In a world of hot tags and listicles that opine on the worst sequels ever made, worries over whether this movie is too woke or not enough woke, and the argument that it’s either the worst or best movie, the truth is movies are awesome because you make your own mind up — do it, it’s great — as to what a good or a bad movie is.

My opinions are just that. Mine. And Texas Chainsaw Massacre is as good a slasher as we’re going to get in 2022, which is a left handed compliment. But it’s also not a good Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie. But then again — but, but and but — there haven’t really been that many good sequels to the original.

Taking a page out of Halloween, this movie asks you to wipe your memory clean of the first sequel — Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, much like Halloween 2, is one of my favorites and asking you to forget it and making this film attempt to supersede it is a tall order — and establishes a new timeline, the fourth timeline for this series.

Let’s break it down, with a tip of the bloody flesh mask to Bloody DIsgusting:

Original: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, Leatherface: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre III, Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The New Generation

Remake: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Reboot: Leatherface, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Texas Chainsaw

Legacy: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, this movie

Of those movies, I can tell you that the original is, obviously, a movie that blows away any movie that will ever be in this franchise. Yet I adore the audacious middle finger that is Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 and the WTF Illuminati heart of Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The New Generation. The other films, well, they make each new release better with how bad they get.

After the release of Leatherface in 2017, Lionsgate had plans for five more sequels, which frightens me, but the studio lost the rights. Legendary got them and had Fede Álvarez and Rodo Sayagues(whose Evil Dead is considered a good remake and their Don’t Breathe did well at the box office) to write and produce a sequel. Ryan and Andy Tohill were set to direct, but were replaced by David Blue Garcia (Tejano) who made this from a script by Chris Thomas Devlin (this is his first movie).

Much like every sequel made in the 2000s, this was made in Eastern Europe, with Bulgaria doubling for Texas.

Mark Burnham plays the sixty-year-old — at least! — Leatherface and Olwen Fouéré takes over for Marilyn Burns as Sally Hardesty, who should probably be yelling “Evil dies tonight” as she’s the exact same character as Laurie Strode in Halloween and Halloween Kills.

Entrepreneurs Melody (Sarah Yarkin) and Dante (Jacob Latimore) have decided to transform Harlow, Texas into a new Austin, bringing along Melody’s sister and survivor of a school shooting Lila (Elsie Fisher) and Dante’s girlfriend Ruth (Neil Hudson). While working with one of the locals, a gun owner and total opposite to these characters named Richter (Moe Dunford), the team works to clean up the town before investors arrive. That means kicking out an older woman, Mrs. Mc (Alice Krige, a welcome actress any time), who dies moments after being evicted, bringing her charge Leatherface (Mark Burnham, Lowlife) out of hiding as he rides with her to the hospital. Yes, it doesn’t go well. Yes, he goes wild on everyone. Yes, it’s actually pretty great and the kills look cool, thanks to some solid practical effects.

From then on, Leatherface gets his saw and becomes a killing machine, even referencing Jason, seeing Mrs. Mc’s face as he goes wild on a bus full of influencers — no matter how much I dislike some of this movie, it’s hard to hate a film in which multiple social media types get gorily dispatched — and stalks the sisters.

Let’s get the good out of the way: the wokeness of this movie, which so many worried and gnashed and argued, is just to set the table. And the closing credits look astounding, showing a visual style and color palette that should have informed the entirety of this movie. And hearing John Larroquette introduce the movie makes me so happy.

But here’s my problem: every other good Texas Chainsaw has made you physically sick thanks to the decay and rot and bone and gristle and, well, cannibalism on display. The set of Chainsaw Massacre 2, a Civil War theme park that has died and been resurrected as a bone-strewn temple to putrified flesh, and the original farmhouse are horrifying places. Indeed, the first Chainsaw is a movie that would have no interest in being part of, a torture test for cast and crew that they barely survived with their lives and sanity.

This movie has none of that, substituting geysers of arterial blood for the really disgusting stuff. And when you think of it, there’s not much gore in the first movie. We all know that, actually. Yet it remains filled with menace and makes you feel that feeling just on the edge of throwing up when you find a dead animal half-eaten on your porch. It’s visceral, it has staying power, it’s the end all be all that all horror that came after must compare itself with.

