Halloween 2013: October 31 - HALLOWEEN

October 31st is always a little anticlimactic in my house. We never get many trick r' treaters. It doesn't matter if I dress up first or how much candy I buy. I reprised my costume idea from two years ago, going as the Big Summer Movies of 2013. Even if I couldn't find a "Star Trek" badge or a "Pacific Rim" shirt in time. It ended up not mattering. We had four kids at the door, all in one group. There was some rain later in the evening but there was still plenty of opportunity for kids to visit us. Oh well. I can make my own fun.


The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)

For nearly two Halloween seasons now, I’ve been going on about the influence silent German Expressionism cinema had on the early Universal Monster films. It only seems fair, for the conclusion of 2013’s viewing season, to return to the film that started it all. “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari” has an obvious, undeniable influence on those early American horror films. It is doubtlessly one of the earliest mad scientist films. Cesare the Somnambulist might be brought to life through the power of hypnotism but he acts much the same as Frankenstein’s Monster. He walks stiffly through the German village, murdering innocents, all at the will of the mad doctor. Most famously, he even abducts a fair young maiden, carrying her off in his arms. I try to resist hyperbole but, fuck it: The classic American horror films would not exist without this movie. The entire genre would have been irrevocably changed without it.

Of course, the main influence “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari” had on the word was in its production design. I don’t know what precedence existed for horror in 1919, if any. Robert Wiene and his crew decided to make a movie that would frighten not through blatant shocks or big scares. Instead, every aspect of “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari” is design to put the audience off-balance. Every building and structure of the village setting is at an angle, curving or jutting out diagonally. Doors are twisted slots cut in bent walls. Homes and buildings seem to pile atop each other. Bridges twist up and around. Even the writing in the titles is bent and jagged. It creates a sense of a world out of order. Madness rules over all. Even the scenery has gone insane.

My personal favorite sets are those that make the human form seem unnatural by association. The wrongfully accused man hugs his knees in his cone-shaped jail cell. The triangular room and cramped windows make him seem like a sprite trapped in a frame. Caligari flees down a winding mountain pathway, disappearing into the distance. A police office walks over a bridge, one that twists senselessly around the land. The doctor’s office at the hospital is visually striking. A skeleton dangles from the wall, seeming out of place amidst the warped room. After his insanity grows, Caligari is framed by a pile of books, his face twitching into a mad grin. Silent films couldn’t depend on dialogue. Instead, the themes of the story must manifest in the image. “Cabinet” succeeds fully at this.

Does this ninety-three year old movie still retain any power to scare? The pacing is undeniably creaky. Most of the characters are little more then pawn pieces. Yet “Caligari” has an eerie horror atmosphere all its own. Most of this can be accredited to Conrad Veidt’s performance as Cesare. The Somnambulist is a mime from hell. Every movement is calculated and controlled. He is less a human being and more a moving statue. His earliest appearances bring dread with them. The murder of Alan is still terrifying. Cesare’s shadow is cast huge on the wall. The murderer descends on him, the victim powerlessly to fight him back. There’s something deeply nightmarish about this sequence. It strikes a primal cord. Cesare walking up the slanted building, the innocent girl in his arms, might as well be the film’s ascension in cinema history. Maybe scary isn’t the right word but “Caligari” is still powerfully strange.

The Expressionist movement produced many fantastic films. Yet Robert Wiene was not as good a filmmaker as F. W. Murnau or Paul Wegener. “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari” comes to a screeching halt in the last fifteen minutes. The story of Cesare is resolved about an hour in. A very long epilogue follows. We learn the origin of Dr. Caligari, how he was once an administrator at an asylum who became obsessed with the pre-existing legend of Caligari. Determined to recreate the story, he went insane himself and was locked up in his own asylum. This, in turn, is revealed to be nothing but a fantasy of the lead characters. Turns out, the whole movie was the deluded ramblings of a crazy man. All of this is laid out for the audience in extended detail. It feels extraneous and only delays the inevitable twist.

A film this surreal is obviously open to interpretation. It’s easy to see how the story of authority figures gone mad with power is interpreted as criticism of the Nazi regime, incorrectly. Or perhaps it was merely an attempt to create a unique film. Success. The film’s influence can be seen all over pop culture, from the films of Tim Burton down to the art stylings of Lady Gaga. A mostly unrelated remake, that maintained nothing but the twist ending, followed in 1962 and another nearly shot-for-shot remake came in 2005. At least that one had the good sense to cast Doug Jones as Cesare. Neither matched the strength of the original, a true classic for all cinema, regardless of genre. Even if the ending is bogus. [8/10] 

Sssssss (1973)

Some people are afraid of snakes. I understand this. Most animals at least have legs, something resembling humans, but not snakes. They have scaly skin, forked tongues, and swallow their food whole. Some can kill with a bite or crush your skull. Aside from spiders and maybe sharks, I don’t think any animal has endured a more disproportional hatred. I like snakes. I like the way they feel, the way they move. They are humble, straight-forward creatures. Despite their reputation, a snake will never lie to you.

“Sssssss,” or “Seven S” as I sometimes call it, is a snakesploitation film I have an unusual amount of affection for. This is probably because it use to air constantly on cable. It was a regular fixture on the old, good Sci-Fi Channel, USA Network, and the HBO of my youth. Re-watching it now, I think I might have responded to the films treatment of snakes. They are not shown as mindless killing machines. For the most part, the animals are depicted accurately. Most of the snakes are harmless while the venomous ones are respected. This is not a monster movie where actual animals are slotted in the spot of villain. The humans are the monster. Or become them.

The plot of “Sssssss” fits in with the early seventies, drive-in/grindhouse market. Strother Martin, previously seen in “Brotherhood of Satan,” is Dr. Stoner, a snake expert. Along with his daughter, Kristina, he runs a snake farm and research center. The prizes of their collection are Harry, a python and beloved pet, and a regal, female King Cobra. Dr. Stoner seems harmless enough but is actually a mad scientist. He begins to inject his new lab assistant (and Kristina’s new boyfriend) with a strange chemical compound. Soon, David’s skin begins to peel and scales grow…

“Seven S” is delightfully kooky in spots. This is mostly due to Strother Martin’s performance. Dr. Stoner has one-sided conversations with Harry the Python. He almost worships the enormous Queen Cobra. He is open about enjoying the company of animals to most people. Martin is a warm, if slightly eccentric, father at first. Slowly, he reveals his sinister side. He murders someone with a Black Mamba, sticks a colleague that has seen too much in a death trap, and feeds someone to Harry’s starved mate. His ultimate end game? Turn a human into a snake. While this is obvious to the viewer early on, the film holds off on revealing exactly why he’s doing this. In a climatic monologue, he reveals his motive, that he considers snakes superior to man, and believes the human race will survive the future if transformed into slithering reptiles. Martin’s best moment as an actor is when he stares down the Queen Cobra, treating the animal like real royalty. The character is obviously insane but Strother never raises his voice, making him all a more effective villain.

There’s some home-made, low budget camp at play here as well. Hunk-of-meat actor Reb Brown, a decade apart from the hilariously low budget action-fest that would make him a dubious cult icon, plays an asshole jock. To show how big of an ass he is, he starts aggressively hitting on Kristina. Dirk Benedict doesn’t like that and a fist fight breaks out. In the film’s most hysterical moment, Benedict leaps onto Reb and starts biting him like a snake. It’s hilarious. Reb shows up later to get killed by a black mamba, prompting him to unconvincingly yell “Oh shit!” Reb’s exaggerate assholery is just one of the film’s silly joys. In order to maintain a PG rating, all the nudity is blocked by out-of-focus foliage or lamps. This is also, probably the only film in history where a mongoose causes a woman to scream in slow-motion agony.

