Featuring: Arnold “Last Action Hero” Schwarzenegger ; Gabriel “Stigmata” Byrne ; Robin “The Craft” Tunney
Director: Peter “Timecop” Hyams
Writer: Andrew “Hollow Man” Marlowe
Cast your brains back to 1999. In the aural realm, Ricky Martin was “Livin’ la Vida Loca”, Britney Spears was asking her “baby” to hit her repeatedly, TLC were declaring that they wanted “No Scrubs” and a malfunctioning robot simulacrum of Cher was warbling something about a post-love existence. Elsewhere, Matthew Broderick was having his demented, vulgar way with childhoods and the memory of Don Adams (who wouldn’t even die until 2005, possibly out of spite) in Inspector Gadget, while “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire” was the top rated show on television THREE NIGHTS A WEEK. Your humble narrator graduated from high school, was making good money working for IBM, shed his virginity, and fell in love with the brilliant degenerate Evil Dead Bride by whose side he resides to this day. Oh, and from the disease-riddled crypt of ravenous mind maggots known as my brain sprung forth the very first iteration of The Tomb of Anubis! ❤
Now, 20 years later, long after I honestly thought I would’ve died in some manner of fatal, embarrassing, public display of disdain for humanity, I sit here on my hairy ebon ass in front of a computer screen STILL complaining about movies for free to an audience of probably just as few people. In celebration of The Tomb’s big milestone birthday, for the entire year of 2019 I’ll be bending my mandate of “no reviews for twentieth century media”! Yep, from now until the final seconds of 11:59PM (Eastern) on December 31st, I will be peppering in Feature and Quickie reviews for flicks (and possibly shows?) from the days of Y2K bearing that lazy-ass, decade appropriate banner seen above.
Since every beginning is born from an ending, what better way for us to start off “The Partay” than with End of Days!
Having drained himself of every ounce of pun juice in his marrow (and contributed to the ruination of Batman movies until nearly a decade later) with Batman & Robin, Conald the Schwarzinator seemingly wanted to stretch his “acting” chops with a much darker, more dramatic role. Said role put him in the shoes of Jericho Cane (yes, really) – the “darker” side of whom involves being a suicidal ex-cop who forgot how razors work, while a dead wife and daughter check the “more dramatic” box of the actor’s resume expansion. Spoiler: Arnie’s not good at either.
With Y2K just around the corner, we’re all assured Armageddon once the Ball drops in Time Square… or the fireworks go off on Christmas Island? I don’t know. Americans tend to think we’re the center of the fucking Milky Way and don’t know how time zones work. Coordinated Universal Time not withstanding, our tale takes place in the Big Apple in the days leading up to the end of the world. The year 2000 end, not the 2012 end… or the dozen or so ends foretold by David Meade and/or Ronald Weinland. In the catacombs ‘neath the streets of Manhattan (i.e. the sewers), albino alligators, martial artist mutants, cannibalistic humanoid underground dwellers and people baring the branding of “TRUMP” aren’t the only creatures lurking. It turns out none other than Lucifer D. Beelzebubba uses it as his concourse into the mortal world (explains Wall Street) and kicks open our front door via evil-quake. I’m sure there’s a scene somewhere on a cutting room floor back in ’99 wherein we see a news report touting the tremor as a 6.66 on the Richter scale…
After flying around the streets in Predator cloaking mode, the translucent terror from the lake of fire possesses a seemingly random affluent guy in a restaurant mensroom (Gabriel Byrne) then uses the guy’s tongue to mouth rape the wife of who I’m guessing to be one of his business associates before practicing his “cool guy” walk right out of the place, not looking back at the massive explosion he somehow sets off. My guess? The Morningstar’s a big fan of Taco Tuesdays down in the land of eternal suffering and carpet-bombed the entire eatery on his way to the exit, before he flicked his Bic. I call this move “The Lucifarts”.
