How about bigotry, or actual diseases?

P.S. You all know what a movie buff I am, and the Best Picture Oscar winner for my birth year was Rain Man. Coincidence?

Language, the Unifier.

What separates us? Geography, personal disagreements, social standing, tastes? Now what connects us? Our tongues connect us, in multiple ways. It's an organ everybody has, and always for the same purposes. But one of those we often forget about now is that of letting us talk. Language (another word for which of course is "tongue" itself) is what we have for communication, as you all know. But even now, in 2017 (and a happy new year to you all, by the way), with so many unconventional new communication forms, languages can be fascinatingly enigmatic.


Collectively and individually, they're like a puzzle. In each one, every word is so different yet mutually beneficial, if you removed just one, something vital would be gone. But collectively is where the real links, positive and unmistakable, become clear. Most of the words change, but never their definitions. I say "Most of" there because remember, the English language is a composite of all others.

I'm no philologist, but I just love how all languages interconnect. And that's not even including kinds like body language, which even has inter-species similarities. That interconnection is very important today, when religious and cultural conflicts still rage. Our connections have always outnumbered our contrasts. And they start with what rolls off our tongues.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #17: Human Traffic (1999).

Human Traffic (1999) follows five young London friends: Jip (John Simm), Lulu (Lorraine Pilkington), Nina (Nicola Reynolds), Nook (Shaun Parkes) and Moff (Danny Dyer), who are all fed up with their unrewarding working-class lives, their only escapes from these being when they can all hang out. This of course means hitting the pubs and nightclubs each weekend to get royally fucked-up. Human Traffic follows them over one particularly heady weekend.

Writer-director Justin Kerrigan, aged just 25, drew his first film from three very '90s phenomena - Britpop, the rave culture and Cool Britannia - but these influences are consciously and lovingly invoked, and with or without them, Human Traffic still feels timeless overall. It pulsates with life, with pacing and a visual language that recalls Danny Boyle and Quentin Tarantino and a forceful soundtrack (especially a modern adaptation of God Save the Queen, which the cast perform). It gets you right into the centre of pre-Millennial England, with its youngsters very cynical and unsure if they'll make anything of themselves. And while on the surface they may seem very irresponsible and uncouth, Kerrigan and his very charismatic cast sincerely make you care for them, by nailing the sense of community they have together. There's no understanding or solidarity like the kind between young, misfit friends. For me an added plus, too, is the scattering of Star Wars references throughout; Moff's name being the most obvious. As I think he'd say... it's British brilliance, d'you know what I mean?

Finally, there's a critical lesson here: if you're going to have a pull in your mother's house, for fuck's sake, lock the door.