'10 to Midnight' Review

My brother received this movie from one of our uncles as a gift for Christmas, but not being an awfully big fan of Charles Bronson or vigilante action movies, he gave it straight to me. I went into this film expecting something along the lines of Deathwish, but with only one villain. Instead what I got was the obvious precurser to American Psycho, and plenty of the shots used in this film were clearly in Harron's mind when she directed that film, if not in Brett Easton Ellis's when he wrote the novel.

Although a psychadelic version of this picture would probably give you a more accurate representation of what goes on in Ellis's head... 

This movie came out 3 years after Ted Bundy was incarcerated for multiple homicides, and was clearly written as a reaction to that case. It also includes elements of Richard Speck's killing spree - though that will be discussed later. I have to say, however, I was incredibly impressed by this portrayal of a serial killer.

Right from the off, we see a lot of Patrick Bateman in our killer, Warren Stacy. He is played by a young Gene Davis, who looks to be about Bateman's age - 26, or possibly a little younger. Perhaps having seen American Psycho and loving it means I'm going to give this movie a little more credit than I should for showing us a similar character some 17 years beforehand, but really, the similarities are astonishing. Stacy is seen very early on walking through his apartment in his underwear, showing off a very muscular but lean physique. The character takes his time styling his hair, and applying moisturizer or aftershave to his face, before selecting the clothes he is going to wear. Every element of this scene screams "Blue Collar Patrick Bateman", and the similarities were far from over then. Not only is Stacey shown to be a film buff like Bateman (though, his music tastes are never discussed, so who knows if he has the new 'Genesis'?), but Stacy is also seen committing several murders throughout the movie, and always commits them completely naked. The shots usually focus on his back or face, with many of the shots being incredibly similar to those used in American Psycho. Hell, in the climax, when he grabs the girl he is after and she burns his face with a hair curler or some similar iron-like equipment, I was almost expecting him to shout "Not the face! You bitch! Not the fucking face, you piece of bitch trash!" - and when he then proceeds to chase her outside, running down the street completely naked and coated in blood whilst carrying a knife. Well, it was almost identical to Christie's escape attempt in American Psycho.

Lots of man-arse and blood, with some shadow-covered crotch thrown in to boot.

Stacey is also shown to be a very intelligent killer, and definitely a ladies man. We see him setting up his alibi for the first murder by going into a cinema and sitting with two girls, hitting on them blatantly, and offering them popcorn. When the more attractive of the two, who he is seated directly next to, decides he's a creep and drags her friend (who is gasping for it, naturally) away from him to another row, Stacey waits a few moments until they are settled, before sneaking out to the cinema's bathroom, where he climbs out the window, and proceeds to drive to the scene of his crime. After the murder, we see the lights come up in the theatre, and the two girls walking out - and of course Stacey is sitting there, cool as anything, and gets up to chat with them on his way out. He sets up his alibi like a rock, and then when the more interested of the two girls starts showing an interest in him when he no longer needs them, he blows her off and goes home. He is arrogant, ingeniously obnoxious, and one hell of a charmer. A real Ted Bundy (or Pat Bateman). These two factors are really important in propelling the story along, as Stacey's intelligence forces Bronson's character to move further and further outside of the law to try and pin something on him, which eventually culminates in Bronson's having to leave the force after he is found to have planted evidence. Stacey is incredibly intelligent, and leaves no trace behind - and this intelligence and planning is what helps the climax of the movie to unfold in such a dramatic fashion.

Uh, not that type of climax, Charlie.

Towards the end, Bronson's character is tailing Stacey, trying to get something he can pin on him, or else look for some excuse to take him out; whilst Stacey is out for revenge for Bronson's meddling in his murder spree, and has his sights set on killing Bronson's daughter. In order to lose Bronson, Stacey makes it appear as though he is going to kill a prostitute to satisfy his needs, then as Bronson attempts to follow him to the hotel he takes her to in order to catch him in the act, Stacey slips out the back and drives over to the nursing college where Bronson's daughter lives, and re-enacts Richard Speck's infamous killing spree, leading to that climactic running scene in the street. Everything about the character of Stacey is so unbelievably well thought out and accurate, that I wouldn't be surprised if Bundy had written the film himself. Hell, Stacey even drives a Volkswagon Beetle - the only difference is he repairs typewriters for a living, rather than being some fancy fucker with a law degree...

Unlike this tubby bastard. Who is straight out of Compton, I might add...

The moments of clear insanity Stacey seems to have are fantastic as well - the way he finds girls being turned on by him to be a massive turn-off, his Mexican alter-ego Padro, and the way he snaps and goes into a fit of rage at just the wrong word, when maintaining such a cool, calm, collected persona the rest of the time, is also classic Bateman. Ok, we can't imagine Stacey shoving a fifty in the hand of a crack dealer, then eating all five vials as he is handed them. Nor can we imagine Stacey actually hallucinating he has bile-dripping fangs and eyes that roll back in his head, but which no-one notices - but the crazy dark side underlying the cool, handsome exterior is still definitely there, and underplaying it as the film version of "American Psycho" did with Bateman leaves us with the sense that we have a killer who, whilst obviously insane, is still completely in control of his actions, and still one hell of a guy.

I fucking love this guy. He's a total bro, bro. 

The other characters in the piece are fairly dull, with Bronson being the typical old-school cop who will do anything to get his conviction, who is lumbered with a partner who wants to play by the rules. There are a few touches added to make things more interesting, such as the new partner becoming involved with Bronson's daughter, and the fact that the first girl murdered was a friend of the daughter, so Bronson knows the family, but it's all pretty standard stuff. The only really different moment comes right at the end of the film, and you know I'm about to spoil it, so watch out if you really want this to be a surprise. After the scene where Stacey chases Bronson's daughter from the nursing college down the road whilst naked, Bronson catches up in time, and grabs a hold of his daughter, gun pointed at Stacey. The police back-up he called for arrives, and Bronson hands his daughter off to his ex-partner, still keeping the gun trained on Stacey. At this point, Stacey starts to tell Bronson that the most recent murders were all his fault, for putting the pressure on him that he did, and tells him that he hears voices telling him to kill, and is sick. Bronson sees that he will clearly get off with the insanity plea he is trying to establish, and earlier in the film we hear Bronson's story of another man he arrested who was found insane and let out of hospital after six months, only to kill his parole officer the next day, so Bronson just does what Charlie does best, and shoots Stacey through the head in full view of a dozen police officers whilst he is posing no immediate danger to anyone. And this, Ladies and Gentlemen, is how the film ends. Bronson takes his shot, and his daughter screams "Dad! Noooo!", we then show a wide-shot of the scene, and crane upwards as the credits start to roll. Charlie will be blamed for all three of the murders committed since he planted the evidence, and will no doubt receive life for killing Stacey himself, but goes away knowing that he managed to stop a psychopath, and that his daughter will be in safe hands with his ex-partner.

