Welcome to the film-related musings, complaints, and comments of Zack Clopton, an amateur film-critic, scholar, and screenwriter. Featured here are Director's Report Cards, essays, and other reviews. Enjoy!
Last of the Monster Kids
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When rumors began to circulate that Rob Zombie was directing a movie version of “The Munsters,” I wasn't sure how to react. The director has maintained an easily recognizable aesthetic over his film career. He does unrelentingly vulgar horror movies with an in-your-face, white trash intensity. “The Munsters,” meanwhile, was a hokey sitcom about wacky family shenanigans. I don't need to hear Herman Munster say “fuck.” After months of speculating if Rob would stick to the tone of the show or adapt “The Munsters” to his style, it was revealed that the project would be rated PG. That just piqued my interest further. What does a Rob Zombie family movie look like? When the trailer was released, any anticipation the internet had towards the film curdled. The trailer was, let's say, not good. Amid the mostly negative reviews that followed, there were a few positive notices. Now, after mainlining the first season of the show, I knew I had to judge for myself.
Zombie's film acts as a prequel to TV show, depicting how Herman and Lily met in Transylvania and came to live on 1313 Mockingbird Lane. Dr. Wolfgang builds new life from parts of the recently dead. His idiot assistant grabs the brain of a hacky stand-up comic, instead of the brain of his brilliant scientist brother. The resulting flesh-golem names himself Herman Munster and, when revealed on Transylvanian TV, is a goofball. This catches the eye of romance-hungry Lily Gruesella, the vampire daughter of the Count. Her dad doesn't approve of Lily and Herman's relationship but soon they are married. Trouble arises when Lily's werewolf brother, Lester, talks Herman into selling the family castle to some shady investors.
Any fears that Rob Zombie would grunge up “the Munsters” are dispelled within minutes of the film beginning. The new film is painstakingly faithful to the TV show. Obscure “Munsters” supporting characters – Lester, Uncle Gilbert, Zombo, the Tin Can Man – all have small roles. Grandpa's bat, Igor, gets a whole character arc. Spot the dragon gets a grand introduction. Zombie makes sure to include at least two sequences devoted to the show's main reoccurring gag: People fleeing in terror from the Munsters in mundane situations. “The Munsters” derives much of its humor from goofy interactions between its goofy characters and extremely silly monster movie puns. There's a whole sequence where Count Orlok from “Nosferatu” shows off Polaroids of his pet rats. As well as multiple dance sequences. Zombie is so faithful, that he even replicates the sleepy pacing of a sixties sitcom. His “Munsters” often feels like a series of loose gags barely strung along, moving towards a low-key climax and abrupt ending.
The rock star turned filmmaker wanted to be even more faithful to the show in another regard: He originally hoped to make his “Musnters” in black-and-white. When the studio nixed the idea, he decided to go in the opposite direction. The film has an exaggerated color palette, that's extra bright. The sets – which are actually quite nice – are often lit in neon. (Zombie still includes lengthy black-and-white scenes, like a TV broadcast, the classic Universal intro, and a recreation of the season two opening.) To match the searing color choice, Zombie includes other cartoonish visual touches. Reaction shots are often pair with silly background animations. Wipe pans using bat, coffin, or lightning bolt shapes reoccur often. There's a full-on animated montage. The camera movements are sometimes frenzied, including repeated crash-zooms, dutch angles, and quick cuts. Much like the old show, Zombie's film is a live-action cartoon and absolutely looks like one too.
Clearly, Zombie wouldn't have worked so hard to replicate the look and feel of “The Munsters” if the characters weren't important to him. He casts the well known characters with regular players of his. Daniel Roebuck does a spot-on impression of Al Lewis as the future Grandpa Munster, even if the script doesn't quite give him the level of zingers I'd hope for. Sheri Moon camps it up extensively as Lily, matching Yvonne De Carlo's sweetness, if not the ease she brought to the role. There's a funny bit part from Richard Brake, Jorge Garcia, and Cassandra Petersen. (Who hopefully becomes part of Zombie's troupe after this.) The only cast member that really gives me pause is Jeff Daniel Phillips as Herman. He does a decent riff on Fred Gwynne's guffaw but his decision to play Herman as a nasally hack stand-up doesn't quite sit with me. Gwynne carried himself with a bit more dignity than that, even if the character was always a clown.