If you’re looking for camp, you’ll find it. However, “Sssssss” is ultimately too effective as a horror film to be laughable. There is something definitely unnerving about the half-formed “snake man” central to the plot. The way he flops his stumped arms and legs and grunts wordlessly is genuinely grotesque. The facial features are human but the body is not, creating an uncanny effect. David’s slow transformation is rather horrifically realized. His skin peels like bad sunburn. His dreams are haunted by psychedelic hell scapes. He writhes on the ground as his innards change. The special effects are a little shaky but the film sells them. As the opening titles tell us, all the snakes are real. Even the ones that look like puppets, like the perpetually poised King Cobra. Seeing actors interact so freely with venomous snakes is liable to make viewers a little nervous.

There’s another reason I love the movie. I had a major crush on Heather Menzies, all because of this movie. She has an infectious girl-next-door charm. Her conversations with Harry the Python are adorable and I love how she treats the snakes with love, not fear. She sports a pair of clunky seventies eye-glasses fantastically, emphasizing her charm and vulnerability. Her romance with Benedict evolves naturally. The skinny dipping scene is played more for innocent cuteness then wanton titillation. Menzies proves a strong scream queen too, properly horrified by the snake man. She’s adorable in “Piranha” too. It’s a bummer she’s retired from acting. I blame Robert Urich.

I also have a soft spot for horror films set at carnivals. The carnival here is delightfully sleazy. Where burlesque tents with disproportionally attractive dancing girls that sidelined as prostitutes a common feature at carnivals back in the day? I seem to remember a similar scene in “The Funhouse.” Anyway, “Seven S” is a favorite of mine I return to quite frequently. There’s little reason to love it but I do anyway. [8/10]

The Prowler (1981)

The slasher is probably the most derided of any horror type. People criticize the films are formulaic, gore-for-gore’s sake, mindless, or even misogynistic. These things are sometimes true, yes. Which isn’t to say that a satisfying, suspenseful, well made film can’t be made within those outlines. “The Prowler” is one of the best examples of the subgenre.

How much does “The Prowler” fit the traditional outlines? It opens with a crime in the past. After his girlfriend breaks up with him via a Dear John letter, a just-returned World War II veteran murders the girl and her new lover with a pitchfork. On what night did the deaths take place? The night of the big graduation party. Thirty five years later, the New Jersey town of Avalon Bay is having a graduation party for the first time since that night. Naturally, this event inflames the still-living killer’s rage, forcing him to kill again. Just to go down the list, that’s a crime in the past, a special holiday event, an anniversary of a crime, and a killer in both a mask and with not one, but two!, trademark weapons. On the surface, “The Prowler” is about as typical as it gets.

The story is not what makes “The Prowler” special. Instead of being shot in some dark forest or other, uninteresting isolated location, “The Prowler” was lensed in New Jersey’s historical district. This gives the film a unique look, the old Victorian buildings adding a certain gravitas to the proceedings. Joseph Zito’s direction is equally handsome. The nights are made up of contrasting blues and blacks. Zito frequently employs less then typical shots, like a long sequence reflected in a mirror. My favorite bit is when the girls getting ready for the dance are cut with and contrasted against the killer preparing his weapons and outfits. “The Prowler” might just be the prettiest slasher ever made. It’s certainly far more polished then must of the output of the time.

The film is also, perhaps, the goriest film of the first wave of American slashers. Tom Savini declared it his best work. It very well might be. Pitchforks are dug into backs, a large puddle of blood oozing from the victims. An eighteen inch long bayonet is shoved all the way through a victim’s head, his eyes rolling back until they’re completely white. “The Prowler” one-ups “Psycho” by the having the naked, bathing beauty nailed to the wall with a pitchfork. Savini marches out his trademark of exploding a fake head with a real shotgun fantastically. The bayonet is, earlier, shoved directly into a woman’s jugular, blood spurting from the wound, her shoes painted red. All of these are fantastic. Yet no kill is more impressive then the girl with the slit throat in the swimming pool. Sorry, did I say “slit?” “Embedded” is more likely. The villain saws her neck open until he hits bone. The latex stretches and tears, torrent after torrent of corn syrup flooding the pool. It’s extended, brutal, and borderline pornographic. I love it.

Buckets load of blood and gore are fine and dandy. “The Prowler” backs it up by generating actual suspense. A scene where the heroine is delayed by the creepy old man works well. The girl being unaware of the killer in the same room is another potential cliché enlivened by excellent execution here. The sudden surprise of a corpse in a fireplace or discovery of a fresh body in a casket jolts nicely. Most slashers have a long chase scene between final girl and killer. The one presented here stands above the rest. Final girl Pam enters a room of old furniture covered with white clothes. Hiding under a table, she watches helplessly as the killer tears the room apart, flipping tables and smashing things. Even when a big ass rat crawls through her hair, she remains silent. The same year’s “Friday the 13th Part II” featured a similar sequence but this one is far more effective. This is how you do it, kids.

About the only thing that doesn’t work about “The Prowler” is its cast. The film earns points for not featuring the typical horny teenagers. Instead, the hero is a deputy police officer, his girlfriend spunky and strong. The middle chapter of the film is composed of them sleuthing out the mystery, investigating graveyards and old homes. The boyfriend trying to convince the girl to stay behind add some character. Also among the cast: Horny college students. Most of the victims are just random by-standers. I suppose it’s fair to develop the central duo while filling the body count with minor characters. Vicky Dawson is likable enough as the final girl but Christopher Goutman, looking all the world like a young William Fichtner, is too blandly heroic to register. The film also makes the mistake of wasting Lawrence Tierney, sticking him in a speechless, undefined “creepy old man” part and not even giving him the dignity of a death scene.

The killer’s military garb gives him a distinctive look. His habit of leaving roses with his victims gives him personality. I enjoy the bizarre comic relief scene involving a lazy hotel clerk. The last jump scare is totally bogus but effective all the same. “The Prowler” is one of my top slasher picks, fantastically gory, beautifully shot, well structured and paced. I’d rank it above “The Burning” but just below “My Bloody Valentine.” [7/10]

Ghostwatch (1992)

Most horror fans, including my fellow Six Weekers, have one movie they watch every Halloween. Some pick “Halloween” or “Trick r’ Treat.” Casual fans go with “The Great Pumpkin” or “Rocky Horror.”  I’ve never been one to watch the same thing every year. Well, guys, I think I might have found my yearly Halloween favorite. It’s “Ghostwatch,” the notorious BBC Halloween special from 1992.

Notorious in what way? Imagine in the early nineties, long before reality television was established as a format, ABC took cameras inside of a real haunted house. Imagine established television personalities like Diane Sawyer, Alex Trebek, or Dave Coulier were involved in the program. What if seemingly genuine ghostly activity was caught on camera? What if things went terribly wrong? And what if it was all presented as 100% true? “Ghostwatch” did something much like that, involving recognizable BBC personalities in a convincing recreation of a haunting. It wasn’t real, of course. Any one who noticed the opening and ending credits probably could have realized that. But tell that to the frightened, fooled television audience. People called in amass, complaining. Most tragically, an autistic child, taken in by the program, killed himself from the trauma. “Ghostwatch” was never aired again.