While Stan gets acquainted with his current crop of zany zealots (like having weird metamorphosis sex with Udo Kier’s wife and daughter, serenaded by a severely out-of-place Limp Bizkit track… seriously, what the fuck was that?!), we get to spend time with our protagonist, Big Daddy Cane. As mentioned, he’s a dark and brooding caricature whose first scene features him verging on a self-inflicted cranial ventilation, interrupted by the appearance of his co-worker/friend/comedy foil Bobby Chicago (Kevin Pollak) who… no… I can’t just ignore it. “Bobby Chicago”?! Go fuck a light socket, Andrew Marlowe!
No longer a cop, Jericho now leads an elite team of gun-for-hire bodyguards who lay their lives on the line for whomever’s signature ends up on their checks. Their latest job is protecting, you guessed it, the nameless banker guy whose body is now Admiral Abaddon’s private flesh yacht. An assassin makes his move on the devil man, trying to pop his head JFK style from the roof of a nearby building, but fails when Jer and the security company’s CORPORATE HELICOPTER chuck the proverbial monkey wrench into works of the disheveled hobo’s murder machine. Before he’s taken down though, the vagrant shouts vague warnings of Lucifer’s intentions to Jer, which is quite a feat when you consider the later revelation that the transient’s tongue ain’t attached!
Despite the hindrances of Detective Marge (CCH Pounder), their proto-Amanda Waller looking friend-on-the-force, our Don Coyote and Sancho Panda pairing investigate the now hospitalized mystery man’s origins further, discovering that he was a priest at a nearby church until he disappeared six months earlier. Seems he’s also a bit of a clairvoyant and left the clergy so he could bring Stan’s vessel to a violent ending all by his lonesome. Now that Jer’s fucked that up, naturally he’s going to have to be the one to kick Judgment Day in the dick and send it packing until the turn of the next millennium.
Also entrenched in this theological drama is Christine York (Robin Tunney), who was marked with snake venom upon her birth (because… cults?) and secretly raised to maturity by Old Scratchy’s clan to serve her part in all of this world destroying hullabaloo – as Stan’s personal meat sheath. And I don’t mean the lunch meat drawer in His refrigerator, I mean Chris’s hot pocket (her vagina) is destined to receive Lucy’s Jimmy Dean Breakfast Link (His penis), thus making her genitalia the meat-based sheath for His meat-based sword. Or you can call her His “bride” if you want to be less icky about it.
Chris has been beset her entire life by vivid visions and horrible hallucinations that her therapist (Udo Kier again) has been telling her since childhood are just symptoms of the PTSD caused by her birth parents’ deaths. Said tormenting sights include an apple covered with humanoid maggots and a freaky albino person (reminds me of the female half of Die Antwoord) that harasses her on the subway before breaking into pieces like the ever-present priceless vase in Three Stooges shorts. She’s also prone to wet dreams involving her being plowed by the nameless banker (who Lucy just recently possessed, so… huh?), and rather than be revolted by her seduction at the hands of this Robert De Niro – Willem Dafoe amalgamation, ‘Tine just knows in her heart that she won’t be able to resist this smoother-than-a-buttermilk shake mofo once he sprays his musk in her genital vicinity.
Whatever your preferable verbiage, it turns out that the planetary alignment for Stan to destroy the world perfectly convenes with being on the East coast of the US between the hours of 11pm and 12am on December 31st, 1999 of the Gregorian calendar, which was supposedly established around this celestial alignment. Now, according to the head priest that relays this horseshit to Jericho during his investigation into the speechless gunman’s origin, El Diablo attempts this same “open the gates of hell with his dick key” stunt every thousand years at the turn of each millennium, meaning that not only has the so-called Master of Sin failed to get laid for (what Christians assume to be) anywhere from six-thousand to fifteen-thousand years, but in each instance he was cock blocked by someone(s) who didn’t even belong to the faith from which He originates! Think about it, every 1000 years these “End of Days” events convened on the same date in the same approximate location, per Father Dowling’s own words, while Christians didn’t set foot on the North American continent until the first Roman Catholic Spaniards in the mid-1500s!
I'm curious if the producers of the movie had any intentions for other End of Days installments, if not a sequel taking place in 2999, than a prequel playing out Lucy’s prior defeat in 999. I picture Him being foiled by a Seneca tribe (remember, no Europeans for at least 600 years!) that become the first tribe of Native American Christians. The title could have, nay should have been, Beginning of the End of Days of Thunder In Paradise. Alternate reality Me where that became a thing? Send me a link to your review.
