THE SUBSTANCE — CANNES 2024

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If you've seen Alain Robak's hilarious 1990 horror blitz "Baby Blood," then you'll have some inkling for the wonderful gnarly extremes that "The Substance" delivers to its well deserving audience.

Writer/director Coralie Fargeat creates the most satisfying horror satire to come along maybe ever.

David Cronenberg must be falling over himself with jealousy.

Fargeat deftly quotes from films by such directors as Alfred Hitchcock, David Lynch, Stanley Kubrick, Darren Aronofsky, David Cronenberg, and Brian DePalma.

The Easter eggs just keep on coming. The special effects are amazing.

Taking a cue from Oscar Wilde's "The Picture Of Dorian Gray," Coralie Fargeat crafts a diamond-sharp satire that cuts in all directions at once.

Elisabeth (Demi Moore) is a wealthy L.A. television personality being pushed out of her job by corporate misogynist in-charge (Dennis Quaid).

Science comes calling after Elisabeth miraculously survives a car crash that puts her in the dubious medical hands of a shadow pharma company peddling a black market drug kit. The works give the user the ability to create a younger version of themself that they then trade off living between for seven day increments.

Margaret Qualley blows up the screen as Sue, Elisabeth's cunning younger, more beautiful, incarnation. Force of nature.

Vanity, jealousy, money, and fame make for a toxic Molotov cocktail of bad decisions.

Here is a whole lot of movie with some very poignant ideas about culture.

"The Substance" explodes with wit, heart, soul, and a whole lot of blood and guts.

What fun!

Rated R. 141 mins.

REPO MAN — 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.

Punk heart still beating.

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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