Sunday, June 21, 2026
THE AMUSEMENT PARK: GEORGE ROMERO'S SENIOR SUMMER
George A. Romero's once-thought-lost film, The Amusement Park, was not intended as a summer anthem, even though I have come to accept it as such. The 1975 production, which was financed by the Lutheran Service Society of Western Pennsylvania and filmed at the long-gone West View Park, is a public-service announcement on senior abuse. Its depictions, as written by Walton (Wally) Cook (who portrayed a fire chief in Romero's The Crazies) may seem surreal, but they are not far removed from what many seniors endure, whether then or now.
Lincoln Maazel, who would go on to depict patriarch Tata Cuda in Romero's urban-vampire classic, Martin, plays both the film's host and juxtaposing leads. To launch its events, he confirms his own status as a senior (on the cusp of 71) and prepares one for the plight those of his demographic may face. From there, he assumes the story's bookending roles (introduced in a dull, white room), both characters dressed in white, but one spry and the other disheveled, the former journeying out to engage a series of linking vignettes, which culminate in an ironic, full-circle turn.
The vignettes consist of the park's attendees dismissing an older man's death on a railroad attraction; a senior who fails an eye exam and loses his driver's license; a traffic accident involving his wife, represented by allegorical bumper cars; Maazel being disrespected at an outdoor restaurant (along with other elderly patrons); a false accusation made against him when he converses with children; a makeshift hospital where he is shuffled about without beneficial cause; a fortune teller who reveals to a young man that he will someday fall ill, with his wife unable to get him help; and a picnic where the exhausted Maazel reads "The Three Little Pigs" to a little girl, but is scorned before he can finish.
Cook's Twilight Zone-ish script is the real force behind the stressful stream, and his scenarios do resonate, but the blanketing ambiance is pure Romero, featuring his inimitable style of the time, which flowed from Night of the Living Dead through Knightriders. (And in the Amusement Park's case, the production even stars Romero as a hot-headed driver in the bumper-car scene, as well as Bill Hinzman, Night of the Living Dead's graveyard ghoul, as a shifty ticket handler, who also acted as the film's cinematographer, plus Romero's most consistent cinematographer, Michael Gornick as the young man of prophesized, poor health). The culmination, carried by these Romero familiarities, creates an everyman aesthetic which, though unassuming at a glance, builds a draw that's hard to break.
Maazel, who would live to the ripe old age of 105, is pitch-perfect in the lead. He is the glue that keeps the parts together, relaying strife, bewilderment, fear and dread: themes that infiltrate Cook's script.
On the frivolous front, The Amusement Park does, indeed, capture the instrinsic essence of comparable, "summer" movies: The Other, Jaws, Friday the 13th (1980), The Lost Boys, Monster Summer and Abraham's Boys: A Dracula Story. The Amusement Park prevails, however, beyond its warm-weather insertions, due to its message, which spotlights folks in the winter of their lives, who are forced into summer's fickle serenity. It is a period that its participants should enjoy but, due to red-tape snags and myopic misunderstandings, cannot.
If you have not seen The Amusement Park, please give it a view. Like me, you might find its specialized approach does, in fact, make for a worthy and unique, summer entry, even if one marked by disconcerting truths.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/video/detail/0FFGDUEXZC0JZK87M3SVLPC53O/ref=atv_plr_detail_play
Friday, June 19, 2026
COLLECTIBLE TIME: MOOREMONSTERS' MR. LOBO/CINEMA INSOMNIA TWIKI MUGS
I'm chipper as chipper can be! I've received my James Moore (MooreMonsters) Mr. Lobo Tiki Mugs!
The impressive, 6" x 3.5" tiki design (drawn by Mr. Lobo to capture his distinguished likeness and sculpted in glorious three-dimensional form by the nimble Mr. Moore) references the mysterious Moai/Rapi Nui heads of Easter Island. The mugs are finished in earthy green with yellow interiors, and sport the sentient, bleary-eyed, Cinema Insomnia logo on the back and Mr. Lobo's signature on the bottom, with a production number for each piece. In addition, each mug comes with a Mr. Lobo's Insomniac Lounge, Official Tiki Mug Schlocktail Booklet, which includes recipes from his endearing pals, plus a tiny, tiki umbrella, an ornate and frameable, autographed Certificate of Authenticity and a colorful coaster featuring the mug.
Please note: This stylish collectible was created specifically to commemorate Cinema Insomnia's 25th Anniversary: a significant benchmark in the annals of horror-host history.
To learn more about this limited-edition release (and to secure a mug of one's own), visit the OSI74 shop. The Mr. Lobo Tiki Mug is a perfect way to celebrate Cinema Insomnia's 25th year, as well as giving one a pleasing piece to cherish for years to come.
Thursday, June 18, 2026
AN ALTERNATE REALITY: I SAW THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD
For those who've bypassed the obvious, Robin Hood, aka Robin of Loxley, was never meant to be a socialist percussor. If anything, he's always been a forthright herald of the American Revolution, embodying the revolt against "taxation without representation." Of course, people have a right to perceive the hallowed bowman and his mission as they see fit.
A case in point is writer/director Michael (Pig/A Quiet Place: Day One) Sarnoski's The Death of Robin Hood, where Hugh Jackman gives the titular legend a Logan-like cynicism, disclosing that he was never the compassionate, derring-do protagonist that mythology promoted. In this respect, Jackman's Robin may be likened to Luke Skywalker in The Last Jedi, though with a more conscionable consistency than the contradictory arc that Mark Hamill projected. In other words, Jackman's Robin, though embittered and flawed, ascends to redress his image (rather like Dwayne Johnson in Hercules 2014), as opposed to becoming a bumbling, "all men are incompetent" recluse, who bounces back only after an ex-machina shove.
