Some quick thoughts on I Walked with a Zombie (1943)

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This is the oldest film to have graced the pages of BoGD and it's an undeniable classic. Betsy Collins (Frances Dee), a nurse who travels to a secluded West Indies island to care for the catatonic wife of a wealthy plantation owner, finds the beauty of the tropics a thin veil for the deep entrenchment of mysticism and voodoo in the once-slave population. The owner, Paul (Tom Conway), is a man of worldly flare yet immense sorrow over the cognitive loss of his wife while his business partner, Wesley (James Ellison), sinks only further into alcoholism. Wesley's mother (Edith Barrett) harbors a dangerous secret involving the ill woman and the ritualistic voodoo practices held in the tall fields of the plantation.

Director Jacques Tourneur produces some astoundingly moody black and white photography, but what's most interesting is how the film treats race for its time. The black population is still deeply affected by the circumstances of their ancestors' forced arrival to the island and Betsy is naive to their plight only seeing the topical beauty of the place and its people. Through exchanges between her and these "natives", one gets the impression of a boiling tension just below the surface.

The central white characters, beside Betsy, are either troubled or clearly broken souls. Paul is not only in perpetual sadness by his wife's zombie-like state but also sees the island a place of sadness, death, and decay. Wesley is merely drifting through life as a worsening lush with his drinking leading to devastating results. There is a small measure of the white characters trying to dispel the voodoo elements as simplistic hocus pocus, but the display of these practices isn't trumped up for morbid curiosity (at least in horror film terms) and the underlying realization to the mystery seems the outcome of otherworldly rites as a way of crippling the old guard's hold on the island. Some have said the more obvious elements (like the insanely creepy sentinel Carre-Four) that make I Walked with a Zombie fall into the horror genre feel like a sidenote, but the horror rests in the way the island's black arts influence and envelop its central characters. What comes around, goes around...

As for Warner's DVD, paired in a double feature with Robert Wise's The Body Snatcher (1945), picture quality shows a vast clean-up, but the film didn't receive a painstaking restoration. Flecks, pops, slight frame fluttering, lite nitrate damage, and one really bad tear are apparent throughout, but this presentation looks far superior to Manga Films' Spanish DVD which was previously the only other digital release available.

Warner Home Video - U.S. | Manga Films (Yo anduve con un zombie) - Spain
4x3/progressive | 4x3 (stretched and zoomed in)/interlaced

English 1.0 on both

No Substantive Entry Today...

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...been negotiating a whoop ass deal...

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The Haywire Hayride, The Extra Hard Answers, and My Ackroydian Mug on Youtube

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Remember this awesome entry, Haunted Hayride, and I'm the ideas guy, way back in September? Well, much to my chagrin, the powers that be castrated the whole idea of holding a Halloween shindig to begin with. There was no clubhouse party, no ode to Roger Watkins, no chainless chainsaws buzzing off in the darkness, and not even a single mask. Hell, what did occur didn't even take place at night. The hayride happened, but in broad daylight at high noon with merely a few tacky Wal Mart window bat and haunted house stickies for the multitude of toddlers in attendance. Dammit. After all this I lost interest in posting an update. There's always next year since this was a case of planning too much too late, but it's still a great idea.

Congratulations to Steampunk of Age of Empire who correctly identified the first capture in BoGD's first-ever Extra Freakin' Hard Guess The Horror Screenshots challenge as the truly god awful Flight to Hell (2002) from Plankton director Massimiliano Cerchi. A pile of rancid Italian trash featuring the worst CG-rendered backgrounds in cinematic history that once and forever proves Bruno Mattei was certainly not the worst genre director the country produced. The second capture is from León Klimovsky's Saga of the Draculas (La saga de los Drácula) (1972). I was actually mistaken in my hints in the comments concerning this film. I thought this film hadn't received an official DVD release, but in fact Deimos Entertainment bowed an American SE DVD under the title The Dracula Saga. My copy is a DVD-R from "Halemark" under the Saga of the Draculas title and appears to have been sold at carnivals or traveling freakshows. The third capture is from Masaru Tsushima's The Haunted Lantern (Otsuyu: Kaidan botan-dôrô) (1998). A throwback to the classic Japanese ghost yarns from Shintoho which no one seems to have seen both in its native country or in America via its Central Park DVD. I'll throw up another one of these challenges in the future and maybe make it not so difficult.

