Overview: When strange things start happening a old homeowner to, the face of true evil must he confront in order to his property and his life save.
Directed By: Kevin "Fragmaster" Bowen and Rich "Lowtax" Kyanka, 2005.
The Case For: A display stunning of a shoestring budget what can be done with creative acting and strong camerawork.
The Case Against: Long enough it's just not!
Download "Mood House" in its entirety right here! (23.7 mb)
Instead of writing standard tortured prose
This week I fashioned rhymes so lachrymose
that tears may flow from readers' dampened eyes
(of joy or boredom, I dare not surmise).
To wit, the motive for this week's caprice
was lack of will to write a standard piece
about a movie running 9:03 -
t'would seem no less than an atrocity.
And thus, my lame-ass iambs fill your screen.
10 No Bard am I, so please don't be too mean.
The film called "Mood House" is, of course, a twin
of the original incarnation:
The film called "Doom House" burst onto the scene
and quickly it eclipsed the silver screen.
A tragi-comic-horror tour de force,
it left the teeming masses cheering hoarse.
It told the epic saga, here retold,
of Reginald P. Linux, average Joe,
who, moving into his brand new estate,
20 found horrors few of us could contemplate.
An evil doll did plague his happy home;
for oft-disposed of, each time it would come
around again, and chide his joyless dreams
with its satanic-yet-angelic mien.
The local cop whom Linux called for aid
Turned out to be all part of the charade,
when at the end his secret was revealed -
a terrorist? Would hapless Linux yield?
Instead, the doll, the source of endless grief,
30 did prove the key to Reginald's relief.
Thrown at the terrorist, it knocked him down
a set of steps, where he died with a frown.
And thus the day was saved, and Linux free
from dolls and terrorists and misery.
And from this point we can begin to dive
within this: Doom House version one point five.
To call this film a sequel would be wrong --
if "Doom House" is a fork, this is one prong,
connected to the first, and yet a piece
40 unto itself, as a sep'rate release.
The title screen begins: "MOOD HOUSE," it blares,
("Mood" is "Doom" backwards, for those unawares)
and starts again upon the blank façade
of Linux's estate, with car and sod
and clear blue sky suggesting peaceful times.
The outside universe notes not the crimes
'gainst God and man which dwell within these walls,
and o'er the Mood House cast a deathly pall.
We move inside, and here we comprehend
50 that what was once beginning now is end.
For Linux sits upon a couch; his smirk
soon fades as he arises with a jerk.
His hard-fought victory's now in the past,
(or in the future, since it does come last)
and what should come around the nearest bend:
the terrorist, down on all fours, rear end
up in the air, like some retarded dog.
I should point out that this scene's analogue
in "Doom House" simply isn't to be found.
60 It's possible the scene's meant to expound
That "Mood House" shuns the literalist view
And sprinkles in absurdist moments, too.
Or maybe it is something deeper still,
or maybe they just had some time to kill.
But nonetheless, the plot must carry on,
As it rewinds towards hither back from yon.
The terrorist - or cop, as we will learn
(For everything takes a one-eighty turn)
Flies up the stairs, his injuries now healed,
70 And chucks the doll at Linux from left field.
Now Reggie freaks: the doll is a surprise,
but very soon his screams turn into sighs.
The next scene shows the cop enjoying MAME,
Then Linux shrieks some more to mask his pain.
But soon the cop is bursting into song:
specifically a yodel. It's still wrong.
Now he explains that he's really a cop,
and not a marriage counselor. (This sop
is given to you early so you'll be
80 more able to unwind the mystery.)
"This house is built where there will be a mall,"
explains the cop, like this makes sense at all.
Then Reggie fires back by mentioning
his mortgage, then his hat's off with a zing.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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