THIS IS PLANET MOTHERFUCKER

 

THIS IS PLANET MOTHERFUCKER

 

CAMP BLOOD -- WATERLOGGED

 

It was here at Camp Karankawa, some twenty-five years ago on a night just like this, when a devastating boating accident took the life of a young camp counselor.

The site stayed open, but tragedy struck over... and over... and over again across the decades, ultimately forcing closure for a few seasons.

But now, in the summer of 1980, Camp Karankawa reopens for a new generation of rambunctious, rowdy, randy reprobates...

...AND A TIDAL WAVE OF GORE WILL DELUGE THEM ALL!!!

--

I'm running a game of Camp Blood (a Bloat Games joint) for a new group of folks, and went down a rabbit hole to make it as cinematic as possible.  Here's the campaign poster, and here's the link to its "IMDB page".

Follow along as the havoc unfolds!

THIS IS PLANET MOTHERFUCKER

 

THIS IS PLANET MOTHERFUCKER

 

THIS IS PLANET MOTHERFUCKER

 

THIS IS PLANET MOTHERFUCKER

 

THIS IS PLANET MOTHERFUCKER

 Reposted from... yeesh, really?... 2014!

You better watch out!

It's pointless to cry!

'Cause if you're on his naughty list,

   all you can do is DIE!!!

Grisly Kringle is the most infamous of Planet Motherfucker's holiday hatchetmen.  He's a hulking, dead-eyed brute in a crimson suit, and carries an axe and a sack full of awful implements ranging from the mundane (boxcutters, switchblades, hammers) to the atypical (fireplace pokers, power tools, flamethrowers) to the ridiculous (gimmicked toys, explosive ornaments, electrified lights, Ho-Ho-Ho-embossed brass knuckles).  The relentless Kringle wages a punishing one-man war on lechery, greed, duplicity, and the people that love them...and he'll eradicate any innocents who oppose his crusade.

Kringle isn't like most masked maniacs.  He's active day and night.  He doesn't haunt a specific locale; no, he roams far and wide spreading Christmas fear.  Kringle's also more "intrusive" in that he actively breaks into residences, inns, and businesses to get at his victims, instead of catching them unaware in the woods.  Dude even straight-up knocks on people's doors, and guts them right there on their porches.

And Kringle is the rare lunatic that frequently runs afoul of children.  When he does, he asks them in a throaty growl if they've been good this year.  Those that answer truthfully in the affirmative are given gifts of weaponry...but the naughty ones suffer just like his adult prey.

There are rumors those other aforementioned calendar killers (such as Baby Grue Year, Martin Luger King, St. Splatrick, Beaster Bunny, The Arbor Barber, All Hallow's Evan, and even The Hanukkiller) are actually Grisly Kringle in different attire.  If true, he may be the most prolific slasher Planet Motherfucker has ever seen, with body counts in the thousands!

No one knows Kringle's true identity, and rumors swirl about his origins.  Some even say he's a robot!

Grisly Kringle

Masked Slasher

Attributes:  Agility d10, Smarts d6, Spirit d10, Strength d10, Vigor d12

Skills:  Driving d6, Fighting d10, Intimidation d8, Notice d8, Repair d6, Shooting d10, Stealth d10

Derived:  Charisma -8, Pace 6, Parry 7, Toughness 11 (2)
Hindrances:  Bloodthirsty, Mean, Ugly
Edges:  Brawny, Counterattack, First Strike, Improved Frenzy, Harder To Kill, Improvisational Fighter, Killer Instinct, Improved Nerves Of Steel, Sweep

Gear:  Battle Axe (STR +d8), Brass Knuckles (STR +d4), Pretty Much Every Other Weapon Ever, Padded Suit (Armor +2)
Special Abilities

• HE KNOWS!!!:  Grisly Kringle is drawn to the treacherous, the cruel, and the depraved, and he always knows lies from the truth.  Good luck hiding your most terrible secrets!
• The World Is His Workshop:  When Kringle corners a fleeing victim, there is invariably some sinister scenery (rack of antlers, woodchipper, etc.) in the background all ready for conveniently murderous use.

THIS IS PLANET MOTHERFUCKER

 

THIS IS PLANET MOTHERFUCKER

 

THIS IS PLANET MOTHERFUCKER

 

SLEAZE FEATURE: 'HALLOWEEN KILLS' (2021)

 

[From my FB in 2021]

Halloween Kills is not a good movie.

Hell, it’s not even a movie, except in the technical sense.

It’s instead a series of linked vignettes, like Halloween: The Series: The Webisodes: The Movie.  And based on the themes addressed—and that’s me being charitable to presume there’s actually deeper meaning(s) at play, as the whole work may ultimately be one big middle finger—a weekly Criminal Minds: Haddonfield would’ve been the right path.

The flick starts with a new ending to OG Halloween (1978), thereby bridging the gap between that and now-the-only-canonical-entry Halloween (2018) (ugh—these naming conventions!) and revealing how the lethal lummox got incarcerated.  Flashbacks aplenty (“authentic” and “new retcon” alike… yay, CGI’d dead actors!) fill the runtime (which takes place in the few hours immediately after H2018), and serve to fill in the backstories of lotsa Haddonfield locals.