The effectiveness of a program like “Ghostwatch” is dependent totally on how believable it is. Getting the most trusted newscaster in the world to go along with the prank wouldn’t matter if the whole could be laughed off as a gag. Luckily, “Ghostwatch” is committed totally to verisimilitude. The structure of the film is calculated to appear as realistic as possible. The rhythm of any live television documentary is matched perfectly. The live feed of the family inside the house is cut back and forth with banal interviews with experts or previously recorded ghost stories. The mindless chit-chat between the hosts match the tone. This sets up the precedence of reality.

The freakiness of the unspooling events slowly escalates. “Ghostwatch” is, if nothing else, an exercise in deliberate pacing. The film drawls from documented poltergeist phenomena. The opening features children awoken in their bed by banging on the walls. We see the pictures of the oldest sister covered with cuts. A mysterious wet spot appears on the carpet, perfectly circular. Photographs fly off the wall. The temperature in their bedroom drops. Video becomes distorted and slowed down. A stuffed bunny is found floating, eyeless, in the sink. The sound of cats crying overwhelms the dialogue. This all leads up to the film’s most frightening moment. The boards on the crawlspace door are pulled off. The door slowly opens on its own accord. The audience catches a brief glimpse of Pipes before the camera cuts away. “Ghostwatch” isn’t over after that, about ten minutes left to go, but the film obviously peaks in that moment.

Have I mentioned Pipes? The central villain of “Ghostwatch” is a ghostly apparition of a balding man in a gray dress, his eyes and face scratched out. The ghost is never seen clearly, only in shadows or brief flashes. Some of these are very quick. The camera pans around the room, the spirit standing next to the girl’s window. Panning back quickly, he’s gone. Others are completely subliminal. He is briefly glimpsed in reflections or the background. “Ghostwatch” manages to build up an impressive mythology behind its villain over a series of three phone calls. A supposedly live caller rings in, discussing the haunted history of the area. We learn a baby farmer drowned infants in that house. Later on, in a sobering monologue, a different caller relates the history of the home’s previous tenant. Normally, I’d be against a character just talking about the story’s background. However, like Robert Shaw in “Jaws,” sometimes the camera just needs to stop and listen. The way Pipes is handled, right down to the video distortion, makes me wonder if the guys behind “Marble Hornets” had ever seen “Ghostwatch.”

“Ghostwatch” has something else in common with Slendy too. The fourth wall will not protect you. Being presented as true, the increasingly concerned callers were presumed to be real people as well. Viewers from all over the country report strange poltergeist activity. Without spoiling too much, the program suggests that, after Pipes and his nasty supernatural cronies are done ruining the Early’s lives, they’re coming for you. A lot of fiction attempts to yank the carpet out from under the viewer. Most come of as horribly hokey. “Ghostwatch” is presented so realistically, its program so convincingly spooky, you buy. I’ll probably leave the hallway lights on tonight…

It does take a patient viewer to enjoy “Ghostwatch.” When Michael Parkinson and Dr. Lin Pascoe are looking at warped spoons, you’ll be forgiven if your attention wanders. Similarly, a subplot involving a skeptical scientist in New York doesn’t pay off much. The acting from Brid Brennan, as the oldest Early daughter, is a bit ropey at times. However, it’s very easy to see why this program freaked people out. Still obscure in the States, “Ghostwatch” definitely deserves to be more widely seen. It’s a shame “reality” TV ghost hunting shows, found footage films, and YouTube video hoaxes have made a similar experiment impossible. No one would buy “Ghostwatch” at face value today. Watching it on Halloween night, during the witching hour no less, I found myself believing. Just for a minute anyway. [9/10]




The Halloween Horror-Fest Blog-a-Thon is always crazy for me. I go into September super excited and ready. Half-way through October, I'm feeling a little fatigue. Usually, I come around before the end, ending the season just as excited as I was to begin with. That's how it's been in years pass, that's how it was this year. Real life threw some wrenches at me this month and, when I fell behind a few days, I didn't know if I'd ever catch up. But I did. Thank the spirits. I made it.

How did 2013's festivities measure up to last years? Last year, even with the hurricane, my watch total was 120 things. This year, amazingly, I surpassed that record, with a total watch number of 123. Don't be too impressed. Last year's total was made up of 103 movies, 14 television episodes, and 3 short films. This year's tally was formed by 80 films, 37 television episodes, and 6 short films. Still, looking back on what I accomplished this month, I'm pleased. I finished my Universal Monsters Mega-thon. I attended a horror convention. I worked my way through the first two seasons of "Tales from the Crypt" and the first season of "So Weird." I browsed some short films. I walked through a haunted house and carved jack o' lanterns. In between all that, I still found time to revisit movies I love and learn to love ones I had never seen before. Good deal. November may now start, the ghouls, pumpkins, and skellingtons put away for another year. The spirits are satisfied and so am I.

Count Pumpkula is at rest.

Halloween 2013: October 30

Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983)

As long as I’ve read books, I’ve loved Ray Bradbury. No author has influenced me more. When news of his passing reached me two years ago, I was crestfallen. If anyone could have lived forever, it would have been him. “Something Wicked This Way Comes” is the first novel I ever read cover to cover. It’s a rare book where you can put your thumb down on any sentence on any page and find something poetic and beautiful. Bradbury’s preferred format was the short story and he never adapted as well to the novel or the screenplay. He happen to write both for the 1983 feature adaptation of “Something Wicked This Way Comes.” It’s not a great film but is one that has moments of greatness inside of it.

The film follows Bradbury’s novel quite closely. During a bleak October, the idealistic town of Green Town, Illinois is visited by a carnival. Led by the enigmatic Mr. Dark, the carnival seems to grants the most heart-felt wishes of the lonely, sad, scared towns people. But at a terrible price. Two young boys, Will Halloway and Jim Nightshade, are swept up by the mystery of the carnival, at first intrigued and then frightened. Will’s father becomes an unlikely hero to both, forced to overcome his own regrets and fears into order to protect the boys from the dark dreams of the carnival.

The book, “Something Wicked This Way Comes,” is something of an allegory, a dark fantasy struggle of good and evil painted across an American small town. I love the book very much but find Bradbury’s themes overly simplistic sometimes. Perhaps the only way the film is superior is that Mr. Halloway, frequently long-winded on the page, is a more flawed, more human character on-screen. James Robards is excellent in the part, every regret and bad memory on his face. He is a warm, loving father but one wrecked by guilt for the things he didn’t and should have done. If Mr. Halloway is a more realized character in the film, then Mr. Dark is perfectly captured from the page. Bradbury wanted Christopher Lee to play the part, which probably would have been incredible. Yet Jonathan Pryce might be perfect in the role. There is such a real, deep sinister intent behind his every word and action. Mr. Dark isn’t quite the Devil himself but something very close. Pryce gives a star-making performance.

Both actors and characters are placed against each other in two scenes that stand out over the rest of the film. The first is when the carnival marches down the town’s streets. Their trumpets play out a funeral dirge. Will and Jim hide under the sidewalk. Mr. Dark confronts Will’s father, searching out the boy. The father tries to mislead the man, the boys’ faces tattooed on his palms. In rage at being lied at, Mr. Dark digs his fingers into his own hands, drawling blood. Blood that drips down on Will’s face under the street. That’s an awfully good scene.