And I mean, come on, Bronson's not gonna go through an entire movie without using his gun once He knows what the people paid to see...

This movie, then, completely exceeded my expectations in every way. The violence is very disappointing, with no actual gore being shown - every time Stacey kills someone it is with a quick stab to the stomach, and they drop down dead instantly. However, this can be chalked up to the fact that it's a movie about a serial killer from 1983 and already includes plenty of nudity, and there is still a lot of blood, even if there isn't any actual gore. Whilst this overly-tame level of violence detracts from the film in a way by making it less realistic, it at least means it doesn't feel like a slasher flick, with none of the violence being overly gratuitous, or seemingly being the point of the movie, which is great. Hell, it's nice to see a movie where a guy can chase a naked girl and stab her to death which isn't designed for twisted loners to jack off to, and the way the killing are handled, although far less graphic in their nature, again are the obvious precursor to American Psycho (let us not forget that Harron decided to let Al die from a couple of stabs to the stomach, rather than have his eyes cut out, his lower abdomen stabbed countless tines, and the brige of his nose cut to pieces, because you don't need a film to be overly violent to appreciate it, even when violence is one of the main themes). Or hell, they could even be seen as an homage to the original Psycho, in which we never actually see a blade stick in anyone, but know exactly what has happened.

Her daughter made a living in the exact same way. Weird that...

The way the movie is told both from Stacey and Bronson's perspective is also pretty cool, and although nothing new, is certainly new with two characters of these types. The story is incredibly well written, and for the most part is very well acted (Stacey's boss was particularly awful, and Bronson just played himself, but what do you expect?). Some of the dialogue is absolutely brilliant, such as the following conversation as Stacey and his legal team exit the court after the pre-trial hearing for his murder charge:


Defence Attorney: And furthermore, we intend to show that the police evidence is false, and fabricated.

Journalist: What do you mean, "fabricated"?

Defence Attorney: You want a Dictionary?




The music is also pretty good, just sitting in the background for the most part, apart from in the opening title scene, where the intro music is heart-pumping, and really gets you ready for the film. As for the direction and cinematography, were you not here when I said the ending scene looks just like the Chainsaw scene from American Psycho?

I was gonna post it here, but all American Psycho videos on YouTube have embedding disabled.

Rating:



****



4 Stars




I'm probably being overly biased here, seeing a lot of American Psycho in this film is making me rate it higher because I love seeing where Harron took her influences from. However, it is a solid serial killer movie, one of the best, and is certainly worth a watch. This far outstips the low-budget horror adaptations of real killers, from 'Gacy' to "Edmund Kemper: The Coed Killer" (which, incidentally, had almost nothing to do with Ed Kemper and was set in 2000-something rather than the 70s, revolving around the manhunt for this killer by his best friend, a cop, when in real life Kemper was caught when he called the police and confessed), and is even better than the movie "Bundy", based on the life of Al Green. Wait. Ted Bundy. Of course, these were all low budget pieces, and can't be expected to live up to a proper studio movie. However, with a budget of 4 and a half million dollars and made in 1983, you'll notice that this film was cheaper than Escape From New York, which is often credited as being an "ultra-low piece" (and fucking awesome) and came out 2 years later, so wasn't exactly well-funded either. Hell, I imagine this film was the precursor to all those straight-to-DVD action films where they pay the star $5 Million and only spend $2 million on the film itself, with Bronson probably being paid the majority of the $4.5 Million just because they knew his name would sell the film. And hell, it worked, because I watched it, which I wouldn't have had it not had Bronson in (since that's almost certainly the ground on which my uncle bought it). So, great film, very enjoyable, and probably the 3rd best Serial killer film out there (After American Psycho and Silence of the Lambs. Both also based on Bundy, interestingly enough). Of course, I'm not including the fantastic Television series "MillenniuM" in that statement, but nevertheless it's still one hell of an accolade - and I'm going to be sure to recommend this movie to everyone I know who enjoyed American Psycho, even if the antagonist of the piece doesn't have a penchant for Valentino Couture Suits and Oliver People's Glasses (non-prescription).





Voice





P.S. - Shit, was I really THAT fat? God damn!

How to Get That One Girl - A Guide to Stalking (Text)

We’ve all got that girl we’d do anything to spend time with. A work colleague, an Ex-Girlfriend, that cute girl from the coffee shop who totally held your hand when she gave you your change. Hell, someone out there probably even fancies Tulisa from N-DUBS (*cough* PAUL *cough*). The point is, we all have these little obsessions, but often cannot do anything about it. Well thanks to me, Voice From the Pillow, LLB, now you can – with this simple step-by-step guide!



Voice From the Pillow: My Guide to Stalking like a Pro!



"What do you mean rape face?"



Tip 1:


Make sure the object of your affections is, in fact, real. We’ve all seen that video on Efukt of Chris Chan fucking an anime character sex pillow in the missionary position whilst screaming “Julie”, so don’t even pretend you haven’t. The point is, Chris was clearly under the impression that the person he was sending this video to was an actual human female named Julie who was into that kind of thing (that should have been the first giveaway, really. The fact that he already fell for the whole “Clyde Cash, Guido extraordinaire” thing being the second), but instead sent it to what is commonly referred to as a “troll” or “/b/fag”, who then proceeded to upload it. So, before you even consider beginning a stalking regime, be sure the object of your desires is a tangible being, not a creep who for some reason wants a guy with aspergers to send him a video of himself fucking a pillow. If you find yourself in that situation, you are unfortunately on the wrong end of the stalking process, and need to rethink your tactics.