Zombie's film is way too long, pushing up against the two hour mark. There's not much of an overarching story connecting the scenarios, further creating the feeling that you're watching four episodes of a TV show or something. Yet I honestly have to admire the dedication the shock-rocker brought to this project. He didn't just make a song called “Dragula” because he thought it was cool. He really is a “Munsters” super fan. (The famous dragster isn't in the movie, by the way. I imagine Rob probably hoped to save that, alongside Eddie and Marilyn, for a potential sequel.) The result will probably only appeal to other fans of the show. This is a love letter, practically a fan-film, and not a reinvention. And, honestly, I'm okay with that. The chuckles, if not belly laughs, come often enough. Overall, I would describe the movie as really cute... Which is not an adjective I'd ever expect to apply to a Rob Zombie movie. [6/10]
Earlier this year, I did a retrospective for Oingo Boingo sideman turned modern exploitation filmmaker Matthew Bright. Before making his directional debut with outrageous masterpiece “Freeway,” he would write some low budget horror flicks for Full Moon Entertainment. This was back when Charles Band was still receiving backing from Paramount, giving his direct-to-video movies about killer puppets and fugly vampires some degree of production values. Bright presumably got involved with Band because other Mystic Knight Richard Band directed two projects for the studio. Of Bright's horror credits, 1994's “Dark Angel: The Ascent” has received some positive notices. In particular, it was the favorite movie of a girl I had a wild crush on back in high school. It's about time I catch up with this mash-up of demonic horror and action movie morality.
Deep in the pits of Hell, Veronica lives with her family of demons. Her dad, after torturing damned souls all day, turns his wrath on the rebellious teenager. Her older sister shows her a path that leads out of the inferno. Veronica arrives in the big city with her pet hell hound, soon developing a relationship with a young doctor named Max. She finds the human world full of sinners and evildoers. By night, she uses her demonic abilities to gorily dispatch any criminal or scumbags she comes across.
In the nineties, Gen X audiences were so cynical and distrustful of authority that they craved stories of antiheroes. This desire would eventually result in literally demonic superheroes – the likes of Spawn, Constantine, Hellboy, and Jesse Custer – becoming popular. “Dark Angel: The Ascent” fits right in with this crowd. Veronica sees the world in black and white. Either your soul is pure or you are a sinner, worthy of damnation. She rips those who harm the innocent apart with her bare hands, pulling out spines and hearts. She even has superpowers, sprouting claws (like Darkchylde or Faust) and giving the guilty visions of Hell. (Like Ghost Rider.) Eventually, she dons a tight leather dress, which certainly could've passed for a superhero uniform in the grimdark nineties. Earthly class boundaries mean nothing to her, so she targets dirty cops and corrupt politicians as much as she does petty crooks. Which gives an otherwise deeply juvenile story an anti-authoritarian edge that I appreciate.
Unlike most horror movies, where the forces of Heaven and Hell are in opposition to each other, “Dark Angel” depicts demons and angels working together. It's devils' work to punish sinners, making them part of the same moral scale as the divine. (Though crosses still bursts into flames when Veronica holds them.) At one point, an angel – shown floating inside a bubble, like Glinda the Good Witch – talks directly with Veronica's parents. In fact, the details of Hell are amusingly mundane. Veronica's dad is an abusive asshole. His mom is a doddering biddy, who makes soups from the flesh of the damned. Not unlike Bright's “Freeway,” this is a story of a young girl escaping a shitty home life to go out into a crazy world and find herself. In this case, that means falling in love with a human doctor and, in a last minute revelation that couldn't be sloppier, learning that forgiveness is possible for anyone.
