The Sculpture

This Italian art film from the bottom of the Tubi barrel is laugh out loud bad. I mean, laugh out loud Ed Wood bad. In fact, it actually kinda reminds me of an Ed Wood film, Glen or Glenda, as both feature main characters who become involved in transvestism.

The Sculpture's threadbare plot concerns a solitary sculptor who desires the ascetic spiritual life above all. . .but not quite to the point yet where is he willing to give up his comfortable rented country estate. . .which creates a big problem for him. . .because he’s months behind on the rent. Yup, he’s a poor starving greaseball artist. And he is constantly badgered by the landlord(?) (Maybe it’s the landlord, or maybe it’s some dude who just loves to taunt broke artists, it’s never clear from the script who the guy is). We see the sculptor working on the same little section of one sculpture over and over and over again, take threatening calls from the landlord/bully and in-home visits from the landlord/bully’s effeminate lackey who gently asks for money while making his desire to butt fuck the sculptor quite obvious, and practicing yoga—that’s about the first third of the film, shot in second rate de Chirico-vision (motionless, flat spaces in bright sunshine or interior light). Then, for some reason, a high end escort rents a room in the same estate as the sculptor. The escort, who has man hands and a nose as big as a door stop, wanders around the estate in her lingerie while lamenting the hollowness of her sex trade lifestyle. Eventually she and the sculptor become acquainted and discover each has something to teach the other: the sculptor can teach the escort all about yoga and the other spiritual shit she’s been seeking, and the escort can teach the sculptor how to become a transvestite prostitute so he can earn rent money.

The Sculpture offers plenty of mostly non-full-frontal nudity and the most lethargic sodomies ever filmed.

There’s very little dialogue. It’s mostly monotone voice-overs from the sculptor and the escort, droning on about their personal philosophies. Here’s a representative sample from each:

SCULPTOR: My statues are white, and do not have eyes to see. Sometimes I look at the world and decolorize it in fantasy. I imagine it faded or very desaturated. Sometimes I think of blood flowing, but I like to imagine it as clear as the water of a stream.

ESCORT: Always use a condom. Even when they only ask you for fellatio.

Oh, I almost forgot, here are the spoilers:

The sculptor dresses like a cheap whore and gets cornholed a couple times, then gets murdered by some homophobes. This makes the escort sad. The End.

(Un)Happy Ending

The old Stanford PhD/televangelist Gene Scott once said fornication is a piddling sin, and the typical Billy Graham-type pew warmers gasped.

The Georgia Asian sex worker massacre illustrates the finer point of Scott's maxim.

Robert Aaron Long, a self-proclaimed *sex addict* and a self-proclaimed *Christian,* was so overwhelmed by his flesh's reaction to the abundant female flesh daily life offered him, he went on a rampage, killing massage parlor sex workers.  He said he killed the good time girls because he wanted to save other poor souls from the same hellish temptations that bedeviled him.  This motivation doesn't stand much scrutiny, as obviously he removed nary a drop in our culture's bucket of sex workers and pornography.  Not one person Long wanted to save from a hand-job is now free of temptation or opportunity.  A truer explanation is that Long was so ashamed of his own fleshly weakness, he despised himself. . .yet lacking the selflessness to kill himself, he killed the sex workers as a blood sacrifice to atone for his sins.  Or he may have simply been unconsciously killing himself as he killed the massage girls he transferred his sins onto.  

And yet the exact motive of Long's orgy of death is not relevant when compared to the greater issue: why was Long so disgusted by his own erections?

Robert Aaron Long grew up in something called Crabapple First Baptist Church.  We understand Long is responsible for killing the Asian parlor girls.  We understand whatever role Crabapple played in deforming Long's character, Long always had the ability to NOT kill.  So we don't suggest Crabapple is culpable in the massage parlor deathgasm.  

There is an unforgivable sin.  But it is not homicide.

Long's family were faithful members of Crabapple First Baptist Church. . .and we are told the night before Long's sex mania climaxed in a stream of murder, Long was kicked out of his home by his parents because of his appetite for internet pornography.

Ask yourself the following:

Do you believe Long would have murdered those parlor girls if he hadn't been kicked out of his house?  If Long had been allowed to beat-off to whatever flavor of porn aroused him the most, and then wiped his flesh clean with a tissue while his spirit sunk in guilt and he cried I'll try to do better tomorrow, Lord, would those Asian rub-and-tuggers still be alive? 

