Author name: Vincent Volcano

By Vincent Volcano There are films that carry “weight” in the metaphysical sense—moral burden, spiritual consequence, the aching gravity of human existence. Then there is “The Weight,” a movie so desperate to be profound that it practically sprains itself hoisting a metaphor onto its back and waddling toward awards season like a condemned soul dragging […]

By Vincent Volcano, retired maestro, scarf aflame and patience cremated. “Hope” arrives with the sort of title that makes studio executives misty-eyed and critics reach instinctively for the brimstone bucket. A one-word abstraction. Very brave. Very marketable. Very easy to slap over a slow-motion trailer where someone stares out a window while a piano is

By Vincent Volcano, retired Hellwood director, scarf still smoking. Every few centuries, cinema produces a work so mythic, so whispered-about, so tragically mishandled by executives in expensive shoes, that it becomes less a movie and more a cursed artifact. “Coyote vs. Acme” is one such object: a film about a cartoon coyote suing a corporation

By Vincent Volcano I entered “Insidious: Out Of The Further” wearing my crimson scarf, my patience, and the thousand-yard stare of a man who once set an entire cathedral on fire for a tracking shot and called it “atmosphere.” One hour and forty-six minutes later, I emerged convinced that modern horror has become a haunted

By Vincent Volcano There are punishments in the lower circles involving endless paperwork, lukewarm coffee, and being forced to watch comedy sequels remember jokes harder than they invent them. Into that sulfurous tradition cruises ‘Super Troopers 3,’ a film that arrives with the confidence of a patrol car doing 15 mph in the fast lane,

By Vincent Volcano Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever! There are film titles that whisper. There are film titles that seduce. And then there is “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma,” which kicks down the cabin door wearing a hazmat suit and screaming, “Yes, I went to film school, and yes, I have feelings

By Vincent Volcano There are films that seduce you, films that challenge you, and films that burst into the room wearing leather gloves, shout “transgression!” and then spend 90 minutes rearranging old furniture in a room John Waters already set on fire decades ago. Gregg Araki’s *I Want Your Sex* is, blessedly, not some sterilized

By Vincent Volcano Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever! There are circles of Hell reserved for traitors, usurers, and studio executives who hear the word “pickleball” and immediately commission a redemption comedy with a strained groin, an estranged father, and a soundtrack that sounds like it was focus-grouped inside a suburban juice bar. Into this

By Vincent Volcano There are few things more amusing in the sulfur pits than watching Earth’s prestige television convince itself that “fast-paced” is the same thing as “deep.” Apple TV’s new crime miniseries “Lucky” arrives dressed in the expensive black turtleneck of modern streaming: sleek, moody, handsomely lit, and just self-aware enough to wink at

By Vincent Volcano Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever! There is a peculiar pleasure in watching mortals spend $20 million to recreate what we in Hell call “Tuesday in the upholstery district.” Sébastien Vaniček’s *Evil Dead Burn* arrives roaring into theaters like a chainsaw with studio notes attached, eager to prove that the venerable franchise