As far as production values go, “Dark Angel” is definitely mid-tier Full Moon. I suspect most of the film's budget went to the opening sequence that introduces Hell, which shows damned souls with cages on their heads, being tormented by hosts of demons. It's pretty cool but “Dark Angel” never gets quite that infernal again. Most of the movie is set in the city or Max's apartment. Veronica's superpowers are pretty lo-fi, limited to some long fingernails and glowing eyes. The gore effects are grisly but isolated to a few scenes. Director Linda Hassani – credited as just “L. Hassani,” presumably to disguise that a woman made this skin-filled flick – previously directed segments in the arty sex movies “Inside Out,” explaining the atmospheric lighting. (The sole sex scene here is surprisingly tame.) I'm not sure if Angela Featherstone's performance as Veronica is awkwardly stilted and flat or fitting, considering she's literally a demon from Hell who doesn't understand Earthly emotions. Most of the acting is pretty goofy, especially from Daniel Markel as Max or the pair playing Veronica's demonic parents.
Ultimately, you get the impression that “Dark Angel: The Ascent” was a more ambitious screenplay that had to be scaled way back to fit within Full Moon's meager budget. There's always the feeling that more could be done here. More vistas of Hell, more scenes of Veronica paying evil onto evil, more elaborate gore and fight scenes. Instead, the movie always seems to step back when it's about to really go nuts. The last act is disappointingly rushed, Veronica just deciding to walk into the Mayor's mansion. The love story isn't very convincing either, the 81 minute run time leaving little room to develop things. I'm surprised Full Moon didn't make a sequel to “Dark Angel,” considering there's obviously more angles to explore here. Instead, it remains an interesting stand-alone from the studio, full of potential but hampered by a rushed script and limited scope. And if I had know my high school crush's taste was this schlocky, I would've worked harder to get her attention... [6/10]
The quasi-sequel series to "Tales from the Darkside" didn't bring in Richard Dawson and Charles Nelson Reilly for this season one episode. Instead, "The Match Game" revolves around Jodie, who invites the boyishly handsome but mysterious Paul to a party with her friends Beverly and Matthew. They gather inside the abandoned Weaverly Mansion and play the Match Game: They sit in a circle and tell a scary story, each player contributing to the tale as long as the match they just lit burns. The foursome soon begins to spin a yarn about Herbert Weaverly, the owner of the house who committed suicide by leaping into the lake outback. They tell the tale of Harold murdering a romantic rival, horribly deforming his face in an accident, becoming a bitter old man and rising again as a soul-sucking zombie. It's not just a story though. It's coming true as they speak, a gruesome ghoul pulling itself from the water and breaking into the house, killing all he encounters.
"The Match Game" has a great set-up and actually uses it to its full potential. The episode packs in the horror trappings, from the spooky old mansion setting to the raging storm outside. The camera mostly focuses on the actors' faces as it goes around the circle, each one contributing to the tale, lit only by the match in their fingers. I love the subtly of the moment when the story starts to take over, the camera remaining on Paul's face as the match strangely burns longer than usual. By keeping the monster off-screen for long as possible, and forcing us to focus on the sound of the actors' voices, quite a lot of suspense is built.
Once the rotting corpse burst through the door, the tension doesn't let up either. Herbert is a green, slimy zombie, with a fucked-up face, right out of an E.C. Comic cover. (Dick Smith gets a prominent "Special Effect Make-Up Consultant" credit, so no wonder it looks good.) He's played by Tom Woodruff Jr., doing his best Tarman impression. "The Match Game" also does something that always impresses me about monster stories: It introduces a set of rules governing the creature and carefully follows them. The ability of Herbert to suck out people's souls with his hateful glare results in a surprisingly gory death scene. It also sets up a clever way to drive the ghoul off.