While delving deeper into The Mystery of the Tongueless Priest (my favorite Hardy Boys book!), Jericho (and BOBBY CHICAGO) and Christine cross paths finally as her life is turned upside down by a sect of rogue religious rabble (led by a Cardinal who simultaneously resembles George Carlin and a young(er) Donald Pleasanace) out to send her to her maker… who is also their maker… Working against Pope-on-a-Rope’s orders to protect Beelzebubba’s bang-buddy-to-be from the Wang of Destiny, this Catholic cadre would rather put their faith in the good old fashioned “Cain and Abel” school of problem solving, intending instead to murder the fair maiden! What better way to protect a woman’s purity than some last rites and a slashed throat, right? I mean, they could’ve just slapped a consecrated chastity belt on her and hidden the key in her hoo-hah, but I operate on logic and that stuff’s like garlic to a vampire when it comes to these Vatican’t types.
Being the big slab of aged beef that he is,
the Muscles from Brussels the Atlas from Austria defeats the would-be Hit Clergy, sending them packing back to their deity with their figurative tails tucked under their taints. While this goes a long way in Jericho earning Christine’s trust, it costs Robert Windy City his life when he’s targeted by Stan’s incendiary bladder squeezin’s (yes, you read that correctly) and given an old fashioned “mob informant arrivederci” car-splosion with a pee pee twist. Our hero gets into a throw down with the Italian grandma that’s been watching after and caring for the Lord of Flies’ concubine, actually getting his ass handed to him (never fuck with Italian grandmas!) before he finally puts her head through a glass table. Mama Mia! That’s a SPICY meat-a-ball!
Side note: given that the glass coffee table was owned by sin happy devil worshippers, I don’t even want to imagine the number of Cleveland Steamers that thing has seen over the years. Blaaaart.
Stan casually strolls into the chaos, while ‘Cho and ‘Tine flee the scene, barely evading their flame retardant pursuer who walks through a wall of fire and… stares menacingly at them… Remember, this is a guy with the powers of Hell behind himself that pisses gasoline and explodes entire businesses with (presumably) his farts, but he can’t stop a pair of mortals escaping not 15 feet away from him? Christ on a fucking NordicTrack and eating raw hot dogs out of the package! My eye is starting to twitch! I can feel the capillaries swelling in preparation of their imminent bursting!
Coincidentally enough, the pair egress down an alley where they run into Marge and one of her goons in blue of all people. Un-coincidentally enough, it’s revealed that this duo are paying union dues to Lucy. They’re tasked with recovering their boss’s fiance, but have zero issue with opening fire on them without a lick of warning! Given how he’s treated all of the flunkies that have failed him to this point (murdering them outright in painful fashion), I don’t think Miss Margaret thought this one through too well. Jericho tosses away his gun and agrees to discuss matters with the bad guys, only to remind us why we saw him packing a pair of Travis Bickle Specials up his sleeves during a previous scene. Stan just brings Madge back to continue her employ anyway, but at least that’s one murder charge Rico can redact from his rap sheet!
The good guys seek sanctuary at the church he visited prior, and begins immediately accusing them of being with those stab happy Vatican Knights. If he thought that were the case, then WHY THE FUCK DID HE BRING HER TO THE CHURCH?! Father Kovak (Rod Steiger) assures them that they’re not members of the perishers parish and tells then the wacky fable about St. John’s dream of Revelation and explains that, because it was a dream, he misinterpreted 666 being the number of The Beast when it’s actually 999 (plus tax). What a silly Billy!
Father Grandfather offers the pair asylum from the eye of Saurtan, so since the bad guys can't find them as long as they're within the halls of their holier-than-thou hidey-hole, all they need to do is chill out for a day or two until the year changes over and the planetary alignment de-aligns? Great! Nothing but wine, wafers, and fairytales for 48 hours and the entire world is saved! Put on some Kool & the Gang, crank “Celebration” to 11 and we're all set. Take THAT, Lucifer!