However, the second confrontation between father and devil is incredible. The boys hide in the library. Mr. Halloway lifts his head up, taking his glasses off. Suddenly, as swift as a shadow moving into the room, Mr. Dark appears behind him. The two trade barbs, Bradbury’s lyrical dialogue dripping off their lips. Mr. Dark snatches Halloway’s book away from him. With every page torn away, another year lifts off of the man’s life, a glowing page falling to the floor. The scene builds an incredible intensity. Pryce doesn’t overdo it. Instead, he spits the words with vigor, rage quivering out of him. The book and film’s themes are summed in this scene, undoubtedly one of the darkest ever in a Disney film. If the rest of “Something Wicked This Way Comes” had been as good as this one moment, it would have been a classic for all time.

It’s a shame the film around those two incredible performances and two fantastic moments is so frequently a drag. The opening and closing narrations, though expressed with Bradbury’s lyrical verse, paint the film’s themes too neatly. The subplot concerning Mr. Cooger is unresolved. Royal Dano is delightful as Tom Fury, the lightening rod salesman. Fury’s overall importance to the plot is somewhat murky. His sudden reappearance at the end reeks of sloppy writing. A long scene where Will and Jim are attacked by spiders in their bedroom is awkwardly executed and goes on much too long. The climax is muddled and lacks satisfaction. Charles Halloway escaping the Mirror Maze through the power of love comes off as helplessly hokey. Mr. Dark dragged to his doom by the carousel is grim and mean-spirited. Considering the book ended with Will and Dad pushing Dark away with laughter and happiness, the film’s ending seems murky and inconclusive. “Something Wicked This Way Comes” is haphazardly paced. The film is only 97 minutes long but feels much longer.

Changing the Dust Witch from an old crone to a siren-like embodiment of male desire was a smart decision. Pam Grier is sensual and enchanting in the part. Jack Clayton’s direction is occasionally quite striking, such as a single shot of Will and Jim running down the darkened town street. Sometimes, Clayton’s direction is a bit flat. The film had a troubled post-production, with rewrites, a completely new ending shot, and a new score recorded. Georges Delerue’s original score is appropriately sinister at times but drones too much. James Horner’s new score works for the film a little better but it’s too light at times. “Something Wicked This Way Comes” is a troubled adaptation of a wonderful book. It’s honorable in some ways and worth checking out for Bradbury fans, despite maudlin and uneven elements. [7/10]

The Lost Boys (1987)

How big a deal is “The Lost Boys?” Is it one of those universally praised horror films? A beloved cult item? Or was it just the people I hung out with in high school who liked this movie so much? The film obviously has enough of a following to greenlit two twenty years later DTV sequels and action figures and things. I saw the movie years ago and it never grew on me. That’s one of the things Halloween is about for me: Possibly reassessing potential classics.

The central premise is actually fairly clever. It’s a gang of juvenile hooligans but the twist is they’re vampires! I’m not sure any movie did the roving gang of vampire teen things before this one. The film attempts to update the vampire for then modern audiences. That made the film successful in its day but has the effect of instantly dating it now. The style, fashion, and music is deeply rooted in the late eighties. Characters have perms, mullets, crimped, perfect hair-dos. They wear studded leather, denim jackets, and torn polyester. The heroes of the film dress in bright pastels. I’m partial to Echo & the Bunnymen’s cover of “People Are Strange” but a lot of the film’s music was only cool in the late eighties. I guess it shouldn’t surprise that “The Lost Boys” is a powerful bit of nostalgia for many folks.

The movie’s biggest problem is that it’s main character is the least interesting character in the film. Jason Patric’s Michael is a typically brooding teenager. He grunts a lot of his dialogue. His romantic relationship with Jami Gertz’ Star is completely flat. Michael spends large portions of the film treating his mom and little brother like an asshole. He is a stock boring audience surrogate.

Luckily, the supporting characters make up for it. The appeal of the Coreys mostly escape me but I’ll admit, Corey Haim is fairly amusing. I like his exaggerated comic reactions to the strange things that happen around him. Feldman, Corey the Second, puts on this bizarre gruff voices. The Frog brothers are entertaining mainly because they pretend to be experts when they are truthfully clueless assholes. Kiefer Sutherland is clearly the star of the show. His distinctive voice lends him a commanding presence, which works very well for this character. Edward Herrmann is fairly consistently awesome in most things and has fun playing two types here: First, the square boyfriend who is far too normal. Second, the evil head vampire, which allows Herrmann to gleefully over do it. The best character in the film is obviously Barnard Hughes’ Grandpa. He makes creepy taxidermy animals, is obsessed with his (usually stationary) convertible, swings root beer, and has an off-screen girlfriend. He delivers his dialogue with such an off-hand casualness. Only Dianne Wiest proves unlikable. She’s the classic clueless mom and remains clueless for far too long.

The horror content is comic book-like and light. The movie holds off on revealing the vampires up until the horror point. Before that, the creatures of the night are mostly represented by swooping shots. Victims are lifted out of the area but little actual bloodshed is shown. The patience pays off, as the reveal of the yellow-eyed, bumpy headed vamps works well. The last act is truly when “The Lost Boys” starts to move. Shades of “kids-on-a-mission” flicks like “Monster Squad” or “Goonies” poke through as Sam and the Frog brothers prepare goofy, creative vampire dispatching methods. The bathtubs and squirt guns full of holy water are actually clever, while the death by stereo moment is far sillier. The entire last act, the confrontation between vampires and the reveal of the big boss, works far better then the film that comes before it.

Joel Schumacher gets a lot of shti but give the guy some credit. He knows how to make a movie look good. “The Lost Boys” is especially gorgeous on Blu-Ray. The nights are dark and full of billowing fog. The red tent in the house at the end helps the suspenseful tone. Sometimes, his music video tendencies go too far, like the painfully earnest love scene between Michael and Star, but usually it lends a stylish, memorable look to the film. It’s probably silly to look for queer subtext in everything Schumacher does but it does become apparent at times. Why would a teenage boy like Corey Haim have a poster of George Michaels, in short-shorts, thrusting his crotch forward, on his bedroom wall? When Michael’s vampire instincts first kick in, he nearly feeds on his little brother. While he’s in the bath. Finally, the bro-mance between Michael and David is nearly homoerotic, especially since Jason Patric has way more chemistry with Kiefer. And then there's the Greasy Sax Man...

Conclusion? “The Lost Boys” is perhaps too prickly at first but eventually develops a likable zany streak. I’m not converting to the tribe yet but it doesn’t surprise me people love this movie. [7/10]

Halloween 2013: October 29

Every year I promise to make it out to a haunted attraction. Every year, I miss the opportunity. In 2013, I was determined to fix that. This past weekend, a female friend and I drove out to Hill High Farms in Winchester, VA. After driving up the perilous rock path, we were greeted with a folksy farm and petting zoo. We were mostly there for the corn maze, something I've always wanted to do but have never experienced before. Upon arriving, I noticed that a haunted house was also on the grounds. Haunted Nightmares, it was called. A. doesn't much like scary things, so we got tickets for the corn maze first. It was fun but simplistic. The sound of the wind blowing through the corn stalks is strangely soothing though.

It only took us about forty minutes to make our way through. We only cheated once. A. has a better sense of direction so she led the way. Afterwards, I talked her into stepping through the haunted barn. From the outside, the building seemed small. I was expecting something kind of lame. However, Haunted Nightmares Haunted House didn't disappoint. The barn is separated into various themed rooms. There's a zombie room, a creepy doll room, a clown room, an insane asylum room, a cannibal butcher room, and, most creatively, a haunted outhouse room. There's some clever gags, like spurting mist, which hit both of us straight in the face twice. The strobe lights took some getting use to. Luckily, there's not very many of them. The actors are a little overly confrontational. I'm certain my travel partner was about to elbow one particularly shout-y actress in the face. I enjoyed the dark room segment, where you have to feel your way through pitch black, blind corners. A. was less receptive, the only part of the house to really freak her out. Similarly, I really dislike a portion where you have to squeeze through two black mattresses. If that I had gone on a few seconds longer, I probably would have freaked out.