Whilst we’re on the subject, make sure it’s not a character you’re in love with, but an actual person. I once had a friend who was infatuated with Madonna in the “Just Like a Prayer” video, but when he finally went to see her on the “Sweet and Sticky” Tour, actually threw up after realizing that the Granny skeleton shoving it’s crotch in a Homosexual’s face on stage was the true persona (and appearance) of the woman he thought he loved. I also had a similar problem, falling in love with Enrica Villablanca from Splinter Cell Double Agent, and spending every night for 2 months under the impression that I was Sam Fisher. The Doctors at the hospital weren’t too happy with that one, especially when I learnt that my OCP could stop pacemakers (I was later informed, upon my release in August last year, that what I thought was an OCP was, in fact, a taser I had stolen from the security closet, and what I assumed to be pacemakers were, in fact, other people’s hearts. And the person I had assumed to be Emile Dufraisne was, in fact, David Cameron, who had been visiting to show his support for non-custodial sentences, a policy he reversed the very next day, curiously enough). The point is, no matter how sexy a 33 year old brunette PHD student-slash-terrorist may seem, if she’s not real, it’s a waste of time trying to impress her. Plus, if you’re the kind of guy who still hasn’t stopped ripping one of his friends for watching Star Wars porn about 5 years ago, it makes you look like a hypocrite.


Whoa! Too Political!




Tip 2:


I recommend stalking multiple women. Whilst to some of you that may seem like you are being unfaithful, bear in mind that in some cultures, such as in Spain, it is perfectly acceptable for a man to have 7 wives, and 7 mistresses per wife, and 7 cats per mistress. Now that’s a fuckload of cats, even if they aren’t going to St. Ives.

Remember, the more women you stalk, the more likely you are to find one who actually enjoys it. Take me, for example, in November 07, I met this cute little blonde girl outside a bar whilst I was carrying out surveillance on another woman, and rather than stick with my original target, I thought “fuck it, I know where she lives – let’s give Blondie a whirl”, and it fucking worked! She totally let me take her home that night!





You know, after I’d put Roofies in her drink and tased her when she attempted to escape from my car.


Ice Cold, Baby!


But seriously, this technique works every time – hit on as many girls as you can, and eventually you may trick one into coming with you. This works especially well if the woman in question is inebriated. But don’t take my word for it: This technique is actually recommended by Mike “The Situation” Guidoking. So there you have it.



This man makes 'Clyde Cash' jealous. Jus' sayin'.




Tip 3:


Don’t bother with anything too fancy. Remember, stalking isn’t really about getting to know the person better, or having physical interactions with them, it’s about fulfilling a fantasy in your head of what could be. Imagine seeing the most beautiful girl ever, and imagining the two of you getting married and having kids or whatever the hell you’re into. Now imagine that you work up the courage and go speak to her, then it turns out she has a Scouser accent. Boom, a perfectly hot fantasy ruined by a woman opening her Goddamn mouth. This is also known as the Lorraine Bracco effect – if this happens to you, pretty soon the only fantasy you will be able to have about her is the one where you stuff burgers down her throat to prevent her from speaking. Of course, it doesn’t HAVE to be burgers you use…



It could be a hotdog.


I recommend just keeping your distance and photographing subjects you are interested in, unless you are just planning a one night stalking harassment session and don’t see it going any further the next day. But if you are going to be photographing your victims, remember rule one: No flash photography! A perfectly good night’s stalking can be ruined in a split second if you forget to turn your flash off – after all, bushes don’t just flash by themselves, do they? It’s a mistake I’ve made before, believe me…





Tip 4:


Whilst we’re on the subject of rookie mistakes, remember to bear in mind that your judgment isn’t always at its finest when you’re trashed on vodka. Or Drugs for that matter.



“Drugs”, in this instance, includes Cannabis incense sticks.


I’m a great fan of clear-headed stalking. After all, who needs any more intoxication than that of a woman, walking home all alone at night, vulnerable. Just thinking about it makes me feels slightly high. Or is that the PCP I was smoking earlier?



Rodney King supports PCP. Do you part for Racial Justice.



Tip 5:


Baby Steps. I know you’re going to want to go into kidnap and rape fantasies straight off the bat, but trust me, ease off a bit. When you finally become a serial killer a few years from now, you’ll see that your casual stalking days were some of the best of your life. Not only was the anticipation itself so much more exhilarating than the act of mutilation itself will ever be, but not having the police on your back day and night is actually fairly pleasant, regardless of how gangster it is or is not. This is the voice of experience talking here – do you want to be the next Stephen Griffiths? That’s what I thought.



Tip 6:


When you do finally decide you’re ready to progress to serial killing, remember: preparation is king. No-one likes a killer who picks up the odd prostitute and lazily strangles her. Hell, the only reason Gary Ridgeway has any fans is because of the sheer volume he killed. Same with Shipman – if you break a record, no-one gives a fuck about your M.O. But you have to prepare yourself for the fact that you may not make it to “Most Prolific Serial Killer of All Time”, and whilst prostitutes are certainly easier to abduct, and strangling is easily the most efficient way of dispatching them, it’s not very original, and won’t earn you points in the style category.

Imagine serial killing like a game of SSX X-treme Snowboarding ‘Tricky’ – sure, the fastest person wins the race, but you unlock way more features if you come last but do the best tricks. That’s kind of how the serial murder game is. Go on Facebook. Right now. Harold Shipman, the most prolific killer ever, has 58 fans. Ted Bundy has 3,394. For killing a 6th of the number of people. Why? Because brutally killing and eating teenage girls and 20-something college students is far cooler than putting some old people to sleep, that’s why! So, whilst we’re at it, here’s a list of what’s hot, and what’s not:


HOT

Killing female law and medicine students – these are supposed to be the smartest girls of their generation, and should definitely know better than to trust strangers. It’s quite an accolade to lure a 20-year-old law student into your car to murder her. Have at them!

Cannibalism – Cannibalism has always been hot. Why do you think Silence of the Lambs was such a popular film? Because some creepy dude got naked to Q Lazarus? NO! Because Lecktor chowed down on his victims, that’s why!

Trademarks – Everyone remembers The Candyman, the Killer Clown – come up with something that people will remember! But bear in mind:



NOT

Naming yourself - I know there’s a fine line between coming up with a trademark, and going all-out and naming yourself, but leave the nicknames to the press, ok? You don’t want people to know that you came up with your own name, or they’ll just think it’s plain sad. It gives people the impression that all you care about is being remembered, and that the actual killing part doesn’t honestly interest you. Remember, nobody likes a fame whore. Put simply, would you rather be The Boston Strangler, or Katy Price? That’s what I thought.

