Public nominations for Weird Writers to Save Us All in 2019 are officially closed! We are compiling the list of nominees now, and we’ll post the results as soon as we’ve selected the winners.
We deeply appreciate everyone who took the time to vote. Thank you for giving us the opportunity to acknowledge your favorite hardworking authors.
We’ll see you soon!
-Justin A. Burnett
by Bob Freville
Genre fans are going to lose their shit when they get an eyeful of Exorcism at 60,000 Feet. A balls out tribute to horror’s golden age from the boys and girls at Girls and Corpses, Exorcism at 60,000 Feet is everything you would expect from the title and so much more.
Director Chad Ferrin (Someone’s Knocking at the Door, Easter Bunny Kill! Kill!!) has rounded up all the best and bloodiest talents from the genre, unleashing them on a plane for what promises to be this year’s most garish, gory and unforgettable splatterpiece.
Only Ferrin could give us an aesthetic worthy of William Friedkin while acknowledging the playful silliness of the Robert Rhine and Daniel Benton script. Each sequence is imbued with knowing camp and plenty of sight gags.
Those with a special nostalgia for the rotten and strange will relish the presence of Kevin J. O’Connor (Lord of Illusions, Deep Rising, The Mummy), however ephemeral, but serious nostalgia nuts will cream their Puppetmasturbating asses almost at once with the oh-so-familiar orchestral score by none other than Richard Band.
Indeed, there is something so Eighties about Exorcism at 60,000 Feet, but not in the mass marketed way that Stranger Things or even the It reboot is considered reminiscent of the Eighties. More interestingly, it is the film’s subtle spirit of the Eighties, something that recalls cult classics like Elvira: Mistress of the Dark, Combat Shock and even Night of the Demons.
From the exorcist’s struggles to hoist a dead body into the back of a hearse to the nonchalant way that the plane’s pilot (Lance Henriksen) and co-pilot (O’Connor) share some harsh hooch, everything about this screams the Age of Excess, a time when things could be dark and fucked up without fear of earning a detention demerit for its wickedness.
It’s a common cliche to write that a location in a movie is a character in and of itself, but I’d be lying if I didn’t note how the deliberately seedy airplane interior lends a distinct je ne sais quoi to the proceedings. Viet Kong Airways is one airline I would love to get lost on.
In terms of stars there really is no equal to Bill Moseley who gives his most indelible performance since The Devil’s Rejects or, at least, Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2. With that said, the show really belongs to Bai Ling (The Crow, Crank 2: High Voltage) who keeps us pissing our pants with laughter until the final scuzzy frame.
This is one of those movies where you can’t help but fall in love with each and every character, regardless of how offensive or obnoxious they are. And it is to the filmmaker’s credit that he has managed to turn this love of the annoying and ugly into a career-long endearment.
Frankly, I can’t think of a single Chad Ferrin title that didn’t feature at least two hideous ghouls as major players and the more hideous these so-called humans are, the more we cheer.
This delightful subversion of the traditional filmic formula reaches its apex in Exorcism at 60,000 Feet, a celebration of trash and travel hell…or heaven, depending upon your particular(ly) warped perspective.
It’s rare that you come across a horror-comedy that honors the legends of comedy as much as it does the masters of the macabre. ‘Exorcism’ is one of those flicks, a movie that owes as much to High Anxiety-era Mel Brooks as it does to Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone.
One of the lamest offenses perpetrated by many B movies is their unwillingness to acknowledge what they are. Consequently, viewers get stuck with a crappy film starring second-rate actors trying their damnednest to turn laughable material into something genuinely dramatic.
Exorcism at 60,000 Feet flips the script, giving us a glorified hornet’s nest of seasoned performers doing their absolute best to convey the sheer absurdity of the source material and relishing in the unbridled madness of the same.
Few microbudget genre movies spend this film’s time on character development and the effort pays off. The jokes and jabs are that much nastier once we’ve been properly introduced to the victims of their folly.
This is a flick for those who were weaned on a diet consisting of equal parts The Monster Squad and Vice Squad, a gnarly romp that recalls the best of those late twentieth century direct-to-video titles without feeling like anything other than one man’s singular vision of amusing insanity.
