I'm a tad obsessed with Ms. Lohan (that’s her name in her court records for those not in the know). It started with Freaky Friday and spiralled out of control from there.
This will be utterly spoiler-free I promise. Nothing I will say in these 30 tips will do anything to hinder your enjoyment of this summer’s Secret Cinema Star Wars spectacular, but it will hopefully offer you some practical guidance to help you get the most out of your time there.
In the first week of April 1967 Ron Jones was fired from his job as a History teacher from Cubberly High School in Palo Alto, California. His crime? He taught his students about the evils of fascism.
I grew up in the relatively quaint surroundings of the north Shropshire countryside. And by ‘relatively quaint’ I mean ‘boring as fuck’. My maternal Grandparents by contrast lived in Halewood, Liverpool, one of the roughest parts in one of Britain’s most deprived cities. As a kid I fucking loved visiting it.
The Wicker Man comes from a long tradition of tricksy, terrifying, blackly comic horrors that terrified and unsettled a timid little Britain in the early 70s. There are some corkers in this period. Ken Russell’s gruelling The Devils, the hilarious Theatre of Blood starring Vincent Price, and Piers Haggard’s Blood on Satan’s Claw which joins Witchfinder General, The Devil Rides Out and The Wicker Man itself in a tiny little sub-genre of four called Folk Horror, a place where ancient pagan traditions make a cruel mockery of Christianity.
Back to the Future got it horribly wrong. Instead it's Idiocracy, Truman Show, Wall-E and Toys that predict the future most accurately.
My addiction to buying horror movie soundtracks started a few years ago when I discovered the magnificent Death Waltz Recording Company, its US based counterpart Mondo and their range of artfully curated LPs. These beautifully produced records, often sourced from the original masters, cover everything from John Carpenter's entire back catalogue to Lucio Fulci's The House by the Cemetery, the overlooked masterpiece The Visitor and long-lost Italian curios like L Profumo Della Signora In Nero.
Scream to Valhalla because this hyper-violent, motor-fetishist's oil-slick wet dream kicks the cock off the previous three instalments.
"LOUD, REAL LOUD. IT HAS TO GENERATE A TERRIFYINGLY LOUD SEISMIC FIELD OF NOISE"
O.C And Stiggs is a truly bizarre entry in Robert Altman’s canon, a teen comedy that fucks with every expectation you have of the genre. Perhaps in line with that, it isn’t particularly funny either. It is however, full of biting, very angry satire.