Killing pets – now, I know the Trailer Park Boys is an awesome film, and they kill cats and dogs for a living, but bear in mind: you are nowhere near as charismatic as Ricky.


This guy fucking OWNS you.


The main complaint people tend to have about Patrick Bateman in ‘American Psycho’ is that he killed the Homeless Man’s dog. For some reason, people prefer animals to other people, so don’t kill them, or you’ll be hated by everyone other than Satanists. On a side note, killing Satanists is hot, because it’s funny to see them pray to Satan, like in that MillenniuM episode.

Killing Comedy Bloggers – the world needs more free laughs, so leave internet comedy writers and reviewers alone. Luckily, as 99.9% of these are male, it shouldn’t affect you. Unless you’re into dudes, in which case hey, it’s your choice! I’m not going to judge you!







Stick to these rules, and you’ll be fine. Happy stalking, guys!





Voice



Before I receive any complaints about posting 3 serial killer articles in a row - it's the run-up to Halloween! Lighten up, will you? This is the only time of year we can fully express our dark sexual fantasies without being ostracised! Except Valentine's Day, which is waaaaay creepier...

The Mystery of the Stolen Lyric - A Voice From the Pillow Adventure! (Text)

It was a day just like any other, I was researching for an article on what various album covers would look like with pictures of Tacos inserted in them, and had just scrolled past an amusing photoshop of Big Black’s Songs About Fucking when I saw it. The cover to Sonic Youth’s “Goo”. I had seen this T-Shirt worn by Indie-kids before, but as I tend to ignore anyone wearing shutter-shades or drain-pipes, had never read the words.



because, seriously, fuck this guy.



But there they were, staring me right in the face, along with a crudely photoshopped image of a taco.



“We killed my parents and hit the road”.






It couldn’t be possible. I had heard these lyrics countless times before, only varied to “killed our parents”, and not spoken by Sonic Youth. Could it really be true? Did Acid Bath really steal that line from Sonic Youth? I couldn’t believe it – and yet here was the proof, staring me right in the face. I’m not that up on Sonic Youth albums, but I knew for a fact that Goo came out before When the Kite String Pops. Could my second favourite stoner sludge Doom-metal band really have stolen from these Indie motherfuckers? There was only one thing to do – I would have to delve into the worlds of both bands, and explore their innermost depths, to discover the truth.




“You Scream, I scream, Everybody Screams for Morphine”


Amazingly, the Taco-editors seem to have the exact same taste in music as I do...

If you wanted to know about the roots of an Acid Bath lyric, the obvious place to go would be to the band’s bassist and founder, Audie Pitre. Unfortunately for me, Pitre had died way back in 1997, at the surprisingly young age of 26. I say surprising, because Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain all made it to 27 before finally succumbing to the effects of the Rock N Roll life style. So, I was instead forced to track down vocalist Dax Riggs, who I found backstage after a Deadboy and the Elephantmen reunion gig.

“Yeah, I stole the lyric. So what?” he said, completely unconcerned with the seriousness of it all.

“But why?” I asked, still unable to comprehend what was happening “Acid Bath is one of the greatest stoner sludge doom metal bands to have ever existed. How could you have stolen your lyrics from a band that fucking Indie kids wear T-Shirts of?”

“Bleed me an Ocean, will ya? It’s just business. You listen to your competition so you can gauge what you’re up against, and cash in on what’s popular. You don’t wanna just release Old Skin all the time. That’s how you end up forgotten, a Dope Fiend strung out on Cheap Vodka, waiting for the arrival of the New Death Sensation, so that you may feel the embrace of the Mortician’s Flame, and rest among the Graveflowers of Venus Blue, as a New Corpse. With Thirteen Fingers. Understand?”

“Uh… sure. But why would you steal a lyric from Sonic Youth? I mean, you guys had so much going for you – do you really want to go down in history as being nothing more than that band who stole lyrics from that T-Shirt the Indie kids like?”

“It was never my choice. I used those lyrics as an Ode of the Paegan, to depict What Color is Death, so that Jezebel could understand the Finger Paintings of the Insane, and see that Dr Seuss is Dead, laying among the Bones of Baby Dolls alongside her, a Dead Girl. Diäb Soulé.”

“Ok, I’m going to be completely honest with you now, I have no idea what the fuck you just said. Is there something wrong with you?”

“The Doctors had me Tranquilized so I could not prevent their Paegan Terrorism Tactics. They’re trying to get The Blue Locust Spawning again!”

Just as I began to reach for the nearest heavy blunt object to defend myself with, in this case one of the massive Dildos from Rammstein’s special edition version of Liebe Ist Fur Alle Da, which happened to be on the table next to me, Riggs’ Deadboy bandmate Tessie Brunet walked in.

“What’s going on here?” asked Tessie, as I attempted to inconspicuously hide the 11inch pink rubber Dildo behind my back. She was kinda hot, and in different circumstances, I imagine me, her, and Ollie Riedel’s Rubber Cock could have had quite a bit of fun.




But I was here to do business, and you can’t let your dick think business. After all, how many cocks have MBAs? Point taken…

“Nothing.” I replied “I’m just asking Dax about some Acid Bath lyrics”.

“Well, you won’t get much out of him” answered Tessie, looking over at Dax in a sympathetic manner “he lost it a few years ago whilst we were on tour. Apparently someone compared us to The White Stripes, and he just couldn’t take being compared to such a pile of wank. They don’t even have a bassist for fuck’s sake! What kind of a band doesn’t have a bassist? Honestly.”

“Uh, you don’t.” I responded, clearly to the disdain of Brunet’s sensibilities.

“WE’VE HAD FOUR FUCKING BASS PLAYERS!” she screamed at me, the anger glowing like a napalm fire in her eyes. “It’s not my fault they keep quitting on us!”

“Ok, ok. My mistake” I said, attempting to cool off the situation so I wouldn’t have to deploy the Dildo that was now hidden up my shirt sleeve “I didn’t mean to insult you, I just wanted to know about this lyric is all.”

