Rotten Horror Picture Show

This week on The Rotten Horror Picture Show Podcast, Clay and Amanda take on Death Becomes Her (1992)—the glossy, macabre comedy from Robert Zemeckis that turns vanity, immortality, and Hollywood rivalry into a deliciously twisted spectacle. Starring Meryl Streep, Goldie Hawn, and Bruce Willis, the film follows two women who discover a magical potion promising eternal youth… with some *very* visible side effects. Clay and Amanda break down the film’s ahead-of-its-time visual effects, its biting satire of beauty culture, and why it’s become such a beloved cult favorite over the years.

Now, I’ll be honest—I don’t really see what all the fuss is about. People losing their minds over staying young forever, spending fortunes on creams, potions, treatments… for what? I’ve been using cans of Krylon spray paint as makeup for *years*, and I look fantastic. Smooth, even coverage. Quick application. A nice, industrial sheen that really catches the light. You ever try “Glossy Almond”? Life-changing.

Sure, sometimes it flakes a little. And yes, once in a while I accidentally match my face to a patio chair. But overall? I’m holding up just fine. No need for some mysterious glowing elixir when I’ve got a perfectly good hardware store solution right in my garage.

So while Clay and Amanda are marveling at eternal youth, crumbling bodies, and necks twisting in ways they absolutely shouldn’t, I’ll be sitting here thinking, “You know, a quick touch-up coat would solve a lot of these problems.” Hole in your side? Spray it. Cracked skin? Spray it. Confidence issues? Definitely spray it.

Anyway, tune in for a lively discussion of Death Becomes Her. And remember: beauty is only skin deep… but a second coat never hurts.

And be sure to head over to Patreon.com/thepenskyfile to follow Clay and Amanda as they dive into horror franchise sequels, and don't miss out on the special Patreon-only episode recorded at the Stanley Hotel in June!

This week on The Rotten Horror Picture Show Podcast, Clay and Amanda revisit the sleek, anxiety-inducing franchise starter Final Destination (2000), the film that taught an entire generation that death doesn’t need a face—just a plan. Centered on a premonition of a catastrophic plane crash and the survivors who think they’ve cheated fate, the movie spins a clever web of inevitability, paranoia, and elaborate, Rube Goldberg-style demises. Clay and Amanda dig into what makes the concept so enduring, how it launched a long-running series, and why everyday objects have never felt quite as trustworthy since.

Now, I want to make something clear: I’m not afraid of flying. Turbulence? Fine. Takeoff? Thrilling. The idea that I might be part of some elaborate cosmic design where a loose carry-on bag leads to my doom? Manageable. What I am afraid of—what truly fills me with dread—is children on planes.

You know the ones. The seat-kickers. The tray-table slammers. The ones who discover, mid-flight, that their lungs are capable of sustained, high-pitched wailing for three straight hours. You can talk about Death’s grand design all you want, but try surviving a cross-country flight with a kid repeatedly asking “Are we there yet?” directly into your soul. That’s the real test.

So while Clay and Amanda break down the terrifying brilliance of Final Destination, I’m sitting here thinking: sure, avoiding a plane explosion is great, but what about avoiding Row 18, Seat B, next to a sugar-fueled toddler with a juice box and no concept of personal space?

Still, it’s a fantastic episode about a movie that redefined horror for the 2000s. Just remember—Death might be everywhere… but so are kids with sticky hands and unlimited energy. Choose your fear wisely.

And be sure to fly on over to patreon.com/thepenskyfile to follow Clay and Amanda as they cover a year of sequels, including Final Destination 2!

This week on The Rotten Horror Picture Show Podcast, Clay and Amanda dive into the twisted, candy-colored nightmare that is The Loved Ones (2009), the Australian horror gem that takes the idea of prom night and turns it into something deeply, deeply wrong. Directed by Sean Byrne, the film follows a teenage boy who makes the unfortunate mistake of turning down a classmate’s prom invitation—only to find himself at a very different kind of dance, complete with power tools, forced smiles, and a whole lot of family bonding gone off the rails. Clay and Amanda break down the film’s wild tonal shifts, its brutal sense of humor, and why it’s become such a beloved cult favorite among horror fans.

Now, I’ve gotta be honest with you—I never really got the whole “prom” thing. Everyone makes it sound like it’s the most important night of your life. You gotta rent a tux, find a date, learn how to dance, pose for awkward photos… it all sounds exhausting. Personally, I would’ve much rather stayed home. Maybe had dinner with the family, watched a movie, just kept things low-key and comfortable. No pressure, no drama.