Beyond referencing Friday the 13th, this film feels so oddly familiar in the way that it recycles imagery. The hands of the influences trying to escape is very Dawn of the Dead. I could handle that reference if two scenes didn’t feel completely cribbed from The Strangers: Prey at Night. The sisters being trapped in a bus bathroom and the aftermath of them crashing the truck are so close to that movie — which I realize not many people saw — that it can’t be a coincidence.

The close of the film erases what has been so important to the first two films: the catharsis of one character barely escaping, as she screams in terror or victory over those who had oppressed her. I get it — the survivor in this film is no Sally or Stretch. But the whole point of the ending feels lost for a gotcha ending. And the post-credits sequence is relatively pointless.

It’s strange that for a movie that claims to erase the sequels, this feels a lot more like the 2003 The Texas Chainsaw Massacre than a brave new take on the series. This is the new way that movies happen. Speak badly about everything in the past, then do the exact same thing. If it worked for Michael and Jamie Lee…

It really has no idea what it wants to say. If Lila has gun trauma, she gets over it really quick when she has to. There’s never a conflict there. There’s only an alpha predator senior citizen with a chainsaw and enough badly sketched blood-filled victims to dispatch.

I kind of laugh at the audacity that the filmmakers claimed that they used old lenses to get the look they wanted while wasting Daniel Pearl footage at the beginning of this movie. But hey — the original movie was art. Everything else has been a cash-in, either feeding the direct video appetite or now, the need for new movies to stream.

Then again, was this ever meant to be a slasher? The original exists before the slasher and this goes more for straight up murder and less stalk and slash. I mean, far be it from me to decry the genre that I’ve watched hundreds of movies within, right?

And hey — Leatherface isn’t even the scariest Sawyer family member. This movie forgets that.

There’s enough here to like, but not when you can just do it right and watch good slashers in the short time we have on this Earth.

Formed in 1999 as I Decline by Joey and Jason LaRocca and Matthew Stolarz, the Los Angeles punk rock band The Briggs have recorded four albums, three EPs and played the Warped Tour four different years.

Gridlocked shows their ten-day 2015 West Coast tour, which shows the band maturing and dealing with family responsibility whole dealing with a career that may have fallen short of their teen dreams.

Directed by Kevin James Barry (Serena and the Ratts), this movie took seven years of time with the band to put together. It’s a reminder that every time you see a band get on stage, for some, it’s often them living a dream come true, even if that dream ends up feeling different than what you wanted.

Gridlocked is available on DVD, bu ray and on demand from Gravitas Ventures.  You can learn more on the official Facebook page.

After witnessing an alien abduction as a child and dealing with the trauma of it for her entire life, Aurora (Camille Rowe, The Deep House) has read a book about The Cosmic Dawn before she’s drawn into the orbit of the cult’s leader Elyse (Antonia Zegers).

Wondering just how real this could be? Director and writer Jefferson Moneo claims to have had an alien experience as a child and that this could all be real.

As she becomes entrenced into the cult, her consciouness expands, she learns more about why and how her mother was abducted and begins to worry about the more bizarre way that the cult has begun to act. Then, the film fast-forwards to years after the cult has been broken up, yet Elyse reappears and claims that she can access another dimension and is also planning a mass suicide of all still-believing cult members.

With a score by Alan Howarth, music by MGMT and a perfect scene with the songs “Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft” — originally by Klaatu and then also released by The Carpenters — as well as a purple/pink neon color palette that feels straight out of Color Out of Space, this is an odd duck of a film and I say that in the best possible tone. I’ve often wondered just why someone would join a cult like this and seeing the reasons why Aurora comes to the initial meetings to the initial joy she feels in belonging to something makes it all seem so much more normal than you’d ever think. And then the movie gets delightfully strange.

Cosmic Dawn is playing select theaters and on demand now from Cranked Up. You can learn more on the official site.

Leo and Emma, a newlywed couple from a small town in Mexico, have made the decision of a lifetime. They are coming to America. But when they arrive, they wonder if the American Dream was everything they hoped that it would be.

Fernando Rodriguez directed, wrote, edited, produced and did the cinematography for this movie, which really shows the journey that immigants have to take to try to better their lives in America, even if they have to do it illegally.