Crabapple First Baptist did not kill those women.  Long's parents did not kill those women.  Robert Aaron Long killed those women.

But there is an unforgivable sin.  And it is not homicide.

It is evident Long had a character deformation.  He was over-interested in sexuality.  This is not to say sexual sin does not have consequences.  Disease, broken families, acts of violence, abortion.  I have no doubt the average pew-warmer will think I am downplaying sins of the flesh.  But I find it troubling a 21-year-old was so distressed by his own flesh he would kill and kill and kill again.

It's not unreasonable to believe Long's doctrine of unforgivable sexuality came from his parents and Crabapple First Baptist.

I say this because Long's parents kicked him out of the house for beating off to internet porn.

Kicked out of the house for beating off to porn.  

The scribes and Pharisees brought unto Him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst, they say unto Him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest Thou? This they said, tempting Him, that they might have to accuse Him. But Jesus stooped down, and with His finger wrote on the ground, as though He heard them not. So when they continued asking Him, He lifted up Himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her. And again He stooped down, and wrote on the ground. And they which heard it, being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last: and Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst. When Jesus had lifted up Himself, and saw none but the woman, He said unto her, Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee? She said, No man, Lord. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.

If the parents of Robert Aaron Long aren't today convicted by their own conscience, their eternal souls may well be in more danger than their son's.

The pew-warmers may say, but his parents may have forgiven their son a hundred times for beating off to computer porn, but they finally reached the breaking point, and had to take more drastic action.

Then came Peter to Him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven.

His parents were fed up with him beating off, and threw him out???

LOL!

Let me say this about myself: I pray God never get fed up with my sin, and kick me out of His house.  I fuck up constantly, minute by minute.  Apparently not so for Robert Aaron Long's parents.

And then we have the following from Crabapple First Baptist:

Robert's unthinkable and egregious murders directly contradict his own confession of faith in Jesus and the gospel.  We want to be clear that this extreme and wicked act is nothing less than rebellion against our Holy God and His Word. We can no longer affirm that he is truly a regenerate believer in Jesus Christ. As a result we have begun a disciplinary process aimed at removing him from the congregation.

I can only speculate on how many tedious anti-porn sermons Robert Aaron Long must have listened to.  Maybe none.  Maybe Long's sexual bipolarity sprung entirely from his own soul.  I doubt it.  He probably got more than an earful of the typical baptist fire-and-brimstone porn preaching.  Maybe he heard the preacher's words ringing in his ears every time he finished jacking off to internet porn clips, until it all felt so hopeless, somebody's death was the only answer.  

Until you got a church that is real enough to say every Sunday morning to its congregation who's so fucking horny they're about to lose their mind, the rest of it is useless.  Tiresome noise.  You can't just say porn is bad, don't beat off.  For crying out loud, these problems have existed since Eden.  There was porn before there was porn.  Whatever sexual desire a person has, some other real person or object or animal is gonna inflame that desire.  There was no internet porn when Paul wrote it's better to marry than to burn.  People want to fuck.  It's not the end of the world.  In fact, if people didn't want to fuck, it would be the end of the world.  At least, the human world.  

A lot of people have real trouble with their desires, but until the church addresses this problem in a serious fashion, without all the absurd shame and hysteria, it will be preaching in the wind.  

You got these Q imbeciles now crawling through the church, acting shocked Bill Clinton or Woody Allen wants to fuck a 13 year old girl and believing Donald Trump will rid the world of this evil. LOL!  That's the level the church is at.  No wonder it is a colossal failure, a useless, fruitless force.  

Until you get preachers at the pulpit who can say, look, is there anybody in this congregation that wants to fuck their neighbor's daughter?  You've come to the right place.  God has said there is a way of escape.  

You got to let people be open about the shit inside them.  If they have to hide, the shit inside them will eventually explode into a mess like you had with Robert Aaron Long.

His parents and his church just couldn't tolerate Long beating off alone in his room.  Long couldn't walk into church Sunday morning, every Sunday morning from now until Kingdom come, if need be, and say, yup, I fucked up again and jerked off to computer porn, but I still believe there is an escape, and the pastor and his parents say God bless you, boy, then the church is useless.  Worse than useless. 

