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Kino Korner November 27, 2002
The Bung-Ality of Evil
By Mark Ames Browse author Email

This issue's kino korner is going to shock the hell out of you. Seriously. Brace yourselves. Girls, hold onto your boyfriends! Kids, you may want to cover your eyes! Ready? Here it is: I'm writing this review almost a week before this issue goes to bed. I'm being "responsible." This kino review ain't gonna cause no pain to nobody.

I don't gots no choice, folks. The last issue was put to bed so late, and I scorched such a large swathe of my spinal horn getting my share of it in, that we actually reached breaking point. Poor Dasha, our babe-designer...she had to lay in bed for two straight days nursing her liver because we kept her up so long. So no more. We're turning over a new leaf. This is the new, on-time, punctual, responsible kino korner! Yippee!


Red Dragon

Meet the uncornholed blind bitch

Watching this movie about yet another serial killer reminded me of Mark E. Smith's line from The Infotainment Scam: "Serial killers were always a bore in my book-ah." Smith snarled that at the beginning of the 90s, and as always he was ten years ahead of his time. American serial killers aren't interesting anymore. They barely exist in America's box of fears.

When it comes to what's scary today, terrorism and rage murder are in, and serial killers are out. Even serial killers know that: that's why the last big serial killer, the Washington Sniper, gave up the padlocked basement, vats of acid and other classic instruments in the American serial killer's tool box for the terrorist's and rage murderer's weapon: random anonymous target practice with high-powered rifle in broad daylight. And it worked! It may not be as much fun as cornholing corpses and eating flesh, but it sure as hell made the front pages and scared the shit out of a very large population center, which is what serial killers like doing best.

Not so Red Dragon. It's your basic loner freak with a van, sexual hangups and sharp instruments. In other words, it's so 80s, dude. Speaking of cornholing, when serial killer Ralph Fiennes winds up alone with a blind bitch (who is oddly sexy I must say, as all blind women are in movies), I couldn't help but think of that wonderful line from Toxic Avenger: "I'm gonna cornhole me a bliiiind bitch!" Unfortunately, Fiennes doesn't cornhole the blind bitch, though he does get a righteous helmet scrub from her.

Hannibal Lector is easily the lamest ingredient in this movie. While the other A-list actors simply fall flat (Harvey Keitel looking like he's fresh off a radical colostomy bag insertion, Edward Norton playing Edward Norton yet again), Lector's character has devolved into pure lightweight kitsch, worse than you'd have expected. I never found his character compelling in the first place -- compared say to Freddy Krueger, who had a much better sense of humor and punplay (especially the TV version of Freddy's Nightmares, an underrated show that Krueger masterfully MC'd). At least in Hannibal he treated the viewer to some gratuitous gore by frying up Henry Hill's brains. Now Lector is just a humorless version of SCTV's Count Floyd. God, if only Hopkins turned Hannibal into Count Floyd the movie might have been interesting. "Ho boy, kids! Ralph Fiennes is really, uh... scary! Awooo! He's a scary serial killer and he, he, uh, he kills people in a really scary way. It's so...scary. Brrrr, I get scared thinking about it. Really, I'm serious kids. And he has these tattoos. You should see that tattoo on his back. Oo! Gives me chills just thinking So stay tuned kids for this week's Chiller Diller Horror Thriller. Awooooo!" If Anthony Hopkins had said those lines while wearing a bad nylon Dracula costume, this review would be a little more positive.

As it is, they assume that U, the idiotic consumer, will drop your hard-earned money to watch Red Dragon because you already know what to expect and the other movies out there are more of a risk to suck than Red Dragon. I don't blame you if that's what you're thinking. We're all in that boat, folks. And to their credit, the producers of this movie do what Hollywood always does with these A-list casted, big-budget prequel/sequels: they give you exactly what you expect, only just a little less than that.

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The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

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