It’s one thing for them to attempt to make this new life on their own, but when they have to consider their daughter Luciana, as well as living in a place with no family, friends or support, they wonder if they’ve made the right choice.

At under an hour, Por Mi Hija let me explore a life I wouldn’t be able to see otherwise. That’s about all you can ask from a film.

You can watch this on Tubi.

I often wonder, what if some of my favorite movies had Charles Bronson in them. Like The Exorcist. What if Bronson went up against Pazuzu? And now, thanks to directors Scott Jeffrey and Rebecca J. Matthews — as well as executive producer Mark Lester (yes, the man who made Commando and Class of 1984) — as well as actor Robert Bronzi — who I really need to do an entire post devoted to all of his many recent movies — I know the answer.

I think this movie was made just for me.

Bronzi is Father Jozsef, a hardboiled priest with a troubled past that carries a gun. Really, is there anything else I need to say after that to prove why I loved this? It’s absolutely ridiculous in the best ways possible, a movie that if I saw on a mom and pop new release shelf I’d react like I was replacing an idol with a bag of sand like a low budget horror movie loving Indiana Jones.

He’s called in by Bishop Canelo (Steven Berkoff, Octopussy, Rambo: First Blood Part II) to stop the demon that has moved from old woman to housekeeper and now threatens an entire family. Yes, in the world of this movie, the Vatican calls in hits on demons.

Edna’s granddaughter Rebecca (Sarah Alexandra Marks) is the lone family member that understands why Jozsef has to be there and this is a mission that will require him to face the death of his wife and a demon — and family — intent on spitting in God’s face.

Written by Matthew B.C. (Medusa, Checkmate) and Jeff Miller (The Toybox, Hellblock 13, Once Upon a Time in Deadwood), this is the kind of escapist fun that I’m always looking for.

Now, here’s hoping some of my other questions, like how would Bronson fare against zombies, aliens and a romantic comedy can be answered by future Robert Bronzi movies.

You can watch Exorcist Vengeance on digital and on DVD from Uncork’d Entertainment.You can learn more on the official Facebook page.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: G.G. Graham is a cult film cryptid, horror hag, and exploitation film explorer of the dusty and disreputable corners of cinema history. The street preacher of Z-grade cinema can be found at Midnight Movie Monster, as well as writing for various genre sites and print publications, or on Twitter and Instagram @msmidnightmovie. Visit her blog at www.midnightmoviemonster.com and Twitter @msmidnightmovie.

The 1990s brought the concept of extremity to ridiculous extremes. Everything from toy cars to soft drinks to discount drugstore deodorant was being rebranded to reflect the tastes of a new generation perceived to be indifferent at best, and slackers at worst. A never ending pile of consumer goods, sporting events, and media properties rushed to cloak themselves in high contrast color palettes, creative spellings and other assorted folderol meant to convey the nebulous concept of “attitude”.

Independent wrestling promotion ECW (Extreme Championship Wrestling) was one of the very few creations of the era that understood the concept of “extreme” on both a literal and marketing level. The brand incorporated more international performers, and had a heavy emphasis on hardcore matches. Unlike the comparatively slower paced and family friendly fare of the (then) WWF, ECW pushed the boundaries, booker Paul Heyman innately understanding that what most interpreted as the audience’s love of “attitude” was actually more of a search for perceived authenticity.

Matches bursting with blood, weapons, and barbed wire merged with storylines that gleefully destroyed the previous boundaries for depictions of sex and violence in wrestling. The promotion blithely blurred the lines between performers and their in-ring characters, transgressing the conventions of classical kayfabe and offering something that felt more genuinely unfiltered than its more polished competition. If anything, ECW was an early harbinger of the sort of carefully curated “realistic” unreality that would come to dominate all of mainstream television (wrestling or otherwise) later in the 90s.

For a sport so often sniffily dismissed as fake, Jerome “New Jack” Young dragged real life violence and rage behind him like they were just another weapon in his omnipresent trashcan, an outlier even on the roster of a promotion named for the rough and ready fringes. To tell the story of his life and career is to discuss the deeply ingrained racism that was an unavoidable occupational hazard in working the rural South, the countless jumps from impossible heights, and a history of hidden blades that lead to both a winding network of facial scars and New Jack facing multiple sets of charges for felony assault.

