John Frankenheimer

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It’s difficult to imagine what it must have been like to see Seconds in 1966. The third entry in John Frankenheimer’s unofficial “paranoia trilogy” (the other two titles being The Manchurian Candidate and Seven Days in May), this adaptation of David Ely’s novel of the same name saw the director shifting from political conspiracies to a full fledged existential crisis of masculine identity. The dystopian sci-fi/psychedelic noir is easily one of the darkest, loneliest films ever funded by a Hollywood studio. That Seconds also stars Rock Hudson – the handsome, unassuming lead of many successful Technicolor comedies and a man rarely afforded the title of “serious actor” during his time – in a role originally meant for Laurence Olivier likely heightened the disorientation that made Seconds such an un-remarked-upon film (read: total flop) during its original release.

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31 Days of Horror - October 2011

They said it couldn’t be done. A fifth year of 31 Days of Horror? 31 more terror, gore and shower scene-filled movies worth highlighting? But Rejects always say die and never back away from a challenge, so we’ve rounded up the horror fans among us and put together another month’s worth of genre fun. Enjoy! Synopsis: The Maine woods are under attack from corporate profiteers, but when people start showing up dead the suspects range from rogue bears to radical environmentalists to ornery Injuns. Dr. Rob (Robert Foxworth) and his wife (Talia Shire) head to the area to investigate a local lumber company accused of polluting the nearby rivers, and they find a connection between man’s disregard of the environment, some strange aberrations amidst the wildlife and the vicious mutilation deaths.

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Junkfood Cinema

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; the only way to win is not to play. Well sucks to be you my friend because you followed a search engine rabbit hole right into the fleshiest film feature this side of Fat Guys at the Movies. This is the internet column that gives far more credit to certain films than they probably deserve. Every Friday I roll out the red carpet (well, more like brown shag carpet fraught with Nesquik stains) for one of my favorite bad films and proceed to roast it like a vulgar, slightly less inebriated Dean Martin. But, like any good roast master, I wrap it up by lavishing praise upon my beloved stinker. No matter how bad a film may be, and how completely aware of its faults one may be,  there is usually something to love about it. To cap off this roast, I will pair the film with an appropriate snack food item to prove once and for all that apart from being fundamental reading is fattening. Today’s treat: Prophecy

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