Halloween Kills Ramble

Let’s start off random, here’s how I think a review of Halloween Kills from Jim Cornette would go…

“Michael Myers is a scumfuck no selling son of a bitch. I watched the mother fucker take a sack of bricks to the head and act like the goddamn things were gimmicked. Does Russo write for Blumhouse now? I’d fucking bet my Wendy’s Triple Cheeseburger that Michael wouldn’t try this shit on The Midnight Express back in ’84. No sell Bobby Eaton? Fine, enjoy a tennis racket up your ass. Let’s see you no sell that you mute fuck!”

Halloween Kills is unlike most new movies I write about, I actually watched it. Why? First, it currently has a 38% on Rotten Tomatoes. Horror movies aren’t supposed to be critic darlings. This genre was intended to be one thing, rebellion. Who wants a horror film approved by bores like Sean Fennessey and Amanda Dobbins? You know why The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is a horror classic? Because when that movie came out people saw it, looked at Tobe Hooper and said “mister take your Dr. Pepper and get the fuck out.”

The disapproval from a tedious demographic intrigued me. Then, I saw a clip from Halloween Kills where a sexy nurse is shooting at Michael Myers in a car. Michael eventually kicks his door open, it hits the sexy nurse’s hands and causes her to Bud Dwyer herself. I believe shock treatment therapy was outlawed years ago, so I’ll admit this moment had me giggling as I replayed it 525,600 times.

That’s what got me to take a chance on a new movie even though Hollywood is as punishing as Bryan Singer crashing a Boy Scouts meeting. So did Halloween Kills rule like O’Doyle?

I’d say it’s a mixed experience. Occasionally Halloween Kills understands a horror sequel should only be pure excess. Millions of horror fans aren’t praising Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter because of the dialogue. It’s beloved because Jason Voorhees is booked like Kane at the 2001 Royal Rumble while The Doublemint Twins give you a reason to pause the movie and ruin a good tubesock.

Towards the beginning, Halloween Kills nails it. In one of the more fascinating displays I’ve seen in a horror movie, Michael Myers emerges from a burning house to slaughter an entire fire department. Mikey’s bathing in gore like Lady Snowblood and it  made me leap out of my chair, mouth full of pizza, fully erect while screaming “I HAVEN’T FELT THIS GOOD SINCE WATCHING CREEPSHOW WHEN I WAS 10!!!!!!”

It wouldn’t be the last time Halloween Kills made me mark out. Fucking Michael McDonald is in this. You know this Mad TV fan lost his fucking mind. I wish Halloween Kills was nothing but Mad TV cameos. I’d give this film a 6/5 like Meltzer if Artie Lange reprised his White Mama character and screamed “WHO’S DAT WAKIN THE DEAD? MICHAEL?? DON’T MAKE ME BREAK MY FOOT OFF IN YO ASS!

After watching Michael Myers whack a fire department it’s hard imagining this film losing any mojo. Somehow it does. In fairness, I’ve seen a lot of horror films so maybe I’m being too hard. I can’t expect every sequel to duplicate the magic of Sleepaway Camp II. That’s like asking Andy Dick to not get drunk and sexually assault a stranger.

The biggest buzzkill from Halloween Kills had to be a random side plot where the citizens of Haddonfield chase after another escaped mental patient they believe is Michael Myers. It’s absurd because this guy doesn’t resemble Michael Myers at all. Michael Myers is a tall menacing presence even Janet Ann Gallow couldn’t tame. The mental patient Tommy Doyle and his pitchfork brigade chase is maybe 5’6″ and looks like a methed out Dan Fogler. It’d be like someone seeing Danny Devito and saying “holy fuck it’s Vincent Schiavelli.”

I guess this is the mixed pulpy experience you want from horror, something rather disposable where you shrug your shoulders and say “eh, I don’t know. That was fine? There was a shit-ton of gore and that’s really all I wanted. I could’ve done without that unthawed plot Jackie Vernon failed to microwave, but the excessive bloodshed fucking ruled.” I can’t stress this enough, not everything can be Sleepaway Camp 2. Asking all horror sequels to be Sleepaway Camp 2 would be like asking all porn to make me cum like Tera Patrick did in middle school, it’s unrealistic.