Watching the opening minutes of Danny Lee and Noah Lee’s documentary New Jack, it’s quite obvious that years of living on the edge makes a fall inevitable. Like many veteran wrestlers, the 2019 version of New Jack is wracked with old injuries, in the legacy act stage of his career. He makes his living working local shows for smaller promotions, often wrestling up and comers who both fear his reputation and revere his ring persona. 

One of the film’s few visual flourishes makes the point beautifully, cutting together New Jack’s various ring entrances over the years. Theme song “Natural Born Killaz” pounding on the soundtrack, the familiar trash can in tow, but the movements slower and the scars more prominent over time. The crowds get more sparse, cell phone cameras replace the television versions, but it’s better to be on fans’ minds than off. 

Rather than any strict chronology, the rest of the documentary tends to wander back and forth between past and present, without much structure to which events it chooses to highlight at any given time. Within the first 15 minutes the film careens between the previously mentioned house show, to the 2004 in-ring stabbing of opponent Hunter Red, to New Jack’s violently abusive childhood. This informal, snapshot style dominates the rest of the film, combining archive footage, new interviews, and New Jack’s candid reactions to videos from his wrestling heyday.

For established fans, a lot of the topics at hand will be familiar. From the surface of the sun level heat that a Black tag team with a gangbanger gimmick drew in the below the Mason Dixon territory of Smoky Mountain Wrestling, to the addiction struggles that marked New Jack’s ECW glory years, to the cumulative injuries collected over decades of high flying dives off balconies and steel chair shots, the documentary primarily busies itself with territory that has been well trodden in previous interviews.

The abundant charisma that made New Jack’s ring promos so electric to watch is still present, even when he’s detailing his most volatile actions. It is surprisingly easy to get wrapped up in how he recounts events, even if it’s a story of deeply questionable ethics and near miss criminal liability. He’s a born storyteller, and as these controversies have been a topic of debate amongst fans and press for years, he’s had plenty of practice in telling them to maximum effect.

For those keeping score at home, New Jack is remarkably consistent in his views on his most infamous moments—the artery severing blading of the “Mass Transit Incident” that nearly sank the nascent rise of ECW, tossing Vic Grimes off a scaffolding in retaliation for a previous botched stunt, the hospitalization required weaponized beatdowns of both Gypsy Joe and Hunter Red— often couching them as the natural outgrowth of opponents who lacked suitable experience in the ring or respect for their fellow wrestlers. He also doesn’t bother to hide how his heavy cocaine usage at the time may have shortened the fuse on his already explosive temper.

It’s rare that a documentary subject is both incredibly willing to answer questions, engaging while doing so, and utterly indifferent toward garnering viewer sympathy or revising history. That makes New Jack‘s general reluctance to venture beyond well worn paths all the more disappointing. The co-directors don’t seem to have a great handle on what form they wanted the finished film to take. While their occasional interjections often skirt the edge of some revealing territory, they cut abruptly to another subject rather than probing any deeper. This leaves the most interesting nuances of New Jack’s larger than life story unaddressed at the edges of the frame.

How did New Jack feel about being asked by bookers to monetize rural racism, when he was the one who took on the largest physical and psychological risk, for what was likely the smallest cut of the profits? What would he have considered to be going too far, and what ideological line separated those instances from a career full of real life violence in the context of fictional narrative? How did he manage to continue working for decades, despite openly admitting his liability nightmare tendencies to go dangerously off script when provoked? How did any of this reconcile with the man who was fiercely protective of keeping his surprisingly ordinary roles as a husband and parent out of the public eye almost entirely?

New Jack offers an identity crisis with no real answers. By editing the film into series of vignettes, the directors have created something that likely will be too disjointed to paint a clear picture for casual wrestling fans, while offering little new insight for dedicated devotees of hardcore wrestling history. Given that the film’s Slamdance Festival premiere is an accidental epitaph —Jerome Young passed away in May of 2021, at age 58— it is unfortunate that New Jack doesn’t have anything more definitive to say about the man or the character he created. It feels like a missed opportunity that film satisfies itself with a surface level journey into the familiar celluloid arc of an aging wrestler having to fend for themselves once the inevitable injuries force the final bell on their days as a headliner.