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   The funniest, nastiest movie reviews anywhere.

Color Out of Space (2019)

"Despite All His Rage He Is Still Just" Nicolas Cage is a fucking national treasure.  He's wild at heart and, even today, sexier than a vampire's kiss.  You could shoot him on 8MM, and all the copies of the film would be gone in 60 seconds.  He's a kick ass, Bangkok dangerous, ghost rider rock star who still has everyone from valley girls to MILFs in Raising, Arizona moonstruck.  Some people think he's the kiss of death and that any movie he's in will come up snake eyes, but I'd take him in a face off against any big name actor any day, whether I was honeymooning in or leaving Las Vegas.

Cage has gone from dominating the box office to owning streaming video.  This cat seems to have a new movie out on TVs and tablets every couple of weeks, so it was only a matter of time until the dinosaur skull, shrunken head, albino king cobra-owning madman starred in an H.P. Lovecraft adaptation.  Lovecraft, for all you "Cthulu who?" snot gobblers out there, was a master of bonkers horror stories, and Color Out of Space is one of his most well known pulp fiction freakouts.

Cage plays husband and father Nathan Gardner who has moved his wife and three kids from the shiny big city to the spooky back country.  One night, a meteor crashes into their farm.  Cage and fam take it way too much in stride and then just kind of let it sit there.  No CDC, NASA, NOAA, NWA, DTF.  No nothing.

Faster than you can say, "Where's all the toilet paper?" weird things start happening.  The wife/mother cuts off a few of her fingers while she's in a trance.  The youngest son starts having conversations with an invisible Man in the Well.  The daughter starts carving symbols into her face.  The older son, apparently inoculated from alien fuckassery by copious amounts of weed, kind of just hangs out.

All of this leads to Cage slowly crescendoing into his patented Cage Rage until he's screaming, wild-eyed and drenched in blood, at nothing at all.  Give me that over flying alien mantises and reel-to-reel tape decks (in 2020, really?!) any fucking day.

Captain Corelli's Mandolin, yo!

March 27, 2020