Generally speaking though, Hill High Farm is a fun place. A cozy country store is also on the grounds, along with a pumpkin patch featuring some obscure gourd species. (Grabbed two jarrahdales, a warty pumpkin, and an Aladdin's Turban.) If you're in the Western Virginia area today, check it out! Anyway, on with the reviews.

Hocus Pocus (1993)

If you grew up in the nineties, you’ve probably seen “Hocus Pocus” a few hundred times. I think most every generation gets their own kid-friendly horror-lite Halloween movie. “Gremlins” probably filled that role for a lot of eighties kids and hopefully “Coraline” is the pick for the modern 6-10 crowd. “Hocus Pocus” is nowhere near as good as either of those movies but I’ve seen it a bunch anyway. Probably more, since my Mom has long been a Bette Midler fan. Of course, even goofy kid’s flicks like this have new information to reveal. I had no idea that Mick Garris, veteran horror screenwriter, co-wrote this one. Nor did I know that Doug Jones, probably the most famous creature actor today, played the zombie in this. Was there any other new information waiting me?

The movie actually holds up alright. The decent premise is classic horror stuff. Set in Salem, of course, the child-stealing Sarandon sisters were executed but not before doing a few things: Turning a local teen into an immortal black cat, draining his little sister’s life force, and, more pressingly, placing a curse on the town. Should a virgin ever light the black candle, they will return. Of course, this happens. Recently relocated teen Max, dragging his little sister and high school crush with him, lights that candle, revives the witch sisters, and leads to a bunch of wacky antics.

The cast and characters make the film far more likable then it would have been otherwise. Bette Midler goes far over the top as lead witch Winnifred. Her make-up is cartoonish, including frizzy red hair, perpetually pursed lips, and comically exaggerated buckteeth. Midler’s acting is on the same level. She hoots, hollers, squeals, and delivers every line with comic stripe panache. Even her facial expressions and body language are calculated for maximum goofiness. She plays off the other two sisters nicely. Sarah Jackson Parker, before everyone started calling her a horse, brings a manic energy to the part. She jumps around, repeats dialogue, and actually conveys a wacky sexiness. Kathy Najimi is similarly silly, acting like an overgrown dofus.

Much of the humor comes from typical “fish out of water” shenanigans. The witches are baffled and occasionally delighted by asphalt, a bus, TV, remotes, and the concept of Halloween. Some of this is more entertaining then others. The interaction with a horny bus driver or Garry Marshall dressed as the Devil get genuine laughs. The trio constantly being fooled by fire sprinklers or headlights proves less so. Some of the overly goofy gags prove better then others. The witches having their brooms snatched by young look-a-likes is amusing. Them jumping on mops and vacuums are the sorts of goofy, kid’s movie jokes you’d hope the movie would avoid. Midler and crew deliver their frequently corny dialogue like pros, never loosing that ridiculous cartoon tone.

It’s not uncommon for the kids in the kids’ movies to be punch-worthy. “Hocus Pocus” mostly avoids that too. The movie’s theme boils down to one of sibling love. Surprisingly, this is incorporated organically into the story. Binx, the talking cat, lost his sister and is driven by the hope of being reunited with her. Max comes to appreciate and love his sister over the course of the story. It fits in and isn’t overdone. The improbably named Ormi Katz finds a decent balance between grouchy, angsty teenager and proactive protagonist. A tiny Thora Birch also comes close to annoying. Her emotional interactions with the brother and the talking cat make the character relatively real. Vanessa Shaw is lovely and shows some genuinely comedic skills as Max’s love interest. Only the ridiculous bully characters overdo it.

The movie couldn’t cast Bette Midler in the lead without getting her to sing. The whole movie’s tone of improbable goofiness is best summed up when a three-hundred year-old witch walks on-stage and sings a choreographed song-and-dance number. Yet that’s probably the most memorable moment in the film. The zombie antics, with his head and fingers getting knocked off, are nicely gruesome for a kid’s flick. “Hocus Pocus” even has a moment of eerie beauty, when Parker lures the children of the town away with a siren song. The music is ethereal and the image of hundreds of kids, some still in their Halloween costumes, walking the streets at night sticks with you. The special effects don’t hold up and the whole movie is a goofy trifle. As far as nineties nostalgia go? “Hocus Pocus” is one of the better examples from my childhood. [7/10]

Eight Legged Freaks (2002)

This is going to date me. “Eight Legged Freaks” is the first time I can remember being excited about a movie no one else cared about. It was my first year of high school. I was just far enough into my teens that my love of black and white creature features were confirmed. Someone was attempting to revive the big bug picture in 2002? Hell yeah, I was up for me. No one else was. It bombed domestically (though broke even internationally) and reviews were middling. The movie isn’t quite old enough to have a cult following. If the “Eight Legged Freaks” fandom has to start somewhere, let it start with me.

The story is basically “Gremlins” by-way of “Tarantula.” This is most obvious in how the film treats its threats. The giant spiders of “Eight Legged Freaks” are arachnid goofballs. The CGI is clearly dated but the animators and special effect guys made sure the spiders had personality. They mumble, shriek, and grabble like Killer Tomatoes. Their vocalizations are intentionally exaggerated and cartoonish. On two separate occasions, giant spiders get dragged behind moving cars. One grumbles in frustration after taking a bite out of a stuffed moose. Another jumps flat into a closed window. One spider out-boxes a boxer. Another cheers on his brothers as they rush the mall. One slides down on a rope, screaming the whole way. A shot spider swings on a thread, dousing his pals with green spider goop. One of the best spider gags involves a sneaky tent. Even a diehard arachnophobe is more likely to laugh then scream. “Eight Legged Freaks” is less a modern reinvention of the classic big bug flick then a Mel Brooks parody on the subgenre. I guess some might find that to be a one-note joke but, I don’t know guys, wacky giant spiders? Count me in.

The film also nails the small town setting. Prosperity, Arizona is nicely isolated at times. The ensemble cast quickly gives you a sense of community. You believe that this small time is fighting for their mutual survival. The crusty old barber and near-sided janitor are equally amusing, each assign simple, entertaining personalities. Doug E. Doug finds a great home for his overtaxed comedic style as the local conspiracy radio host. His beleaguered shouts of frustration prove consistently funny. Rick Overton is also great as Deputy Pete. His reactions to the spiders are, at first, shocked confusion, later transitioning to dead-pan fear. Leon Rippy’s talents are also well-suited to the conniving town mayor. Tom Noonan, uncredited and with minutes of screen time, makes an impression too. The strong character actor cast is another reason to love “Eight Legged Freaks.”

The supporting cast proves far more memorable then the leads. I’m willing to give David Arquette more slack then others. But there’s no mistaking the guy for leading man material. His attempts at one-liners are especially groan-inducing. His performance works best when playing up his nervous qualities. Kari Wuhrer is never convincing as a mom or action heroine. Yeah, she looks fantastic in tight jeans and t-shirts but can hardly carry the film. She has zero chemistry with Arquette. Even Scarlett Johansson, hardly a great actress in her right, outshines the leads. (And also looks fantastic in tight t-shirts and jeans.)