In keeping with The Motorist’s spoiler policy, I won’t give up the ghost when it comes to Exorcism‘s funniest and most memorable line (Hint: It takes place in the bathroom), but suffice it to say that this one is a feast for both the eyes and the ears.
As with most low-budget genre fare, particularly sub-genre flicks, ‘Exorcism’ has its moments where the jokes (and special effects) fall flat, but this only serves to make the overall picture that much more charming. Think of the first time you saw an early John Waters movie or a 90s direct-to-video National Lampoon entry and you’ve got the general idea.
Unrelenting, irrational, irreverent and impossible to not enjoy on some primal level as people dealing with the ludicrousness of the modern age, ‘Exorcism’ is for anyone who’s jaded by their own social media presence (what one character ends up doing in her time of peril is what so many of us would do nowadays). It’s also for anyone who is just curious to see what might happen if you put a bunch of contemporary nincompoops on the same aircraft with absolute evil.
Prepare to enjoy a very different kind of Purge, one that’s green and nauseating but never dull. Not even for a second.
Peep the film’s trailer here and keep your eyes peeled for festival and release dates as they come in…
Like the lunacy right here.
Night Shade Books’ Ellen Datlow has long been known for releasing excellent collections of the year’s “best horror.” Well, as the title says, this is the best of the best, featuring writers like Neil Gaiman and Brian Evenson. For a buck ninety-nine, this should be a no-brainer.
Fracassi’s Behold the Void is truly a force to be reckoned with. As Laird Barron says in the introduction, “When you open this collection, you’re headed down a dark alley within the precincts of the Twilight Zone. It’s the kind of place where the wrong people get hurt; hazard is everywhere and it doesn’t play favorites. The complacent won’t find refuge here on the threshold of the void. Nobody is safe and nothing is sacred. Enjoy the ride.” What more needs to be said?
Admittedly, I don’t know much about Joe Hill. He’s one of those writers I keep meaning to check out, but never seem to find the time. Don’t judge me: there’s a billion books and only one of me. With a price tag for less than a dollar, 20th Century Ghosts might be a great place to start with the highly-acclaimed author of Horns and NOS4A2.
Yes, Brian Evenson is still slinging Kindle goodies for ridiculously awesome prices. Undoubtedly, this is to promote Song for the Unraveling of the World, which, by the way, it would be a great idea to PREORDER NOW. Still, I’ve been able to pick up Evenson’s entire Kindle catalogue for approximately the price of a meal at Waffle House. See? It pays… or, um, saves… to keep up with Kindle Crack.
No, I haven’t read Agents of Dreamland, but I’m almost done with The Dinosaur Tourist (which, by the way, is also going for a great price on Kindle right now) and it’s absolutely goddamn amazing. I’m buying this one right now, and if you’re interested in keeping tabs on one of the most unique voices in weird fiction, you should too.
I’m not sure how I let The Spectral Link slip by me, but anything by Ligotti is definitely worth full price. Anything less almost feels wrong. That this collection of two novellas is going for under three bucks is nothing less than a gift from the Void. Grab it now!
–Justin A. Burnett
by Bob Freville
Matthew Montgomery’s indie thriller Devil’s Path is a masterfully tense thriller whose seemingly simple premise—two male strangers meet up at a nature trail that’s the site of discreet gay hookups and end up being pursued by homophobes—quickly becomes something far more complicated and equally disturbing.
On the face of it, the film’s vulnerable nature-loving loner appears to be a hopeless romantic with a yen for solitude and a paradoxical yearning to find true love. By contrast, his reluctant companion is increasingly cynical and hostile. But the story’s many subtle twists and turns send a clear message: Don’t judge people by their outward appearances or their sexual proclivities.
As the picture plays out with some incredible cinematography and subtle musical composition, both of which bely Devil’s Path‘s low budget, we learn that this isn’t your typical man hunting man horror movie. Instead it is a smart psychological mystery that explores everything from child abuse and incest to the duel dangers of absolutism and so-called healthy skepticism.
Imagine if Kelly Reichardt (Old Joy, Night Moves) was tapped to direct a murder mystery written by Gregg Araki (Mysterious Skin, Now Apocalypse) and you get a hazy idea of what’s in store for you with Devil’s Path.
