King Cobra. 2016. Directed & Written by Justin Kelly; based on the book from Andrew E. Stoner & Peter A. Conway.
Starring Garrett Clayton, Christian Slater, Molly Ringwald, James Kelley, Keegan Allen, James Franco, Robby Johnson, Rosemary Howard, & Spencer Rocco Lofranco.
RabbitBandini Productions/Yale Productions/SSS Entertainment
Not Rated. 91 minutes.
Crime/Drama
★★★★
Before I heard of this Franco-produced flick I’d not actually heard of the real life owner of Cobra Video, Bryan Kocis. He founded the gay porn studio, but also dealt with various legal struggles throughout his life: from charges of sexual assault on a minor, corruption of a minor, to bankruptcy and more. A difficult life, indeed. If even the basics of this tale are true, Kocis was a deviant who believed he fell in love, all the while exploiting the boy he said he cared about.
King Cobra is a fast tracked version of the Kocis story, with Christian Slater playing a stand-in for the real man, a man named Stephen. The object of his affection? Sean Paul Lockhart, a.k.a gay pornstar Brent Corrigan; played by baby-faced Garrett Clayton. What comes out is a story full of themes from the post-modern American dream to obsession to the struggle for love in industry where people aren’t people, they’re merely objects to be owned; by a producer, by millions.
Going in I thought there’d be a cheap exploitation aspect to the film. Not saying there isn’t a fair bit of skin. Director-writer Justin Kelly includes as much as he has to, in order to further explore the betrayal and deception at the heart of the story. And this, above all, is what matters most – the broken hearts left behind in the wake of the porn industry.
It’s known that the real Lockhart has said this story has “contempt for queer culture” and that it mocks pornography. The first I don’t agree with, whatsoever. Especially when the men are shown in an honest light, at all angles, never judged. As for the mockery of porn, I don’t agree; however, I do think it’s critical of the industry. Of how we allow the buying and selling of people, all culminating in the shocking real events that the story illustrates so vivid.
The dark side of the industry is in full effect throughout King Cobra. Aside from the relationship between fictional Kocis and Lockhart, which brings up issues of sex with a minor, the plot goes even darker with Joe (James Franco) and Harlow (Keegan Allen); most of all the latter. Harlow’s story is sad – the saddest – full of despair and loneliness and a search for happiness that’ll surely never end. The hurt of his character is terrifyingly real, and Allen plays him with a haunting, dead-eyed look.
Harlow and Joe represent the desperate side of the industry, the men who resort to prostituting themselves. On the other side, Stephen’s obsession with Lockhart turns their relationship into one of pimp and prostitute, too. Like a pimp, Stephen wants total control over Brent, so much so he makes the whole thing into a personal and legal battle; something which goes terribly wrong, for all of them. Meanwhile there’s Lockhart in the middle just trying to make money and find a nice man. Like a postmodern American DreamNightmare.
Moreover, Stephen represents a side of the gay community we don’t often see when we get those normal, positive looks at regular gay men and lesbian women (which are important in their own ways for representation). What he, and his real life counterpart Kocis, illustrate is how some men almost go back into the closet even though they’re out. They don’t fully accept themselves. In his case, it’s because he likes underage boys. It gets so bad that Stephen lives in a “cookie cutter community” and he’s there amongst his neighbours, all the while he takes Brent and other young men inside, out by the pool, and films them fucking. He lives in the open, though keeps a barrier up between him and the world.
Immediately, the stylised cinematography with its neon glow and filtered shots grabs attention. We feel as if we’re in an actual porno most times, not from the actual bare skin onscreen but the visual style. At other times the frames are draped in shadow, the way most of the characters are all under a cloak of darkness, living their lives on camera yet also behind it in the figurative dark spaces of life from one trick to the next.
The performances hooked me in. Allen is my favourite, he’s intense and brooding without being overtly animated; he makes you feel the darkness of his character Marlow. Alongside him as Joe, the ever interesting Franco provides us with a ferocious, unrelenting character whose sexual appetite does not mix well with business.
