Father's Day (Review: World Premiere)

Father's Day (2011) 

By Astron 6
(Adam Brooks, Jeremy Gillespie, Matthew Kennedy, and Conor Sweeney)

I have just returned from the Toronto After Dark Film Festival's world premiere screening of Astron-6's FATHER'S DAY. I'm still picking my face off the floor. If Father's Day doesn't explode in popularity among fans of weird trash cinema, then there is no justice in this world.

Like a secret society of demented magicians, the film-making collective known as Astron-6 has pulled off an amazing slight of hand with their new new horror/exploitation/comedy masterpiece: Father's Day. Everything about Father's Day would lead you to believe it's a slightly tongue-in-cheek homage to grindhouse exploitation ala Hobo with a Shotgun. But this is only a misdirection. In reality, Father's Day is an epic farce of sheer lunacy and unbridled special FX mania in the true independent spirit and envelope-pushing tradition of Troma (which is releasing the film). Father's Day is like nothing I've ever seen before, but if I had to come up with a simple analogy, I'd say that Father's Day is like Hobo with a Shotgun meets The Toxic Avenger meets Macgruber meets Lucio Fulci's The Beyond meets Hausu meets Talladega Nights meets Evil Dead 2 meets GWAR meets Showgirls meets Deathproof meets an acid trip through a meat grinder.

SYNOPSIS


To truly summarize the plot of Father's Day is impossible without spoiling the film's deliriously delightful twists and shifts, which I would never do. This summary, however, sets up the basic deranged premise: a cannibalistic rapist who sexually assaults only fathers is pursued by Ahab (Adam Brooks), an eye-patch-wearing vigilante whose life and family were shattered when "The Father's Day Killer" raped and murdered his Dad. Helping him seek vengeance are his stripper sister (Amy Groening), a priest (Matthew Kennedy), and a teenage male prostitute named Twink (Conor Sweeney). I've only described the basic frame of this film -- it goes to places I never would have expected, and I was laughing, cheering, and gagging all the way.

Rating: 5 / 5 Raped Fathers

IS IT SILLY?

Father's Day is, at its core, a farce. Unlike Hobo with a Shotgun, which presented outlandish scenarios with a core of seriousness, Father`s Day is intentionally and intensively ridiculous. It`s a comedy through and through that exploits the grindhouse action genre and blows up all its cheesiest and most stereotypical conventions with the cinematic equivalent of C4. With every act break, the movie becomes stranger. The script, as you might imagine, is a wicked beast that`s hard to pin down, but the dialogue is infinitely quotable, quirky, and sharply aware of its own silliness. To explore any further the depths of Father`s Day's rollicking humor will spoil the movie. The less you know about the plot, the better. Just remember: never call a man a tree.

This image doesn't even begin to hint at Father's Day off-the-wall lunacy

IS IT SEXY?

Here's something I can tell you: Father's Day is wall-to-wall boobs, butts, and cocks! There's so much male and female full-frontal nudity in Father's Day that it might make Caligula blink. Some of this nudity is of a graphically violent nature (men beware: penis mutilation ahead) but for the rest of the time the camera lingers leeringly on female strippers. At Monster Chiller Horror Theatre, we place the bar low in terms of sexiness, but Father's Day more than fills its shameless and tawdry T and A quota.

IS IT SHOCKING?

Holy God yes. I don't need to tell you that rape is never a good thing, but it's also (sadly) true that we've grown desensitized to the representation of female sexual abuse in film. Father's Day turns this desensitization on its head by shoving our faces into scenes of male-on-male rape. You will never forget the horror of seeing fathers -- middle-aged, balding men in glasses and windbreakers -- being savagely ass raped by a cannibalistic lunatic. The gore is excessive and daring, and the scenes of sexual assault are brutally comical, if that doesn't sound to sick to admit. You will see things in Father's Day that not even you own sweet Pa could have prepared you for. Truly a marvel of low-budget special effects.

The stunts are also unbelievably dangerous. None of these actors are stunt people from what I can tell, but they do things on an almost Jackass level of full-throttle, gung-ho stupidity. Midway through the film during a car chase, characters leap from truck to truck and hang from windows -- but Father's Day didn't have the budget for stunt doubles and CGI effects. What you see the actors doing in full frame is more raw and real than any Michael Bay action blockbuster. And it's scary as hell; I am amazed no one died shooting these scenes or got seriously hurt.

IS IT SURREAL?

Hand-in-hand with its silliness, Father's Day is also a surreal trip into a world designed to look and feel like a grainy, reel-to-reel grind house epic while at the same time speeding through a minefield of acid-nightmares and filmtasmagorical stop motion inspired, no doubt, by the works of Sam Raimi. In surreal style and editing, Father's Day manages to embody the paradox of being incredibly derivative while completely and scarily unique.

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At the risk of making grand comparisons, I think that Father's Day is going to spread like wildfire through the genre film community in the same way that Pulp Fiction exploded after its first screenings. While mainstream critics lifted Pulp Fiction to classic status, I don't think the mainstream will cotton to Father's Day. It's too absurd. It's too violent. It's too enamored with the era of fuzzy VHS bootlegs and direct-to-video 80s cheese. But from the conversations I heard in the crowd as we left the theatre, I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that this movie is becomes the must-see modern film among genre, trash cinema, and exploitation fans.


