Tuesday, June 28, 2011


Munchie (1990)/ Munchie Strikes Back(1992) Jim Wynorski director

Review by William Wheaton

What do you get when you use a producer best known for horror (Roger Corman) a director best known for soft-core pornography and horror (Jim Wynerski) and an actor best known in recent years for being caught in the whole Pellicano wiretapping scandal (Andrew Stevens), and have them do a family film?
Munchie and its sequel Munchie Strikes Back Are these two of the worst films of all time? It could be someone’s opinion, but they have a definite curiosity value. The 80’s saw an incredible wave of monster movies featuring small monsters- Critters, Ghoulies, Gremlins, and even Hobgoblins. I am a huge fan of this genre, but I have never made it through legendary b-film producer Roger Corman's Munchies form this period. In the early 90’s, soft core and horror super director was tapped to put together Munchie and Munchie Strikes Back, which are only in some vague sense sequels to Munchies. Munchie is more about a single creature with magical powers and more so a good guy. That puppet sucks. The crappiness of the puppet used in Munchie and Munchie Strikes Back makes these films. The original Munchie has Don DeLouise, a terrible actor you’ve at least heard of. Munchie Strikes Back not even. Actor Andrew Stevens, who later became a producer, is near and dear to my heart, as I saw him testify at Pellicano where he admitted to using Pellicano to tap his business enemies phones. In Munchie Strikes Back he plays an evil business man, oddly enough. He plays unrelated villain characters in these two films.
That wacky Munchie, magical powers, and he loves pizza. He started all the great civilizations in human history, but he’s more then happy to help a growing boy in need, which is the basic plotline of both Munchie films. Pre-adoloscent male, learning about girls, family problems, little league in the second one, and Munchie is on the case of helping the boy with his problems. Munchie is wish fulfillment. That wacky Munchie just waves his hand, and magically makes the pizza fly. Trouble with girls? Family problems? Munchie to the rescue! On the topic of wish fulfillment, director Jim Wynorski is famous for his unbelievable fetish for large breasts, which is even evident with the actresses in the Munchie films he did. But what really stands out to me about these films is the shitty puppet. When they try and make that thing dance or move it just looks wrong. No budget special effects on these. Then of course like many family films there are over sentimental heart-to-heart sequences with Munchie offering advice on the problems of growing up to the young boy. This is car wreck cinema- you won’t be able to take your eyes of the mutilation. But my faithful readers may ask, why Munchie now? Is Munchie the allegorical figure of the desperate idealism of Williamsburg hipsters fueled on brown Puerto Rican cocaine, electro clash and expensive MFAs from Cologne and lower east side douchebag artists, writers and curators? Isn't that what you all pay for? Well, I myself am a libertarian conservative connected more strongly with the Libertarian Party or Ron Paul then to the Constitution Party or the Evangelical end of the Republican party., but I did find this intriguing interpretation of Munchie on a Christian website, which argues surprisingly well that Munchie is satanic:


Munchie Strikes Back has become hard to find and expensive when you do. There is a version on YouTube with Russian cheaply dubbed over it but if you turn up the speakers you can still hear the original English. The alternative would be to spend a lot of money in order to see Munchie Strikes Back, something I can’t be held accountable for encouraging. If you get a kick at all out of watching bad movies and laughing at them, then Munchie is not to be missed. Munchie Strikes Back is very similar. In that inverse way Munchie and Munchie Strikes Back are good movies.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

h8ball mrlam(e)

Let's consider the prevailing barbarity of much contemporary art production, the primitive accumulation accomplished through crude manners and Richard Prince worship that marks the current exhibition of Nate Lowman.