I'm off this evening for I Walked with a Zombie with Warner's restoration after struggling to get through the poor Spanish DVD from Manga Films. Also if you haven't yet, check out my Youtube Channel and become my friend and such if you wish.

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Swap Meet Finds: Greek Ninjas Smell like Whores

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Found this, O theios mou, o ninja from "Greek Video Record & Tapes", as an odd duck buried amongst "regular" tapes this morning. From the family bonding over cig hardpacks, instructional video-like no-no workplace shenanigans, and ninjas I was expecting something a bit stranger than what appears as just Greek family entertainment in the '80s when investigating further online.

Still, the expression on the dude's face on the front is hilarious, looking like a desperate last attempt at a psycho stare before he and the boy get their asses kicked by a band of street thugs with zero ninja training. There's even a snippet of this flick on Youtube (seen here) with the English title being My Uncle, The Ninja. Judging from that clip, I assume extreme property damage is fine in Greece if perpetrated by children using their bare fists. Another curious thing about this tape was that the case smells drenched in cheap perfume and the paper cover smells bathed in the ash of six thousand stale cigarettes. Huh, maybe that dude on the cover is some kind of Greek sex symbol or something?

Not much today besides that, the biting cold and wet dog piss/motor oil slop that was once snow yesterday kept people away. I did find a sealed copy of Toxic Crusaders, The Making of Toxie, Vol. 1 from Golden Book Video released back in 1991. Even though only lasting thirteen episodes; I can remember the theme song, having a bunch of the colorful action figures, and playing the Genesis video game. Thinking about the series now, it's amazing the pitch for an animated kid's series based on of all properties The Toxic Avenger was even sold to begin with no matter how watered down. It doesn't seem like the same thing could happen in today's neutered children's television entertainment landscape.

In other news, Big Lots continues to have surprisingly good DVD titles for only $3 a pop. I picked up My Little Eye, The Phantom of the Opera (Robert Englund one), Chamber of Horrors / The Brides of Fu Manchu, Isle of the Dead / Bedlam (Val Lewton Collection), I Walked with a Zombie / The Body Snatcher (Val Lewton Collection) along with some cheap root beer for under twenty. Awesome. I didn't find the other two Val Lewton double features, but I noticed copies of the The Return, The Grudge 2 (unrated), The Exorcism of Emily Rose (rated), and Nick Cage punching hippie women in the face mixed in.

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Plate, Shrimp, Plate of Shrimp...

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...lattice of coincidence that lays on top of everything...

Speaking of Dream Warriors: Elm Street 3 DVD Comparison

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New Line Cinema - U.S. (Ultimate Box Set/R0) | Culture Publishers - Japan (1998 edition/R2)
16x9/progressive/1:36:27 | 4x3 unmatted/progressive/1:36:37 w/ Lorimar-Telepictures logo
Dolby 5.1 English | Dolby 2.0 English (removable Japanese subtitles)
This one is fairly obvious, in an unusual occasion the Japanese disc bombs out, looking like a mediocre Laserdisc presentation. Cool art though, gray side bars added by me.

Video: VHS "Hard" Clamshell Collection, Pt. 2

Since it's officially snowing today!

Some quick thoughts on Dellamorte Dellamore (1994)

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spoilers within / With Dellamorte Dellamore (or its dumb English title, "Cemetery Man"), director Michele Soavi ascends far beyond the contractual quickies that muddled Italian horror for years into a stratosphere occupied by very few films and looked after by an ethereal Mario Bava. This film was my personal first exposure to the Barilla-brand of the genre purely by accident. I used to scrutinize newspaper TV guides, much like Francesco's phone books, for future airings after catching it in edited form on the American Bravo network. I bought a copy of the 20th Century Fox VHS from a video store and it wasn't until years later that I started sampling more gory works from the country.

Soavi is working at his artistic peak here and the result is a beautiful swan song of the subgenre and the environment the director was nurtured in as a filmmaker. Even with these lofty accomplishments; Francesco (the dream-casted Rupert Everett), Gnaghi (François Hadji-Lazaro), and She (Anna Falchi) never snub their noses at what came before. Much like Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West (and perhaps My Name is Nobody); the usual gory delights and grotesque oddities of Italian horror aren't xeroxed onto an ultra-stylized rice cake arthouse puff for faux substance. Instead these elements are integrated as a second nature and not treated as the sole main attraction with great respect by Soavi to his pedigree. Dellamorte Dellamore stands as Soavi's gift in tribute to his peers and a proper headstone for Italian horror like the aforementioned Leone films sending the country's cowboys into their final sunset.

