"When are you going to demand what you deserve?"

Well, Halloween's over, and what a blowout it was. I've had five straight nights of heavy haunting at The Devil's Attic, including something called Chaos Night that ended in an all-out brawl -- all my monsters set loose on one unlucky group of visitors. I could barely tell what was happening for all the smoke. Whips were cracking.  Chainsaws were revving. My minion Arshlok was riding around on his victim's back. So was The Jackal. I've been laughing so hard about it over the past few days I almost forgot to pick out a movie.

If you've been following me here since March, then you know I've been reviewing movies in chronological order of their release. I started the Thursday before people in the U.S. set their clocks forward with the first feature-length horror film, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, and wound my way through the ages up until last week's review of Holidays. On Sunday, it will be time for America to set its clocks back, and the Earth will rotate away from All Hallow's Eve, so my coverage of horror cinema will go backwards in time for the next six months. That means I had to find the newest watchable movie on Netflix.

It wasn't easy to find. Some real crap has come out in the last year.

This week's Thursday Thriller is Scherzo Diabolico.

This 2015 film by Spanish director Adrián García Bogliano is a twisty tale of greed, abduction and revenge. An accountant named Aram can't get a promotion no matter how much overtime he puts in at the office. His wife bitches at him for never being home and having no extra money to show for it. Finally, Aram decides to stand up for himself by kidnapping his boss's daughter. 

He plans and prepares meticulously. He practices his sleeper hold on his dad. He gets tying-people-up lessons from a prostitute. He even practices a few abduction techniques on his son. It nearly goes off without a hitch, but when he throws the girl in the trunk of his car, his iPod falls in while playing his favorite classical piano piece. 

Eventually, the girl goes free and the real fun starts when her father plays the same track and triggers in her a psychotic episode. After that she sets her mind to fucking up Aram's life. 

I liked this movie, but as I say, had a little trouble focusing because I'm still laughing at all the punishments I've inflicted on mortals over the last week at the Devil's Attic. For those who didn't get to come see me, there's always next year. Until then, you can follow me here for hot movie picks every week.

"Because he had what I wanted and I was tired of being nice."

Picking the last movie I'm going to review before Halloween, a question occurred to me? What's it take to make you watch a movie every year? I'm sure directors and producers and studios have spent a lot of time on that very question.

Christmas movies seem to do well. People are still making money off It's a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street. But what about other occasions? John Carpenter had a hit in 1978 with Halloween. Arriving just in time for the home video boom, it quickly became a classic of the horror genre, and people watch it every year. Sean Cunningham stole the formula to make Friday the 13th in 1980, and soon independent filmmakers were racing to their calendars for ideas. Christmas Evil, New Year's Evil, My Bloody Valentine, Bloody Birthday and Graduation Day were just a few titles released from 1980-1981.

Let's be honest, though. No one's really champing at the bit for Dec. 31 to get here so they can watch New Year's Evil again.

This week's Thursday Thriller is Holidays.

This 2016 film is an anthology comprising eight short films about different special occasions on the American calendar. Kevin Smith directs his daughter Harley Quinn Smith in the Halloween chunk. Seth Green stars in the Christmas bit. The shorts tend toward the darkly humorous end of things.

The producers had to have been thinking, "Why should we settle for people watching our movie once a year for the rest of their lives when they can watch it eight times that many?"

I liked this movie. I can't say it's eight-times-a-year good, but I'll probably check back on it around Easter for the slimy rabbit man with a crown of thorns on his head who gives birth to baby chicks out of his stigmata holes.

Holidays streams on Netflix.

As I mentioned, this is the last movie I'm reviewing before Halloween, which means you only have one weekend left to come see me at The Devil's Attic. Lucky for you, Hell is open through Monday night, and Sunday is Chaos Night. Mention Holidays at the ticket booth and get $2 off admission all weekend long.

"When you wish you're dead, that's when I'll come inside."

Facebook wants to see my ID.

It seems the social media giant has a rule where you have to use your real name, which has confused me since I started my account there because I typed in S-A-T-A-N just like it's spelled in the Judeo-Christian tradition and it fired back that I can't use that name, my name.

This was bound to not end well.

I used the Muslim spelling.

It's a confusing question for me anyway: what is my name? I am known by many names. Zoroastrians call me Angra Mainyu. Buddhists know me as Mara. In a former incarnation my name was Lucifer. If you're up to speed on your demonology you can debate whether it's appropriate to call me Asmodeus, Azazel, Beelzebub, Belial, Mastima or Lilith. Nicknames include The Evil One, The Father of Lies,  Lord of the Underworld, Mephistopheles, Old Scratch, The Prince of Darkness, The Red Guy. On a busy Saturday night, I get about a dozen misguided adolescents who try to call me Dad.