Still, the best performance of all has to be from Slater; his late career is proving full of surprises from Nymphomaniac to Mr. Robot and this film. Stephen isn’t a likeable character, he’s a sleazy guy. But Slater doesn’t play him sleazy, he somehow imbues the guy with a heart, no matter how dark. He’s a desperately clingy man, one who uses his powerful position as producer to rope in young boys with whom he can play, and hopefully control. He’s sad, he’s nasty. And there’s so much humanity to this otherwise monstrous man with Slater in the role.
What I love most about the character is that the writing allows him to be who he is, instead of trying to pretend like the gay community can’t have any bad apples. The real Lockhart’s criticism feels unfair, though admittedly I’m not a gay man and so my opinion isn’t the be all, end all. That being said, I think the best representation for any community, any race (et cetera), also involves those bad characters along with the good.
There’s a major loss of innocence in King Cobra. One thing Marlow makes very clear is that everyone has a story. What people see on that screen, the flesh and the orgasms, is the end result of victimisation, of broken hearts and broken dreams. It is what comes at the end of a long road of pain. I don’t care if you think that’s not cool of me. Personally, I don’t support the porn industry. Nor do I judge anybody; I used to watch it, then awhile back made a personal pledge not to engage with it any longer. I just don’t think it’s healthy, you can’t fault me for that.
Neither can you fault the film. These characters are real people, if not dramatised for the sake of entertainment. Their story is largely real and is, aside from what actually happened to Kocis a.k.a Stephen, also the story of many others who’ve been sucked into the undertow of the exploitative, violent industry of pornography.
King Cobra doesn’t ask or answer any big questions. It looks deeply at the damage done to people who’ve fallen prey to the predators in the industry, as well as those who were preyed upon before and then came to the industry later only to be re-victimised. If you have a level head about the topic in general, this movie’s for you. There isn’t any judgement. Then again, people like Kocis deserved to be judged, only they don’t deserve what he got, either.
Now that Norman (Freddie Highmore) has killed Sam Loomis, there’s a little of issue of disposing of the body with which he has to deal. Luckily he’s got Mother (Vera Farmiga) to help. She’s old hand at these kinds of things. The two split psyches each take their own respective duties, as she handles all the bloody, messy bits. To help protect her boy from the nasty truth. Regardless, he’s having trouble with the entire situation.
Back at the motel Norman runs into none other than Sheriff Greene, who’s there to talk about what they found in the lake. “Multiple bodies” and one of them Mr. Blackwell. So Norman plays his game trying to keep his secret life under wraps, as the sheriff’s still wondering about all the connections, as well as whatever Alex Romero (Nestor Carbonell) is up to since his escape. A tense conversation between Greene and the young man. He’s just barely hanging on to the mask.
Norman’s cooking a nice dinner for he and his brother. Life seems grand, music plays. All appears right. Certainly Dylan can’t shake what he knows, or what he thinks he knows. He brings up Sam Loomis, they have a conversation about what Norman remembers. He makes up a little(/tall) tale. It all devolves as the younger of the two gets upset over his older brother “meddling with the truth.” All Dylan wants is to protect him, to help him heal and get better. He tries convincing Norman to take his pills again.
WOW! Just, damn. I didn’t see that ending coming. This puts the last few episodes into a wild frame, not exactly positive what the endgame is but I’m excited to watch it unfold. The next episode is “The Body” and I’m wondering if we’re about to see some truly disturbed, insane acting from Highmore once he and Mother are under lock and key.
Found footage annoys certain people. Me, I’m always willing to give it a chance. There’s a lot of good stuff out there – unique, innovative stuff. No shortage of it, but now and then you’ve got to dig through a heap of trash to find the diamonds. Be My Cat: A Film for Anne uses its found footage premise well, driving the main theme of the film: obsession.
There are plenty films involving stalkers in this sub-genre, but they’re so often masked, or unseen behind the camera’s lens. Tofei is upfront and centre the entire time. This allows us a way into his mind, giving the audience a passenger side seat to the psychosis that overtakes him gradually; or maybe it’s been with him the whole time. Either way, it’s ugly. Not in a way which detracts from the story. There’s a compelling feel to watching this guy unravel.