“Ok, I guess I may have over-reacted a little” replied Tessie, clearly understating her psychotic reaction to a factual statement “which lyric did you want to know more about?”

“It’s a line from Scream of the Butterfly” I stated, not sure of how much she could help, not being a member of Acid Bath “where Dax sings about how he and his Angel killed their parents, then hit the road.”

“Ah yes, I recall that one” acknowledged Tessie “What do you want to know about it?”

“Well” I said “I just discovered that it’s a line that’s used in a Sonic Youth song which came out before Hymns of the Needle Freak, and I just wanted to know if Acid Bath stole it from them, and if so why? I mean, Acid Bath are way better than some shitty Indie band.”

“HOW DARE YOU INSULT INDIE MUSIC!” Tessie roared, picking up a TV and hurling it at me. I dodged it, and deployed the weapon up my sleeve, which hit her square in the eye. Do chicks like that kind of thing???

“Aaaaargh!” she screamed out in pain as I ran away, kicking myself for forgetting that any band a reviewer compares to The White Stripes is obviously going to be Indie, and not appreciate attacks on the genre. It looked like I was going to have to find another way to get the information I desired. But how?




“Cinderella’s Big Score”




I found Sonic Youth’s hideout in the town of South Jonic, in Maryland. It had taken me 3 days, and 4 fights with Hobos, but I had finally discovered their base of operations. I walked in slowly.

“Hello?” I called, subconsciously putting my hand on the grip of the .45 tucked into the back of my jeans as I did so “anyone here?”

“Who the fuck are you?” came a female voice, and I looked up to see Kim Gordon standing at the top of a flight of stairs. At least, I’m pretty sure it was her. Sonic Youth only have one chick in their band, right?

“I’m a journalist” I lied, figuring it sounded slightly more respectable than saying I was a Blogger, and slightly less creepy than saying I’m an expert in the field of psychopathy and sexual offences, which I kind of am, but not in that way.

“A journalist, huh?” she smiled, walking down the stairs and coming to a rest in front of me. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Well, Ms Gordon” I responded, trying to sound professional “I was interested in knowing the roots of the lyrics you featured on the cover of the Album Goo”.

“Of course” she replied, looking disappointed “that’s all anyone wants to know about. Well, follow me.”

She walked off into the back of the darkened house, into what I presumed was the kitchen. I followed, nervously, wondering what I might discover.

We emerged in a dank utility area, filled with various white goods. As in appliances, not goods that only white people can buy. She took a seat on top of the washing machine, and I was just wondering whether she was going to turn it on and use the vibrations as a masturbation aid when she spoke.

“I suppose you want to know which one of us came up with the line then?” she asked.

“If that’s not too much of a problem?” I responded. She held my gaze, calculating her next move.

“Do you like my Dirty Boots?” She asked, flashing me a glimpse of the black leather fetish boots she was wearing.

“they’re very nice” I lied.

“You can have them, you know?” she said, in a bizarre attempt to apparently buy me off.

“No thanks” I answered “I don’t think they’ll fit me. Now, about the line…”

She sighed, and looked up into my eyes. I was worried she might be trying to read my mind, so averted my gaze slightly to look at the ‘Titanium Expose’ refrigerator magazine sitting nearby.

“We got the idea from Oliver Stone” she said, softly. I rounded on her.

“What?” I said, unable to believe what I was hearing.

“You heard me” she replied “Oliver Stone, the guy who directed Wall Street. He gave us the idea for the story.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible” I stated firmly, becoming agitated. She must be lying. She MUST be.

“Honestly, it’s the truth” she said, getting down from the washing machine, and standing before me once again. “It all happened in the summer of ’89. Stone was in the neighbourhood, celebrating the wrapping of Born on the Fourth of July. We were all getting drunk, and partying, when I realised my kittens, Scooter and Jinx were missing”

“I see…” I said, not really seeing, but showing off the active listening skills I had acquired whilst studying Interviewing and Testimony for my Criminal Psychology Course.

“We looked everywhere for the two of them. After all, it’s not as if they could have just disappeared into thin air like some sort of Disappearer, is it?”

“Quite” I said. Man, I was good at this active listening shit – I was gonna nail that Interviewing and Testimony unit! “Please, continue.”

“Well” she said, getting back to the story “We decided the only place they could have gone was Old Dr Benway’s House, so we crept in, and began to sneak up to the bedroom…”

“We?” I questioned. Honestly, this was so easy to do I couldn’t understand why the police force and Home Office take so long teaching their recruits how to do it.

“Yes, Mildred Pierce and myself” she replied.

“Interesting” I said, not really that interested as I had no idea who the fuck Mildred Pierce was “keep going.”

“Well” she said “We got into the bedroom, and started to look for the kitties, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a man in a Tunic…”

“Uh-huh” I said, thoroughly bored now and contemplating whether or not it would be easier just to shoot her and go interrogate Oliver Stone instead, given she’d named him as an accomplice. After all, at least I know Oliver Stone can tell a good story – fucking Platoon is the shit!

“I screamed ‘Mary-Christ’ and turned to run out of there, when we saw that the man was Tom Cruise!”

“Come again?” I asked, genuinely surprised this time.

“You know, Tom Cruise, the actor!” she said, as though I was a complete and utter moron. “He’s the inventor of the Christian Scientist movement!”

“I’m fairly sure he’s not” I said flippantly “but feel free to continue.”

“Well, he stood up like one of those Tuff Boyz, and started to walk towards me, when Oliver Stone walked in, drunk as a skunk, and started screaming about how he was going to make Tom Cruise and I the star of his next picture, which was going to be about-”

“CHARLES STARKWEATHER AND CARIL FUGATE!” I screamed, finally getting it!

“No, Mickey and Mallory Knox” she said “apparently, he was going to use his telepathic abilities to implant the idea into Quentin Tarantino’s brain, and then buy the script off him once it was written. I have no idea why.”

“Yes!” I said, excited as a paedophile watching a young boy through binoculars on Christmas morning “and Natural Born Killers was based on the case of Charles Starkweather and Caril Fugate! I may just have solved this thing!”

“Well, I hope that’s all you need” said Kim, “Because that’s all I know… Right Now”.

“I think that is all I need!” I said, turning to walk out of the door “thanks for the help!”

“Don’t mention it” she said, getting back up on the washing machine and turning it on. “Sure you can’t stay a little longer?”

