It’s 1:30am and I’m riding high on summer fumes, the intoxicating alertness brought on by idleness entwining itself with the strange desire to watch the best and worst retro bullshit movies I can find. As a cinephile, I’m obviously aware and attracted to the finer entries into the annals of film history. However, Instead of making long, wistful posts on the impeccable visual composition of Citizen Kane or the amazing ensemble of talent in Casablanca, I’m going to focus on that niche of the industry most normal critics can’t appreciate—that inbred, nympho, black sheep brand of cinema that Roger Ebert keeps hidden in his underwear drawer. No, no, I won’t be sipping merlot and eating brie while watching the 400 Blows by Truffaut this summer, but I will be soaking in gallons of poorly mixed corn syrup blood gushing from horny college kids stupid enough to have sex in hillbilly country.
I invite you to join me on my journey past pretentious Academy Awards fodder, through dingy grindhouses and drive-ins, and into the bowels of celluloid hell where subtlety goes to die. If you don’t like evil biker rapists, perverted dwarves, knife wielding transsexuals, cannibal rednecks, wire-fu masters, murderous religious zealots, and lots of gratuitous violence and boobage…. enjoy all your fancy schmancy morals and culture this summer in namby pamby smart people land. For everyone else, I entreat you to enter, ye of lowbrow and brutish palette!
My first official video post will be on the shit-tacular Sleepaway Camp—coming on the 3rd of July:
summerofschlock 