I don't blame Crabapple First Baptist and Long's parents for the murders.  

But there is an unforgivable sin.  And it is not homicide.

In Robert Aaron Long's moments of need, his parents and church denied the power of the Holy Spirit and have abandoned him.  They could not watch one hour of porn with him.  And they can not stand with him now that he is a murderer.  The church leader now takes for himself the authority of Christ and declares Long is not a *regenerate believer!*  LOL! 

Hey, pal, it's not your fucking job to decide who is and who is not a True  Believer.  That's Christ's job.  Your fucking job is open your fucking door to whoever crosses it and do whatever the fuck you have to do to meet God's will.  You don't set any fucking timeline or tell anybody how many fucking chances they get.  You start over every fucking day until you die or He returns.  God damned absurd that some fucking wanker had no place to go with his lust except to the gun store!  God damned failure of a church! 

And so yes, fornication is a piddling sin compared to a pile of dead bodies and a pile of useless fucking church eaters.

Sell Your Van Gogh Now

I was gonna start this by predicting in a hundred years you could buy Van Gogh's Night Cafe for a hundred bucks. . .then I stopped and thought about it for a minute.

First, there won't be a hundred bucks in a hundred years.  There will be a hundred Bitcoins or Pokecoins or whatever the cryptocurrency of the day is.  I don't know what cryptocurrency is.  Apparently you can somehow *mine* the shit on a computer by doing some really complicated equation or something.  I don't know how it works. It's money out of thin air, just like our current fiat dollar, so in that regard, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

But anyways. . .even if somebody had a hundred Bitcoins in a hundred years, they wouldn't buy a Van Gogh, because it will be worthless.

Something or somebody called *Beeple* just sold a digital art work (glorified JPG) for 69 million old fashioned dollars. . .

These digital art works are also called NFTs, Non-Fungible Tokens.  I don't know what that shit is, either.  It has something to do with how the digital item is stored on a blockchain, which also I don't know what the fuck that is.

But anyways, this is the wave of the future because it follows two irreversible trends of humanity:

Obesity and stupidity.

I'm not saying this to shit-talk *Beeple's* JPG.  There are some amusing images in it.  But Hell, let's be real, a software program did most of *Beeple's* heavy lifting. Hitler's watercolors have more authentic human artistic merit. . .

But it don't matter. . .

*Beeple's* little pixels are amusing to look at and can be carried on your phone so you can easily show it off shoving it in your friend's face.  And you won't have to drag ass to a museum and actually walk down long corridors to look at some picture you can't fucking understand.  Imagine the human fat-ass in a hundred years huffing and puffing through the Louvre, only to arrive dead-ass exhausted at the Mona Lisa and scratching its head wondering, why, it don't even look like an attractive tranny, even if you tried to Jap anime porn it up by putting a big cock on it.

No.  Humans will be too stupid, too fat.  Museums are dead.

Physical art work is dead.

Some fat-ass in a hundred years is gonna want to haul his lard butt off his gamer chair and try to lift a canvas with an image he can't comprehend to the wall and hang it on a nail?  When they can just pull out their smartphone (or blink their digi-eyelid) and look at this:

Yeah.  This *Nyan Cat* GIF just sold for 300 Ether, some other fucking kind of cryptocurrency which they call, apparently, *gas??*  Anyway, that's worth about six hundred thousand old fashioned dollars.

Human beings are in physical and mental decline.  Art is trending back to the level of sophistication last seen in cave drawings.

I mean really, is there that much difference from the *Nyan Cat* and this cave wall panther drawing from about four thousand years ago?

So, yeah, if you own a Van Gogh, sell it now.  It will be worthless in a hundred years.  In less than a hundred years. Probably less than fifty years.