… Wait. Despite this being the easy answer to keeping all creation from being erased, Jericho instead leaves the place, citing their faith talk as bullshit, and heads back to his apartment only to be IMMEDIATELY accosted by Big Sin?! I know Schwarzenegger’s roles aren’t exactly known for their sharp intellects, but this fuck wit is making the inbred bully from Friday the 13th Part V look like Dr. Ian gods damned Malcolm by comparison!
As I was saying, back as his place Co-Co is given an offer by the living sunburn: the return of his wife and daughter to life in exchange for the locale of Christine’s whereabouts. The prince of lies should’ve taken sales advice from Don Corleone, because Jericho refuses his offer with ease, especially after he’s forced to relive his family being murdered by the thugs sent to silence him in the first place. We’re supposed to feel sorry for him as he tries in vain to stop the killings (it’s just a mind fuck, after all), but watching Ahnold crying out while firing round after round into illusions that don’t even recognize his presence carries about as much drama as the amount of water you could carry in this hole-riddled plot. Even the remorse of seeing an innocent woman and child having their blood splattered all over their bedroom is utterly lost when just moments before we watch Jer as he Keifers his own Christmas tree!
Pissed at Jericho's refusal to embrace Him as his new daddy, Stan sends him out a window, leaving him hanging from the ledge to reconsider the offer. Jers fakes out the supposed master of fake-outs, grabbing His wrist and sending Scratchy jackknifing several stories down, face first into a parked car. Before he can follow up on whether he just saved the day or not, Jericho gets another surprise guest in the shape of Bobby Chicago! Claiming that he narrowly avoided his immolation by the Dark One’s black gold shower, we all know better, since WE JUST SAW MARGE BROUGHT BACK NOT 10 MINUTES EARLIER! Our hero missed out on that scene though, so he falls for the twist and agrees to meet the newly evilized Jimmy Miami at the church. Any guesses as to where this is heading? If not, re-read the last few paragraphs and try again.
Back at the House that Jesus Built (despite “The Kids In the Hall” teaching us he was a terrible carpenter), the Papal Hit Squad has found out about Chris’s sanctum so they, led by Cardinal Seven Words You Can’t Say on Television, raid the place with murderous intentions of preserving their god’s creation. Now, given that the thralls of the Baal are meant to be blind to said fortress of solitudity, why wouldn’t they just hang around and help protect Little Miss Chosen Womb until the play clock hits double zeroes? Because the characters in this movie couldn’t pronounce “sense” if they had a friggin’ Speak & Spell and their lives depended on it. Amid the clash of ideals, ‘Cho arrives in the nick of movie-time to shoot the killin’ knife right outta Cardinal Sin (**rimshot**)’s hands. Despite his vow to die in the name of carrying out god’s will, the crimson clad sky captain folds faster than Sadako’s spine once he’s got a 9mm carressing his cheek and orders his goons to let the gal go. Before things can go any further, Stan Himself strolls up right through the front door (apparently being in a church does little more than cause the cross burner indigestion) and brings the faithful fatally to their knees while Jericho and Christine escape him yet again. You know, Stan’s flair for the dramatic is severely stymying his casual walk to the finish line of this whole “consummate the marriage and spend the honeymoon rapturing” thing.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, our heroes’ retreat leads them down the doom of any New York City movie bystander – a dark alley. A mob of extras/catering employees wielding bludgeons and flashlights encircle them and Jericho does his best to fend them off. This is the best the fucking DEVIL can afford for minions? A bunch of vagrants who just attended Free Flashlights and Blunt Objects Day at Shea Stadium!? At least if they were ladies from the Little Italy Retirement Home, Jericho would’ve been broken in a matter of moments! As it stands, he puts up an admirable fight against these shadowy figures (can’t get paid if your face isn’t visible!) considering he’s a middle-aged drunk and they’re going a bit liberal on the classic “gang of thugs can only attack the hero one-at-a-time” action movie mantra. But then Harry Detroit shows up in his luxury sedan to save the day! … and pull the obvious heel turn when he locks Chris in and Jericho out, leaving his former best buddy/boss to a figurative ass pounding.