Despite not being intended by the director, shades of the floundering health of the subgenre can be found within the film's characters. Francesco's impotence, failure to connect with the mysterious "She", and in-town ridicule can be transposed onto the later state of Italian horror that can't continue its lineage. Pasta horror was well into passé by that time and laughable at the places like Cinecittà once called home. "She" can be seen as the now incompatible states of mainstream horror and cinema in general. Francesco desperately wishes to imbue himself with her, but it's all futile and he even realizes this watching it burn with her last incarnation. Gnaghi is Francesco's best friend, or us, the horror fans. We've been there and still are for the subgenre and the final lines of Dellamorte Dellamore suggest a roll reversal in which the horror fan becomes the caretaker of Italian horror as they both discover the rest of the world doesn't exist. The country's cinematic horror tradition of yesteryear forever remains an endearing memory trapped within a snowglobe as the credits begin.

Here's another little theory to play with. The story seems to throw Francesco wild loops at every turn, but the subgenre has never seen such a thinking man's protagonist. It's as if the character grinds everything to a halt where in the past the male lead would be content with merely blowing zombie brains against back walls or go screaming off into the distance. These left field twists are the result of the story continuing despite Francesco not caring one bit. He literally derails what was destined to be another crappy Italian programmer. This is why the zombies (or "returners") wind up being so pointless in the broad sense. Francesco is so determined to whittle away at the details of life, love, and death that the undead become a boring formality for him. This also plays into the "end of the world" as Francesco and Gnaghi reach the buffer between their film's world and true reality. They're not doomed to a zombie apocalypse upon their return to Buffalora, but to the thoughts and written words of their creators.

Yep, this is the filmed blaze of glory of Italian horror that can be enjoyed on many different levels. Big existential rumination on "Of Death, of Love" or "Zombies, guns, and sex, OH MY!!!"? Dellamorte Dellamore works in both worlds. Absolutely essential if you wish to call yourself a follower of Italy's vintage crimson celluloid exports. As a sidenote, find the excellent Italian DVD from Medusa, Anchor Bay's throwaway domestic disc is far too bright, bleached out looking, and cropped on both sides of the frame in comparison.

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Can Freddy and Dokken Help End This Long Week?

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Ringu DVD Comparsion: Japan vs. South Korea vs. America

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Back in August, I wrote some thoughts on this Japanese classic and its VCD edition from Hong Kong. It's a must for a horror fan of any ilk that still shines brightly today even after the mania spurred in its native country and the excitement of its arrival stateside has long subsided. The VCD is an interesting curiosity but definitely not the way to experience this film.

So here's three DVDs spanning the globe; the American Dreamworks (R0), Japanese Pony Canyon (R2, in its original CD jewel case), and South Korean Spectrum (R0) editions. All three 1.85:1 transfers are anamorphically enhanced for widescreen displays and natively progessive. All three also include 5.1 Dolby Digital tracks in Japanese. The Dreamworks edition is the only one featuring English subtitles. The extra material comprised of the film's trailer and TV spots are identical on the Japanese and Korean discs while the U.S. disc only has three trailers for other unrelated Dreamworks films.

Both the Pony Canyon and Spectrum transfers are virtually identical with noticeable contrast boosting making blacks appear more grayish (and blowing out highlights, sunlight in second set) in a bluish color cast. The Spectrum is a touch brighter in this repect. Both also exhibit healthy film grain, but are compromised by so-so encoding which produces very mild block artifacts. The Dreamworks transfer has a black level closer to NTSC standard. Though colors appear "normalized" leaning towards a rather sickly greenish hue. The finer detail seen in the two Eastern discs is completely absent from the American disc. All three editions have mild edge enhancement with the Dreamworks having a little more than the other two (halos apparent on the top and bottom of the frame).

Out of these, the still flawed Japanese transfer is the best. There are other DVDs of this film floating around, including "Hi-Bit" editions with DTS audio, so there might be an edition that mates the detail of the Pony Canyon with the deep blacks of the Dreamworks to create the best image quality on DVD. The below captures were captured as .pngs (Picasa sometimes visibly degrades .jpegs) and not resized from their native 480i NTSC resolutions.

