Matt Cale loses his shit.

There is no such thing, legally or philosophically, as obscenity. There are no “prurient interests” or “community standards.”

Now, I have never watched “The Oxygen Channel,” nor do I pretend to even know what “The Oxygen Channel” is.

I want Pat Robertson dead. Not merely “dead,” however, but pulled from his bed, shaved from head to toe, dipped in boiling water to loosen the flesh, beaten about the face and neck with a…

A good movie, but it is not great. In fact, it is frustrating, because you know that it could have been great.

The 70s disaster flick that started it all.

No, this is not a trend that should cause you great concern, so I promise that I will stay far, far away from both Airport ‘77 and Concorde: Airport ‘79.

When one of the central characters in a film is a man with fetishistic fixation on his pet jellyfhish and he inexplicably bludgeons two people to death before wrapping himself in wire and committing suicide, you can be fairly certain that the film comes from Japan.