Beyond The Door

It’s safe to say Juliet Mills, who played the wholesome limey nanny of the 1970 ABC sitcom Nanny And The Professor, never kissed any of her three adolescent charges in that show the way she kisses her character Jessica’s son in Beyond The Door:

Beyond The Door is a 1975 Italian horror movie. . .so, yeah, it looks and sounds cheap, has the type of *huh?* script that invites the viewer to question it in nearly scene (example: Jessica, her husband and two pre-teen children live in a posh San Francisco apartment, and the Satanic attack they endure provokes such NOISE, furniture and other objects crashing around in rooms shaking with earthquake force, ear-splitting demonic laughter, children wailing, husband and wife screaming. . .but none of the neighbors ever bother to step out into the hallway to see what the fuck is going on in the madhouse that has become apartment 1508, or to ask them if they could tell Satan to please keep it down a little, people are trying to sleep and have to go to work in the morning!), poorly dubbed and poorly culturally translated (example: the greaseballs who made this flick try to capture ‘70s SanFran Americana by having Jessica’s 10 year old daughter speak in an absurdly foul-mouthed Manson-girl hippie-ese).

The film is an obvious rip-off of both Rosemary’s Baby and The Exorcist, the convoluted plot as follows: Jessica is taken to a Satanic ceremony where she watches a nude girl writhe on an altar while listening to the whispers of the mysterious Dimitri, who we later learn has sold his soul to Satan. Jessica, sadly for the audience, runs away before being raped. Years later Jessica is living happily in San Francisco with her milquetoast husband and two brat kids when she learns she is pregnant. The pregnancy proceeds at hyper-speed with hyper-pain, which alarms Jessica’s doctor. . .but, not so much. Anyway, the baby, surprise!, is Satan’s, and Satan tells Dimitri if he goes to Frisco and makes sure the baby is born, he will extend his life. Why would powerful Satan need Dimitri’s help? It turns out he don’t, he just wants to fuck with Dimitri one last time before taking his soul.  Hey, Satan wants to have a few kicks, too!  Meanwhile, Jessica suffers all sorts of Linda Blair-type indignities while carrying Satan’s child. And. . .that’s pretty much it.

Yet despite the film’s ample limitations, I liked it back in 1975 when I first saw it, and I liked it last night when I watched it again for the first time in 46 years on Shudder. The film has a couple original creepy effects and enough random bizarre moments (Jessica’s simpering husband is hounded by a demonic trio of negro San Francisco street musicians, Jessica’s son gobbles green pea soup straight from the can, her daughter carries around multiple copies of Erich Segal’s Love Story) and interesting experimental shots and abrupt cuts to keep it in the mildly amusing *good* bad horror movie category.

And yet the highlight remains, at least for the boomer crowd, seeing Juliet Mills (looking like a proto Kirsten Dunst) playing a projectile vomiting whore of Satan. I watched Mills as the goody-goody Nanny when I was ten, and then at age 15 I see her floating in the air, face disfigured, legs spread-eagle, begging Dimitri to reach up and rip Satan’s baby from her snatch?? Pretty trippy back then, and throwback trippy, now! 

The GameStop Madness

I've always been of the opinion the *stock market* has no relation to the *real economy,* the real economy being the paycheck-to-paycheck monetary existence of the tens and tens of millions of us chumps chained in wage slavery, us chumps who trade 40 or more hours a week of our lives at twenty bucks or less an hour.  Us chumps, to sum it up brief, who know the price of a Little Caesars pizza or a gallon of gas.

The *stock market* is a dump for the rich.  The rich dump the loot they steal from us chumps (example: the chump has to buy a shitty used car to drive to his shitty job, and the rich offers him a piece of shit that he can't buy without financing, so the piece of shit which is price-tagged at $7500 actually ends up costing an additional 3.9% or whatever).  The rich toss this loot in the dump, turn it into a company with a fancy name, then trade it back it and forth among themselves, giving each other *earnings,* which is what they call the money they create out of the thin air through which they play catch with each other's gold. 

The rich get richer and richer off this usurious Ponzi scheme until it collapses, with whatever small loss on their huge gains they incur written off to their additional benefit on their crooked tax returns, and then they turn right back around and start it all over again. . .

But in the last couple weeks, the *stock market* has actually reflected the *real economy.*  The reddit wallsreetbets GameStop madness, in which the rich got sloppy with their *short* usury and didn't buy way too much of a worthless GameStop stock they pretended they were going to buy, and got put in a David-and-Goliath squeeze by some reddit nerds, with the result that the GameStop stock became an albatross around the necks of some of the rich, and a goose laying golden eggs for a few reddit nerds (if you want all the technical details of this nonsense, read this) became a sad sign of the times.