The primary lesson of John Milius’ libertarian cinematic tract, Conan the Barbarian, was its paranoid misunderstanding of the will-to-power as the conquering vengeance of the oedipal slave, that is the will-to-power recast as the master-slave dialectic… The unshackling will to self that consolidates its lordly power through the shackling of others via the secret of steel, i.e. the patrilineal sword, the phallic signifier 'willfuly' manifested as steel. As so often is quoted in a drunken night among fraternal buds, Conan’s self-effectuating answer to the question ‘what is best in life’, he replies with a Serra-esque list of verbs—“To crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women. “

After years spent questing the shallowest forays of trash culture, the Lowman returns with his bounty in tow. A procession of alienated labor (those college grads paying off debt…) and defeated celebrities--from Joan Rivers to de Kooning's Marilyn--like the slaves from conquests abroad brought whipped and shackled into the glorious metropolitan salons of the 21st century further embellishes the signalling of a new lord returned to rule us all. The human spoils of Lowman's bounty fills not one but two of Manhattan’s largest galleries in its self-proclaimed ‘trash landing’. Sure, thanks to the reifying power of contemporary artworks, the lamentations are put on mute—perhaps for Gavin's sake as I'm certain Maccarone wouldn't care…

Yet, given the aesthetic power of synaesthesia, their howls of bondage re-emerge as the noisy drips marking each and every painting. These works' messy formal 'surplus', that authored seepage whose distinctive facture removes the idea that they are mere mechanical facsimiles, marks Lowman's appropriated property in the same way that an iron brand marks livestock. This is appropriation art as primitive accumulation, the quaking of the earth with the war drums of one’s hubris, spitting or jizzing in someone’s soup to inform them who really owns them.

Crucial to understanding the cultural value of Conan’s deeply conservative art was that screenwriter Oliver Stone intended for the film adaptation of Robert E. Howard’s fantasy novels to be set in a post-apocalyptic future—a wholly normative coke-fueled epiphany akin to all the other return to order fantasies of mainstream cinema during the Reagan years. This fact only further embellishes this return of the barbaric as sovereign operator in a posthistorical time that delineates its public sense by coming home everyday to family values. Might Nate, in a fit of patrilineal anxiety, throw celebrity women under the bus because he can only impregnate their mediated image with meaning and not their factual bodies with his conquering seed? Even a painting of a notorious hurricane is understood through this patriarchal angst, a swirling vortex of trauma complete with a woman's name—a name that might as well be 'Mary-Kate'.

Like the raising of the sun to extinguish the mongrel night, this overflowing exhibition salutes this tumescent prince with the fulfilment of his kingship, the coronation of his self—Nate, The Lowman—into the sovereign figure through which a contemporary public is able to circulate their being and its 'whatever' understandings. A quick google search of ‘nate lowman’ reveals his indissoluble lordship, nowhere do the artistic by-products of his kingly autopoeisis figure in the results, only the man himself appears. Nate caught by a papparrazzo as he passes through the 'public' interstices between his studio and home and all as he hangs on the arm of his now lost queen.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Metallica with Lou Reed: Full Album Recorded

William Wheaton

It was fairly intriguing if nothing else in 2009 when Lou Reed and Metallica jammed on two old Velvet Underground songs at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 25th anniversary show at Madison Square Garden. It was revealed by Rolling Stone magazine last night that Lou Reed and Metallica went into the studio in May and cut an entire album. Lou Reed wrote the songs and then Metallica helped build arrangements.
So what is this going to be an album that hipsters buy or is this going to become a joke or what is this going to be? It may be the best move either side could make at this point. Lou Reed’s solo career had some unlistenable bad depths and Metallica are probably never fully going to get over that stupid documentary were they go into group therapy together. It might have made more so sense for them to make this seemingly arbitrary move back in the early to mid 90’s, when I was a teenager because the air waves at that point were filled with people like Jane’s Addiction, Nirvana, and Nine Inch Nails who were probably influenced by both Metallica and Lou Reed. Lou Reed hasn’t played with a band that produced that much noise since the original Velvet Underground. If nothing else the version of “White Light/White Heat” from the Madison Square Garden show is very loud. Metallica’s contemporary metal bands and in my opinion musical superiors Voivod and Celtic Frost took wild musical risks like that and had open ears to things going in punk or gothic/industrial music.
I think those people are likely to get very bored doing what they do year after year. They must. Metallica are getting kind of old Lou Reed is obviously older. They have to take risks like this or their existence becomes irrelevant even to themselves, likely.
I’ll give the new album a listen when it comes out. I’ve said here earlier I feel less and less interested in “bands” for the most part, it has to do with my moving politically to the right over recent years and a few other things, although it has been a long process of growing disdain. I have felt that Lou Reed with Metallica doing “White Light/White Heat” had a certain vitality to it. There are some interesting musical textures coming out of that collaboration-more so then some jack-ass indie rocker’s local band in Williamsburg.
We’ll hear it when it comes out, which is not clear when.