The beat down ends with JC being crucified (like a certain other JC, in case you didn’t make the connection before), because again, Not Loki can’t ignore his itch to be a fucking Bond villain and give His enemy every possible chance to piss all over His plans! Before anyone claps back about how He’s doing so because He’s trying to corrupt Jericho into breaking before the temptations of sin, SAVE IT! The personal amusement of pushing a mortal nobody to moral corruption when he’s the only one standing between you and your thousand year-old journey to destroy humanity is NOT worth the risk of failing your ultimate goal! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE ARBITER OF FREE THOUGHT AND LOGIC-OVER-FAITH, YET HERE YOU STAND, GRINNING LIKE A MORON WHILE PUTTING THE PLOT YOU’VE WAITED CENTURIES TO NOT SCREW UP AGAIN IN JEOPARDY!
Shit, there’s goes the first embolism … and the second. Ugggh.
The following morning, New Year’s Eve Day, Father Kovak clearly chose not to spend the final hours of existence explaining to the NYPD why his house of worship is full of dead guys, he instead takes his morning constitutional and finds the strung up Jericho. With zilch explanation of how, Jer scene transitions inside the church where he’s attended by Special K and his siblings-of-the-cloth, awakening mid-stitching. With no time to lose (-Lautrec?), ‘Icho Pro ignores his numerous physical injuries and stumbles back to his security firm with purpose. He arms himself to the teeth and hunts down Tommy Bahama’s wheels via tracking beacon, leading him to Stan’s abandoned off-Broadway theater base of operations. A tracking beacon? I guess the Originator or Evil’s been out of the game too long to know what that is. Or maybe He’s Amish and doesn’t acknowledge technology? Wouldn’t that be ironic? Dontcha think?
Also, it figures that the demon who’s too focused on being theatrical rather than efficient would hold up in an actual theater. In fact, it’s such an “on the nose” concept that it has broken my nose! … or at least made it bleed … no, that might be an aneurysm … I sure as shit hope that “extensive brain surgery” is covered under my insurance after this.
Descending to the oddly labyrinthine and industrialized bowels of the playhouse, our hero enters stage right as Beelze’s buds are awkwardly playing audience as He works the smooth talk into Christine’s Underoos with that serpentine tongue of His. You know the drill, ladies – “I love you”, “You know you want this”, “Your hair looks great”, blah blah blah. Preventing her from becoming Satan’s sperm receptacle, Jer guns Him down with a machine gun, rescuing Chris just so he can put a gun to her skull and threaten to kill her if they’re not allowed to leave. Lenny Baltimore then emerges, threatening to shoot Jer himself if he doesn’t give the Deceiver back his betrothed. The power of manly hetero love triumphs, however, and the beefy lead’s wisecracking sidekick lowers his piece and defies devil man’s wishes, facing a flame bath for the second time in 24 hours. The protagonists depart, blowing up the place on their way out. Note to cults planning any major ceremonial gatherings: DON’T assemble in any area SURROUNDED BY PIPES FULL OF FLAMMABLE MATERIAL! Even if it ignores the rules of science and said material ignites in sections rather that exploding through the pipes containing them all at once in an immediate chain reaction.
The duo make their way into the subway system, narrowly avoiding a close shave with a presumably not-in-service train, as there are no passengers that might serve as collateral damage (or more extras to pay). The flashlights & lead pipes crowd are back, running the rails as Jer just blows them away with his Holy M16 of Unlimited Ammunition. Stan appears out of nowhere (so, is teleportation on his list of powers or is he just making up new abilities as he needs?!) in the center of the tracks and gets a hilarious head-on **THUD** for doing so. It’s doesn’t do much more than slow him down, but between watching him take it for the team with no reaction then get blown to pieces by Jericho’s holy hand grenade launcher (“1… 2… 5!”) helps make this scene the decidedly best 6 minutes of the whole flick!
