A movie made for a certain type of audience and was made by serious philes of the horror/gore/violence/dark-comedy realm, of which Tarantino is a die-hard fan.
Punchy, post-punk heavy on the distortion. The Sons of Hercules sound like the Stooges, but with better production. It’s fast and in-yer-face, yet bouncy.
If I hear one more born-again poser trying to tell me about how cool Christian Industrial Death Metal is, I’m going to nail somebody’s living carcass to a tree.
Whether Penn’s character is guilty or not, it passes no judgment, offers no remorse, and reminds us that we are all victims, and that we are all murderers.
A deformed whipping-boy is left alone in the cellar of an Italian castle after his captor dies. A married couple and their blind daughter inherit the castle.
Part MC5, part Iggy & the Stooges, part Hawkwind; The Sleepers didn’t have the three chord buzzsaw guitar of Ramones, but they were punks per Lester Bangs.
Thirteen years ago, The Pastels ambled out of Glasgow with a charmingly awkward pop shimmy and some of the most out-of-tune vox to grace vinyl. They’re back.