The Pure Essence of Garbage

The new Peste Noire album is going miles to alienate their fanbase for the win!

Famine, who now goes by DJ Famine, said in a 2009 interview with diabolical conquest that the next album would be all reggae, "pure 'fucking' reggae' to be specific. And although he failed to deliver on that promise, ska-punk is present, and so are electronic beats, polka, sex and machine gun samples, funky bass solos, orchestral instrumentation, chicken imitations and those romantic guitar leads that brought fans to this band in the first place. Piling all this genre-fucking onto tracks so expansive and theatrical they can hardly be called 'songs', DJ Famine projects his nationalist agony with a rarefied air and utter disgust for humanity.

Mourning their disdain at having sexual intercourse with the beloved French soil in its current state of decadent putrefaction (gasp, foreigners are walking on it!), the music manages to be all at once extremely melancholic, conservative and fratty—which no doubt will make it a big hit among North-American audiences...

Forget the hipster recuperated Les Legions Noires and their countless children. One no longer needs to suffer the sight of a short-haired, post-collegiate bro moshing in a Mutiilation t-shirt at the reunion show of Ted Leo's old hardcore band (great band tho, Citizen's Arrest). Seize this here metal as one that not only sets its aim on the moral agenda of the cultural mainstream but also one that ecstatically soils the dignity to which this subculture endows its alternative forms. Cultness bedamned, this music is contemporary in the gauchest sense possible. With black metal's trite intimation of 'trueness', the obscure reaches of this pathopuritanical subgenre are increasingly subject to libidinal circulation by urban professionals who, with their media apparatuses, then weave its identifications into a yet another marketable, compensatory veil to enrich their suburbanized lives. 'L'Ordure D'√Čtat Pure' corrects this instrumentalization, the hipster minstrel show of corpse paint and bullet belts loses itself in the mocking sociality of a Rabelesian carnival or within Baudelaire's criminal flaneur. In the advent of hipster metal columns and blogs—even a 'cvlt nation' has recently been founded, mockery has a new cross to which it must howl.

Put this on for a 'poseur test.' If they love it, they're a poseur; if they hate it, they're a poseur. Alienation all around, just like the one ms. DJ Famine, a dual citizen of hell and the kingdom of France, feels. This album finds exile at l'Auberge Espagnole… the Erasmus-sanctioned putrefaction of the mourning corpse of Old Europe impgrenates every second of this highly toxic magister opus of a gargoyle turd.

Like the stylistically miscengenating Lugubrum before them (see their excellent 2008 record, 'Albino de Congo', an album claimed to have been recorded in the former Belgian colony)—a band whose self-described 'brown metal' revels not in the absence of light but rather the matter of our human 'sub-continent'—Peste Noire uncomfortably appends 'shit' to this sub-cultural genre's long-guiding criteria of "only death is real;" confounding the social apprehension of hate one garish fold at a time…

Half a decade ago, at an American Museum a hipster defended the performance of African blues music redone as Cajun chansons by stating that it is "about the moment of miscegenation… that 'mon negre' is a term of endearment." If one only turns this defensive caveat inside out, if one were to locate the belligerent tail to its considerate head, one may find DJ Famine and his art hatefully seething like a Thelemite monk in bestial stupor to the throb of his globally integrated nation-state.