With his mortal coil seemingly too wrecked to pull himself back together again, Hell’s landlord abandons the body and shows us why Revelation calls him “The Dragon” – turns out his actual form is a big, rotting, winged shit monster (whose CGI is only mildly better than Malebolgia in Spawn)! With less than 10 minutes left (not enough time for foreplay!), the heroes are chased by the beast’s hoodie wearing mobites into yet another opportunely located church. Jericho prepares for his final face-off with the fallen angel by tossing away his grenade launcher (proven thus far to be incredibly effective) and embracing Jesus’s love amid the shiny gold finery of religious artistry before him. The Beast quakes the place (even when it comes down to the wire He wastes time showing off!), comes up through the floor, barfs His halitosis (Hellitosis?) on ‘Co-Co, then leaps into the mortal’s body, tosses him around the nave like a Sam Raimi leading man, and takes control of him. Once He’s taken his new vessel, he has just 3 minutes to nut, and that includes convincing Christine that He’s still Jericho and they’ve won. I know the running gag of male sexual performance is that most pop off in the time it takes to nuke a bag of Pop Secret Quadruple-Buttered, but I can’t even self-flog my dolphin in 3 minutes, let alone bone up and do a full pump ‘n dump!
Given what we know about Ahnold, seeing him rip the clothing off of a woman as he prepares to rape her is… likely one of the final deciding factors for him accepting the part. Just typing that smothers any embers of joy left in my soul. Uggh. Since he’s the hero, Jer fights Lucy’s influence long enough to wire-fu leap off of the alter and impale himself on a commodiously located sword amid the rubble of destroyed statues. He probably could’ve struggled for another 20 seconds and just thought about baseball stats or recited Pi to a few dozen places to divide Stan’s attention, but what kind of martyr would he be if he didn’t just kill himself instead? As the clock strikes midnight and the window of opportunity is slammed shut on the devil’s dick, a geyser of digital napalm EXPLODES out of his chest (clearly Stan had severe blue balls!), takes the shape of a big flaming phoenix, then gets sucked back into the underworld from whence it came. Jer’s phantom wife and child appear to guide him to Heaven, Chris mourns his passing as she holds her burly protector’s big dead hand in hers, tears are shed, Time Square is packed with tourists freezing their asses off over a pointless lighted sphere, and the world is saved for the church to cover up more and more child molestation cases every day. Fuck this planet.
Twenty years after the fact, how does End of Days hold up in the eyeballs of a first time viewer? It’s… a bit messy. Though the CGI effects (especially the green screen fire bullshit) have aged about as well as a cheese stick left behind a radiator for the same amount of time, that much is to be expected without some heavy duty remastering, and let’s be fair, who’s clamoring for a new coat of paint on a meh-at-best movie like this? Unless a digital effects person wants to fudge it in their free time and ship me a free sample, I’m certainly not one of them. So, out-of-date visuals off the plate, what else do we have to throw our Gordon Ramsey levels of derision at? Let’s start with the casting, you idiot sandwich!
Udo Kier. What the fuck. You get one of the most under utilized talents in the horror community on your roster and what do you do? You fucking under utilize him. Sure, you give him a hell of a send off by having the Devil treat his head like a Punch-A-Bunch panel, but Udo deserves so much more than to be used as an example of how short-fused Satan is, even with a minion who's dedicated the last 20+ years of his life to Him. Kill him off, sure, but at least let him toady around until somewhere into the 65 minute mark. Much worse offenses in the casting involve our two big daddies: Shwarzenegger and Byrne.
Hilarrible (hilariously terrible) moniker not withstanding, Jericho Cane is meant to be a tragic character. Rather than bad action hero one-liners and excuses to show off his oiled up physique, Cane uses the occasional piece of gallows humor to get through his crushing depression while also putting himself into the direct path of danger because his life is worthless and he’d rather sacrifice it to save someone else since he can’t take it himself. In the hands of a better actor, he’d make for a compelling protag, and you might even be able to overlook that edge lord Spawn villain name. Arnie, at least at this point of his career, was not equipped to portray a character of even minute nuance. The infamous scene where he shouts down The Dragon about how “YOU’RE A CHOIR BOY COMPARED TO ME!” turned whatever semblance of beef the big man could’ve had into pink slime contaminated hamberder “meat”. Even his big final martyrdom moment can’t summon a spark of sympathy because of his big goofy face and his Schwarzeneggering intensifying.