I tell them a joke I stole from Jim Rose: "I can't be your dad. I didn't have change for a five that night."

My list is hardly complete, but my point is that some soppy-pants mouth-breather reported that I haven't been using my real name. How can I? Facebook won't let me use it.

Now Facebook wants to see my ID. Do I look like a guy who has a lot of time to hang around at the BMV all day waiting for some unimaginative bovine to take my picture and try to sell me on being an organ donor?
I take organs, bitch! I don't give them. I don't need a license. It's not like I drive, anyway. What would be the point? Wherever I want to go, I just appear in an explosion of sulfur.

Who would take the time to turn me in? I'll never know, and I can only guess at why. Maybe they don't think big, silly men in rubber masks should go around telling people about what horror movies they like. Maybe they're hyper-Christian. Maybe they had something to do with the making of Thankskilling.

It really doesn't matter.

Did you know there are special exceptions to Facebook's insistence on using your real name?

If you've been abused, bullied, stalked, et cetera, you can use a fake name. As someone who was kicked out of the house in his rebellious youth, and has been hunted by religious nuts for centuries, I'm sure I kind of fall into one of these categories.

If you're a member of an ethnic minority, you can use a fake name. Hey, I'm red, and not just the Indian or Native-American variation on the kind of beige all humans are. I'm candy-apple red, and I have horns. You don't see my kind walking around every day.

If you're LGBTQBBQ and so on and so on, you can use a fake name. I'm all those things and a half dozen other variations human sexuality hasn't even discovered yet. You get a little freaky when you can manifest yourself as either an incubus or a succubus according to your whim.

I could claim any or all of their exceptions, but they're still going to want ID.

I plead nolo contendere. This might be goodbye to all my Facebook followers, but it doesn't have to be. I started a fan page. You can still follow me under my simpler namesake The Devil Himself at facebook.com/bigrednsexy. It says I'm fictitious, because the greatest trick I've ever pulled was convincing humanity I don't exist.

Thanks.

It's been fun.

By the way, this week's Thursday Thriller is Hush.

Director Mike Flanagan co-wrote this 2016 film with star Kate Siegel, who plays a writer who is deaf and can't hear stuff like a masked weirdo killing her neighbor just outside her glass door.

On a scale of horrible to outstanding, it falls somewhere between not bad and pretty good. Hush streams on Netflix.

You only have two more weekends to check out the Devil's Attic in Louisville. Mention Hush at the ticket booth and get $2 off admission.

"Your worst quality can also be your best."

I've felt so embarrassed about all the time I've spent on this blog not writing about werewolf movies, that I've decided to tell you about another one.

This week's Thursday Thriller is Uncaged.

This 2016 Daniel Robbins film is about a college boy named Jack (Ben Getz). When Jack was a child, his mom murdered his dad, but you'd never know it by how well-adjusted he seems at a frat kegger, at least compared to his friends Turner (Kyle Kirkpatrick), who, wearing a camera on his head, busts into a room where two girls are making out and tries to negotiate a three-way, and Brandon (Zack Weiner), who takes his first bong rip and gets himself kicked out of the party for grabbing a girl's boob.

The three bros go to spend their Christmas break at Jack's uncle's house, and soon Jack finds himself waking up naked outside. He borrows Turner's Go-Pro to find out why and discovers he's a werewolf. One of his killings makes the news and Jack decides to track down the only eyewitness to find out what she saw. Turns out she's the wife of a gangster. Complications arise and Brandon's sexual awkwardness escalates.

But was it a good movie? It was better than Little Dead Rotting Hood.

Uncaged streams on Netflix.

Don't forget to come see me at The Devil's Attic this weekend. Mention Uncaged at the ticket booth and get $2 off admission.

"She was kind of crexy, though."

I'm not sure how it slipped my mind, exactly, but somehow I've been writing this weekly horror movie blog for almost a year and I've not talked about werewolves yet. I must correct this oversight before Halloween, and I will start right now.

This week's Thursday Thriller is Little Dead Rotting Hood.

This 2016 Jared Cohn film is about a girl named Samantha (Bianca A. Santos) whose grandmother has been training her her whole life to fight wolves. When a wolf chews Samantha's throat out, Grandma (Marina Sirtis) decides it's graduation day and buries Sammy with a red cape and a sword, then slashes her own matronly wrists and bleeds out on the grave.

In town Grandma was known as the Wolf Lady for reasons which never seem sufficiently examined by the sheriff (Eric Balfour), who should maybe have at least dismissed the coincidence that when the Wolf Lady died, wolves start attacking horny college students around town. He could have said something like, "Ha! That doesn't even make sense that those two things could be related. I need some sleep," just to show he was dialed in and looking for any clue he could find. Instead Sheriff Adam organizes a wolf hunt, during which he and his deputies are set upon by ravenous wolves, only to have a necrotic Samantha turn up and fight the wolves off with her razor-sharp claws.