"what infamy! where have nature and the forests gone? everything is ugly. there isn't a natural habitat to hunt in..."

Diapsiquir, keep your guard up…

available now for pre-order on these shores from the band's Mesnie Amerique and on yours thru La Mesnie Herlequin

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Human Centipede 2 BANNED IN THE UK!


William Wheaton


Here is it is kids, you may never see this again in your life. A fictional narrative film banned in a Western country.
The film Human Centipede 2: Full Sequence has now been rejected by the British Board of Film Classification. It is effectively banned in the United Kingdom. Wow, that really is going some. For a fictional film to be banned in a western country at this point is really saying something. Apparently, the main character of the film becomes aroused at watching a DVD of the first Human Centipede movie. He attaches twelve people together. There’s a whole lot of sexual violence in the second film, rape for example, which there wasn’t really in the first film. The new film is apparently much closer to being torture pornography. The first film it wasn’t even completely clear how much of a sexual thing it was for the mad scientist to sow the three people together anus-to-mouth or why he did it exactly. The new one it is clearly the main character’s jerk-off fantasy. He had somewhat hit a nerve with the first film, but with the second one the issue of sexual arousal becomes more central, and apparently the victims are shown naked in the second film, the first film they had those weird diapers and bandages on. The BBFC also said the film could not be cut in such a way as to be anything less then totally rejected. Meaning, the film is more or less merely a sexual fantasy of unimaginable torture from front to end.
You may except that I, a good gun-loving American libertarian, will go on a political rant about the violation of free speech that has taken place here. I would but I sort of feel that this is the best thing that could have ever have happened to the film. I have a feeling that if the film does not get an official release bootlegs will turn up eventually. This incredible free and sensational publicity to a lower budget horror sequel that might have ended up otherwise in obscurity, as horror sequels often do. That’s a real historical event right there. The right wing radio host Michael Savage is banned from entering the U.K for reasons I don’t quite follow or accept which is very impressive considering he has never used foul language on air. Here in the United States occasionally a pornographer like Max Hardcore does a little prison time if they get into material that is a little bit left of legal. If the Human Centipede 2:Full Sequence gets banned, if a horror film is taken that seriously in this day and age, that’s got to be one horrific little horror film. The little BBFC release suggests that the film might even be potentially illegal under British obscenity laws, so Dutch director Tom Six could potentially face legal trouble on this whole deal. That I would say is fairly historic.
People talk about this graffiti artist guy Banksy as if he is a historic controversy. Relatively speaking, he is not. Probably a lot of the art world, people like Joao Ribas, are likely to end up footnotes to Banksy. Banksy has succeeded in making a lot of money. He’s not especially shocking or controversial. Let’s examine the evidence. Between 1992 and 1994, 50 churches were burned in Norway in connection to the black metal movement, Michael Savage was banned from entering the United Kingdom despite never having used a swear word on the radio, and now Human Centipede 2 is banned from ever being shown in the United Kingdom. Art critics should consider these things when they describe something as “transgression”.
Well, you know it means that Tom Six has really hit on some very delicate nerves. Acts of rape and sexual torture fill the pages of the local news sections of local papers. There appears to be a serial killer currently loose on Long Island. In attempting to run and orderly and safe society we don’t like that much that people take sexual pleasure in torturous acts against others, unfortunately it is a fairly standard pathology that comes up every once and again. If people are forced to eat feces, the main character has an erection, then that is going to bother people. If he wraps some barbed wire around his penis and rapes the woman at the end of the human centipede, (apparently what happens in the film) then that is really not going to go over well in mixed company.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Voices are Real

The Lost Musical Genius of Phillip Garrido:

