Once-dead Canuck Shelley Yates believes that otherworldly voices have guided her since her water-logged body and that of her son were pulled from the chilly Halifax lake in which they drowned and were resuscitated. The voices guided Shelley through the following days, as her son, declared brain dead, slowly returned to normal functioning.

Now, believing that with the help of her guides, she was able to cure her son, Shelley has her eye on a bigger prize. She wants to "jump start" the planet. Psychically.

Nutty? Probably. And excuse to sell new-age CDs by her favorite band? Undoubtedly. But, if you aren't doing anything better at 4 am, I can't imagine it could hurt.

Watch the Canuck Zombie tell her story in these YouTube clips from her speech on Vancouver Island on May 29, 2007:

I am sick of this motherfucking hype on this motherfucking internet!

If you’re like me, that’s what you were screaming every day back in June whenever Snakes on a Plane was mentioned. New Line Cinema’s Snakes (or SOAP for some of you web hipsters) barely made the number one spot with a disappointing $15 million in its first weekend of release. Only days before, industry experts were predicting an easy win with a $30 million dollar opening due to the colossal internet buzz. Now, I am personally not a fan of “boxoffice talk” – basing the merits of a film entirely on how much money it generates. I believe there are more important things to consider when evaluating the success of a movie. I can name plenty of truly awful films that were, “The number one movie at the boxoffice,” many of which you would not even remember. While a list of number-one-at-the-boxoffice-turds would be too large to compile here, some that come to mind include (I’m kidding, none of these came to mind, I had to do some research) Message in a Bottle, Hide and Seek, The Watcher, Just Like Heaven, Flubber, Driven, The Wedding Planner, Beverly Hills Ninja, and Patch Adams. Do any of these ring a bell? Do you recognize any great films among this group? C’mon, these are all number one movies… yeah.

So, anyway, I seemed to be the only one who found it odd that there could be fans of a movie that had not yet been seen. Internet hype drove the perception that Snakes would go down as a “cult favorite.” And the studio bought into this by capitalizing on its strange cult status. So, in the aftermath of the Snakes web hype fizzle and boxoffice bomb, what have we learned? While I’ve heard many reasons for the supposed failure of Snakes, to me it's very clear: A “cult classic” cannot be created.

Cult films cannot be manufactured.
Cult films cannot be marketed.
Cult films cannot be hyped.
Cult films cannot be forced down audiences retinas.

By its very title, Snakes on a Plane was positioned as cult with a helping of kitsch. This is something you just can’t produce by slapping a quote on a poster that reads: “Destined to be a cult classic.” It comes off as contrived, which it was. The fickle movie-going public (which is not necessarily comprised of film fanatical web freaks) saw the film for what it was – a bad B-movie and nothing more. It was designed to be bad and it succeeded. And since there is such a thing as a “good” bad movie, on this level, Snakes fit the bill perfectly. I personally found Snakes to be a lot of fun. It’s the kind of cheesy flick you’d be perfectly satisfied to see on DVD, or for me, at the drive-in. But a Cult classic?

For a film to truly earn the moniker of “Cult” with a capital “C,” the following rules must apply:

- A Cult film must be discovered. This can happen at a film festival or at the drive-in or at an arthouse theater or at the video store or on a bootleg video or maybe even on the internet sometime soon, but generally not in wide release at a multiplex. Y’know, like Todd Haynes’ Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story, which can only be obtained as a bootleg. (Or it can be seen here online.)

- A Cult film must shun mainstream audiences by avoiding the trappings of mass appeal. Y’know, like George A. Romero’s original Dawn of the Dead which was released unrated and was only seen at urban and porn theaters since regular theaters refused to screen it.

- A Cult film must create controversy with regard to ratings or, at the very least, it must cause some trouble. Y’know, like Terry Gilliam’s Brazil, which was recut by the studio and dumped with a limited release.

