Zombie discusses how he corrals his films’ furious sense of energy and how sex appeal can trump common moral sense.
It collapses into repetition and unintended self-parody, as it’s devoid of the subtext and empathetic audacity.
This rich and gorgeous disc damn near rectifies this film’s nearly unforgivably indifferent theatrical release earlier in the year.
Zombie understands horror as an aural-visual experience that should gnaw at the nerves.
Whether hailing from the sticks or the trailer park, these hayseeds might even make Jerry Springer blush.
Lewis may have been a pioneer of the genre but he knows his movies are terrible and holds no illusions about his craft.
As Zombie closes the second Halloween, he leaves the door ajar to underwrite, of course, another sequel.
David Foster Wallace’s masterful prose doesn’t translate to cinematic language, and I doubt it would work in any context other than the page.
Treading well-worn ground to diminishingly creepy returns is a bone-deep problem for Zombie’s latest.
Rob Zombie’s gut understanding of what makes ’70s horror so great is unfortunately glimpsed in only short, sporadic bursts in Halloween.
Opening explosively after its intro track, the album is divided into two distinct yet similar sections.
It doesn’t so much play out as a sequel to House of 1000 Corpses but as a recapitulation.
May be worth a look solely for the sadistic interactive menus, where Sid Haig will test your powers of resistance.
Zombie’s film has nostalgia on its side but not much else.