By William Wheaton

It came to be a week ago at time of writing that Phillip Garrido was sentenced to 431 years in prison in connection to his 18 year kidnapping of Jaycee Lee Dugard from 1991-2009. What few release about the case is that Phillip Garrido was not just a child rapist and kidnapper, but also a musician. There is, perhaps an alternate reality somewhere where it is Phillip Garrido in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame instead of Lou Reed or Neil Young. He performed starting in California in the 70’s, but was given to trouble with drugs (he is said to have taken LSD everyday for four years) and was arrested for raping a woman for hours upon hours, the beginning of a sad tale that ends now within the rest of his life behind bars for committing the unspeakable act of holding a girl captive, raping her constantly, fathering two children by her. This underscores another tragedy, the loss of what could be one of rock’s great, lost geniuses. Based on the one demo of his music that made it on-line, Voices are Real, I would say that is the case. Apparently, there are recordings of the young Phillip Garrido from the 70’s that exist, whether or not we will ever hear them or not is unclear. I would like to lead the call for them to be released.
I’m a very tough crowd for rock and roll. That I have been losing interest over the years would be a substantial understatement. I’m much more excited by conversations about firearms, at this point. I was not homesick for Williamsburg and East Village hipster culture while I lived in Las Vegas. Joy Division is a good enough band, my favorite for years and years. Thirty years after Joy Division, forty after the Velvet Underground, Williamsburg is still full of people wearing Velvet Underground and Joy Division t-shirts, which is very ironic because Ian Curtis of Joy Division was not a liberal but rather a member of the British Conservative Party, unlike the hipsters with the Unknown Pleasure t-shirts, and not too long ago Mo Tucker of the Velvet Underground was identified correctly in footage of a Tea Party rally to the surprise of many. Scandinavian black metal stands up well. Somewhat a black metal band but from Switzerland rather then Scandinavia, Celtic Frost is an excellent band, I recently gave them a good review. The band I really like a lot though right now is Goblin. The thing with Goblin is they may have shoot right up to being my favorite band right now, as there is a lot of Goblin I haven’t heard yet. Goblin for those who might not know is the progressive rock band that was hired out to do soundtrack work for the films of Italian horror director Dario Argento. Goblin’s work stands on its own too, I feel. But Garrido, there was a real genius of rock and roll.
The music on Voices are Real is somewhat like progressive rock, like Rush, Yes, or King Crimson, except that progressive rock is generally associated with very long songs and Garrido’s songs lasted only for a short time and stopped in the middle of things without warning. He liked synth a lot, especially very cheesy synth. He also recorded on 4- tracks, so the sound quality is extremely low-fi. His voice is spot and his guitar playing is also right on spot. Oh the lyrics? They’re all about little girls, very pedophilic. When he sang about his baby girl, he really meant it.

Which art is the worst out of all the trash Michael Krebber has knowingly / unknowingly breeded? pt. I

The art of Lisa Tan

The art of Nathan Hylden

The art of Per-Oskar Leu

The art of Tobias Kaspar

The art of Anna Ostoya

The art of David Hominal

the art of Alistain Frost

the art of Paul Cowan

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

The Films of Anna Nicole Smith

The Straight To Video Films of Anna Nicole Smith

Skyscraper(1996)/To the Limit(1995) (Director Raymond Martino)

To the Limit(1995) is in its own way a kind of classic. A straight-to-VHS movie staring the late great Anna Nicole Smith, this film qualifies as a gold in the aesthetics of some weird terrible movie that you would see in a hotel room in the wee hours of morning on cable that you might watch half falling asleep, an aesthetic I hold in great reverence as one of the only cinematic aesthetics that still genuinely captivates me. Almost all the movies I’ve reviewed on here either belonged to the ghetto of the grindhouse film or the ghetto of the straight-to-VHS ghetto, so there you go.
Anna Nicole Smith is a legend beyond legend more so for her ultra-strange personal life and death the anything else. For a while her manager and sometimes boyfriend Howard K. Stern was facing charges in relation to her prescription drug use and death. For a lot of very detailed information about this, check out the blog of an acquaintance of mine,PI John J. Nazarian, at www.desperateexes.com. John J. Nazarian was Howard K. Stern’s investigator for a while, and if you had any question of the sophistication of the legal intrigue around her death, his blog will set that at ease. I know John Nazarian a little bit from working on the Pellicano trial. He’s usually pretty sharp although he made some substantial mistakes in writing about Pellicano co-defendants the Nicherie brothers Daniel and Abner (friends of a friend I may write about on here later). The extent of Anna Nicole Smith’s mental instability before her death can be surmised from the account of the generally perceptive John Nazarian on details concerning Anna Nicole Smith’s nanny and infant daughter- as Nazarian writes-
“One of Nadine’s recollections was the feeding of the baby, the issue was not too much formula, 2.5 v 3.0. The reason that was stated in court was that Anna wanted her baby ‘to be sexy.’ You could see the look of disgust on some of the jurors…it was an uncomfortable feeling and an even more uncomfortable thought.”

