Blood Trackers: One Crazy Love Story

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Just as he does in all of his works, Tarantino fills the lives of his diverse menagerie of characters with his trademark blend of mundane pop-cultural dialogue and insane violence. In one exhilarating sequence, real-life stuntwoman Zoe Bell precariously hangs onto the hood of a speeding car in what is one of the greatest chase scenes in cinematic history. Deranged does get gross, its final moments revealing that, like so many films of its ilk, this could only happen in a godless universe, a universe in which there is no reason or purpose to evil.

Throughout it all, Blossom delivers a stomach-churning performance, his face a graveyard of shadows and terrible memories pushed to Jim-Carrey-like levels of elasticity, as inhuman as it is strictly corporeal. Maniac Year: Director: Franck Khalfoun. Maniac is a rather impressive reimagining of the exploitation horror film of the same name, an attempt to take some grindhouse material and redress it in a modern skin, equal parts shocking and thought-provoking.

Rather, the audience hears the running background noise of his madness as he mutters to himself and stalks his female victims. Cruising Year: Director: William Friedkin. Unpolished and self-congratulatory at times, one still has to admire its sheer chutzpah. If any of these films were going to be remade as an episode of Black Mirror in , it would probably be this one. Tenebrae Year: Director: Dario Argento. If you wrote an ultra-violet horror book, and if your ultra-violent horror book inspired a workaday psycho to go on their own ultra-violent killing spree, would you be put off or would you take it as a compliment?

You figure it out. As movie censors became slightly more relaxed in the s, Hitchcock was allowed to show more violence and even some nudity. An orphan with a superhuman sense of smell makes the startling discovery that he has no scent of his own, and his quest for the ultimate perfume takes a very dark turn. The perfumer Dustin Hoffman ultimately sends him to the perfume masters of Grasse, France, to learn enfleurage , the art of extracting essences by coating them with fat. He wants to distill and reproduce the essence of people , particularly beautiful virgins.

So naturally he goes on a rampage of murders to capture some personal scents. Directed by Tom Tykwer, the film received mixed responses from critics, with the general consensus that its excellent cinematography was undermined by a less-than-stellar script. However, any connoisseur of serial killer movies should have this one under their belt if purely for the unusual, and slightly magical, high concept.

Low-budget but gory and stylish in spades, I Am Not a Serial Killer is a film whose final act diverges from the expected narrative in ways that may be shocking, to say the least, but throughout it maintains a rock-solid grasp on its fundamental themes of emotion, family and predestination.

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Manhunter Year: Director: Michael Mann. Manhunter acts in much the same way, growing stronger the harder you stare into it.


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Along the way, anyone who gets close to the answer gets a meat cleaver to the head from a mysterious assailant in black leather gloves—except for those who die in much worse, more gruesome ways. Creep Year: Director: Patrick Brice. The found footage two-hander leans entirely on its performances, which are excellent, early back-and-forths between the pair crackling with a sort of awkward intensity. Blood and Black Lace is an absolutely gorgeous, sumptuous movie that is all the better to see on the big screen, if you can, featuring dramatic splashes of primary colors used to maximum impact.

The story is a blend of darkly comic murder mystery and titillation-tinged exploitation, featuring a gaggle of female models stalked by a mysterious assailant whose face is covered in an impenetrable stocking mask with blank features—a killer who looks for all intents and purposes like the DC Comics character The Question. Although many tried to ape its visuals, very few could match the decadence and the sense of luxurious and deadly excess that Bava captures in Blood and Black Lace.

This neo-noir exploration on guilt and obsession set the groundwork for films like Europa , with its tricky somnambulatory tone, and even films as far forward as Nymphomaniac , in which he returned to testing the limits of desire and destruction between men and women.

As influenced by Blade Runner as he is by Kafka, von Trier spins a classic tale of spiritual annihilation by way of imitation: Fisher uses a book called The Element of Crime to identify with the killer and, therefore, begins to see himself meld with the elusive culprit. Von Trier was button-pushing right out of the gate, his palette urine-painted and garish, and his obsessions provocative. With his first feature, the Danish director knowingly established himself as an incomparable enfant terrible. The Bad Seed is one of the most disturbing American portraits of pure psychopathy or sociopathy, coming from the least suspected of all sources: an 8-year-old girl.

