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An All-Day Halloween Marathon of Fun-Sized Frights

October isn’t merely a month, it’s an energy. A most macabre sensation that permeates from its 31st day, and inspires not visions of sugarplums, but of ghastly jack-o’-lantern grins, rattling bones, cobwebbed corridors, and—yes—candy. It’s an energy—a state of mind—we call… Halloween.

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The Time Tiny Tim Tiptoed Through the Tulips and Into a Slasher Movie

Let’s be honest—some people are just really fucking boring. They lack that spark, that magic element that makes you sit up and take notice. They can’t help it, of course, but that doesn’t make things any less maddening.

Director Bill Rebane is really fucking boring. The ukulele player who used hemorrhoid cream as hand moisturizer, however, was not. Together, they made Blood Harvest.

I should explain.

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Napping Princess Is a Fairy Tale for Car Lovers

My first encounter with Napping Princess was through a series of news pieces during its production. AlI I knew at the time was that it was a Kenji Kamiyama film, it involved a parallel dream world, and the trailer had a criminally beautiful cover of The Monkees’ “Daydream Believer” sung by the lead voice actress.

My intention had always been to watch it at some indefinite future point, as what little I saw in clips featured an appealing mix of technology and fantasy. So what could I expect from it? I’m not sure. But I do know that whatever you’re expecting, this movie isn’t it.

Gentle readers, Napping Princess is a car movie.

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The Shot-on-Video Devolution, Pt. 2

Last week, things got a little out of hand. It all started with the rise of the camcorder trash-auteur—but soon there were woodchipper massacres, black devil dolls from hell, and the carnal delights of an invisible ghost son sexily blowing at his mother’s hair.

You’ll be begging to go back there soon enough.

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The Shot-on-Video Devolution, Pt. 1

In the days before the analog extinction, a most prominent purveyor of physical media emerged. Now a fetishized monument, it was at the time considered by many to be a scourge upon the once proud institutions of the drive-in and the grindhouse. Tumbleweeds rolled across vacant lots once lined with cars—their windows steamed, the vans a-rockin’ while the fleapit movie houses of New York’s 42nd Street were on the docket for Disneyfication. Overtaking their spot atop the movie watching world was the video rental shop. Or, as it was known by the ancients, the video store.

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What Do You Get When You Cross Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Satanism, and Birds With Knives?

Italy: there is perhaps no other country with so rich, so bountiful a culture of the arts. It’s the soil from which opera grew, the birthplace of Michelangelo, da Vinci, and Caravaggio, the hub of the fashion world, and it’s the very land where La Rotunda and the Colosseum stand to this very day.

But it’s their inventiveness in the art of the cinematic pseudonym that towers above even the most celebrated of structures. Each finely crafted by the artisans of the industry to soothe the average American with a strongly-rooted aversion to foreigners. To fool one into believing you’re watching a film that is totally not from Italy, we swear.

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Midnight Void: I’m Not Your Wolf Man, Guy

There are films that simply belong to another place—a place reserved for the indefinable, the indefensible, the irredeemable, cinematic slime banished long ago to a dimension that is accessible only in the darkest hours. So leave your humanity behind, embrace the social mutant within, and enter… the Midnight Void.

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How the Australian Government Funded a Wave of Bizarre Horror Films, Embarrassed the Critics, and Kickstarted the Careers of Hollywood Writers

In 1975, Peter Weir’s haunting Picnic at Hanging Rock cast a spell on viewers worldwide; the ambiguous tale lulled its audience into a dreamy haze with the mystery of three schoolgirls vanishing at the titular Hanging Rock. The picture heralded a New Wave of Australian cinema, and local critics were ecstatic to have such a work represent the continent to filmgoers across the globe.

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Midnight Void: Night Train to Terror

God and the Devil share a cabin aboard a train barreling through the night. A Night Train to Terror, if you will. Oh, I almost forgot, in the car up ahead there’s this breakdancing guy in DayGlo sweats. He’s the lead singer of this band, and they only have one song. I know they only have one song because they perform it over and over, and over again. There’s also a saxophone player, he gets a solo at one point. But back to the night train. Its destination could only be one place, a place we know all too well by this point: The Midnight Void.

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Candle Cove Is Coming to VRV to Mess You Straight the Heck Up

As fans of horror, we all have different tastes. Some of us want gory slasher action. Some of us want more quiet, psychological dread. And then there are those of us who want to be left staring at the screen, terrified and baffled and wondering what we just saw and if we’ll ever sleep again.

If, like me, you’re in that last category, then you might enjoy a trip to the childhood nightmare that is Candle Cove.

Even if you’re unfamiliar with the series — and its parent show, anthology series Channel Zero — if you’ve been online long enough you’ve probably heard the title. The concept started as a short creepypasta by writer Kris Straub, and blossomed into a world of wiki entries, fanfic, and fanart. The television series marks the culmination of the fan fascination with it, as well as your first chance to watch a show that (according to its own lore) doesn’t even exist.

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Dracula Sucks! Vampires on VRV!

Before you get too excited, this is not a comprehensive critical dissection of Dracula Sucks, the 1978 X-rated adaptation of Bram Stoker’s classic, starring “The Elliott Gould of Porn” Jamie Gillis as Count Dracula. But since you’ve already got me talking about it, I need to air the one gripe I have with that movie. You can’t just title your film Dracula Sucks, and then not deliver. I get the intended double entendre, and on the surface it’s clever. But at the end of the day it’s nothing more than an empty promise, and a broken dream.

Now that that’s off my chest, it’s time to move on to the actual topic of the day: Vampires. And not just any vampires. No, this is about vampires who aren’t musty old Dracula, because frankly Dracula sucks —except of course in the movie that’s literally called Dracula Sucks.