There’s a good chance you may find Nazarian’s writings on the case difficult to understand unless you are either a lawyer or private investigator who followed that case carefully. Be that as it may, his writing is actually more relevant to her understanding her film work then you might on the surface suppose. To call Anna Nicole Smith the worst actress I’ve ever seen in a film would be a gross understatement. This is a baffling plasticity, beyond anything one could expect. It would be hard to imagine anyone intentionally acting poorly being able to be a worse actress. She was, at the time of filming To the Limit, hotter then the blazes of hell physically, but that is seriously underscored by the fact that for a while she was way, way overweight. Then towards the end of her life she was incoherent from prescription drug use.
The “plotline” of the film involves a renegade CIA head versus the mafia as the good guys over something or other about the Vietnam War. When Anna Nicole Smith’s husband is killed by a car bomb. The bride and a number of guests at the wedding are slaughtered. Then it’s a war between the mob and this one renegade evil C.I.A agent. Anna Nicole Smith must race time to stop the evil renegade C.I.A agent, except when she has to stop to masturbate in the bath. That’s pretty much what it is, although I have to say, it has a real perverted little edge to it. When the villain, the evil C.I.A operative, stresses out, he tokes some opium and has a dominatrix whip him to get his good old opium and S&M kick. That’s an unforgettable sequence. Paradoxically that scene is both hilariously over the top and genuinely sick. I cracked up. It shows exactly what a bent, fetishistic area of the human psyche this film comes out of.
A lot of the film was shot in Las Vegas, of course which adds to the general vibe -brow thrills centered around large breasts which the film delivers in typical 90’s So-Cal straight-to-VHS style. There are a number of highly random soft-core sequences of Anna Nicole Smith in it that have exactly nothing to do with the plot whatsoever, including one with Anna Nicole Smith masturbating with a shower nozzle. Another scene that really grabbed my attention is when Ana Nicole Smith rams a helicopter with her car and lives through the explosion, a moment of utterly unrealistic violence surpassing any other in any action film I can think of off handedly.
The real winner though is the villain smoking the opium pipe and then having his dominatrix whip him to relive his stress at his criminal operation not going his way. That scene is depraved. It really shows the level of class of the film. I have to say I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It’s about as absurd and badly acted as the rest of the movie, but truly perverted, it strives to capture the disgusting depths of addiction and lechery. I couldn’t even believe what I was watching. It steals the film. I think To The Limit, things like that, straight-to-VHS bizarreness with ridiculous soft-core elements, that I can sort of fall asleep to, zone out to in a kind of bliss state. It may be less that they are deliberately and intentionally creating skillful art as that they are unexplainably bizarre and come out of the fantasies of a demented psyche. It is also that they are so absurd. That’s quite a combo. I’m a little a bit of a sketchy derelict and I like having a laugh at the expense of others, so those films are right up my alley.
Around the same time, there was another film with Anna Nicole Smith. Skyscraper, which is more or less the same plotline as the film Die Hard with a building being hijacked, but Anna Nicole Smith plays a helicopter pilot, which was hilarious because she appears to have been high on painkillers the entire time they shot the film.

New Contributor William Wheaton