The story’s trajectory is relatively obvious. Early on we understand there’s something not quite right with Adrian. Doesn’t take long. It’s how he takes us there that makes the plan uniquely terrifying. Adrian’s kinda crazy, kinda nonchalant attitude is unsettling, at the same time not wholly without charm either. His character, gradually flipping from fiction to reality to metafiction, engages the audience even in the slower scenes. You can’t help wondering what he’ll do or say next, which keeps you off balance, and never quite capable of pinning him down with any understanding.
I remember hearing of Be My Cat and just the short description, the Twitter account, caught my attention. There’s an edgy psychological aspect that sinks its teeth in and never lets go. Admittedly, I know that some may not find it as compelling. Not everyone wants to do a slow burn into madness in found footage format. And that’s fine, I understand. I suggest giving it a chance. Tofei has done something here that’s on the verge of greatness.
There are few slasher pictures which give me as much joy as 1981’s My Bloody Valentine. Many non-genre lovers will write this off as just another hack-and-slash serial killer romp, when it is, but it has so much more to offer than only being a toss away horror. In an era when horror was alive, kicking like nobody’s business, this George Mihalka-directed film is one of the greatest. That’s saying something.
Always have to do a good opener, and boy, this is a god damn knockout. With the female miner murdered down below ground we get an upsetting and gruesome kill to start off on, as well as the fact it contains such on the nose imagery with the heart tattoo over the woman’s heart, which is then pierced by the mining pick. You’d think this might play as cheesy, instead it’s appropriately nasty. Immediately, the title of the film is more than relevant. It joins the big seasonal horror names, standing alongside the greats like 
Some of the greatness is in the cinematography. Unlike too many slashers with poor camerawork, the cinematography from Rodney Gibbons – likely the best of his career – is a standout aspect of the production. Over and over, great POV shots from the killer’s perspective turn up to haunt the viewer as victims are hunted like animal prey. The launderette scene is legitimately scary. Our killer is totally savage, but the mining outfit is unnerving, slick black and that mask; jesus! A few times these POV shots crop up and they benefit the suspense incredibly, giving a lot of scenes that perfect spook factor. So many of the kill scenes, all of them, are impressive, as the killer stalks in the darkest spaces, literally driving the plot underground where the tension raises to near unbearable heights. Once we’re down in the mines the look of the film gets even darker, the Sydney Mines in Nova Scotia providing an amazing feel for those scenes.
My Bloody Valentine has very few flaws, if any, in terms of the genre. Even a nice score that changes from kill to kill in a unique way, courtesy of Paul Zaza (Prom Night, Curtains), something that’s always welcome in a good horror. Mihalka does a sterling job in the directorial department, shame he didn’t go on to more creepiness.
In the aim of transparency, I’m not a huge werewolf movie fan. Not my favourite of the sub-genres. That being said, when a horror gets it right there’s no telling how well it can turn out. There are well known classics, pinnacles of the sub-genre many people have seen before, some we all see each October leading into Halloween.
The wolfen themselves are a microcosmic metaphor for the displacement of Native Americans. Existing amongst a wasteland of urban America, they are natural beasts trapped in a concrete jungle; beautiful creatures captured in the cages of neighbourhoods neglected, nearly forgotten. Likewise, the wolves represent how Native Americans have been forced to assimilate over the years into white culture. The wolfen were once like gods amongst nature, they were shapeshifters, and still are. Their significance was much larger in the context of how Native Americans originally lived before the white man came to start their genocide. Native Americans were forced into urban slums, made to deny and forget their heritage, their tradition, even themselves as individuals. Up here in Canada, our own Holocaust involved indigenous peoples being put into residential schools where untold physical, sexual, and emotional abuse went on behind closed doors guarded fiercely by the Roman Catholic Church. So, there’s no denying this case. 
“I told you, man: it‘s all in the head.”