Troma releases a lot of crap, but I expect Father's Day to become the new jewel in Troma's Crown -- giving this generation what The Toxic Avenger gave its: sex, laughs, action, and gore.

Father of Horror: Ode to my Dad

I owe my love of horror to my father.

For personal reasons, this year has been a tough one, so I find myself pouring over nostalgic memories and dwelling quite a bit on the past. While trying to remember exactly how I first discovered my favorite horror films, I made an unexpected revelation: Dad helped make me the horror fan I am today.

Now, Dad is not a horror fan. Except for movies as disposable entertainment, my father has never expressed much interest in any genre of art and literature (especially books). I love my dad and he's been nothing but supportive and good to me, but we don't share many interests as far as media is concerned. Yet, when I think back to my favorite horror films -- the films that profoundly skewed my interest in movies towards the fantastical and horrific-- it turns out that they were all recommendations from my father.

1.) Night of the Living Dead (1968)

Growing up, I was familiar with the concept of zombies; it was the decade of Thriller after all. Nevertheless, I was a young boy interested in monsters and in love with Halloween but completely oblivious to zombie movies, the name George A. Romero, and his monumental influence on not just zombie films but all of horror. One Halloween night when I was too old for trick or treating and too young to go out alone, my Dad called me over. He told me that PBS was showing a film called Night of the Living Dead. He told me, if I recall correctly, that he had seen it as a boy about my age. Knowing my very vague interest in horror, he said I should go downstairs and check it out. I went to the TV room, turned on PBS, and was taken away by one of the most profoundly interesting horror films I had ever seen.It was definitely my first black and white horror film, and it may just have been my first "adult" horror film. Did Dad remember the cannibalism and gore? The bleak ending? If he did, he didn't prepare me for it.

I have been a lover of zombie media ever since. I don't know if I have come to zombies on my own (at least not with the same love), but my Dad's recommendation of Night came at a time where I was impressionable. It completely captured my imagination. Without Dad's recommendation, my other site -- The Zed Word zombie blog -- may not exist and I probably would not have become part of Horror in the Hammer through their annual Hamilton Zombie Walk. Anything I do relating to zombies, and all the friends I have met through zombie fan communities, I owe in no small part to my father.

2.) Creepshow (1982)

My memory of first discovering Creepshow is less distinct, but Dad figures prominently. At this point in my life, I was reading a lot of Stephen King (mostly books borrowed from my cousin). Dad probably had no idea that Creepshow was directed by George Romero and written by Stephen King, but he saw that Creepshow was playing on TV and pointed me in the right direction. I had never heard of the film before. It solidified my love of George A. Romero's film work but also the stories of Stephen King. It also inspired me to learn more about the golden age of horror comics (which dovetailed nicely into my interest in superhero comics at the time). Appropriately, my favorite segment of Creepshow is "Father's Day," and I owe its discovery to my father.

3) The Fly (1986)

"Just wait for the arm-wrestling scene."

Again, because I was growing up in the days before DVDs when our budget for VHS rentals was controlled by my parents who were not keen on renting horror films, I came to find some of my favorite horror films through TV. If I remember correctly, I saw a commercial for The Fly broadcast on TV, but the ad didn't give much info on the film save for some tantalizing and bizarre images. I remember asking Dad if he had seen it. He had, but he was unwilling to tell me many details. He said it as science fiction / horror (so I would probably like it), but he left me with one tantalizing tidbit: "Just wait for the arm-wrestling scene." What could that mean?

The Fly was probably the first gross-out film I ever saw. Watching Brundle slough off body parts as he mutates into a hideous fly creature that vomits acid on his food and enemies was like nothing I had ever seen before. The images in this movie (Brundle's peeling fingernails, the arm wrestling scene, the birth of the maggot baby) are embedded so deeply in my mind I can recall them with crystal clarity at a moment's notice. Even today, when I look at the stubborn hair growing on my shoulders as I age (thanks for the genes, Dad!), I can't help but think of Brundle discovering the first wiry fly hairs protruding from his own flesh.

Like Night of the Living Dead, The Fly also captured my imagination with its ideas. The terrifying but exhilarating avenues of body as a site of horror ingrained within me a love of body horror that compelled me to seek out Cronenberg's other work, namely Videodrome and Naked Lunch. Though my discovery of Cronenberg as a filmmaker, I was also exposed to the contributions that Canadians have made to horror. Viewing The Fly was, if you excuse the pun, a transformative experience. Had Dad had not made that cryptic comment about the arm wrestling scene, I might not have stayed up to watch The Fly.

So, this Father's Day I have to give thanks to my dad. Although we never discussed horror movies, in his own way he shaped my horror fandom. By recommending to me Night of the Living Dead, Creepshow, and The Fly, Dad unwittingly put me on the path to some great and horrifying experiences. Although we don't share many interests, we do share this odd and until now unspoken connection. He passed down to me these films that were memorable to him so that I could make them a part of myself. When I think of these films, I think of him.

And for that, I am very thankful.

Happy Father's Day, Dad!