Halloween 2022: September 22nd

Mad God (2022)

Phil Tippett is a name I've been hearing a lot more, here of late. Not just because there's been an influx lately of documentaries about the golden age of practical special effects, of which Tippett was a key figure. And not solely because, in our age of stifling CGI smoothness, a lot of people have come to miss the hand-made miracles geniuses like Tippett pulled off. Mostly though, it's because this year saw Tippett release his second directorial feature, a surreal journey into stop-motion Hell called “Mad God.” (Making Tippett the first of the directors I covered for my No Encores feature to actually do an encore.) I think the story behind “Mad God” has already slipped into cult movie legend. How Tippett began production on the film while working on “RoboCop 2,” abandoned it after a while, was talked into picking it back up, and then slowly assembled the film with the help of student employees working on the weekends. The completed film finally emerged to the general public earlier this year. That “Mad God” was the work of an obsessed genius who took thirty years to bring it together is all-too-apparent in the final film.

“Mad God's” plot is vague but I'll do my best to give you the gist of it: In a seemingly post-apocalyptic world, a masked man known only as the Assassin descends in a diving bell into a hellish underworld. He travels through layers, both industrial and organic, witnessing horrors beyond comprehension. He's on a quest to deliver a bomb to a deeper level of this infernal place. He fails in this mission, at which point “Mad God” switches perspective to a religious order watching the planet's service, a disturbing group of surgeons digging through a corpse, and an otherworldly alchemist attempting to make magic out of the fleshy wastelands. And even this only describes a fraction of the sights you'll behold.

If Hell is real, I think "Mad God" is the first film to capture how it must look and feel. Every surface in Tippett's artificial, invented world is caked with filth. On the descent down into this underworld, our hero sees ruined cities and statues layered with dust. Soon, he comes into a world where sex and torture seem interchangeable. Depravity and violence is everywhere. At one point, the Assassin spies a vivisected monkey and a masturbating mannequin, covered in grime, in the same room. He turns away with little interest. In "Mad God," that represents a sight unworthy of comment. Enormous giants are electrocuted into defecating forever, which funnels into the mouth of an even larger entity. Monstrous creatures – whose bodies recall testicles, breasts, tumors, and who constantly muck-spread from their hippo-like anuses – hunt and kills any living thing that disobeys directives. Workers, who resembled faceless dolls woven out of animal hair, toil forever in industrial hellscapes. It all seems to be in service of a god-like entity, who is seen on a static-y monitor as nothing but a crazed, staring eye and speaks solely in baby babbles. In fact, most of the dialogue we hear in "Mad God" is made up of animal chattering, industrial squealing, incoherent noise, or quasi-Latin chants. 

Hell, in its most baseline form, is defined as a loveless world untouched by the light of God. That's the mood "Mad God" invokes. And yet, as fluid-stained and deviant as the ride is, it's not an altogether unpleasant one. In fact, "Mad God" is a moribund feast for the eyes. The intricacies of the visuals created here are spellbinding. Every inch of the film's world has something happening on it. There's not a corner of Tippett's creation that doesn't have a swirling servo, a turning gear, a pulsating heart or string of sinew in it. There's something interesting happening in every second of this film. As a stop-motion film, "Mad God" is an astonishing piece that argues for the unique attributes of the art form. That every character, setting, and background prop has a tactile quality that makes them feel unquestionably real is a massive benefit to the film. You could have made "Mad God" totally in CGI but it would have lacked most of what makes it special. The film's power is entirely in how it presents such gob-smacking sights, handmade horrors that are not beyond human imagination but instead sprung from a deep place within the subconscious. 

That "Mad God" is full of many unforgettable, unexplained sights means people will be discussing its meaning for years to come. Tippett litters the film with symbols and allusions. The opening minutes seemingly depict the destruction of the Tower of Babel, which is followed by a passage from Leviticus. Yet, as the title hints, any god ruling over this wretched place must be insane. In the bowels of the underworld, enslaved workers die gruesomely inside an industrial hell. Their deaths happen with such frequency that it's not worthy of pause. Indeed, when the workers fall into an enormous meat-grinder, their deaths seem part of the plan. This strikes me as a criticism of capitalism, where workers toil away in an inhuman system for the benefit of rulers gone mad from their own excess. Yet that's just one interpretation. Obviously, the story of a traveler descending through progressively deeper layers of a excrement-filled underworld recalls Dante. At one point, the film depicts bull-headed idols in an abandoned metropolis, seemingly remnant of a Moloch-like religious order. The peeks we get at the surface world suggest it's trapped in an unending, World War I-like conflict, presenting an anti-war reading.

