At the request of Marco, one of my EDM brethren, I took it upon myself to watch and review Howard The Duck. It’s probably the strangest b-movie I’ve reviewed so far in that it was never really intended to be a b-movie. Directed by George Lucas with what I can only assume was a half decent budget, it was set to be a mainstream blockbuster. It tells the story of Howard, a sentient duck from a planet filled with sentient ducks who, thanks to an incomprehensible plot device, finds himself on our planet. It’s a fish, or should I say duck, out of water scenario that can only lead to hilarity. That is unless it’s a pathetic flop of a movie who’s constant duck-based puns make my attempt look witty and original in comparison.

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We’re kickin’ it old-skool this week with a trip back to the 50’s. Rock ‘n’ Roll was a burgeoning force, youth culture was just entering into existence and you could still get away with dragging a black man 20 miles down the road without some pinko calling you a racist. Glory days indeed. More importantly, the 50’s saw sci-fi take over from westerns as the prime b-movie genre of choice. Starring Steve McQueen as the least convincing 17 year old in cinema history, The Blob pretty much defines the ‘classic’ b-movie as we know it.

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There comes a time in every young man’s life when his body starts to change in new and sometimes scary ways. For most boys this just involves a few unexpected patches of hair, a deeper voice and the realisation that boobs are totally awesome. For Melvin, the protagonist of The Toxic Avenger, puberty basically consisted of being exposed to toxic waste and mutating into a 6′6 pile of lumpy musculature. Soon this hulking monstrosity becomes a vigilante, hell-bent on cleaning up the crime ridden town of Tromaville. Only the corrupt forces of the mayor and his Dr Strangelove-esque police chief stand in Toxie’s way.

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“If you only see one movie this year, it should be Frankenhooker” – Bill Murray (1990)

Grief affects each and every man in a unique way. Some respond with the self-harm of drug and alcohol abuse, others might embark on a life affirming quest to make meaning of the life that fate has left in tatters. The protagonist of Frankenhooker chooses to rebuild the body of his dead girlfriend using organs and limbs harvested from dead prostitutes. I’m not a judgmental man so I’ll refrain from mocking his individual way of paying respect to a loved one but I have to admit it’s a deeply unconventional response to grief. I’m not sure exactly which stage of the grieving process it would cover, perhaps ‘necrotechnomancy’ comes directly after ‘bargaining’ and before ‘acceptance’. Nevertheless, it’s the premise for a fantastically gorey romance from beyond the grave.

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