“Sorry” I responded “But I have a case to solve!”

And with that, I ran out of the building, the orgasmic screams of Kim Gordon following me all the way down the road to the nearest Taxi rank, where I beat another hobo into unconsciousness just to show the cab drivers I wasn’t to be fucked with. This was going to be a good day.




"Lights out tonight, trouble in the heartland"




It was snowing when I got to Lansing, Michigan, Fugate’s current home city. Starkweather had been executed for his crimes in 1959, so she was my last hope. I walked up medical centre Wikipedia informed me she now worked in, and walked up to the reception desk.

“Ms Fugate, please” I stated. The receptionist gave me an odd look.

“You’re not one of them weirdos who is interested in them murders she was accused of way back, are you?” she enquired.

“Of course not” I responded curtly “I was always more of a Bundy man myself”.

“Hmmm…” she seemed to be deliberating whether or not I was to be trusted “ok, then – you have the face of an honest man.”

“I know” I said “it wasn’t easy slicing it off him, though!” I laughed. She gave me a cold, hard stare.

“Caril’s in the staff room” she said. “The code’s 8653. Do you want me to write that down?”

“I think I’ve played enough Splinter Cell to remember a 4 digit door code” I responded, and walked off down the corridor.

I got into the staff room after my 51st attempt at the code. Which I thought was very impressive, given a 4 digit lock has 10,000 different combinations, or something. I walked in, and saw her sitting at the nearest table. I gotta say, she was pretty fucking hot for a 77 year old woman.

“Caril?” I asked as I approached her.

“Yes?” She said, looking up.

“I’m a Journalist, I’m investigating some lyrics I believe were based around you and Charles Starkweather. Would it be ok for me to have a moment of your time?” I asked.

“Can’t you just Google it?” She said.

“… I suppose” I responded, shocked I was unable to think of this earlier. “Do you have WiFi here?”

“Sure” she replied. And with that, I took out my laptop, and logged into Google. I searched for ‘Goo album cover lyrics’ on Google. I was linked to the Wikipedia page, which told me the truth.

“So…” I said “The picture is of the witnesses in the Moors Murders case”

“and my guess would be that the quote is somehow related to that case” she said.

“yes, that would be my guess too.” I said “back to England it is!”

And with that, I dived out the window, and ran to the nearest airport. There was a little trouble at customs, because apparently seeing an out-of-breath guy running through the terminal screaming about the Moors Murders isn’t normal in America, fucking shit country that it is.




"WHEN GOD'S VOICE RISES - UNLEASH MY FLAME"




I ran into Broadmoor penitentiary a mere 4 hours after my flight landed at Gatwick international (how’s that for timing?) and went straight up to the nearest guard.

“I need to speak to Ian Brady” I panted “Please, it’s urgent!”

“Uh, Brady’s in Ashworth Hospital” the guard replied “you know, in Merseyside”.

“I thought Merseyside was in Yorkshire?” I asked, surely there couldn’t be more than one high security prison/hospital in the same county.

“No, you’re thinking of Teesside” said the guard. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way we can get you to see Brady. We have the Crossbow Cannibal, if you’re interested?”

“What, that tosser who picked his own nickname?” I asked rhetorically “can I tell him that real men let the media name them, and don’t try and come up with their own nickname they want people to remember them by?”

“Uh, sure, I guess” replied the guard, and he took me over to a cell marked ‘Stephen Griffiths’.

“What’s he doing in Broadmoor by the way?” I asked the guard quietly as we approached the cell “Surely he shouldn’t be in here unless he’s been convicted?”

“True” replied the guard “But he’s a mecha-fag. Wakefield doesn’t have time for mecha-fags, so they sent him here.”

“I see. So a Mecha fag is a Muslim homosexual or something, right?”

“That would be Mecca-Fag” said the guard “and no, he’s just a douche. Here you are.”

The guard dropped me off by the cell.

“Who are you?” Came the voice from inside.

“Stephen Griffiths?” I asked.

“That’s right” he said, coming over to the door “who are you?”

“I’m a journalist” I lied for the third time “and I just wanted to say what an honour it is to meet Pepsi Sutcliffe”.

“What?” he said in surprise “What did you call me?”

“Pepsi Sutcliffe. You know, because Peter Sutcliffe is the Coca Cola of Yorkshire based serial killings, and you’re just a poor imitation of him.”

“You son of a-”

Griffiths ran at the bars, and went headfirst into them, cracking his skull open on one of the bars, and fell slumped to the floor. The Guard turned up again.

“I think you should leave” he said.

“But I didn’t even get to rant at him about what a gay name ‘The Crossbow cannibal’ is yet!” I said, disappointed.

“Tell you what” said the guard “If he wakes up, how about I tell him for you?”


And with that, I left Broadmoor with a smile on my face. I may not have discovered the true origins of the lyrics written on the cover of Goo, but I managed to screw with someone who has mental difficulties. And in the end, is that not what made this country great to begin with?








"Most Likely You'll go you way, and I'll go Mine"




In a twist of fate, it seems Ian Brady heard about my plight, and sent me a confession admitting the origins of the lyrics a few days later. Apparently, he and Myra Hindley had written the lyrics together on a napkin during their trial, and the napkin had then been sold at auction to the highest bidder, a collector named “Stephen King”. When researching his project “Mickey and Mallory Knox, the totally bitching killers who are totally not the characters from Badlands”, Oliver Stone had contacted Stephen King about the Starkweather case, knowing King had followed it intensely throughout his childhood, and at a meeting between the two of them had stolen the napkin believing it to be magic. He had later passed the lyrics on to Kim Gordon in the attic with Tom Cruise, although the whereabouts of the napkin itself is unknown. In an Ironic twist, it turns out Ian Brady hates Hipsters, and swears on his release that he will murder everyone on the planet who owns a copy of Juno. If you want to join the campaign for Brady’s release, there is a link at the bottom of the page. I’m glad I could solve the case of the missing lyric, and prove once and for all that Acid Bath stole that line from a hardcore source, and not some hipster piece of shit. I think a child murderer qualifies as being Hardcore, don’t you?



The King of Hardcore agrees.




Voice



Stephen Griffiths goes on trial on November 16th. Please do not reprint this article until after the trial comes to an end or he may claim it infringes on his Article 6 rights under the European Convention of Human Rights, but if he does, he’s a total Mecha-fag.