As “Mad God” winds on, the film suggests its world is stuck in an unending cycle of destruction and creation. Indeed, another assassin is deployed after the first one's death. That's when Tippett's one-of-a-kind phantasm started to loose me. The film gets more recursive, showing visions within visions. Some live action actors appear. Alex Cox, with Coffin Joe-like fingernails, appears as a member of an obscure religious order. After the Assassin's death, there's a lengthy scene where the guts of the man are dug through. It's a metaphor for the movie itself, digging through filth for deeper meaning. Yet it goes on too long. The last third is largely devoted to a gnome-like alchemist, who resembles a star-nosed mole, going about his work. There are still amazing visuals. The interior of an Eden-like sanctuary is filled with bioluminescent creatures, an incredible sight. Yet it's just not as compelling as a trip down into Hell. 

Since Tippett figured a feature version would never be feasible, “Mad God” was initially planned as a series of short films. Through Kickstarter, three installments were made and those make up about half of the finished movie. Maybe that's what “Mad God” always should've been, considered it flags a little in its second half. Yet I simply can't deny that this is a one-of-a-kind film, a masterpiece of technical know-how and hand-crafted ingenuity. I watched it on Shudder but really wish I could've seen it on the biggest theater screen possible, where its infernal visuals could totally overwhelm me. I'm confident no film like “Mad God” will ever be made again and nothing quite like it, either in terms of content or scope, existed before. For these reasons alone, I have to give it the highest recommendation possible. The film is a horrific, dread-filled, darkly funny, deeply symbolic, and ultimately awe-inspiring work of true art. [9/10]

Bride of the Gorilla (1951)

It has been said that, in the fifties, every comic book with an ape on the cover sold better than non-ape festooned comics. This, I think, speaks to mankind's long-held fascination with monke. Our primate cousins are like us but not, causing everything they appear in to have an uncanny quality. Though often played for comedy, it's just as effective for horror. You see this in the countless horror films also about apes. “King Kong” is obviously the progenitor here and its themes of the exploitation of nature, and debatable racial sensitivity, resonated all through the following decades. “Bride of the Gorilla” may look like just another cheapie gorilla movie and, in many ways, it is. However, the film is also the directorial debut of famed horror screenwriter Curt Siodmak. That intrigued me enough to want to check it out this year.

Set deep within the Central American rainforest, “Bride of the Gorilla” centers on the Barney Chavez. A worker on a rubber plantation, Chavez lusts after Dina, the wife of his employer. He eventually kills the man and takes Dina – and his boss' property – for his own. Unbeknownst to Barney, the killing was seen by the witch doctor who lives near-by. She places a curse on the man, causing him to transform into the sukara, a gorilla-like monster of local legend. As Barney finds himself strangely drawn towards the jungle, and Dina is courted by another man, Police Commissioner Taro attempts to untangle the homicide and the strange circumstances around it.

While his directional work is considerable less distinguished – including what's, for my money, the worst Universal Monsters movie – Curt Siodmak had a hand in writing multiple classics. That includes “The Wolf Man,” which “Bride of the Gorilla” shares many themes with. Unlike innocent Larry Talbot, Barney Chavez is a beast of a man to begin with. His curse to turn into an ape merely further develops out the savage qualities he already can barely contain. Yet the psychological aspects of “The Wolf Man” are mirrored here. Barney fears he's going mad, seeing his hand grow hairy in the daylight. He spots a gorilla in his reflection, both fearing and embracing the change. This speaks to ideas of man's inherent ferocity, the idea that even a man who is pure at heart and says his prayers at night, can become a murderous animal under certain circumstances. And for someone not so pure, like Barney Chavez, living in the jungle as a monster seems appealing. 

Curt's brother was Robert Siodmak, famous for directing atmospheric film noirs, like “The Spiral Staircase.” While Curt can't match his sibling's propensity for cinematic darkness, “Bride” still looks a lot better than you'd expect a low-budget gorilla thriller to. The opening scene – which features Commissioner Taro doing some very film noir-like narration – is a pan through the ruined plantation, before the camera focuses on a downed ceiling fan. The film then cross-fades to Dina twirling while dancing, a nice touch. There's some good use of light and darkness, the shadows of tree branches crossing faces. The shots of a jungle at night, filled with cawing birds and hooting howler monkeys, provides some surprisingly effective ambiance. Countless jungle movies were made in the forties and fifties and Siodmak gets a lot more out of the setting than most. 

The other most obvious connection between “The Wolf Man” and “Bride of the Gorilla” is that it stars Lon Chaney Jr. The lead role was initially intended for Chaney but, supposedly due to his poor health, he played the detective instead. It's actually good performance for Lon, whose voice sounds unusually wise while intoning about his own history, the nature of man, or local legends. Raymond Burr instead plays Barney. Burr is fittingly burly and blustering as the mean-spirited man. Barbara Payton, looking gorgeous as Dina, is mostly stuck responding to the various men in the story but still manages to make a decent impression. The cast is strong enough to enliven a story that is often wrapped up in soap-ish elements. Like a revolving door of love interests or the complications of property rights. 