My big hopes for EoD hinged on what looked to be a smorgasbord of sin plated by Gabriel Byrne, but those hinges rusted from general disuse thanks to a halfhearted pseudo Al Pacino rendition of a demon whose flair for the dramatic ironically isn’t very. Did I say “ironically” just there? I meant “disappointingly”. Do your damn job, auto correct, or you’ll be spending your weekend emailing resumes for jizz mopper positions! As I was saying though, this feels like a paycheck role for GB, but come on sir, at least make an effort.
The ultimate unfortunate where this movie is involved can be blamed on whomever’s brain stain it was to make this a Christian Gothic action-horror movie in the first place. Even with a more suitable cast, the action movie tropes (wacky sidekick that ends up dead, needless Bay-splosions, hero on casual terms with the local law enforcement because he’s an ex-cop, frequent lapses in logic, etc) bug bomb any creeping terrors that might have been hiding under the surface. If this screenplay tried to take up tight rope walking, its so unbalanced it’d fall and break its neck even with a net. If you want a
good better example of a capable road map for this type of flick, give Constantine a go. It’s an abomination as far as its source material goes, but it isn’t infested with nearly the nest of fleas that End of Days tracks in.
So that’s that. One more off of my “Get to ’em eventually” list. Now, I reward myself with a viewing of one of my favorite Larry Cohen movies paired up “Dark Side of the Rainbow” style with Creedence Clearwater Revival in a little something I like to call, “Suzie Q the Winged Serpent”. G’night, hogs!
Bonus Moral: You’d be amazed what you’ll agree to when you’re on fire.
That’s the closest Arnie’s been to a book since… ever?
This October, it’s the latest sequel no one asked for: An American Werewolf in Vatican City !
Cardinal Carlin workshops the latest iteration of his “7 sins you can’t commit under Our Lord’s ever watchful gaze” routine ahead of the Pope’s birthday celebration.
Ewwww! Did they just pull that thing out of a vagina or a can of Vienna sausages?! They couldn’t at least wipe off some of the slime before ritually marking the future Bride of Satan?! I feel like I’m seeing the birth of the Greasy Strangler!
You know it’s been a wild night when you wake up to Udo Kier standing over you holding a rattlesnake. Thus the origin of the “NEVER DRINK ABSINTHE EVER AGAIN!” tattoo on my forearm.
When members at Mar-a-Lago complained about having to look at the bathroom attendants,
President dumpster leaned on the Pentagon to whip up some Area 51 cloaking devices for the staff.
This is why you never take Gabriel Byrne’s complimentary mint after dinner. #MeToo
Arnold’s initial reaction to finding out he was contractually obligated to do a sequel to Twins. Can’t say I blame him.
Fear not Radiohead fans, that’s a different Thomas York.
Released at the height of The Da Vinci Code Da Mania, Columbia’s advertising department released a series of hollow white chocolate albino heads during the 2006 Easter season. They didn’t sell well.
Uhm, you live alone, Jericho. I don’t think you need to keep a hide box for your weed stash.
You’re telling me that the ambassador of evil is too modest not to cover up his backside while double dipping a mother and daughter at the same time!? No.
I always knew that Adam Duritz was a harbinger of suffering, but I didn’t realize he was a ’90s edge lord doofus about cucking for the Devil.
What the fuck is that supposed to be, “Baby’s First Sigil”? Bloody Hell.
When Maria found out about Arnold’s illegitimate housemaid son, he got what he deserved.
Hey! The Catholic assassins creed work under the guise of employees at The House of Blues!
You know, I thought for sure that Mel Gibson would’ve been the first ’80s action star to martyr himself in a movie well before Schwarzenegger. That’s twenty bucks I’ll never see again.
Kevin Pollak meets his end at the hands of a militant anti-Billy Crystal gang in a case of mistaken identity. My apologies to his family.
That’s weird. Usually Colonel Napalm’s “Scorched Earth Special” hot wings come out the other side. Arnie must suffer from ulcers.
“Seriously?! The floor is littered with more presents than I can count, but nobody thought to get Satan’s fiance even one?! Fuck you guys. I’m spreading for Satan so fast when this Apocalypse shit gets started!”
Anubis will return next time in
“Spider-Man’s Not In This One Either”
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