Changeling Review (Text)

I had wanted my first Blog post in over a month to be something a bit special. I figured I’d gone so long without posting that I should bring out the big guns for my folly back into the world of the internet, especially considering the fact that I missed the site’s 1 year anniversary completely. Sure, I don’t have many fans, in fact, I’m not entirely certain anyone is actually going to read this. But, I still enjoy writing these reviews and bizarre snippets, and I do appreciate the little feedback I get. So, in order to kick start the second year of Voice From the Pillow, I had intended to review the new Rhys Ifans movie, Mr. Nice.




This would have happened last Tuesday, were it not for the fact that my local cinemas do not seem to be showing it, just as happened with The Bad Lieutenant when I wanted to see that. In fact, the only cinema within an hour’s driving time of me that was showing the film happened to be in a city currently undergoing massive reconstruction works to the roads, and I got completely lost in the diversions and was unable to find the cinema, so unfortunately, there will be no review of Mr. Nice.




Instead, I hope this review will suffice, and I hope you continue to visit the site for yet another year. Maybe we’ll even get some more fans this time round. Here’s to hoping!



CHANGELING




I don’t know why, but for some reason I had a very different idea in my head of what Changeling would be than it actually was. In some ways, I think I must have mistaken it for A Mighty Heart; Jolie’s other movie about a Grieving Woman trying to find out what happened to a loved one.

I knew the basic story was that Angelina Jolie’s son goes missing, and is replaced by a different boy, but for some reason I thought the entire film was focused on her trying to convince the media that this boy was not hers, and showed the breakdown of her sanity as she was constantly ignored, and told she got her boy back. Whilst this is a part of the plot of Changeling, it is not the entire story, and what I’m about to tell you will undoubtedly change your view of the film if you are unaware of what actually happens, so spoiler ahead.

Changeling is all about a serial killer. It is a serial killer movie through-and-through.

Whilst the first half of the movie unfolded exactly as I expected it would, we were soon introduced to the real story, that of Gordon Stewart Northcott, one of the youngest serial killers ever to be apprehended, and the perpetrator of the Wineville Chicken Coop Murders.

Having not been aware that this was the focus of the movie, this came as a rather pleasant surprise to me, because although the first half of the film had been executed perfectly by the Director (Clint motherfucking Eastwood, which I hadn’t realised right up until the end credits, butprobably should have guessed), I wasn’t really sure where it could possibly go after Jolie’s character, Christine Collins, was institutionalized, and had feared that the second half of the film would be drawn out, and boring. Instead, we had a classic switch in the tone of the story, as we went from a movie about a woman whose child was missing, to a movie about a serial killer abducting and murdering young boys.

My mother, who had been the one who picked up the film, assuming that it was just about a woman coming to terms with her son disappearing, did not seem to enjoy this turn of events terribly, because although not too explicit in the level of violence shown, it was still somewhat graphic. But I really enjoyed it.

As you probably already know, I’m rather partial to movies about serial killers, and love some of the portrayals you see of them. In fact, I watched a good few of them over the summer, as they seemed to be showing them fairly regularly on the Horror Channel. Whilst I love some of the movies about fictional killers, such as American Psycho or Silence of the Lambs (both of which feature killers based around Ted Bundy – though different aspects of his personality in each case), I really enjoy watching the “True Horror” movies, which tend to be on a much lower budget, and are usually made for TV, because I find it so much more interesting to watch a portrayal of an actual killer. Seeing a big budget movie about a serial killer, then, was somewhat of a pleasant surprise, because it meant they had the budget and skill to make a movie as spectacular as the fictional ones, such as Silence of the Lambs, whilst at the same time have a genuine character study of an actual killer, adding another layer of fascination to the story. And you know what? They achieved it.

Some of the serial killer films I have seen recently have been hardly based in fact at all, and are pretty lackluster, especially if you know the story already and are watching it being butchered, as happened with the Ed Kemper movie. Others I thought were fascinating, and felt would have been incredible if they had just been made on a big enough budget, with the right Director in charge, such as Bundy, or The Riverman (as in those are two of the movies I enjoyed, I am not advocating Gary Ridgeway be released in order to direct horror movies. Although…). It was great, then, to see an interesting story, handled competently without differing too much from the actual events, and made on a big budget.

The story behind Gordon Stewart Northcott is an incredible one, and even though Eastwood does not delve too deeply into his world, we still get a good taste of it. In fact, it is in a large part due to the fact that the film is somewhat removed from Northcott’s story that it is so interesting. We’ve had countless movies in which the serial killer was the lead and which didn’t focus on the victims too much, and none of them will ever top American Psycho for its sheer brilliance in bringing such a character to life. On the flip side, we have also had a lot of movies based on the actual victims of serial killers, or on Government agents trying to stop them. What we have not had before is what Changeling delivers, a movie about a serial killer, told from the point of the unaware family of one of the victims, and later filled in by the killer’s somewhat accomplice and cousin, as he confesses everything to the police in a fit of guilt.

The fact that we are never told Northcott’s motivation for the murders makes the movie all the more brilliant, because it keeps the fascination in the character alive. If we were told at the very start that he was molested at a young age and that he was simply re-enacting his hurt on the young boys he kidnapped, then it would have taken away a lot of the intrigue in the character which Eastwood creates by keeping his distance from events in Northcott’s past. I suppose this is also the reason why it is never explicitly stated in the film the Northcott molested and tortured his victims, because implying it not only increases the level of horror as opposed to showing the events, but also keeps us that little more detatched from events, so we can see things more through Christine Collins’ eyes than we would if we had the full facts of the killings, as we would do were the movie from Northcott’s point of view.

The actor playing Northcott, Jason Butler Harner, also turns in what must be the performance of a life time, nailing the role of psychopath on the head. He goes from superficially charming with a grandiose sense of self worth to a nervous, depressed wreck and back again with seeming ease, and really portrays the traits of a psychopath effectively. Aside from his execution scene (which I shan't go into in this review, except to say it is outstanding and I don't want to spoil it), probably the best moment Harner delivers is when he is first captured, and led away by Canadian police. When a reporter asks him how he managed to evade capture, he jokingly says “well, clearly I didn’t”, clearly showing both the lack of remorse and the glibness you would expect from such a character, and yet moments later he angrily yet still charmingly states “no comment” when asked about the boys he murdered. Few actors can pull off that level of character acting, but Harner nailed it, and let’s hope it lands him some other decent roles in future.