- A Cult film must be made by fearless filmmakers who are not afraid to offend the general public’s sensibilities. Y’know, like John Waters’ Pink Flamingos, in which drag queen Divine devours fresh poodle poop in one glorious, uninterrupted take. Or John Waters’ Female Trouble in which Divine attempts to kill her family on Christmas. Or John Waters’ Desperate Living in which lesbian wrestlers, well, you get the picture.

- A Cult film must have at least some of the following elements: blood, nudity, sex, bad acting, and bizarre violence rarely witnessed at the movies or even in the history of humanity. Y’know, like seeing a head ripped off, kicked into the street and then taken to a pawn shop, like in David Lynch’s Eraserhead.

- A Cult film must have quotable dialog. This is important since the quote can be used as a barometer to test the coolness of potential friends and lovers. In an everyday conversation, I might say something like, “Look at ‘em, ordinary fucking people, I hate ‘em.” If you know what movie I’m talking about, then we can definitely hang. (Hint: Harry Dean Stanton said this.)

- A Cult film must provide laughs in a non-traditional way and sometimes, unintentional way. Y’know, like Harold and Maude in which suicide attempts become a laugh riot. Or like Showgirls where the unintentional hilarity stems from the earnestness of the story.

- A Cult film must be bad in a good way. Y’know, like Ed Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space.

- A Cult film must be initially hated by critics and then hailed by critics who change their minds years later when they finally admit that they “get it.” Y’know, like the 1932 version of Freaks by Tod Browning.

- A Cult film must be difficult to sell, to classify or sometimes even difficult to describe. Y’know like The Big Lebowski, which is about this weird guy and he has a rug and these other guys pee on it and he goes bowling with his friends and he smokes some pot and then, uh… never mind.

- A Cult film must endure the test of time and find its audience years after its original release. If you see it on the shelf at a video store more than 10 years after it first came out and it still seems like a cool movie worth seeing, then that film's Cult status has been earned. Y’know, like The Warriors from 1979, which was recently immortalized as a video game.

- And, most importantly, a Cult film must be considered a failure upon its initial release. Y’know, like Repo Man.

By fulfilling most of these terms, Snakes on a Plane could indeed become a real Cult classic. But only time (and maybe DVD sales) will tell.

Gore gone!

Chris_Gore is an author, a filmmaker, the creator of Film Threat, and is hoping his own film, My Big Fat Independent Movie, becomes a Cult classic.

“I woke up last night I thought I was going to die
My doctor came a-runnin’ and my family stood by…”
-- “Bop Pills,” Macy (Skip) Skipper

Today started off on the ass side of the bed with one of my dogs in the hospital after puking up blood last night. The doctor floated all kinds of possible doomsday scenarios in front of my wife and I – cancer, Addison’s disease, Parvo – but it turns out that the big knucklehead has what appears to be a parasite that he most likely got from eating stuff off the sidewalk (which, as we all know from The Cramps, is something you should never do).

He’s got another night in the hospital ahead of him, and then he'll most likely come home tomorrow where he'll be spoiled rotton. A sick pet is the surest and swiftest route to crippling, unmanageable worry (next to a sick child or parent, of course). It’s not like the little buggers can tell you what’s wrong with them, so I declare that if you’ve got a pet within reach, let them know how much you appreciate their good health and unconditional love by giving that fuzzy or feathered or scaled little crumbgrabber a smooch (unless it’s a fish, in which case I guess you can give it a couple of extra flakes).

Speaking of animals gone berserk, Synapse Films has just released the Satanic hair-metal train wreck Rock 'N' Roll Nightmare in a deluxe DVD. If you've never experienced RNRN, I strongly suggest you carve out two hours from your life, erase as many brain cells as possible with the industrial cleaner of your choice, and tuck into this film with both hands; it is, without question, one of the most bizarre yet consistently entertaining low-budget films ever made. Canadian stunt rocker Jon-Mikl Thor (or just Thor to his pals) stars as the frontman for a horrible, horrible flash metal outfit which runs afoul of a gaggle of demon hand puppets in a remote farm house before facing off with a Great Satan constructed from what appears to be pipe cleaners.