The only mistake "The Match Game" makes is a climax that explains things a little too much. I loved the implication early on that this story is literally taking on a life of its own, with opens up a lot of interesting avenues about fiction and the power it holds over us. Instead, we get a more tidy, psychic explanation. Even with that being the case, "The Match Game" is a tense, creative, well executed half-hour. I figured this was a highly regarded "Monsters" episode simple because it has the marquee value of Ashley Lawrence and Tori Spellings, as Jodie and Beverly, but it's actually really good. [8/10]
Rock nerds debate what the first music video was but, depending on your definition of the term, the format may actually predate synchronized sound in film. “Prelude” is a 1927 short film written, directed, and starring the fantastically named Castleton Knight. Though silent in its natural form, it is meant to play alongside Rachmaninoff's classical composition “Prelude in C Sharp Minor.” The story for this prototype music video, like so many early American horror films, draws its inspiration from Poe. A man dozes off while reading “The Premature Burial” and then has a horrifying nightmare about being buried alive. While he soon wakes up, the unsettling feeling persists.
While it sounds ridiculous to call a silent movie the first music video, “Prelude” really does sync up perfectly with Rachmoninoff's music. Many of the images in the film are directly in tune with the pounding notes of the music. Such as a grim reaper like statue on the man's mantle place seemingly dancing to the melody, in what's some pretty accomplished camera work for 1927. Or the tolling of a bell, that awakens the man from his dream, matching up with the concluding section of the song. The dreary, foreboding tones of Rachmoninoff's music certainly matches the images here, of a horse-drawn hearse moving towards a cemetery, dirt tossed into the grave, and a grieving widow throwing a flower onto the casket.
And as a horror movie, Knight gifts “Prelude” with some fittingly spooky sights. I like how reading the story makes the man look at the everyday items in his room, such as a skull shaped ash tray, with a newfound dread. The nightmare itself is extremely well done. It features Knight shrieking in horror inside the translucent coffin. Within his eyes, we see a surprisingly graphic depiction of the fires of Hell. “Prelude” even has a classic “Or is it?” horror movie ending. Though the ghastly visions were just a dream, the death-like statue is reflected within the man's drinking glass in the final shot, suggesting how the lingering inevitability of our own mortality floats over us at all times. In other words, “Prelude” is cool shit. [8/10]
Say whatever you will about Rob Zombie: Filmmaker but most people agree 'The Devil's Rejects” is his best movie. (Maybe his only good movie, depending on where you stand.) The psychedelic vulgarity of “House of a 1000 Corpses” is interesting, if unfocused. “Lords of Salem” had its moments. I'll even defend parts of his “Halloween.” Yet “Halloween II” and “31” represented the filmmaker at his most self-indulgent, drowning in directionless excess. When it was announced Zombie would be returning to the Firefly brood, I was initially intrigued. The title “3 from Hell” suggested a return to the supernatural elements of his debut. Instead, Zombie revealed he would resurrect his hideous brood in the laziest way possible. The gang simply survive their obviously fatal wounds at the end of “Rejects,” negating the ending's soulfulness and making me deeply uninterested in a third film. But what am I going to do? Not review this thing?
Yes, Otis, Baby, and Captain Spaulding somehow survive the “Free Bird” hail of bullets that concluded “The Devil's Rejects.” The infamous trio are left in critical condition, going into comas. They awaken on death row, Captain Spaulding being sentenced to death and the other two getting life sentences. Ten years later, the Rejects have become counter-cultural cult figures. With the help of his previously unmentioned brother Foxy, Otis escapes prison. He soon springs Baby from the clink. The new trio head to Mexico, leaving more bodies in their wake. Eventually, they cross paths with the drug lord son of a previous victim.