To say too much more about the plot would be to spoil what is, in essence, the anti-Hollywood thriller, a film that doesn’t need a large ensemble, fancy sets or high-priced special effects to produce enthralling, shocking and highly watchable results.
This one would make for a good double bill with either Deliverence or Sound of my Voice. A grade-A nail biter that will keep you guessing, not just about where the story will end up but why there aren’t more flicks of its caliber.
Rent or buy it today from Breaking Glass Pictures.
By Ben Arzate
Just a few weeks ago, as of writing this article, the film JT Leroy was released. JT Leroy was allegedly a young transgender woman who came from an abusive household and formerly worked as a prostitute. Leroy released three semi-autobiographical books, but remained reclusive from the 90s, when she first began publishing, until 2001 when she began making public appearances.
The inconsistencies revealed in her interviews began casting doubt on her authenticity. In 2005, it was revealed that JT Leroy was an invention of the author Laura Albert and the person making public appearances was the actor Savannah Knoop. Despite the hoax that Albert and Knoop perpetuated, the books released were, in fact, labeled as fiction and many defended the stunt as performance art.
Probably the most infamous case of literary fraud in the United States was James Frey and his memoir, which turned out to be complete fiction, A Million Little Pieces, released in 2003. The book followed Frey’s supposed time in rehab after drug-related criminal charges.
A Million Little Pieces received mixed reviews, with the harshest review coming from author and critic John Dolan, known for his War Nerd column, who lambasted it as the worst book he ever read, calling it complete fiction. Despite this, it became a best seller and was selected for Oprah’s Book Club in 2005. Shortly thereafter, an exposé was published in The Smoking Gun, showing that nothing in the book was true.
One of the most ridiculous cases of literary fraud was the 2008 fake memoir, Love and Consequences by Margaret Seltzer, writing under the name Margaret B. Jones. She claimed to have been a half Native American girl who was an orphan and was involved with the Bloods gang in LA. In interviews, she even talked in Ebonics. Not long after it was released, the publisher had it recalled when Seltzer’s sister exposed it as a complete fraud. She was white, not mixed, and grew up with her biological parents in an upscale suburb.
With Leroy, one could see how people bought into the fraud. The books were fiction and couldn’t be fact checked, and the author kept out of the public eye for a while. Frey and Seltzer, however, were much more obvious cases of fraud.
The characters were overt stereotypes that didn’t ring true and many parts were flat ridiculous. Frey, a curly-haired frat boy, painted himself as a tough guy who did a ton of drugs including sniffing glue, despite coming from a rich family who could afford decent drugs. Jones/Seltzer was obviously a white girl putting on an act. Why did people believe such things?
It’s no secret that people enjoy stories of overcoming adversity, especially personal adversity. The vast majority of books, memoirs especially, are about just that. The rub is what kind of adversity. Frey’s story fit a sexy narrative that drugs will ruin your life and make you a hopeless addict, but you can climb out of it with the help of the benevolent rehabilitation industry.
Seltzer’s fraud was a bit more multi-layered. The obvious aspect is that there is a wide audience of white Americans who have an interest in things perceived as being “black,” but like them even more when they don’t have any actual black people. Not to mention many true narratives about gang life, especially in LA, tend to be very cynical and unsentimental. Seltzer injected her narrative with bathos and sentimentality, as did Frey, which opens it up to a much wider audience.
This may sound like a pretentious thing to say, but it seems that most readers do not want to be challenged. They want their worldview confirmed. I’d argue that nearly everyone is guilty of this at at least one point. It’s no wonder a huckster who has their finger on the pulse of the zeitgeist can put together a narrative that will confirm it to rake in money and fame. Much like many of the mostly now-forgotten authors who, in their time, wrote to please the people in power, even if they had to lie.
It’s a noble thing to have convictions, but it isn’t to follow them so blindly. We see this now with many people buying into fake news stories that confirm their bias or putting themselves into social media bubbles where they hear no opposing opinion. Liars and frauds who can string a sentence together will always have a lucrative market, so keep your critical eye open.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go finish my memoir about growing up as a lesbian in a family of undocumented immigrants.
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