F This Movie!: October 2019

by Adam Riske and Rob DiCristino

The review duo who ate too many miniature Snickers.

by Erika Bromley

“My name is Arbogast, friend. I’m a private investigator.”

by Patrick Bromley

There shouldn't have been a sequel to Psycho.

by Rosalie Lewis

Adam Levine isn’t the only one who’s got the moves like Jagger.

by Rob DiCristino

Foghorns and farts and mermaid sex, oh my!

by JB

It’s almost October 31st; time to vent my spleen.

by Patrick Bromley

A great performance from an actor too often dismissed.

by Adam Riske

I really don’t like Countdown.

by Patrick Bromley

The definitive documentary on my favorite decade for horror: the 1980s.

by Gena Radcliffe

I can’t remember the name of it, but I can tell you exactly what it looked like, or I might be conflating it with other small-town Mom ‘n’ Pop video stores, they all looked the same then. A tiny little place, with just two aisles, not much in the way of foreign or “art” films, and a curtained off area in the back ominously marked “NO ONE UNDER 18 PERMITTED.”

by Michael Pomaro

Anyone who has known me for more than 10 minutes knows that Edgar Wright’s Shaun of the Dead is one of my favorite movies. No matter how many times I watch it, and I watch it a lot, I discover new things to love about it. My wife and I caught it on cable a few weeks ago, so naturally we left it on. It was on this viewing that Simon Pegg’s performance stuck out to me in ways it never has before and it left me wondering why.

by Adam Riske and Rob DiCristino

The review duo who feel empty after paying for photo ops.

Patrick and Rob have got red on them.

by JB

In October, a man’s heart turns to…

by Patrick Bromley

The first of Full Moon's Deadly Ten is here!

by Adam Riske

Who needs Michael Myers when you have Dr. Dan Challis?

Writer/director Liam O'Donnell (Beyond Skyline, Portals, Skylines) stops by to keep Sarah's seat warm.

by Patrick Bromley

More streaming picks for your #ScaryMovieMonth viewing!

by Jan Bottiglieri

When it comes to horror films, my advanced age (achieved through balanced diet, fresh air, and an ancient demonic curse) gives me a slight advantage. For many of the 1980s-era (era) classics, my first watch was not on a VHS rental at a slumber party full of pre-teens, but in a giant darkened theatre full of other adults. An American Werewolf in London is one such film, and let me tell you—when this film was released in 1981, the audience reaction was NUTS. Zombie Nazis machine-gunning children? A werewolf transformation, complete with nonstop screaming? Wise-cracking corpses, decapitated policemen, and full-frontal nude male balloon stealing? Yes, please!