Lotsa, lotsa locals, including many pulled from H1978, like menaced kiddos all grown up and nurses and old-timer lawmen.

Soooooo many locals that Jamie Lee Curtis is a guest star in her own damned franchise.  I hope you don’t care much about Laurie Strode, because she’s barely in the picture.  Yep, just as in 1981’s awful and altogether pointless (when it was topical, and even more so now) Halloween II, Laurie Strode spends all her time in a hospital; unlike in 1981, Strode and The Shape never interact.  At all.   (The cineaste in me thinks this is meta-commentary on Halloween II itself and sequels in general, but again, that may be giving credit where none is deserved.)

The bat gets more celluloid than Strode.

And, say, about those locals?  The various Halloween Kills trailers made it seem like all of Haddonfield’s residents band together to eradicate the monster in their midst.  That’s a fantastic take for a slasher flick, and one that’s barely been scratched in the genre; the only examples of which I’m aware are Halloween IV: The Return Of Michael Myers (1988) (which bungled the idea entirely due to budgets, the MPAA, and gross ineptitude) and Victor Crowley (2017) (aka Hatchet IV, where waves of competent first-responders are gloriously rendered into slurry).  But the promise of the previews—which, frankly, portray a better movie about collective trauma and the effects thereof than the final product—doesn’t pay off, because like all mobs with torches and pitchforks (literally—yep, there’s Chekhov’s pitchfork… siiiiiighhhhh), thangs go awry.  But stupider than usually so, which may be another thematic point.

Or not.

(As I said, the folks behind the camera may be straight-up trolling the fanbase, which is a wholly new supposition for your beloved cultural critic.  I always presume artists bring their best intentions even if fiascos ensue… but in this case, some choices *have* to be purposeful Bronx cheers.

The only other explanation is cocaine, which, in nose candy’s defense, is how we got OG Halloween II in the first place.  Points for more symmetry, I guess.)

The plethora of extras leaves equally too many and zero characters to care about.  Almost everyone is introduced only to be murdered, with the “when” and “how” being the only variables.

There's Not Even Enough Left Of The Gays To Bury

And, boy howdy, those hows. This is the most sadistic, brutal, and gory of the twelve(!) Halloween movies, and none of those terms are complements (and y’all know my gruehound bonafides).  Historically, the majority of Michael’s worst kills were seen only in aftermath; there’d be a mangled body here or a strung-up corpse there or some dismembered bits over yonder.  But this time… this time, you see Michael eviscerate and exsanguinate and stabbalize and impalify, and even worse, he makes a bombastic show of bloodshed to torment onlookers.  (It’s always been implied that The Shape feeds on terror, what with some of his more “puckish” stunts involving bedsheets and tombstones and props ensuring maximum freak-out-osity, but here “implied” gives way to “jackhammered to the brainpan”.)

The overall effect makes Halloween Kills a carny geekshow instead a slow-burning fairy tale of menace.  That didn’t work when Rob Zombie took the series reins, and it doesn’t work now.

Other tidbits from the copious notes taken during the film (which is the truest indicator of my disengagement):

) If you took a shot every time someone bellows, “EVIL DIES TONIGHT!!!” you’d be wheeled out on a gurney.

) H2018 gave us glimpses of maskless-Michael, making him old and haggard.  We get even more askance peeps here, effectively making him look like Dr. Loomis.  Maybe that’s why hologram-Donald Pleasence was so blatant…?  Another (altogether clumsy) attempt at the Ahab metaphor…?

"Ahhhh.  The old 'hunted has become the hunter' trick, eh?"

) The soundtrack has some great spins on the original score. It also has some mockably maudlin tracks straight from daytime soap operas. The tonal shifts would be hysterical if they weren’t so maddening.

) At least Chekhov’s pitchfork had a twist.  Still, siiiiiighhhhhh.

) The climactic sequence makes zero sense, and I can’t discern if it’s shoddy editing, blasé stupidity, or another pointed fuck-you.  There’s a bloodbath in the street—with gunfire!!!—that cuts back and forth to bystanders *right there* getting medical attention.  Yet not a single person on the sidelines acknowledges the scrum nor copious screams, and then A Very Specific Bystander sees a ghost(!) and wanders off to meet doom with still no one noticing.  The setpiece is contradictory and nonsensical, making the last five minutes a lesser David Lynch joint.

) The SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP Award: Turns out the only reason The Shape went after Laurie and her brood four decades on is because …is because… oh, I cannot believe this is real… is because HE GOT ACCIDENTALLY DROPPED OFF AT HER PROPERTY.

) Rob Zombie’s entries look better and better by comparison.   Truly, we are living in The Darkest Timeline.

Time For A Rewatch, I Reckon

) Like many mid-‘80s horror flicks, there’s a power metal jam over the closing credits.  I legit brayed like a donkey.  Can’t wait to hear “The Myers Rap” in next year’s Halloween Ends!!!

) My honest, for-real, hand-to-Satan last scribbling in my phone, quoted verbatim, typo and all: “prettty sure this was dog shit”

Probably should’ve led with that.

Final Score:  Half a rotting jack-o'-lantern outta five.