REPO MAN — SHOCKTOBER!

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Alex Cox caught lightening in a bottle in 1984 with a snarly little L.A.-set independent movie that became a cult classic thanks to the success of its soundtrack (featuring Iggy Pop).

This kooky time-capsule political satire uses LA's hardcore punk scene for its churning dystopic social milieu that our 18-year-old Otto (Emilio Estevez) traverses while getting sucked into becoming a repo man. 

Reaganomics hangs in the smoggy air like a bad fart.

Harry Dean Stanton plays Bud, Otto's father-figure who schools Otto in the code of the repo man as they scout repos in the less glamorous neighborhoods of LA.

"A repo man spends his life getting into tense situations."
"Repo man is always intense."

Such dialogue seems written in stone, especially when the film's theme-carrier, Miller (Tracey Walter) busts out with philosophical gems like, "The more you drive, the less intelligent you are."

 What did he just say?

Now you've got me thinking.

Otto eats generic food at his parents house. His tweet tweet arf arf folks have given their life savings away to a televangelist. So much for college.

Otto's future looks bleak unless he can repo a certain 1964 Chevrolet Chevelle Malibu with a $20,000 reward, and a Neutron bomb-related MacGuffin in the trunk, a nice hat-tip to the plot-driver in the 1955 Cold War thriller "Kiss Me Deadly."

Endlessly watchable, "Repo Man" stands up as an inspired artistic expression amid dark social and political repression.

Here's a great excuse to kick it.

Rated R. 92 mins.

LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT — SHOCKTOBER!

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Groupthink doesn't live here, critical thought does. This ad-free website is dedicated to Agnès Varda and to Luis Buñuel.

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Wes Craven's debut film is everything wrong with exploitation cinema. Mean spirited to its core, this film's overriding theme seems to be that society is broken up into three categories: killers, victims, and witnesses.

Amateur filmmaker Craven switches tone between horrific sexual abuse, lighthearted comedy, and hippie crushing thriller.

Schlock.

Just ugly.

Actor David Hess's folk guitar songs point in a dead-end direction. Hess takes a piss at Led Zeppelin's "Stairway To Heaven" with a too often repeated song that states, "And the road leads to nowhere."

I suppose it is fitting for such a piece of shit movie.

David Hess plays Krug, a cigar-chomping killer living out his perverted obsessions on two hippie girls that Krug and his "family" kidnap to torture. 

Wes Craven reworks Ingmar Bergman's significant "Virgin Spring" into something cruel and disgusting.

The specter of the Viet Nam War only hangs over the movie with the thinnest of threads.

The sexual abuse and murder scenes are treated without regard to any meaningful subtext. This is a movie without a soul.

There is no social commentary to be found. This is exploitation for exploitation sake.

Gene Siskel put it succinctly in his review of the movie.

"My objection to The Last House on the Left is not an objection to the graphic representations of violence per se, but to the fact that the movie celebrates violent acts, particularly adult male abuse of young women ... I felt a professional obligation to stick around to see if there was any socially redeeming value in the remainder of the movie and found none."

Rated R. 84 mins.

ZERO STARS

I MARRIED A WITCH — SHOCKTOBER!

Welcome!

Groupthink doesn't live here, critical thought does. This ad-free website is dedicated to Agnès Varda and to Luis Buñuel.

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While this classic screwball comedy's obvious influence on inspiring "Bewitched," that great '60s/'70s television show, it's Veronica Lake who casts the longest shadow.

Talk about iconic.

Veronica Lake's undeniable sensuality is a marvel to behold. What man could ever hope to resist this feminine creature of dynamic poise and lithe beauty?

Veronica Lake is at her most seductive as Jennifer, a witch being chaperoned by her alcoholic witch dad (Cecil Kellaway). Daughter and dad travel by broom while resting as smoke plumes.

Jennifer is a fire starter in every sense of the phrase.

Ted Tetzlaff's black-and-white cinematography is so lush it could bring a tear to your eye.

Prolific French director René Clair sets a racy tone for the comedy to spike with sexy innuendo.

Jennifer is a shameless homewrecker to Fredrick March's upper class Jonathan Woodley, a small town politician on the verge of marrying local socialite Estelle (Susan Hayward).

René Clair allows his energetic actors to snap their dialogue into a modern rhythm that is contagious. We get swept up in the screwball promise of unreasonable romance and all of the destruction that it brings.

"I Married A Witch" is a high concept movie, especially for 1942. The comic absurdity carries a Frenchness in its lighthearted attitudes regarding relations between men and the women who enchant them.

Very witchy indeed.

Not Rated. 77 mins.