Which, I suppose, is where The Loved Ones and I start to part ways.

Because in this movie, staying home with the family is… not exactly relaxing. It’s more like being kidnapped and forced into a nightmare version of prom in someone’s living room, with a father who’s way too supportive and decorations that suggest things have gone horribly, horribly wrong. Suddenly, the idea of a crowded gymnasium and bad DJ music doesn’t seem so bad.

Still, Clay and Amanda make a strong case for why The Loved Ones is worth the discomfort. It’s intense, it’s stylish, and it’s got a bite that lingers. Me? I’ll stick to dinner at home. Just… maybe not that home.

And don't forget to head over to patreon.com/thepenskyfile to follow Clay and Amanda down the muddy path of remakes and reboots too!"

This week on The Rotten Horror Picture Show Podcast, Clay and Amanda turn their attention to one of the most haunting and elegant horror films ever made: Eyes Without a Face (1960). The French classic from Georges Franju is a chilling blend of poetic beauty and surgical nightmare, telling the story of a brilliant but unhinged doctor determined to restore his daughter’s disfigured face—no matter the cost. Clay and Amanda dig into the film’s eerie atmosphere, its delicate balance of tenderness and terror, and the unforgettable imagery that has influenced decades of horror filmmakers. It’s a quiet, unsettling masterpiece that lingers long after the final frame.

Now, I’m sure it’s a wonderful film. Truly. I take Clay and Amanda at their word. But I do have to point out a small personal complication: I, uh… don’t have eyes. I have a face, mind you—perfectly good face, all things considered—but eyes? Not part of the package. So when I sat down to watch Eyes Without a Face, I quickly realized I might not be the target audience.

I tried, I really did. I listened closely. The footsteps, the dialogue, the unsettling music—it all sounded very atmospheric. I imagine there were some striking visuals happening as well. People often mention a mask? A very creepy mask? I’m sure it’s fantastic. I just… can’t confirm that personally.

Still, Clay and Amanda do an excellent job walking through the film for those of us who, for whatever reason, might not be able to see it. They describe the performances, the tone, and the infamous surgical sequences in vivid detail—which is both helpful and, frankly, a little distressing.

So if you’re blessed with eyes, definitely give this one a watch. And if you’re not? Well, good news—you’ve got Clay and Amanda to paint the picture for you.

And don't forget to follow Clay and Amanda as they dig in to a year of sequels on Patreon at patreon.com/thepenskyfile!

This week on The Rotten Horror Picture Show Podcast, Clay and Amanda travel into the haunting, melancholic world of Guillermo del Toro’s The Devil’s Backbone. Set during the final days of the Spanish Civil War, the film blends ghost story, historical tragedy, and gothic atmosphere into one of del Toro’s most emotionally powerful works. Clay and Amanda explore the film’s themes of memory, loss, and the lingering scars of violence, as well as its unforgettable imagery—from the lonely orphanage to the pale, sorrowful ghost of Santi drifting through dark hallways. It’s a beautiful, eerie meditation on how the past refuses to stay buried, and why del Toro remains one of horror’s most compassionate storytellers.

Which, frankly, is a perfect topic for how I’m feeling right now—because something tragic has happened here as well. I arrived late to what was supposed to be a lovely gathering. There was talk of paella. Real paella. Rice, saffron, seafood, maybe a little chorizo—warm, fragrant, glorious. A communal dish meant to be shared. I could practically taste it.

But when I got here? Gone. Completely gone. Vanished like a ghost in an old Spanish orphanage.

What remains in the bowl before me is not paella. It is not even food in the traditional sense. It is chip crumbs. A desolate little graveyard of tortilla chip fragments and dust. Someone scraped the bottom of the bowl and said, “Well, there’s still a little left,” which is the culinary equivalent of emotional betrayal.

So now I’m sitting here, hungry and betrayed, listening to Clay and Amanda discuss The Devil’s Backbone—a story about lingering sorrow, unfinished business, and ghosts that refuse to move on. And honestly? I relate. Because until the paella situation is resolved, I too will remain here… haunting this empty bowl.

