This is an updated version of a review that was originally published in Bleeding Skull! A 1990s Trash-Horror Odyssey.
Todd Cook does not make movies for you. He does not make movies for me. He makes movies for himself. At one point he also made movies for his wife, Lisa, but they are now divorced. So really, Todd Cook writes, directs, produces, shoots, and edits film after film after film just for himself. He does not care what you think because, quite frankly, you don’t exist. It’s just him and his video camera and his ideas. Watching a Todd Cook production is really like watching a video diary. It captures him hanging out in the comfort of his own home, muttering to himself, doing chores, playing guitar, or doing goofy stunts because he’s bored. He always makes a point to show off what he treasures—horror movies, heavy metal, knives, Lisa’s bare chest. It’s less of a cohesive narrative and more of an extended show-and-tell session.
Horrorscope is an anthology where nothing happens, save for the occasional killing. Sometimes, it’s fascinating. But most of the time it’s tedious and mind-numbing, even on fast-forward. In “La Mort,” Cook blasts metal on his car stereo and bangs his head along to the shredding guitars and rapid-fire drums. Then he goes home and hangs out in his bedroom, which is really a way to show off his massive horror movie poster collection (Child’s Play 2, The Howling, Friday the 13th, etc.). He picks up his guitar and shreds. He wails. He scorches. He pounds. Then he stops. He throws down his guitar. “That sucked. Damn guitar. I need a new one, man.” The guitar is not the problem here, of course, but if Todd Cook wants a new guitar, he should absolutely get a new guitar. He deserves it. Then he picks up an acousticguitar and shreds on that. That’s right. He plays metal on an acoustic guitar, which is the least metal thing you can do. Your eyes love watching it, but your ears want nothing more than to die a quiet death. At some point Cook makes himself a drink—fruit punch, salsa, and Worcestershire sauce. He downs it, and then he ups it. He farts. He belches. He looks at an apple and says, “You remind me of my best friend.” There is the tiniest bit of plot in “La Mort,” but it’s unimportant. This short is quintessential Cook. It shows the essence of who he is as a filmmaker. It is fascinating and entertaining, but it requires patience, generosity, low expectations, and a love of cats.
So many of Todd Cook’s films only star himself and his ex-wife, Lisa, that it’s always a shock when other actors show up in his work. In “Mr. Nice Guy,” there are several other actors, and, in a surprising turn, Todd and Lisa don’t play the leads. A group of friends show up at a bar, and a nice guy invites them all back to his apartment to drink beer and party. Everyone drinks beer and parties. Then they drink beer and party some more. Truthfully, most of this short is about drinking beer and partying. But it turns out that the nice guy isn’t so nice. They never are.
In “The Dummy,” Lisa stumbles home drunk to find a box outside her front door. She brings it in, but doesn’t open it. In fact, she does almost everything but open the box. She takes off her clothes, changes into a nightgown, and wanders around the house. She opens drawers and closes drawers. She makes coffee. She uses the microwave. Eventually she does open the box to find a ventriloquist dummy. It has big eyes and mousy brown hair and a lifeless stare. Lisa shrugs and talks on the phone. Eventually the dummy comes to life and has murder on its mind. Unlike Demon Doll, the ventriloquist dummy does not come to life as Todd Cook. It remains a dummy and stalks Lisa around the house with a knife. Like “La Mort,” “The Dummy” is an exercise in patience. This is a short where nothing happens. Lisa shuffles about the house and the plot sputters and stalls. But “La Mort” showcases Todd’s personality—his interests and sense of humor—are all on display. In “The Dummy,” Lisa doesn’t showcase her passions or anything personal, though she does take off her top. The short lacks charisma and falls flat, and not even a killer dummy can revive it.
Whether you love or hate his films, Todd Cook is an unflappable, undeniable beast. He continues to create and produce films with no signs of stopping. He has a vision and even if that vision is a movie where he washes dishes and complains about vegetables, he brings it to life for all the masses to witness, for better or worse. But even if there were no masses to witness his work, he’d still be making films. He’s doing it for himself, and no one else.