You can actually see elements of a more serious horror film under “Eight Legged Freaks” goofy exterior. A mouthful of spiders, regardless of size, is likely to make some squirm. The trapdoor spiders snatching people running across a parking lot could have been mined for real scares. Probably the biggest action set-piece in the film is the jumping spiders going after the kids on dirt bikes. This is the closest the film comes to real tension and, even then, it’s awash in silly special effects. I’m not complaining, simply noting. It wouldn’t surprise me if this started life as a more serious screenplay.

The script is decently constructed. You can tell that the cigarettes, stun gun, and underground gas veins will be important later. I still appreciate the effort to set them up. I also appreciate the horror in-jokes, “Them” on TV, the mall invasion finale, the Hockey Mask/Chainsaw combo. The Micky Mousing score is probably the only thing about the movie I don’t like. That’s the only overly jokey element. Even then, incorporating a low-pitched version of “Itsy Bitsy Spider” was clever. An early scene where a spider and a cat wrestle inside a wall probably goes on too long and reaches too hard for the kind of silly laughs the rest of the movie has no problem with. “Eight Legged Freaks” is still underrated and underseen. This surprises me. I can think of many horror fans who would love its goofy charms. [8/10]

Larger Than Life (1998)

Included on the DVD of “Eight Legged Freaks” is director Ellory Elkayem’s short film, “Larger Than Life.” Filmed in black-and-white, the short is even more of a homage to classic big bug flicks then the feature is. When strange chemicals leak out of a sinister factory, normal spiders are exposed and gradually grow bigger. This is a problem for single woman Jo, alone in the house with giant arachnoids. The clueless exterminator isn’t much help and soon she has to defend herself from the eight-legged invasion.

“Larger Than Life” functions more like a straight horror film. The tone is still light and jokey. The exterminator doesn’t notice the giant spider on his back and the “Or Is It?” ending is winkingly silly. However, some scenes attempt to build suspense. The spider corners the girl in the shower, “Psycho”-strings playing on the soundtrack. An escape is cut short by a shot of webbing. Opposed to “Eight Legged Freaks” CGI, the spider here is mostly a puppet. Actors struggling with a real object, even if it’s an obvious puppet, still prove more squirm-inducing. There’s not a lot to the short and it’s less charming then Elkayem’s feature. Still, there’s enough obvious strength and love of the material on display that it’s not surprising the director would get the jobs he did. [7/10]

 



Halloween 2013: October 28

The Manitou (1978)

William Girdler is an odd case of a competent filmmaker who even showed a stylish visual sense from time to time who made mostly terrible films. This isn’t a case of a spectacularly untalented filmmaker accidentally making outsider art, like Andy Milligan or even Ed Wood. Girdler was consistently, quite nearly a good director. Odds are, if he had lived longer, he would have actually developed talent. With “The Manitou” he graduated from the world of low-budget genre rip-offs to the world of slightly higher budget genre rip-offs. “Grizzly” was “Jaws” with a bear. “Abby” was “The Exorcist” with (offensively stereotypical) black people. “The Manitou” is also “The Exorcist” but with Indian mysticism and bits of “Star Wars” thrown in for fun.

Based off a novel by hack horror author and sex manual writer Graham Masterton, the movie begins when Susan Strasberg discovers she has a thing in her neck. At first, it appears to be a tumor. As the growth continues to, uh, grow, baffled scientist realizes a fetus is developing inside her neck. Attempts to remove the growth results in disaster. Strasberg’s friend Tony Curtis, a phony medium, soon discovers that the tumor is actually the reborn spirit of an ancient, evil Indian shaman. Once the spirit reaches maturity and enters our world, shit gets craaaaazy.

“The Manitou” escalates in ridiculousness as it goes on. This is impressive, considering the movie begins with an Indian shaman being reborn through a tumor on a lady’s neck. First off, it cast an aging Tony Curtis as a romantic league, in a relationship with the noticeably younger Susan Strasberg. Wearing a succession of unflattering tight shirts, Curtis cons old ladies with chicanery so hackneyed and obvious only a delusional old lady would believe it. The first sign that “The Manitou” will be rife with unintentional hilarity is when one of Curtis’ elderly clients begins to chant in ancient languages and float inches above the floor to her death. The second big laugh comes when Curtis’ hippy-dippy friends make the top of the villain’s head appear. Just the top. When a surgical laser goes ballistics, the audience is far more likely to laugh then scream. Everything in “The Manitou” is pitched at a hysterical level.

About an hour in, “The Manitou” leaps from campy to goofy. A greasy-haired, dark skinned dwarf crawls out of Strasberg’s back. The character’s attempts to fight him off prove unsuccessful. The reborn shaman summons an evil spirit, which is shown by having an actor in an unconvincing giant lizard costume slither around on the floor. He freezes the entire floor of the hospital, including the present staff. Tony tosses a typewriter at the little person, which melodramatically explodes. (Because everything, even man-made objects, has manitous, you see.) This prompts the Manitou to toss decapitated heads, snow, and wind at the heroes. In its last ten minutes, “The Manitou” completely looses its shit. Curtis and his ethnic Indian friend open a doorway to outer space. Electric energy shoots through the hospital and explodes a doctor while Misquamacus laughs uproariously. A giant eyeball floats behind them, shooting beams of light and asteroids at everyone. The naked Strasberg rises from her bed, shoots lasers out of her hands, and beats the evil back. This is the kind of wacked out, hilarious imagery only seen in seventies B-flicks. God bless ‘em.

Despite its unforgettable moments, much of “The Manitou” drags. Really, up until the last half-hour, the film is massively boring. Curtis slums about, disinterested. Strasberg spends most of the story bed-ridden. The sleuthing and studying of American Indian spiritualism mostly amounts to people sitting around and talking. Only Burgess Meredith’s amusingly kooky cameo enlivens this portion. Even then, Meredith delivers dialogue about the Indian population that is fairly offensive. Also offensive: The film’s resident stereotypical medicine man character who is played by Michael Ansara who was, of course, Syrian. Heck, even the evil Misquamacus is played by an Italian, short actor Felix Silla. Honestly, if you fast-forward until the latter section of the film, you wouldn’t be missing much.

There’s very little intentionally good about “The Manitou.” Lalo Schifrin’s score is decent, incorporating traditional tribal music in with his usual action style. Michel Hugo’s cinematography is quite lovely. While the digital effects are laughable, the practical effects actually aren’t bad. Though the images Girdler presents on screen are absurd, there’s no denying the guy had a flare for the dramatic. You’re unlikely to forget “The Manitou,” or at least parts of it anyway. Bad movie lovers should check it out, for sure. [6/10]

Slaughter High (1987)

Have I talked about how my love of grime-bucket, zero budget trash-horror came about? If I haven’t already, now’s as good a time as any. I’ll come back around to “Slaughter High” eventually, I promise. I guess I was just out of high school and already a genre fan and devotee. However, when it came to slashers I hadn’t explored much beyond the big franchise. Until I came upon a YouTube channel, and later a Veoh channel, remember Veoh?, that did nothing but post hard to find slasher flicks. In this territory, “The Burning” or “My Bloody Valentine” was the well-known films. Over that summer, I promise to watch every eighties slasher ever made. That quest went unfulfilled, of course, yet I discovered that films made with no money, time, or talent could be as endearing as the classics. It was in this world that I was first exposed to “Slaughter High,” an incompetent, bizarrely fascinating piece of eighties slasher garbage.