The piercing eyes of little blonde, pigtailed Rhoda Patty McCormack are terrifying to behold, moreso once we begin to suspect what lays behind her facade. One can understand the squeamishness: Man Bites Dog unflinchingly portrays serial murder in its graphic banality, victims ranging from children to the elderly to a gang-raped woman whose corpse is later photographed with her entrails spilling all over the table on which she was violated, the perpetrators lying in drunken post-revelry, heaped on the floor.

Filmed as a mockumentary, Man Bites Dog goes to distressing lengths to portray the exigencies of murder as basely as possible, incorporating the reluctance of the crew filming such horrors to offer the audience a reflection of the ways they were probably reacting. But Man Bites Dog is more about the ways in which we consume a movie like Man Bites Dog , concerned less about the flagrant killing it indulges for laughs than it is the laughs themselves, implying that the real blame for such well-known horror falls at our feet, in which each day we take big, basic steps to normalize the violence and hate that constantly surrounds us.

Although he writhes within a Christopher Nolan-esque what-is-a-dream conundrum, Bateman is just all-around evil, blatantly expressing just how insane he is, unfortunately to uncaring or uncomprehending ears, because the world he lives in is just as wrong , if not moreso.

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Plus the drug-addled banker has a tendency to get creative with his kill weapons. Nail gun, anyone? The tension arises from the clash in styles between a detective from the countryside Song Kang-Ho , and his urban counterpart Kim Sang-Kyung dispatched to speed the investigation, which steadily derails amid blown opportunities and wrongful arrests. One uses his fists, the other forensics, and both serve as cultural archetypes whose actions play out against the backdrop of the mids military dictatorship.

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Strange as it sounds, Murder is also not without laughs, which are both coarse and piercing. The very air is infused with serenity. Recently, he admitted to not knowing exactly how he knows me. The shadow of the end looms ever larger. Now that we've left the stressors of New York City, I no longer rage at him. I still get up in the dark to work, but at sunrise, I feel light.

SMARTWATCHES

My husband has taught me what it really means to live in the moment. And each day he gives me a rare gift: He helps me figure out how I want to live without him. I never would have had the guts to try a new life on my own. Now, I realize how few caregivers have the desire or the means to run away from home.

Still, we all have the ability to take a moment of quiet time to listen to our needs. Alzheimer's Disease. Personal Takes. Refusing to hide the disease, then relocating to a less stressful environment, made a big difference in our experience. Please enter a valid email address.

Important: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and not Everyday Health. See More. Any opinions, advice, statements, services, advertisements, offers or other information or content expressed or made available through the Sites by third parties, including information providers, are those of the respective authors or distributors and not Everyday Health. I am not ashamed that I couldn't complete the grueling hour of exercise—I was actually flabbergasted that I made it through all but one of the circuits.

It's small enough to be unobtrusive, it's flexibly fashionable, and its long battery life means I can get a decent amount of wear before I forget to charge it. I now have cells upon cells of personal data recorded by that device—how many steps I took on a given day, how many miles I walked, how many hours I slept. It's a diary of sorts—a record of my life in numbers. But there's very little context for what I'm seeing.

Take heart rate, for example. After a year, I have a pretty good sense of what my basic resting heart rate is. But that big picture only emerges after a long time. In the short term, it means hardly anything.

In early December, I was caught up in a gun scare at a movie theater in downtown Manhattan it turned out to be a false alarm. I was wearing my Fitbit at the time. For me this was a harrowing ordeal—I was trampled by a panicked crowd, lost my shoes, and ran barefoot into the freezing winter night. But these events registered only as spikes of sporadically elevated heart rate. Because, again, I do this for a living, I remember checking my Fitbit mid-anxiety attack to see whether it could track the sudden change in my heart rate.

As I hyperventilated on the sidewalk, I was impressed to see it had reached bpm. Later at home, even though I could see my heart rate rapidly jumped from 70 to beats per minute, I found that it didn't even register as light exercise in the app.

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I know I had an anxiety attack only because I remember the date, time, and circumstance. I have no idea how this data was parsed by Fitbit's algorithm. As someone with clinical depression and generalized anxiety disorder, managing anxiety and panic attacks is a part of my life. Regarding tracking my overall health and data, it'd be useful if I could get insight as to when these attacks occurred.

That would give me a great incentive to stay on the wearable horse, so to speak. But unfortunately, insight into when these attacks might occur is not likely in the near term.

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