Pony Canyon Japan (16x9) / Spectrum South Korea (16x9) / Dreamworks America (16x9)

The Other Redbox Rental: My VHS copy of Waxwork (1988)

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Both Waxwork and this particular tape have great sentimental value to me. This is my long defunct local video store's copy purchased on the tail end of their VHS liquidation to move into the DVD age. I grew up with this shop and can remember being only knee-high to the bottom row of Thriller Video's Elvira Presents big boxes looking up at rows and rows of horror VHS goodness. This slipcase of Vestron Video's unrated Waxwork is obviously cut all to hell with its scissored parts pasted onto a huge red box. The cassette is lined in rotting black foam cushioning and slides out from the box's open top.

The rental place, which was actually tucked in the back of a small convenience store/pharmacy, didn't always butcher boxes like this. When I was a youngster, all the boxes sat uncut with the tapes lined behind in the counter in foggy plastic cases. Then sometime when I was first entering my teens; they greatly reduced their entire selection, began slicing cardboard, and kept the tapes in these boxes. I rented this very copy quite a number of times when I first started getting heavy with horror when I was around fifteen along with the Genesis cartridge of Streets of Rage 3 since that game rocked.

Eventually the rental portion of the establishment closed for good after years of waffling with trying to have only the latest big mainstream flicks on DVD while selling off the "old" discs. Blockbuster had been chop blocking at its legs and the emergence of VOD and Netflix finally slammed the last nail in their coffin. The layout of the place looks identical today; but the video store is now replaced with greetings cards, plastic flower bouquets, and junky knickknacks. Though I had to have this copy of Waxwork (for a pretty crazy $8 considering) because even years before their fall the writing seemed on the wall for at least a really shitty sea change in their stock.

Popping this in last night, the nostalgia was rich. The tape starts with trailers for the Corey & Corey megapowered Dream A Little Dream (as Coming Soon to Theaters) and the super-fuckin'-awesome trailer for the original Man on Fire starring Scott Glenn that cribs pieces of James Horner's Aliens score (see it here). Waxwork begins and for a twenty-year-old VHS it looks and sounds quite good. It's hard for me to critique this one since this little contemporary '80s horror movie has seemed to have always been with me.

Waxwork is a film compromised of endearing little touches that are as important to itself as they are to a real waxwork. This is the "fullest" Anthony Hickox film I've seen with heaps of loving homage paced out well over its ninety-seven minutes. The lead characters and the point of the wax museum don't mean much with the fun of the teleportations into each wax scene. Bob Keens excellently hokey monster and splatter effects work to only heighten the experience. I always got the willies from the Dracula segment's eaten leg and the werewolf's makeshift vivisection.

The cast really gets into the spirit and respects Hickox's kind vision of something more meaningful than just another serrated hackfest. It's obvious David Warner relished playing the snide and dastardly head of the mysterious waxwork. The ever-overly theatrical John Rhys-Davies appears as a man doomed to the howling and once transformed badassly brushes off a chair breaking over his hairy shoulder. Action man Miles O'Keeffe finds a fitting purpose for his Dirty Harry accent ("steak TAR TAR") as a romance novel version of Dracula. British veteran Patrick Macnee is a wheelchair-bound big game hunter in a role that really should have be expanded. The stunning Michelle Johnson's stuck-up China was probably my first on-screen crush. Not to mention the midget (err...little person) butler who castigates his fellow seven-foot youthful Lurch partner who crumbles like a baby at verbal punishment.

Waxwork is just fun that's great to visit every once in a blue moon and smile. It's the kind of good-hearted, sweet '80s horror hindsight that makes you wonder how the mainstream rendition of the genre got so bogged down in suffering and ardent emphasis on murder. Considering how cheap Artisan's Part 1 & 2 DVD can be found, owning this gem is a no-brainer.

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Another Obscene "Look What I Got" Entry: The Italian Edition

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I found zip at the swap meet this past weekend, but this is a nice consolation prize. The Japanese JVD DVD of Fulci's Zombie and Pioneer DVD of Michele Soavi's The Sect (La Setta / The Devil's Daughter / "Demons 4") arrived today in like new condition for a grand total of $19. It certainly pays to dig around Amazon's Marketplace every once in a while. Both presentations are non-anamorphic letterboxed but uncut and in English. I'm unsure about The Sect's disc release status, but I know JVD's Zombie has been out-of-print for quite some time. I have a bunch of other DVD editions of Fulci's tribal undead island excursion and the Italian disc of The Sect, so I'll eventually do image quality comparisons between them.