And be sure to follow all the tasty coverage of horror sequels with Clay and Amanda this year on Patreon at patreon.com/thepenskyfile

This week on The Rotten Horror Picture Show Podcast, Clay and Amanda hit the gas with a discussion of Duel (1971), the lean, mean thriller that marked the feature debut of a young Steven Spielberg. Originally produced as a television movie, Duel was so effective, so tightly constructed, that it was later expanded and released theatrically—launching Spielberg’s career with a simple but terrifying premise: one man, one car, and one relentless, faceless truck driver who refuses to let him go. Clay and Amanda break down how Spielberg builds unbearable tension out of open highways, sparse dialogue, and pure cinematic momentum. It’s stripped-down suspense at its finest, proof that you don’t need aliens or sharks to make an audience squirm—just a road and something chasing you down it.

Now, personally? I don’t care for driving. Not because of road rage. Not because of reckless truckers. No, my grievance is far more tragic. The windshield. That thick, cruel pane of betrayal stands between me and what could be a veritable buffet of airborne delights. Do you know how many juicy, protein-packed bugs are out there on the highway? Countless. And what happens? Splat. Wasted. Perfectly good snacks smeared uselessly against the glass instead of landing directly where nature intended—right in my open mouth.

Watching Duel is especially frustrating for me. All that speeding down lonely desert roads, all that prime insect territory just zooming by untouched. Dennis Weaver’s character is busy worrying about a murderous truck, and I’m thinking, “Sir, do you realize the missed culinary opportunity here?”

Still, Clay and Amanda make a strong case for the film’s brilliance. They explore its minimalism, its craftsmanship, and how Spielberg transforms the mundane act of driving into a primal survival story. Me? I’ll be listening carefully—preferably with the window down. You never know what might fly in.

And don't forget to visit patreon.com/thepenskyfile to help support the show, and follow Clay and Amanda down the road of horror sequels this year!

This week on The Rotten Horror Picture Show Podcast, Clay and Amanda sink their teeth into one of the most intriguing and offbeat horror releases of the year: Sinners (2025), the blues-soaked vampire film that blends supernatural horror with Southern gothic vibes and music steeped in sweat, sorrow, and soul. They’re joined by special guest Wes from The Pensky File, who helps unpack the film’s bloodsucking mythology, musical backbone, and what happens when vampires stop lurking in castles and start haunting juke joints. Together, they dig into how Sinners uses blues music not just as atmosphere, but as the very lifeblood of its story.

Now, I’ll be honest with you—I’ve always been more of a Pat Boone guy. Clean-cut. Pleasant. Polite. Give me a nice, wholesome cover of a song originally written by someone who lived a little too hard, and I’m happy. The blues? It makes me nervous. Too much feeling. Too much raw emotion. Everyone sounds like they’ve been through something, and frankly, I’d rather not hear about it. Vampires singing the blues? That’s just piling intensity on top of intensity. Where’s the reassurance? Where’s the cardigan? Where’s Pat smiling gently and telling me everything’s going to be okay?

And yet… Clay, Amanda, and Wes make a compelling case. They talk about how Sinners taps into the haunted history of the blues, the way music and monstrosity intertwine, and how the film reimagines vampirism through cultural legacy instead of capes and coffins. It’s thoughtful, eerie, and apparently very cool—which I assume is true, even if I personally would’ve preferred a little less moaning guitar and a little more polite crooning.

So tune in for a rich discussion of Sinners. I’ll be over here, spinning my Pat Boone records and pretending everything is just fine.

And don't forget to head over to patreon.com/thepenskyfile to join Clay and Amanda as they take a deep dive into horror sequels!

This week on The Rotten Horror Picture Show Podcast, Clay and Amanda are creeping back to one of the most influential horror hits of the 21st century: Paranormal Activity (2009). The low-budget found-footage phenomenon changed the genre overnight, proving you didn’t need monsters, gore, or even much movement to terrify audiences—just a quiet house, a static camera, and the creeping feeling that something is very wrong at 3:00 a.m. Clay and Amanda break down why the film worked so well, how it built tension through silence and suggestion, and how it launched an entire franchise of late-night door-slamming terror.

Now, I should clarify something: due to my sensitive bladder, I have never actually seen a Paranormal Activity movie. Not because I’m afraid it’ll scare me into peeing my pants—please, I have dignity—but because being scared makes me thirsty. And when I get scared, I drink soda. Lots of soda. And when I drink soda, my bladder—delicate little thing that it is—starts filing formal complaints. Before you know it, I’m up and down every ten minutes, shuffling to the bathroom, missing all the good parts, and trying to remember if the demon showed up or if that was just the ice maker.