During Robin's terse journey, he reunites with his towering, old friend, Little John, played by Bill Skarsgard, who convinces him to revisit his merciless ways, trusting he'll fix one of the big man's reckless deeds. The task reminds Robin (and the audience) of the protracted fable he's carried, but it also introduces a vicious, suicidal phase that leaves Robin wounded after a gut-wrenching melee. Little John delivers his battered compatriot to Jodie (28 Years Later) Comer's Sister Brigid, a platonic, priory/orchard-bound Maid Marian with a generous dose of Friar Tuck.
To complicate (and yet heighten) Robin's revival under Sister Brigid's spiritual guidance, as well as her bloodletting techniques (during which he bears the random alias, Randolph), he's faced with Noah Jupe's Godwyn, aka, Arthur, a vengeful, young adversary. The situation establishes a High Noon/The Shootist/Red Headed Stranger homage, where Robin is tempted to reinstate his survivalist ferocity. By preventative default, Sister Brigid curbs the urge, being an estimable understudy to Grace Kelly's Amy Kane, Lauren Becall's Bond Rogers and Katherine Ross' Laurie, but Robin also receives encouragement from Murray Bartlett's Leper (who holds a sentimental and surprising link to Robin's past) and to a greater degree, Little John's daughter, Little Margaret (Faith Delaney), who summons Robin's paternal instinct and with it, the chance for an eleventh-hour conversion.
On another level, The Death of Robin Hood accesses the need for people to dig their own holes and (at least among those who hold a smidgeon of decency) own their outcomes. Robin realizes that only he can placate the damage. It's a karmic thing, though in this instance, wrapped in Christian piety, which is as strong a medicine as one can consume.
The movie references, as well, the contemporary tendency to make bad people appear good (case in point: the desperate dullards who've given political leverage to a tattooed Nazi in Maine). The Death of Robin Hood not only considers this sad, sick habit, but uses its brooding austerities to expose it.
The tactic doesn't steal any glory from the traditional view of the character, since it's a soiled (alternate-reality) surrogate who drives the point. In showing the absurdity of switching bad for good, Jackman's brutal "hood" honors his namesake's time-honored legacy with flipside irony: a stealthy tactic for sure, but I believe one that ensures Sarnoski's revision will endure. ↖↗
I SAW TOY STORY 5
Each time a new, Toy Story arrives, I wonder how it can outdo (or at least equal) the last. I've been pleased with the consistency, and the latest chapter continues the trend.
With that said, The Twilight Zone-influenced Toy Story 4 seemed to close the gates on a reunion. That led me to believe that Toy Story 5 would, in fact, be a prequel, but lo and behold, it extended well into future. However, by that design, it does steals some thematic zest from the previous entry (with characters having gone separate ways in pursuit of new destinies) and seems awkward with Woody and Bo Peep's unexpected (though welcome) return after a two-year tarry.
Nevertheless, it is what it is, and in this chapter, written and directed by McKenna Harris and Andrew Stanton, Bonnie at least shows more depth, receiving (of all ironic catalysts) a frog-fringed tablet called LilyPad (in response to the devices all the other kids possess), and thus begins Bonnie's spiraling obsession and a period in which she's anything but true to herself.
Though Buzz and Woody again skid to the forefront, it's anti-tech Sheriff Jessie (accompanied by Bullseye), who takes the lead, concerned by the device's hypnotic influence. Through a series of silly mishaps, she returns to her original (ranch) home, but beyond rekindling some tender memories of her first owner, Emily (inserted via flashbacks), Jessie finds an outgoing, toy-and-horse-loving girl named Blaze, who inspires her to have the common-denominator gals bond and perhaps, in the process, gain their lasting acceptance.
The idea that "I count for something," and "I hold worth" enters every nook of Toy Story 5, with a combination of good-natured humor and plenty of pathos. When Bonnie and Blaze do align, a friendship blooms, solidified by the toys, as opposed to consuming, tablet tech.
The need to cling to old friends, while making new ones (including Conan O'Brien's toilet-training Smarty Pants) is an important, common thread in the Pixar/Disney franchise, as well: a seasoned standard set by the Woody/Buzz/Andy dynamic. Perhaps this is why the stories are so identifiable, for who among us doesn't want to be loved, and who among us has, at one time or another, feared we might be replaced?
LilyPad presses this fear. The device isn't quite 2001's smooth-talkin' HAL, but employed for much the same sinister purpose. In a related sense, Lilypad represents an addictive crutch and with that, a blaring lack of intimacy, even while luring Bonnie with enticing excesses: a V'ger of sorts, flanked by vast, multiple facets, but in heart and soul, vapid. Nevertheless, unlike the Star Trek entity, Lilypad has no desire to find a creator or become something more, but then again ...
Jessie recognizes LilyPad's manipulative motive, which is why she wishes the toys to dominate, and they do, empowered by an army of high-tech Buzzes who join the fight against the conniving, electronic pad. Compromise, however, becomes the dangling solution, but it's how we arrive at that pivotal point that makes the trip worth while.
Even if Toy Story 5 wasn't a necessity, it strengthens the saga's ongoing stream, with an angle that's not only truthful, but in the end, as profound and touching as any prior chapter. I accept and respect that, and I'm confident fans of the series will come away with the same sentiment.
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