The Last Broadcast...Or How to Fuck Up a Cup of "Found Footage" Coffee

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major spoilers ahoy beginning at the fourth paragraph!

This ultra-low budget SOV feature frames itself like an A&E television documentary concerning the mysteries surrounding the murder of a group of public access hosts while taping an episode in Jersey's Pine Barrens in search of the Jersey Devil. A supposed psychic, Jim Suerd (Jim Seward), whom the hosts enlisted to guide them in the area was charged with their slayings and ends up mysteriously killed in prison. This mock after-the-fact case file attempts to clear up just what really happened out among the pines after the last tape ended and help shed light upon Jim's guilt or perhaps innocence.

Few films manage to actually piss me off. The Last Broadcast got under my skin in the wrong fashion to such a degree I couldn't sleep well last night. It's the kind of film that will have you seething with extreme annoyance as the credits begin. Why? You guessed it, a twist ending sours the entire feature. Now, I'm not one of these guys who gets pissy over climaxes that challenge a story's narrative to its core. The latter half revelations in films like Alexandre Aja's High Tension and Umberto Lenzi's Nightmare City don't do much harm due to the respective quality and dumb fun that came before you exclaiming "what the hell?!?" during the final frames. Though in this particular instance, Stefan Avalos and Lance Weiler's critic-dubbed precursor to Blair Witch only throws the baby out with bloody afterbirth in its final minutes.

Despite striking this nerve, considering what it is and its amazingly meager $900 budget, The Last Broadcast is quite an achievement. The film looks and feels ten years older than its production year but its documentary-style housing defeats viewer boredom even if details get repetitive. Expect to hear the name "Jim Suerd" three hundred times in eighty-six minutes. The actors do a great job casting their inexperience upon the on-camera inexperience of their characters and the acting is never too stilted. One can't help but praise what cast and crew managed to accomplish--only if it wasn't for the goddamn ending.

Here's your major spoilers. The man behind the documentary hires a video restorer to recover a heavily damaged tape that mysteriously lands at his doorstep of the final minutes of the group's fate. Right when the frame with the killer's true identity is revealed, the documentary jarringly "ends" and we witness the filmmaker suffocate and the wrap the restorer in plastic sheets as he is the killer revealed from the video haze. The last few minutes are of the man still "taping" his documentary since his mind finally shit the bed in the Pine Barrens with the ziplocked body. The execution of this conclusion occurs so quickly and abruptly any impact collapses to a feeling of being cheated by a gigantic cop out that negates everything that came before (much like The Zombie Diaries).

Instead of the killings being the work of a horrifying cryptozoological winged horse, it's yet another intelligent psychopath and at that exact moment The Last Broadcast's failings immediately bolster what The Blair Witch Project did so right. If one is still interested, DVDs of this demand substantial coin, but I'd advise tracking this down on cheap VHS (like I) first before experiencing a sinking stomach over paying a crazy sum for this title.

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Robert Rodriguez's Forays into Horror (excluding The Faculty)

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What I'm about to say may spur some troubling stares and even I'm a little shocked by my conclusion. After catching From Dusk till Dawn again recently and watching Planet Terror last night; Robert Rodriguez's walks into the horror genre are nothing more than little hollow one-offs with multi-million dollar budgets. I haven't seen The Faculty in years so I'm conveniently pushing it aside for the sake of my argument. Though I don't believe it's too hard to accept that slick teen horror/sci-fi concoction as one of his minors and like the Spy Kids trilogy on its own island from the norms of his filmography.

Strange thing is these two films were in good standing with yours truly before last night. Somewhere amidst watching Rose McGowan blast slings of Spaghetti-Os forth from Nightmare City-like ghouls I had this epiphany and the realization I really don't care for either Dusk or Planet anymore. With both features housed within the Grindhouse, this isn't a new criticism with others pointing out Rodriguez contribution feeling overproduced while Tarantino's Death Proof almost being too accurate with its plodding and talky roll out. The point can also be made that Rodriguez hasn't made anything of genuine substantive quality since his debut with El mariachi (along with chunks of Sin City), but I don't want to climb upon a high horse. Rodriguez is unquestionably talented and his work generally entertaining, but in the broad scope Dusk and Planet are condescendingly detached from the horror genre.