Found-footage movies are especially brutal for this. You leave the room for thirty seconds and suddenly everyone’s screaming, furniture’s flying, and you’ve missed the entire escalation. Clay and Amanda can sit there, calm as can be, analyzing subtle footsteps and shadowy door movements, while I’m stuck choosing between dehydration and narrative coherence.

So while they dig into the slow-burn brilliance of Paranormal Activity, I’ll be listening safely from a place of understanding. No jump scares, no soda, no bathroom trips. Because true horror isn’t demons—it’s realizing you’ve missed the scariest scene while washing your hands.

And don't forget to head over to patreon.com/thepenskyfile to join Clay and Amanda as they take a deep dive into horror sequels!

This week on The Rotten Horror Picture Show Podcast, Clay and Amanda are taking a trip into the strange, dreamlike world of Dario Argento’s 1985 cult oddity Phenomena. It’s one of Argento’s most notorious films from his wildly experimental ’80s era — full of surreal imagery, pulsing Goblin music, murder mysteries, and a young Jennifer Connelly wandering through the Swiss countryside. Clay and Amanda break down the film’s off-the-wall tone, its place in Argento’s career, and why Phenomena stands out even among the director’s already very weird filmography. It’s stylish, confusing, beautiful, and deeply unsettling in ways that only Argento could manage.

Now, I should probably admit something up front: I haven’t actually seen Phenomena. But I’m still excited! Why? Because I’ve been assured — by absolutely no one — that there are probably no bugs in it. And that’s important to me. Bugs and I do not get along. Spiders? No. Beetles? Absolutely not. Anything with too many legs or a weird crunch? I’m out. Horror movies already ask a lot of me emotionally — I don’t need ants crawling into my soul on top of it.

So I’m going into this episode feeling optimistic. An Argento movie without bugs sounds great! Just some light murder, some eerie atmosphere, maybe a monkey with a razor (that’s fine), but definitely no swarming insects, crawling larvae, or close-ups of mandibles clicking together. Clay and Amanda seem excited, which reassures me. They wouldn’t do that to me, right? They know my boundaries. Surely.

Anyway, if you’re a fan of Italian horror, surreal storytelling, or films that operate entirely on nightmare logic, this episode is for you. I’ll be listening too — cautiously, fingers crossed, telling myself everything is fine. And if at any point they mention insects, flies, maggots, or entomology in general? I will be screaming, throwing my headphones, and pretending this episode never happened. But until then, I’m happy. Ignorance is bliss.

And do forget to head over to patreon.com/thepenskyfile to follow along this year as Clay and Amanda do a deep dive on sequels!

This week on The Rotten Horror Picture Show Podcast, Clay and Amanda tackle one of the more controversial entries in modern holiday horror: the 2019 remake of Black Christmas. It’s a film that takes the bones of the 1974 slasher classic and retools them for a new generation, leaning hard into social commentary, glossy production, and a very different kind of menace lurking on a snow-covered college campus. Clay and Amanda break down what works, what doesn’t, how it compares to the original, and why this remake sparked so much debate among horror fans. It’s festive, furious, and definitely not your grandmother’s Christmas movie.

Speaking of festive… I’ve made a terrible mistake. A catastrophic, buttery, powdered-sugar-dusted mistake. I have eaten too many Christmas cookies. Snickerdoodles, sugar cookies, those weird ones shaped like wreaths that somehow taste like almond extract and regret. At first, it was fine. Cozy, even. I told myself, “It’s the holidays! Calories don’t count.” But now? Now Christmas dinner is looming, and I’m sitting here staring at a plate of gingerbread men like they personally betrayed me. What if I can’t eat the ham? What if the mashed potatoes mean nothing to me anymore? This is the real horror.

So I’m listening to Clay and Amanda talk about Black Christmas while clutching my stomach and questioning every decision I’ve made since December 1st. They’re discussing masked killers, secret societies, and whether the film earns its place in the franchise — and I’m wondering if I’ve ruined gravy for myself forever. Still, their conversation is sharp, thoughtful, and way more satisfying than my fourth cookie was.

Join Clay and Amanda for this holiday horror deep dive. And take it from me: pace yourself. There’s always another cookie… but Christmas dinner only comes once a year.

And don't forget to head over to patreon.com/thepenskyfile to follow Clay and Amanda as they wrap up their coverage of remakes and reboots, and join them in the new year for sequels!