By the time the average poor chump heard of the GameStop squeeze and rushed to wallstreetbets to find out how to make some EZ money, the Game had already Stopped.  The $4 stock had almost hit $500, and was starting to slide back down when a rampaging mob of chumps tried to join the party.  Unfortunately, when the chump mob hit wallstreetbets, they encountered false prophecy after false prophecy predicting that GameStop was headed for another squeeze, and the stock would shoot back up past $500, then to $1000, $5000, $10000.  The chump mob was convinced a $4 stock priced at $300 was still a *ticket to the moon!*  Convinced?  No.  Not unless you believe half-a-dozen rocket emojis at the end of a day(trader)dreamer's fantasy is convincing.  

No, the chump mob wasn't convinced, it was inculcated. . .

Ha, the chump mob saw Satan fall like lightning, and became initiates into the cult of usury, imagining they, too, could use the same magic as the rich, and transform into the rich. . .

So the wallstreebets GameStop madness must surely be a sign of the times, and a true reflection of the *real economy,* for only a mob of chumps driven nearly senseless by the unrelenting hopelessness of the *real economy* could latch on to such a desperate, mad belief.  

Can you imagine the defeat, the impossibility of realizing a dignified income, the futility of paying your masters, that would provoke a mob of chumps to scrape and scratch, to beg, borrow or steal for one single $300 share of a dangerously combustible stock of GameStop in the hope it would turn into $5000 or $10000 in a couple day's time?  What kind of *real economy* produces such madness?  Only a broken economy, a economy beyond fix, an economy that may only be a $1200 stimulus check away from complete collapse.

It's an economy of great divide, the chasm now between the vast poor and the few rich so great, only a GameStop rainbow could bridge it. . .

No Faith

14 January 2020: As lawmakers prepared to impeach Donald Trump for inciting a mob to attack the Capitol and D.C. readied for Joe Biden's inauguration, Cliff Dyrud wasn't focused on man-made actions. He was listening for the words of prophets. Five years ago, a prophetess Dyrud follows said she'd gotten a message that Donald Trump would be president and save Christian America. Trump would be "as fearless as a lion being robbed of its cubs," and cause the "tall and lofty mountains" of establishment types to fall, her prophesy went. And Dyrud, a 73-year-old missionary, saw her words come true. So last week, he brought his "Appeal to Heaven" flag from Fargo to D.C., and marched with thousands of other Christians: Christians who, like him, believe another dimension - high above the news frenzy - is in charge, a supernatural one where God reigns, and where Donald Trump has very clearly already been prophesied to serve a second term.

"Anyone who think this ends tonight is totally mistaken ... you are still the president and we need you to stay on the front lines, sir," prophet Mario Bramnick, one of Trump's faith advisors, said Jan. 7. "We thank God for exposing and foiling all the plans of the enemy set against him. We affirm his lawful election and pray for four more years with Donald Trump as our President!" the 24/7 National Strategic Prayer Call, a 10,000-member Arkansas-based ministry that hosts weekly live prayer calls,told its listeners Monday.

"What's different from the past [of apostolic, charismatic Christianity] is it's just so wound up with the person and presidency of Trump," says Peter Montgomery, who has studied and written about right-wing religious movements for decades. "Many of these prophetic leaders in 2015-2016 said Trump was anointed by God, divinely assigned to save America and protect religious freedom. And now with them believing that Trump is standing in the way of Christianity being criminalized in the United States, this is an existential moment."

Dyrud says he was not at the Capitol when the riot took place, and is doubts the mob was made up of Trump supporters. He has been active in Tea Party events, and said he's very concerned that what he sees as an overzealous government reaction to the coronavirus that "took people's rights to businesses and jobs." He believes in Q-like prophesies that there is a large, hidden cabal of people who want America to be subsumed into a global system of government. To him, persecuting Christians is an obvious part of this plan.

With Trump's future in doubt, prophets and their believers Wednesday were working hard to discern God's will in the events this month - and to look for the next prophesy. A couple have apologized for wrong predictions (though "it doesn't make me a false prophet," said Kris Vellotton, senior associate leader of the massive prophetic church Bethel, in Redding, Calif.) By Monday, Wallnau was urging followers to focus on true prophesies and disregard conspiracy theories making the rounds on prophetic sites - such as one about Trump being about to declare martial law, or another about how major social media sites are about to go black. In December, Wallnau said on a prayer call that God would "overturn" the election because Trump's "assignment" from God has not yet been completed. Later that month, in a video on his Facebook page, he said Sen. Mitch McConnell (R-Ky.) congratulating Biden on his victory was just another example of the deep state that Trump was sent to fight. Now, Wallnau said Monday, the prophetic word he's now hearing is "enlargement." How God is just about to "enlarge his sphere on Earth." As far as the false predictions, he asked: "Why is it our people are so vulnerable to this stuff?"