“Bride of the Gorilla” does not seem well liked, judging by the number of negative reviews online. I think the movie keeping the monster – which is just a mingy gorilla suit anyway – off-screen for most of the run time bugs people. (People also accuse it of racism, which is fair and comes with the jungle movie territory.) Yet the psychological elements of a story that is a little more subtle than I expected, along with some stylish direction and decent performances, managed to keep me compelled. By the way, unlike most of the werewolf mythology in “The Wolf Man,” the sukara was not invented by Siodmak. It's a Bigfoot-like cryptid from actual Central America lore, known under about a dozen different regional names. That's cool. [7/10]

Creepshow: The Last Tsuburaya / Okay, I'll Bite!

“Creepshow” finds balance in season three, episode three. “The Last Tsuburaya” is the final, unseen work by Ishido Tsuburaya, a famed ukiyo-e artist famous for his horrific paintings of monsters and demons. The painting is bought by rich asshole, Wade Cruise. After unveiling the art, he destroys it, to own the one-of-a-kind experience of seeing it. Afterwards, Cruise is haunted by the oni depicted in the painting. “Okay, I'll Bite” follows Elmer Strick, a pharmacist imprisoned for mercy-killing his mother. A cruel guard keeps the meek Strick in jail, to assist in his heroin operation. All Strick wants to do is play with his beloved pet spiders, which he names after goddesses. After one of the inmates is bit by a spider, the prison is to be fumigated. Knowing his friends will be killed, Strick sacrifices himself to his arachnid gods to get revenge.

After the overbearing shout-outs in the last episode, “The Last Tsuburaya” does homage correctly. Obviously, the cursed artist is named for beloved Japanese effects master, Eiji Tsuburaya. The segment's monster, with its guy-in-a-suit appearance but elaborate demonic visage, is clearly inspired by the tokusatsu genre. And it's a damn good suit too. Yet the story is pure E.C. Comics, devoted to an irredeemable shit-head facing a suitably ironic punishment brought about by his own actions. Brandon Quinn has the right balance of an asshole you hate and an asshole you enjoy watching be evil as Wade Cruise. Honestly, buying a priceless painting and immediately destroying it, just so you can be the only person to say you saw it, definitely seems like the kind of thing Jeff Bezos would do. Director Jeffrey F. January – previously of four “Walking Dead” episodes and a ton of second unit work – engineers some energetic action scenes and well-orchestrated scare sequences. It's good old fashion pulp and that's all I want from this show.

“Okay, I'll Bite!” comes from “Creepshow” veteran John Harrison, based on his own short story. Nicholas Massouh finds the nice balance between harmlessly weird and genuinely off-putting as Elmer. His love for his pet spiders convinces the audience so much that, when one gets squished, I actually gasped. Yet the episode still smartly exploits some natural arachnophobia, as a spider bite to the eye is a fittingly cringe-inducing moment. The premise of prison guards abusing the system to blackmail inmates into helping their criminal enterprises feels sadly true-to-life. The ending to this one is slightly anticlimactic, as the giant spider action happens mostly off-screen and is not the show's best special effect. The mythological angle probably could've been explored more, though this being one-half of an hour-long episode doesn't leave much room for that. Still, it's a fittingly creepy and gross installment. [The Last Tsuburaya: 7/10 / Okay, I'll Bite: 7/10]

Chucky: I Liked to be Hugged

“Chucky” continues to develop, and starts to cleave through, some of its storylines in its third episode. The murderous doll continues his attempts to talk Jake into becoming a killer, with the boy nearly deciding to murder mean-spirited bully Lexy. He can't bring himself to do it and Chucky steps up to the plate. Having already forged a relationship with Lexy's little sister, the doll sneaks into the rich kid's home just as she's throwing a party. That's when the violence begins, which quickly gets out of hand. Meanwhile, the police detective – also the mother of Devon, Jake's podcasting crush – begins to notice that people around Jake have a bad habit of dying. 

The emerging theme for “Chucky” seems to be the question of what makes a killer. The doll certainly sees a kindred spirit in Jake. An abused outsider fascinated with dismemberment seems like a prime candidate for a future serial killer. Jake comes close, stalking who he thinks is Lexy on a morning run while wielding a butcher knife. Later, the girl talks to him in a garage while he menacingly holds a billhook. Yet he just can't bring himself to do it. Later, Jake expresses disappointment in himself to both his parents' graves. It seems Chucky is another mentor he's let down. Charles Lee Ray, as we learn in the increasingly elaborate flashbacks, had murderous impulses from a young age. Some killers are made but Chucky was definitely born this way.

All the “Child's Play” films mine humor from the image of a doll killing full-grown adults. It's an ultimately silly idea and the best installments lean into that absurdity. The TV show is starting to do that too. Chucky's rampage at Lexy's party is only possible because all the teens are wearing headphones, for some reason. A stabbing that follows, which Chucky is amusingly nonchalant about, is underwhelming. Yet Lexy, still played with bitchy glee by Alyvia Alyn Lind, gets a fittingly elaborate send-off. As always, Brad Dourif's flippantly profane narration remains a highlight. “Chucky's” subplots have yet to win me over but I'm still enjoying the show. [7/10]