Yeah, it’s cheap, dopey ‘80s horror, chock-a-block with teased hair, unfortunate nudity, and half-assed nods to Gremlins, but RNRN is so wrapped in its own lunatic logic that you can’t help but feel deep affection for it--which, incidentally, is the perfect sentiment to bring this post full circle: it’s the same sort of affection I felt when I discovered that my dog once ate a AA battery. You can’t believe that it happened, but you’ve gotta admit the dedication behind something like that. Synapse’s DVD is loaded to the gills with extras, including interviews and commentary by Thor, acres of behind-the-scenes footage, and music videos for the two gawd-awful songs performed in the movie (“ENERGY! YOU GIVE ME ENERGY!”). Trust me, you need this one in your life.

If you’re in Las Vegas on July 2, give the craps tables a rest and get yourself a good dose of drive-in fun at the Tropicana Cinemas. Eric Caidin and Brian Quinn of Hollywood Book and Poster, the fine folks who run the monthly Grindhouse Film Festival at the New Beverly Cinema in Los Angeles will be trekking west to Las Vegas for a knockout double bill of classic exploitation. Ray Dennis Steckler, the man who gave the world The Incredibly Strange Creatures who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies, will be on hand to introduce his jaw-dropping 1964 psycho noir The Thrill Killers, and Corpse Grinders director Ted V. Mikels will present The Astro-Zombies, starring a visibly drunk Wendell Corey, a very cranky John Carradine and Tura Satana from Russ Meyer’s Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!. The Thrill Killers star Liz Renay (a one time girlfriend to mobster Mickey Cohen, and later the star of John Waters Desperate Living) will also be on hand. The movies start at 7:00 p.m., and admission for the whole shooting match (which includes a reel of rare exploitation trailers and a free raffle) is only $7. You can’t get that much entertainment in Vegas for that little dough without having to endure a ventriloquist act, so don’t miss out.

Sunday, July 2nd, 2006

Eric Caidin and Brian Quinn present
The Grindhouse Film Festival
Tropicana Cinemas
3330 E. Tropicana Avenue
Las Vegas, NV 89121
(702) 450-3737
Admission: $7.00

Special Guests: Ray Dennis Steckler, Ted V. Mikels and Liz Renay

7:00pm
The Thrill Killers (1964)
Directed by Ray Dennis Steckler.
Starring Cash Flagg and Liz Renay.

9:00pm
The Astro-Zombies (1968)
Directed by Ted V. Mikels.
Starring Wendell Corey, John Carradine and Tura Satana

This weekend, you can keep cool the old-fashioned way by parking yourself in front of an air conditioner (boring) or submerging yourself in your neighbor’s pool (and hoping their kids didn’t pee in it). Another option: you can beat the body heat like a tight soul brother from way back and let the Super Funk of Dolemite: The Soundtrack do the chilling for you. Dolemite, of course, is the big-boasting, ass-kicking, lady-lovin’ alter ego of legendary X-rated party comedian Rudy Ray Moore, who devoted several LPs and two very, very weird low-budget “blaxploitation” action-comedies to the character back in the early ‘70s (you can get ‘em both from Xenon Pictures), and whose elaborate and profoundly obscene routines influenced a generation of rappers and players from Ice-T to Snoop Dogg.

Unless you’re down with the cult scene, the movies are acquired tastes, but the CD, freshly released from Relapse Records, is a goldmine of killer funk and soul grooves, heavy on the Hammond organ, fat bottom rhythm, and wacka-wacka guitar (future mellow soulster James Ingram is among the credited performers). Rudy Ray contributes his air-raid-siren raps on a handful of tracks, including the original radio spots for Dolemite and its even more surreal sequel, The Human Tornado (“From the first to the last/I give em the blast so fast/That their life is past/before their ass/has even hit the grass!”) and even a respectable Isaac Hayes style dark chocolate croon on the honey-dripping “Miss Wonderful.” If you’re any kind of a crate digger or can claim the dustiest fingers on your block, I encourage you to not be a rat soup-eating, born-insecure, no business, junkyard muthafucka and pass this CD by.