Whilst we’re on the acting, I should probably mention that Angelina Jolie turns in a fantastic performance as the grieving mother, and can play paranoid, angry and depressed emotional states very effectively. My one and only complaint was the token moment where she is crying and you see a tear just roll down one of her cheeks uninterrupted, which movie producers seem to think is how people cry. My only problem with this is that it looks unrealistic. People tend to either break down crying and make a lot of noise, or they tend to go into a state of shock and just not react. I have never seen a case in real life of someone crying how Jolie does in this movie. But then, I suppose I’ve never seen someone go through what she had in real life.

Also whilst we’re on the acting, the fact that the police captain seemed to switch from being American to Irish unnerved me slightly, but it wasn’t as though his performance was awful, I would have just liked it to have been a bit more convincing. Other than the accent, I felt the actor did very well portraying the role, and most of the acting across the board was very impressive.

One thing I would have liked to have seen the movie do is mention how Northcott’s mother was involved in the murders, and that although Northcott himself could not be proved to have killed Walter Collins, his mother pleaded guilty to the killing and served 12 years of a life sentence for doing so. I think this would have tied things up slightly better towards the end, but with the confession from the boy who escaped still serving as a small glimmer of hope in spite of it.

Overall, I was very impressed with the film. Eastwood went for the classic neutral tones cinematography that we see on almost all movies set in that time period, and it really worked in this instance. His directing choices all seemed to be perfect, and the actors all turned in good performances. I really felt they did the story justice, and it was a pleasant surprise seeing how it evolved across the course of the movie. Though, of course, I should note that when Northcott is referred to as a serial killer in the film, it is factually incorrect because such murderers were not referred to as “serial killers” until much later on.


Rating:


****

4 stars


A very clever film, showing the damaged caused by a serial killer to the mother of one of his victims, this movie is definitely worth watching, and I would highly recommend it. Eastwood is on top form once again, and this is certainly a film you won’t want to miss. It does get a little slow towards the end, but still maintains the levels of excellence it displays throughout.


Now I'm just waiting for Church of Misery to do a song about Northcott...







Voice


Voice is currently taking a Masters degree course in Criminology and Criminal Psychology, and is studying Psychopathy and Sex Offending at this time. So yeah, I know my shit, bitches!

What to do if your Girlfriend wants to see the new Twilight movie and is planning on dragging you along...

HEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :D



(for those of you not familiar with Richard Trenton Chase, you can find his Wikipedia page HERE. If you haven't heard the Church of Misery song about him, shame on you, here it is).

Let me know if you like the comics, if you don't; I'll stop (I promise).



Voice

"Stoner Doom Metal" (Text)

Over the past couple of days, I've been reading about Dappy from N-DUBZ and his sending of death threats to a single mother who dared to call him "Vile" in a text to Radio One - apparently not realizing that he was kind of proving her point...
This got me thinking about why we allow people such as this the publicity and exposure they receive. I had previously seen Dappy on "Never Mind the Buzzcocks", where he struck me as being a complete moron who took every opportunity he could get to insult the other panelists on the show (Phil Jupitus even walked off at one point he was so fed up - though he also no-doubt wanted to milk the comedic value a walk-off would have), and was just generally offensive to anyone who could hear his voice. A few weeks later, I read that he, and the other 2 members of N-DUBZ, had become the faces of the Government's newest anti-bullying campaign, and it just struck me as being ridiculous. Sure, they needed to find someone that todays youth could identify with, but Dappy seemed to me, having seen him on Buzzcocks, to be nothing more than an egotistical, Chavved up Bully himself, and surely was not an appropriate role model for young children? His record for assault didn't help too much with this image, either (and let's be honest, he looks like a prick dressed liked that - Call me a Bully, but you know I'm right). Now it seems to me that the Government's screwed itself, because they've actually encouraged Dappy's publicity, and now their anti-bullying campaigns will be forever tainted with this association.
This got me thinking, though - sure, I hate Dappy and N-DUBZ, and can't understand how such vile people can be popular among any group of society. But then it hit me - maybe I'm being a little Hypocritical. Afterall, whilst N-DUBZ encourage the Chav culture, and hold poor education, violence, and dressing like a pillock as badges of honour - those possibly aren't the worst things for a band to be encouraging.

In case you haven't read the title and you're wondering what exactly I'm talking about - I'm referring to the newest band to grace my Media Player, the Japanese "Stoner Doom Metal" band Church of Misery.
Church of Misery is a Metal Band, which includes in it's songs themes of murder and mutilation. More specifically, a number of their songs are written about specific serial killers, such as John Wayne Gacy, Gary Ridgeway, Ted Bundy, Aileen Wuornos, Charles Starkweather, and Peter Sutcliffe.
Like many people, I've always been fascinated by serial killers, wanting to know more about what drives a person to commit such acts. But something that's also concerned me is the effect of the Media on the creation of these people. I guess the best example to use is the movie Natural Born Killers by Oliver Stone. In the film, the killer duo Mickey and Mallory Knox (Based on Charles Starkweather and Caroll Fugate) drive across America, murdering countless people, but always leaving one person alive at each scene "to tell the story". Robert Downey, jr. plays a reporter (Wayne Gale), who is following this trail of death and destruction, and the main theme of the movie focuses on the role of the media in portraying and thereby enouraging such violent acts, and is a critique on the portrayal of violence we see on our TV screens, and hear about in the news.
Whilst many people do not acknowledge that watching a film, or listening to music can make someone kill - there is compelling evidence that such things can encourage the imitation of the behaviour they detail. For example, there was a case last year about a teenager who was murdered in the same manner as a character from the movie Severance, after the perpetrators watched the movie and decided to imitate it.
Now, I'm not saying everyone who listens to Church of Misery is going to start idolising serial killers, and decide to become one - but having said that, am I then in a position to say that anyone who listens to N-DUBZ is going to start idolising them, and turn into worthless Chavvy pricks themselves?



Regardless of what the answer is, I can still safely say this with my hand on my heart - I'd have Peter Sutcliffe round for dinner before Dappy any day.