Well, that is an easy question to answer. . .

The people do not have the faith of Jesus Christ.

People who lack faith seek *signs and wonders.*

Two thousand years ago, the *religious,* standing right next to the Lord Jesus Christ, hearing His words, seeing His ministry of service, could not recognize His absolute authority, and lacking faith, pestered Jesus for *signs and wonders:*

The Pharisees also with the Sadducees came, and tempting desired Him that He would shew them a sign from heaven. He answered and said unto them, When it is evening, ye say, It will be fair weather: for the sky is red. And in the morning, It will be foul weather to day: for the sky is red and lowering. O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times? A wicked and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign; and there shall no sign be given unto it, but the sign of the prophet Jonas. And He left them, and departed.

Today's MAGA *religious* are the same.  They have no faith.  They need heretics, deceivers, charlatans to tell them God is here in the person of Donald Trump to save them, they saw his election in 2016 as a confirmatory sign, and what they imagine to be faith, they placed in Trump, and of course now they cannot accept Trump's defeat, which would expose their own duping, and force them to acknowledge their worship of a cheap idol.  An idol so crude, so false, even the heathen were able to discern his worthlessness.

Yes, the godless abortion lovers and sodomites were right, and they, the elect bride of Trump, were wrong!  

When Trump is out of the White House, we can imagine some of the MAGA *religious* abandoning the cult of Trump, they will see that as a *sign!*. . .and will promptly begin looking for the next false Christ.  Have no fear for them, for God will send them a strong delusion, to confirm their damnation.

Others of the MAGA cult will continue to profess the anointing of Trump, and will wander their spiritual desert eternally lost, insisting, as they do at this very moment, Trump will be returned to the Throne of God (which they blaspheme by placing it in the White House. That is their abomination of desolation).  False prophets will tell them the military will arrest Biden and restore Trump, or he will be re-elected in 2024, or any of a number of absurd fantasies.  They will await the second Presidency of their savior Trump as a sick, hellish inversion of the true faithful's waiting for the return of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Ha! These faithless seekers of signs and wonders, with their love and worship of the MAGA myth, fulfill the last words of the Apostle Paul:

For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts shall they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears; And they shall turn away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned unto fables.

Becky

Despite a plot that makes QAnon’s Storm seem believable, Becky is a mostly enjoyable revenge/gore flick due to the energetic performance of the kid actress who plays the titular character.  A group of neo-Nazis escape from prison, then head to a vacation home nestled in the woods in search of a key that will unlock something (the viewer is never told what) that will make all their skinhead dreams come true.  The house is inhabited by a newly formed interracial couple with two kids, one of them being thirteen-year-old Becky, who still grieves for her recently deceased mother, and alternates between sullen silence and explosive rage over her father’s many failings, and impending black step-mother and step-brother.  While brooding away from the others in a nearby tree house, Becky just so happens to find the key shortly before the arrival of the neo-Nazis.  This sets off the increasingly illogical torture/revenge plot which leaves Becky as the only member of the unBrady interracial Bunch capable of fighting the skinheads.  Hellbent on taking out all her pent-up rage on the Aryan gang, Becky discovers her inner Hit Girl. With a native instinct and quirky flair (she chooses a chipmunk hat for her battle helmet) for combat, and armed with a wooden ruler, colored pencils, zip line, Nerf Super Soaker and lawnmower, Becky manages to more than hold her own against the bad white guys.  The kid actress who plays Becky is named Lulu Wilson, and her live wire performance as the angsty/angry adolescent gives the film enough juice, along with a couple imaginative gore set pieces, to overcome the silly plot and the rest of the cast’s inept performances, chief of which is Kevin James as the neo-Nazi ringleader.  The flabby James is about as menacing a Nazi as those from Hogan’s Heroes. Movie Formula: Last Tree House On The Left ÷ Kick-Ass.