This is yet another classic horror with a cross into crime. Social commentary is one thing; Romero did all that within a zombie picture. Wolfen successfully comments on the situation of Native Americans in modern day America, as well as tells the story of a policeman with a very down to earth view of his city, who goes on to find out there’s an altogether different side to what he’s known so long. Finney is classic with plenty of great lines to reel off throughout, as is Olmos in a raw role with plenty of chances to be equally frightening and exciting. Not enough time in the day to talk about everything Wolfen does perfectly. If you’re a werewolf fan and haven’t seen it yet, get on that. Halloween is calling and it’s one of those nice fits for a cold, quiet October night.
I don’t always look at films through an analysis of metaphor. Only when it’s really there and evident do I tread into that kind of territory. Aik Karapetian’s The Man in the Orange Jacket is a deeply unsettling work that doubles as a psycho-horror film and also a political metaphor born in blood.
The film’s opening act (each act is stylishly labelled in roman numerals before it commences) is phenomenal. Moreover, you’d think it might keep going on the track of operating as a run of the mill slasher. It has a similar feeling to the 1983 horror 
Once he takes off the orange jacket, he sheds the skin of the proletariat. He puts on an expensive suit, a watch, he eats at an expensive restaurant (like a pig with his fingers and slurping on soup and wine in sharp contrast). He sits in front of a lavish chess set, though makes no moves to play it. This is when the noises start and the house feels strange, haunted by a spectre, or spectres. Now that the man has filled his life up with material things, consuming commodities like they’re going out of style, he has forgotten who he is exactly. The man has lost himself. How quickly we forget who we were, from where we came. He doesn’t realise who he is anymore. The man starts having dreams: he sees a vision of himself in a bathtub, being drowned by himself – the man in the orange jacket. Later, he sees a man in an orange jacket across the lake, and asks why he’s loitering, as if there’s something wrong.
Karapetian’s film is 4&1/2 stars for me. A great slice of horror cinema, with doses of blood, nastiness, and also a brain. In the final shot, lingering into the credits, Karapetian focuses on a painting – some rich, haughty king/nobleman, wearing fur and the like, stares down on the man. Earlier in the film the painting is noticeably visible, as if the old aristocracy is staring down on him, us, all the time. By the time everything is over, we’re no longer totally sure if what we’ve seen is the truth, if it’s all metaphor. Maybe I’m totally wrong. There might be no class struggle at the heart of The Man in the Orange Jacket. Karapetian could’ve intended this as a mind trip with no real aim, only to explore the psychosis of a murderer suddenly drawn into action.
I dig Darren Lynn Bousman’s career as a director, for the most part. He directed my second favourite Saw film after the original, the third and twisty entry into the franchise. Then there’s Mother’s Day, The Devil’s Carnival, and his segment from Tales of Halloween. In between are a few other, lesser pieces of work, but still, he keeps swinging for the weird and the wild, and sometimes the unexpected.
ab·at·toir
The scene when Allie shows Julia and Grady the film reel is pretty intense. The way it’s projected on the wall, the rickety sound of the film flowing through the projector, then the bits of fingers and blood on the floor of the church where Crone preaches is a grim reminder of how real everything is, no matter its supernatural twist. “Better living through sin and sacrifice,” Allie explains. You’re god damn right. The viscera splattered everywhere beneath the feet of Crone, who sells the citizens of that little town a bill of violence, is so brief that I’m amazed how effective this one shot was for me. That’s a small testament to some of the imagery in this film.
A 4-star bit of horror. Might even be in the top 20 for me since 2000. Bousman works hard as a horror director. He consistently, since his work on Saw, tries tossing things up, shaking the genre, seeing what comes out. Not always great. Sometimes, it’s amazing. Abattoir is an incredibly tense work at its best of times; horrifying and nasty, too. Jessica Lowndes does a fantastic job in the lead role, as do Joe Anderson, Dayton Callie, and Lin Shaye at her side in the supporting roles. You’ll get a nice dose of horror, from straight up blood to ghostly haunting to Gothic-style madness. There’s plenty to enjoy here. Parts of this really thrilled me. Other scenes got under my skin and gave me the chills. For whatever reason, I haven’t stopped thinking about Abattoir since I was lucky enough to enjoy experiencing it.