“Slaughter High” has been given an official DVD release but, going by the quality, you’d never know that. If it wasn’t for the Lionsgate branding, trailers, and cheap-ass trivia track “special feature,” you’d be forgiven for thinking this was a bootleg. The full-screen video is ripped off the same VHS copy all the YouTube video pirates use. The image is almost indecipherably dark at times. The picture is grainy, scratchy, washed out, and full of tracking errors. The audio is tinny and frequently distorted. They even maintained the Vestron Video logo at the end! You could criticize Lionsgate for the shoddy release. Actually, you should do that. Yet, when I pressed play at the menu, a rush of nostalgia washed over me. I remember this world of scratchy VHS-rips and barely watchable uploads. (By the way, if you want a decent disc of the film, import Arrow’s Region 0 release from the UK.)

Anyway, the actual movie. “Slaughter High” begins in a high school. Duh. Thirty-six year old Caroline Munro plays a high school student, part of a group of the school’s “cool” kids playing a prank on resident nerd Marty Ratzen. Marty is seduced, stripped naked, strapped into a bizarre condom, photograph in the nude, sprayed with cold water, and has his head dunked in a toilet. Afterwards, the gym teacher yells at Marty for being in the girl’s bathroom. His humiliation isn’t over yet, as another one of the bullies hand him an exploding joint. This goes horribly wrong and the nerd is splashed with acid, deforming his face. A decade later, the same group of bullies are invited back to the now-abandoned hospital for an April Fool’s Day party. Predictably, a lunatic in a jester mask begins murdering them in gruesome, contrived ways. Gee, who saw that one coming?

The film was produced by Dick Randall, the same man behind “Pieces” and countless other low-budget trash offerings. While “Slaughter High” is neither as sleazy nor hilarious as “Pieces,” it comes awfully close at times. Aside from the thirty year olds cast as teenagers, the film is full of ridiculous slasher nonsense. Somebody just drank an acidic soda, their stomach literally splitting open. What is Nancy’s first course of action after that? To take a bath in one of the dilapidated building’s tubs. Surprise, the tub is full of acid! Her face melts via stop-motion animation. Despite their friends dying left and right, two of the invitees decide now is the best time to have sex. The woman implores the man to talk dirty, leading to him grunting out “Tits!” and “Fuck!” The killer drops an activated lawn mower on a victim. The guy never thinks to roll out from under the vehicle. Characters play practical jokes, a rat leaps out at someone, and the creepy old janitor dies first. If you want clichés, “Slaughter High” delivers swiftly with its own demented sense of humor.

The film’s hilarious oddness is exacerbated by an unexpected mean-spirited streak. None of the characters are likable. Yes, Caroline Munro’s Carol expresses some guilt over the accident, but just a little. Marty, at first, might be a victim. Yet his cluelessness, awkwardness, and overwhelming dorkiness make him hard to root for. The other victims show such astonishing stupidity that they endear no sympathy. “Slaughter High” quickly dissolves into awful people doing awful things to each other.

But a devoted stalk-and-slash fan can find something worth-while in any thing. Honestly, when it comes to grimy, Z-grade slashers, “Slaughter High” is a better example. It’s certainly better then, say, “Blood Cult” or “Honeymoon Horror.” The empty hallways of the high school provide some decent atmosphere. Directing trio George Dugdale, Mark Ezra, and Peter Litten throw in one or two inventive shot, like a close-up of Marty’s hands bursting through a picture or a POV of someone falling from a rope. The kills are ridiculous but quite creative. I mean, any maniac can stab someone, and Marty does, but it takes a real creative mind to melt someone in an acid bath. The final chase sequence goes on far too long but admittedly hits the horror fan sweet spot for me. The jester mask and letterman jacket combo is actually a cool get-up. When many slasher films were content to stick their killer in a ski mask, that one sticks out. Henry Manfredini’s score is terrible but his fans will probably enjoy it.

Ultimately contributing to “Slaughter High’s” atmosphere of nastiness is that Simon Scuddamore, the actor playing Marty, committed suicide from a drug overdose not long after filming wrapped. Apparently, he suffered from depression. It’s easy to imagine that his character’s torment added to his real life depression. The film’s thrown together, nonsensical ending features slow-motion murder, self-mutilation, and character’s forever stuck in mental anguish. Dude, what a bummer. So “Slaughter High” is not a good movie in any traditional sense. Yet those with a stomach for the stupid, senseless and cheap will find it has an indelible atmosphere all its own. [7/10]

Last Halloween (2011)

I first found out about “Last Halloween,” a short film from director John Stewart Muller, while Googling around for info about “The Last Halloween,” the obscure TV special I reviewed last year. The short was written by and co-stars Leslie Andrews, the talented star of “Sick Girl,” a movie I have to defend way too frequently and should probably get around to reviewing eventually. The short features a couple arguing and breaking up following a Halloween party. Experienced horror short viewers will spend the run time waiting for the kicker. What’s the morbid twist on this otherwise simply dramatic seeming material?

Leslie Andrews charms me in everything I’ve seen her in. The same goes for this, even if Andrews has very little to work with. Kit Williamson is a lot less interesting as the foul-mouth, philandering boyfriend. Director Muller is clearly a horror fan, slipping music from “Suspiria” and a poster of “The Thing” into the short. At only six minutes long, a bit too much of this is spent on the opening dance scenes. Of course, indie shorts like this hang on their last minute shock. “Last Halloween” has a pretty good one. It’s funny and morbidly amusing, probably more so then the rest of the film. Is “Last Halloween” worth checking if you’re not a Leslie Andrews fan? Probably not. Eh. [6/10]

Halloween 2013: October 27

Firestarter (1984)

It would be unfair to say “Firestarter” was Stephen King’s attempt to recreate “Carrie.” King was hugely successful by that point, enough that he could write anything and Hollywood would immediately turn it into a movie. (Which is what happened with “Firestarter.” The film rights were acquired before the book was even published.) While “Carrie” is a horror character study, “Firestarter” sits more comfortably in the realm of sci-fi thriller, with occasionally grisly special effects. Both books and film adaptations revolve around a young girl with extraordinary power. However, Charlie McGee is eight years younger then Carrie, has a perfectly sane parent, and is on the run from a secret government sect. For all their differences, both stories build towards the girl unleashing her massive powers. All the film that comes before is leading towards Charlie’s psychic-induced climatic rampage.

“Firestarter” is split evenly in two. The first hour is a chase picture. Father Andy and daughter Charlie are on the run from the Shop. The scenes of them fleeing through an airport or hitchhiking pass government agents are decently exciting. These moments are broken up by laden flashbacks that flatly explain the origin of the characters’ powers and why they’re running. At least the blatant exposition is presented visually but they hamper the film’s forward momentum.

After Charlie is captured by the Shop, the pace completely shifts. Charlie is manipulated by psychotic government hit man Rainbird into honing her powers. Like every other secret government agency in cinema history, the Shop wants to use the unstable super being as a weapon. Rainbird is another thin Stephen King villain. The obviously American Indian character, played by obviously Caucasian George C. Scott, believes that he can steal someone’s powers by looking into their eyes at their moment of death. He is obsessed with Charlie’s ability and befriends the girl strictly so he can kill her later. Rainbird has no deeper motivation but the relationship between Scott and Barrymore provides a drive for the second half. The seemingly benign scenes of Scott befriending the girl are laced with a sinister intent. This plotline certainly proves more compelling then Andy’s routine escape plan, the Shop boss’ hand-wrangling or long scenes of Charlie blowing things up in a lab.

