Last October, the Living Dead Museum in Pittsburgh – one of several organization devoted to the late, great George Romero's career – uncovered something special. It was a 16mm print of the director's cut of Romero's 1976 classic, “Martin.” Running over three hours and completely in black-and-white, it's probably the biggest holy grail for Romero's fans. Honestly, I doubted such a thing even existed. One presumes that this print will be shared with the folks currently working on a 4K Blu-Ray release of the film. It's really needed too. I have the long out-of-print DVD, which is pretty grainy. The film isn't streaming anywhere either. Until that new release, “Martin” is one of those films that has slipped through the cracks. Which is a disservice to one of the director's best movies.
Martin arrives in Pittsburgh via train, to move in with Cuda, a strictly religious and elderly cousin. Cuda accuses Martin of being “nosferatu,” of carrying a vampiric family curse. Martin believes himself to be a vampire too. He doesn't have fangs, slitting his victim's wrists with razor blades and lapping up their blood. He doesn't have hypnotic powers, forced to sedate women with drugs instead. Yet he still claims to be in his eighties, despite looking like a teenager. Martin attempts to fit into the city, dealing with his uncle's hysteria, forming a bond with a lonely housewife, and sating his hunger for blood at night.
Romero keeps the question of whether Martin is actually a vampire or not ambiguous. He claims to be in his eighties. All throughout the film, he has these black-and-white visions of life in a past time, doing his bloodsucking business in more a traditionally gothic setting. Yet it's easy to intuit that these are fantasies, because they are so idealized. He can easily lure the maiden into his arms in these dreams, when he has to drug her in real life. Martin isn't an immortal vampire. He's a disaffected kid. John Amplas plays him as so quiet that he barely speaks throughout the film. He's a misfit everywhere he goes, off-putting everyone who gets close to him. He uses his vampiric activities to fulfil his sexual needs, raping his drugged victims before killing them. When he talks about his bloodlust, he sounds more like a junkie than a vampire. He gets “edgy” when he goes too long without feeding.
Like most of Romero's seventies movies, “Martin” is slow paced. While something like “Season of the Witch” or “There's Always Vanilla” could be glacial, “Martin” lulls the viewer into a trance-like state from its first scene. The film frequently adopts a dream-like atmosphere, most apparent in Donald Rubinstein's ethereal soundtrack. This is further enhanced by the frequent conversations Martin has with a call-in radio talk show host, which often play in voiceover. The dreamy state is punctuated by more intense moment, such as Martin being surprised when a chosen victim has a man with her. The scrambling that follows is bleakly suspenseful, as we wonder if he'll get away with it. This was Romero's first collaboration with Tom Savini, who provides some memorable splatter in the last third. A huge burst of red takes the movie out on a hell of a memorable note.
In retrospect, it seems like such a weird idea. None of the “Pumpkinhead” movies had been especially profitable. The original just barely broke even in the theaters. The second one came out during the peak years for direct-to-video sequels but apparently didn't do well enough to prompt a third film at the time. Yet clearly someone thought there was more blood to be squeezed from the “Pumpkinhead” stone in the 2000s. The third and fourth films would be shot back-to-back, coming out mere months apart from each other. I can only speculate on how these two did, as far as TV ratings and DVD sales go, but it's notable no further films would follow. But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. What about “Pumpkinhead 4: Blood Feud?”
“Blood Feud” is ostensibly set in the modern day, or at least after the original “Pumpkinhead,” as it references the events of that film. Yet it's also about the Hatfields and the McCoys. As in the famous feuding hillbilly broods of the late 1800s. The animosity has existed between the two secluded families for years now. Yet Jody Hatfield and Ricky McCoy have still managed to fall in love. Ricky's younger sister Sara watches out for the couple as they meet up. That's when some Hatfields attempt to assault Sara, accidentally leading to her death. Torn apart by grief, Ricky seeks out Haggis the witch and Pumpkinhead is summoned once again. Jody soon sees her family torn apart by the actions of her lover.
Unfortunately, “Blood Feud” really drags whenever the demon isn't on-screen. The conflict between the two families is not horribly interesting. The origins of the feud are explained in a few scenes, yet it still seems like these two oversized gangs are just pissed at each other for stupid reasons. Outside of Jody and Ricky, none of these hillbillies are developed all that much. They are mostly regressive, redneck stereotypes that aren't especially distinctive or memorable. The arguing and fighting between the two families takes up a lot of screen time here, frequently pushing the monster off-screen. It's hard to think about this as anything but a budgetary decision. Hillbillies yelling at each other, and arguing about a decades old grudge, is a lot cheaper than a towering vengeance demon
Lance Henriksen, for the record, has had unkind things to say about the two “Pumpkinhead” sequels he appeared. He seems to genuinely regret doing them, calling them “alimony movies” and disparaging them repeatedly. Honestly, I think they both could've been a lot worst. At least the creature effects are decent. “Blood Feud” is much weaker than “Ashes to Ashes” but both rank closer to mediocre than the full-on atrocities Henriksen thinks they are. More recently, Paramount has been developing a reboot of the series. Which might not be the worst idea. “Pumpkinhead” still has a lot of potential, which none of the sequels did much with. As of now, it's one good film, a schlocky but fun follow-up, and two mediocre cast-offs. [5/10]
I was impressed with the previous episode of “Creeped Out,” a British horror anthology for kids that gained wider exposure after appearing on Netflix, I watched. Season two episode “Kindlesticks” intrigued me because “Pontypool's” Bruce McDonald directed it. Esme is a babysitter who delights in frightening the kids she's paid to watch. She usually talks Josh, the boy she likes, into pretending to be a monster that scares the kids up to bed. When paid to watch a boy named Ashley, Esme expects another ordinary night. Yet Ashley proves harder to scare than most. He claims his imaginary friend, Kindlesticks, is unamused by Esme's antics. At first, the girl assumes the kid is pretending. Soon, she discovers that Kindlesticks is very real and very upset with her.
Sad to say, “Kindlesticks” is a lot preachier than “The Many Places.” The moral here is clear and repeatedly stated: Treated others with respect, especially when you're being paid to do a job. Esme is a manipulator, putting on a happy face for the parents and scarring the kids into doing what she wants. Yet she can't seem to get anywhere with Josh, who is oblivious to her advances. Ashley, meanwhile, is impervious to her tactics. Once Kindlesticks makes his presence known, the girl is repeatedly humiliated. She's shown pictures of the kids she's traumatized. She's forced to confess the motivation behind her actions. It's a little too spelled out for my taste.
Before he was probably the most respected and influential cult filmmaker of our time, John Carpenter was merely a film student at the University of Southern California. The very first movie he would make is “Captain Voyeur.” The brief, seven minute short follows an office drone in a computer building. He is fascinated with a co-worker of his. At night, he goes home and slips on a mask, becoming Captain Voyeur. He sneaks around, spying in the homes of his neighbors, getting much more than he anticipated.
From a technical perspective, “Captain Voyeur” is pretty rough. There's no synced sound or music. Long portions of the short are strangely silent. The acting on display is mostly clownish, with Jerry Cox overacting with his eyes as the title character. There's also not much in the way of story here either. It's simply a tale of a masked voyeur spying on a group of homes, seeing a different kinky scenario through each window, before he gets what's coming to him. Not much to it.
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