From Dusk till Dawn is a product of the goodwill incurred from the success of Desperado and Tarantino's even (vastly) more successful Pulp Fiction. The same deal with Grindhouse being a near last ditch appeal by The Weinstein Company to their two most prominent directorial badboys to create a box office spectacular. Neither of the films were exactly money-makers and the assertions above aren't new, but that doesn't pardon them from feeling like self-congratulatory fuck-arounds by a director just a having a good time with friends and soon-to-be-wives.

At this point, you could say I'm being a hypocrite. Why how dare I shout the virtues of all the crap cinema I find qualities in, yet lambaste these two mindless endeavors. The difference is each lack the "true grit" of a director(s) working with obviously limited funds digging deep to find it in himself and everyone around him to get something in the can. Sure, both are featherweight fun and exploding with shades of horror fandom, but now I see validity in similar arguments to this one levied against Rodriguez. Dusk and Planet are devoid of any purpose acting more as time capsules and Rolodex-expanders for those involved enveloped in bloody husks for the off-chance the masses decide to grant a horror flick blockbuster revenue. So where's the beefy, gore-laded heart behind the Titty Twister's emaciated vamps and Project Terror's incredible melting men? I'd contend there isn't one.

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Video: VHS "Hard" Clamshell Collection, Pt. 1

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Hope everyone had a Happy Thanksgiving and even happier black eye-free Black Friday! Here's another video of some of my collection! Sorry, I know I called Lustig's Vigilante "Vengeance"...twice! Hahahaha...

Some quick thoughts on Phenomena (1985)

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This is my favorite of Argento's films outside of his gialli. Take the base of Suspiria and run it headlong into a girl with psychic connectivity with insects, Swiss Alp wind, chimps with razors, deformed children, motherly vendettas, soupy dead body pits, a crippled Donald Pleasence, and Motörhead tuneage. Sound a bit of a trainwreck? No need to worry; master Dario is behind the enormous camera jib and dolly. Shades of Argento's wishy-washy future poke through Phenomena's veneer and on paper this honestly doesn't scream something of any quality on celluloid. Yet, Argento clearly still had his rich stylistic touch at such full power that this hodgepodge is tamed and ultimately conquered.

This beautifully photographed Italian horror film featuring Jennifer Connelly's first leading role might also be the first time director Argento expands the troubled waters of Inferno's and Suspiria's conclusions across an entire feature. I can't see how anyone wouldn't be disappointed by these two otherwise fantastic films' goofy Halloween mask witch blowouts after their measured deliveries. With Phenomena, Argento spreads this brand of overt lunacy with a broad butter knife evenly over the runtime. This gives all of the zesty spice in this pot of bloody mashed potatoes a sweet note instead of a bitter aftertaste. You can probably tell from already hungry for Thanksgiving dinner today!

The film starts benign enough but gradually breaks loose into a cavalcade of crimson splashes and maggoty gross-outs the way only Argento can (or perhaps sadly could) film. Misogynistic slow motion of feminine cranial violence, wind swept pans of lush locales, long shots of doomed damsels stumble-running whist screaming to their long bladed deaths, shadows always perfectly set in the deepest recesses of the frame, and loving close-ups of all the pertinent grue. Connelly shows amiable skill, but it's best to let Phenomena awash over your eyes while not commanding your brain to focus too much on the nutty inlets the story flows into. This is the closet Argento ever came to a work resembling the welcoming excessive "horror" norms of his Italian genre "prime era" brethren but naturally he still manages to succeed like no other.

If I had a complaint, the heavy metal from the aforementioned Motörhead, Iron Maiden, and others is blatantly shoehorned in to appeal to the youth of the day. With such fantastic orchestral work by Bill Wyman, Goblin (well, sorta), and Simon Boswell; the generic metal tracks placed over inappropriate sequences are a sore misjudgment. Especially Motörhead, who breaks free with their warty crunch as an important just dead supporting character is being wheeled out for the meat truck. I'm not against this practice, das metal in Demons gives it additional rip-roaring charm, but here it's like someone turning on the stereo in the room you're watching this in.

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Seriously, Twilight Fans...?

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