“Firestarter” needed stronger performances to succeed. I suspect the involvement of Drew Barrymore, the most popular young actress at the time, is what got the film into active production. It’s not that Barrymore was a bad actress at this time. Her personal moments are quite affecting. You certainly feel sorry for Charlie anytime she cries. However, Drew can’t quite carry the bigger moments. Her emotional outbreaks are unconvincing. Her constant pleas to her powers to “back it off” come off as helplessly hokey. David Keith, who I’ll remind you is not Keith David, does fine, I suppose, but his Southern accent is seriously distracting. Martin Sheen is not a terribly interesting villain and neither is deep-voiced Moses Gunn as a near mad scientist. Art Carney is likable as the kindly old farmer, even if the part is underwritten and Louise Fletcher is wasted as his wife. Only George C. Scott truly impresses. Scott can play gravely maliciousness with ease and he makes Rainbird, otherwise a simplistic figure, captivating to watch.

The film was dismissed as a special-effects-fest upon release. No wonder since Charlie’s fireball fueled rampages are the most exciting moments. The ambush on the farm builds nicely. I like the thermostat rising and the butter melting in its dish. The blazing agents and exploding cars are orchestrated fantastically. After watching the girl get pushed around for a solid hour, it’s satisfying to see Charlie burn down the Shop. Men fly through the air, ablaze. Burning trails hunt running agents down. Some of the special effects have aged better then others. Bullets bursting into flames just before her face look cheesy. The Flaming Biscuits of Doom that Charlie explodes a truck and a helicopter with are likely to cause giggles. Still, it’s as effortlessly entertaining as “Firestarter” gets. No surprise that director Mark L. Lester would reinvent himself as an action auteur following this.

With a more even lead and tighter screenplay, “Firestarter” could have been an intense thriller. As it is, the film never reaches its full potentials. If you’re looking for flaming carnage, you’ll get it eventually. The rest of the film doesn’t exactly; I apologize for this, set the screen on fire. [5.5/10]

Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night II (1987)

“Prom Night” took a long road towards becoming a horror series. Seven years after the original, a sequel finally rolled out. The slasher subgenre was played out by then and the original story presented little opportunity for a follow-up. “Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night II” took the series in a radically different direction, one of quasi-comedic supernatural horror. The stories are totally unrelated, connected only by the high school, prom setting. It’s no surprise to read that the screenplay wasn’t written as a sequel at all and was, instead, slapped with the “Prom Night” connection in post.

“Hello Mary Lou” is so much better then you’d expect an in-name-only sequel to a minor slasher flick to be. Its premise is successfully played for both humor and chills, featuring plenty of slimy special effects and an unexpectedly erotic streak. Back in 1957, promiscuous, rebellious prom queen Mary Lou Mahoney was accidentally set ablaze by her jilted boyfriend. Thirty years later, good girl Vicki Carpenter stumbles upon Mary Lou’s tiara in an old store room. Slowly, the vicious spirit of the undead prom queen begins to possess Vicki, once again making prom night a night for terror at Hamilton High.

“Prom Night II” takes it time setting up its premise. The opening flashback is rather brilliantly presented, the camera swooping in and out of an old storage truck at the start and end. Vicki’s eventual corruption by Mary Lou’s spirit is a gradual process. She has disturbing hallucinations during the school day. Some of these are humorous, like the volley ball net transforming into a spider’s web, her teammates turned into pasty-faced zombies. Others are genuinely off-putting and weirdly creepy. In her bedroom, her childhood rocking horse gains red, reptilian eyes and a perversely long tongue. The lunch lady in the cafeteria is suddenly spooning out corpse soup with a side of cockroach. A subtle one has the face of a taunting schoolmate transforming into Mary Lou’s grinning visage. Vicki’s final nightmare sees a chalkboard morphed into a pool of black sludge.

The stand-out moment of “Hello Mary Lou” comes after Vicki is completely taken over by the evil ghost. After her changed behavior annoys a close friend, Vicki-Lou decides to seduce the girl while they’re both in the gym shower. Unexpected for 1987, both actresses show full nudity as light-kissing turns to heavy petting. The audience gets a thrill but the character doesn’t buy it. The stalking scene that follows features no music, only the possessed girl humming a tune, running her hands over the locker doors. The suspense builds nicely and the gory pay-off is impressive. The rest of the movie is more of a campy guilty pleasure but that one moment combines titillation and horror fantastically.

The film mostly plays its supernatural elements for humor. While stabbing a priest to death, the possessed Vicki reflects on the truths of the afterlife. A high school teacher with grabby hands gets his comeuppance comically. The culture clash of a 1950s teenage getting launched into the eighties provides some amusing antics. An attempt to rig the prom queen vote goes awry for the AV nerd, probably the movie’s silliest bit. The film’s jokey side mostly manifest in horror in-jokes. Characters have familiar sounding last names, like Carpenter, Henenlotter, Browning, Craven, Wood, Waters, and O’Bannon. Mary Lou’s climatic reappearance goofs on “Carrie.” There are numerous shout-outs to “The Exorcist.” It’s apparent the film was made by fans of the genre.

Keeping the film sincere among its goofiness and nastiness are surprisingly well-acted and rounded characters. Wendy Lyon is immensely likable as Vicki. Her wide-eyes and innocent good-girl looks gets the audience’s sympathies. Lyon plays a girl loosing her sanity very well. Once possessed, she has no problem playing the other side of the coin. She camps it up fantastically, delivering silly one-liners. Lisa Scrage doesn’t have much screen time but makes an impression as Mary Lou. She’s looks fantastic with her bright blue eyes and tight prom gown. She, too, has a good time playing a campy horror villain. The commitment to character is clear when the subplots that otherwise would have been drool actually hold your attention. Vicki’s best friend has a startlingly confession early on, the camera not cutting away. You wouldn’t expect such a moment of honest emotion in the middle of your trashy horror sequel.

And that’s why “Prom Night II” is awesome. The script is refreshing and smart. The performances are committed and strong. The direction is stylish. The film gets both laughs and scares. This is a sequel that is vastly superior to the original. To this film I say, “Hello Mary Lou, goodbye heart.” [8/10]

Tales from the Crypt: “The Secret”

If it wasn’t for its frequently bloody or raunchy content, “Tales from the Crypt” would be a kid-friendly horror show. The violence is rarely mean-spirited, the morals are simplistic, and the tone is usually light. “The Secret” is one of the rare episodes that embrace this. The story of an orphan adopted by a mysterious wealthy couple, only to have his face stuffed with sweets and candy, intentionally recalls “Hansel and Gretel.” The boy’s issues are easily understood for younguns. Theodore is bossed around by the mean orphanage mistress. He quickly makes friends with the Colbert’s man-servant just because he’s that nice a kid. He longs to have a loving, friendly family. You’d probably have to be a kid not to see the story’s double-twist coming, which is heavily, obviously foreshadowed. The goofy conclusion mixes that child-like wish fulfillment with just enough nasty gore to make this feel more like “Tales” and less like “Goosebumps.”

None of which are exactly bad things, you see. “The Secret” is handsomely shot, experienced production designer J. Michael Riva contributing an opulent look. Lead actor Mike Simmrin is a bit flat but the supporting cast makes up for it. Grace Zabriskie and William Frankfather go nicely over the top as the wicked foster parents. Larry Drake, in his second “Crypt” appearance, amusingly goes against type as a friendly Alfred / Mr. Belvedere type butler. The final chase scene is a little too silly and light-weight to be suspenseful but comes close enough. “The Secret” takes season two of “Tales from the Crypt” out on a high note, a solid conclusion to a very strong, perhaps the best, season. The host segments recognize this, Crypt Keeper bidding us a fond farewell. See you next September, you undead rascal, you. [7/10]