Little Dead Rotting Hood isn't the best werewolf movie I've ever seen. It's a bit on the silly side without swinging too hard for that self-aware irony indie filmmakers seem to think covers up their lack of budget and storytelling ability. It's a cheaply made film with a cameo from Counselor Troi, some barely passable computer-generated effects, and a hot chick with a sword. It's watchable, and it streams on Netflix.

Don't forget to mention Little Dead Rotting Hood at the ticket booth this weekend for $2 off your admission to The Devil's Attic.

"Who brings a dice purse to a demon apocalypse anyway?"

Over the past century or so, it seems if anybody sings a song that doesn't praise the Lord God High and Mighty, I get the credit. The blues was my music. Jazz was my music. Rock 'N' Roll was my music. Some dipshit even thinks I'm in charge of Beyonce.

But heavy metal? That one's true. It really is my music.

This week's Thursday Thriller is Deathgasm.

This 2015 splatter comedy by writer/director Jason Lei Howden hails from New Zealand. It's about a boy named Brodie (Milo Cawthorne) whose mom goes crazy and he has to move in with his uncle. The new kid in school, Brodie can't find any fellow headbangers to hang out with, so he winds up playing Dungeons & Dragons with a couple of dorks because they're the only ones who'll have him. Such a fate is hardly befitting Brodie because he has heavy metal daydreams, specifically about gusts of wind throwing his hair around as he stands shirtless atop a mountain shredding a guitar while naked women wrapped around his legs swoon.

Then one day he meets a thief named Zakk (James Blake) at the record store, they bond over studded leather and start a band with the dorks. Soon Zakk pressures Brodie into breaking into the home of one of their favorite musicians. For reasons I can't spoil, he gives them the sheet music to the Black Psalm, they play it and people start vomiting blood all over the place and turn into Evil Dead-style demons.

Or are they more like Lamberto Bava-style demons? Whatever they are, they're cool.

It's gory. It's silly. It's brutal, dude. Totally fuckin' metal. Deathgasm streams on Netflix.

This weekend only, mention Deathgasm at the ticket booth, and get $2 off your admission to The Devil's Attic.

"Are you ready to be one with the cosmos?"

You hear a lot about Turkey these days -- that they're a pivotal nation in the fight against ISIS, that it's capital was once called Constantinople, that Vlad Dracula used to impale people from there.

But have you ever seen a movie from there? Would you have guessed in a million years that the scariest movie of 2015 came from there?

Now I'm a busy devil, so to catch a new movie I have to wait for it to hit Netflix. I admit I haven't yet watched all the scary movies from 2015 yet, but I'm willing to call it today.

This week's Thursday Thriller is Baskin.

This dark fantasy by director Can Evrenol is a heavy-ass fever dream of sensual cruelty. It has a Clive Barker vibe to it.

It's about five cops who like to sit around a diner and recount their past sins -- the usual stuff, really -- gambling, bestiality, closing the deal with a transvestite prostitute. But Yavuz (Muharrem Bayrak) gets a little sensitive about the waiter overhearing that last part, and has to beat the waiter's ass to prove he's a man, while his partners in law-enforcement look on and laugh. Later in the van, to seal the bond of fraternity, they have a sing-along about what assholes they are. Then they get a call on the radio. Backup is needed in Inceagac. If you're unfamiliar with Turkish geography, Inceagac is apparently just across the Mediterranean from Bumfukt, Egypt.

Things get weird when they answer the call. The driver thinks he sees a naked guy running around, they run over somebody, there are frogs everywhere. When they arrive at the location, they find an empty squad car with the lights still flashing, and an abandoned building. Inside the building? Not a lot at first, but then they find a lone, catatonic officer banging his head against the wall, evidence of some bizarre sex ritual, and then there's people still participating in the ritual. Most of them still have all their limbs.

I don't want to spoil the third act, but suddenly they're in Hell, where the master Baba assists people in opening their heart to the universe by cutting out their eyes and forcing them to have sex. I know that sounds fun, but that's not how it plays in the movie.

Actor Mehmet Cerrahoglu steals the screen as Baba, a wiry muscular guy with a laughing Buddha sculpture on his face. I would call his makeup an outstanding achievement, but it turns out that's just Cerrahoglu's face. According to IMDb, he has a skin condition.

This isn't a movie you watch, so much as study. It's disorienting and hard to follow in places, but it's so weird, you'll probably want to watch it again. Even if you don't, it will definitely haunt you on Friday morning as you wonder, "What the hell did I watch last night?" I recommend you open your heart to Baskin. It streams on Netflix.