“3 from Hell” does little to dispel the notion that Rob Zombie brought the Fireflies back to life because he was completely out of any other ideas. The film frequently plays like a greatest hits reel for Zombie. A stopover in a hotel, which ends in brutality, and the Rejects holding a family captive in their home and torturing them are quotes from “The Devil's Rejects.” A slow-mo full frontal murder scene set to a Slim Whitman song is from “House of 1000 Corpses.” Baby's surreal daydreams of a cat-headed ballerina recall the acid horror of “Lords of Salem.” When not repeating himself, Zombie has his character just... Doin' stuff. This is a frequently directionless hang-out movie, devoted to the Fireflies talking shit, partying and occasionally killing people. There are totally superfluous sequences, like Baby entering a knife throwing contest or Clint Howard's cameo as the worst party clown ever. The plot is essentially wrapped up half-way through, when Baby is busted from prison. Zombie has to invent an entirely separate story in the second half in order to keep the movie going. (And continue-to-go it does. The film is almost two hours long.)
What is most frustrating about “3 from Hell's” totally lackadaisical approach is that there's interesting ideas contained within. The Fireflies becoming cult icons is dumb but could've set up an interesting confrontation between the killers and their new fans. This never happens. At one point, Baby flat-out asks what the point of the Fireflies' nihilistic lifestyle is anymore. The bubbliest Firefly genuinely seems to be tiring of being a serial killer, if her friendly interactions with a sympathetic hotel employee is any indication. After nearly an hour of recycled slaughter and aimless partying, “3 from Hell” becomes a spaghetti western pastiche. Which is kind of fun and cool, the Fireflies becoming pitch-black anti-heroes against luchador mask wearing drug cartel thugs. It's not fresh but at least it's different from the first two movies.
All that aside, I sort of get why Rob Zombie made this movie. He loves these characters and just wanted to spend more time with them. That's why he wasted so little energy conceptualizing their resurrection. He just wanted them back, just wanted another adventure, and didn't care how. The cast is doing some interesting things. During her most unhinged moments, Sheri Moon successfully recalls the manic heights of “House of 1000 Corpses.” Yet there's also something sadder going on here, the character realizing she's lost her way. Her interaction with Pancho Malor's innocent hotel worker are rather interesting. Bill Mosely is more obviously tired, as he doesn't bring the same bite to Otis' arch, vulgar dialogue. Even then, the scenes devoted to him talking about classic movies are kind of fun.
Obviously Sid Haig was intended to have a larger role but his failing health limited his role to a fiery monologue at the very beginning. Zombie rather lazily swapped Spaudling out for his new favorite character actor, Richard Brake, as a family member that previously never existed. Brake does okay, for what it's worth, but the switch is still awkward. You can tell “3 from Hell” had a smaller budget than either previous film. The soundtrack has fewer classic rock radio standards. The cast has fewer recognizable cult icons. (Howard, a briefly returning Danny Trejo, and Dee Wallace as a sadistic prison guard are about it.) Jeff Daniel Phillips, as the prison official watching over Baby, tries to capture the sweaty levels of over-the-top nuttiness seen previously in Zombie's movies but just can't hack it.
Zombie's style as a director has not evolved in any meaningful way. “3 from Hell” looks as grimy and sun-faded as “Rejects” and “31” were. His action sequences feature a lot more Peckinpah-esque slow motion than expected. (“Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia” was an obvious inspiration.) The ten year jump into the future means “3 from Hell” is set in 1988 but, aside from a split second shot of a photo of Ronald Reagan, there's no indication of that. This still feels like the burnt-out seventies, especially in a rowdy party with Mexican prostitutes. I will give Rob this much. Somehow, this movie represents a step back from the hideously unpleasant excess of “Halloween II” and “31.” The dialogue is still steeped in F-bombs but less exhaustively edgy than in those films. There's little of the spark or energy that made “The Devil's Rejects” so endlessly quotable but Zombie is audibly trying to recapture that.
Zombie can at least be commended for not attempting to replicate “Rejects'” strangely powerful ending. No, “3 from Hell” concludes by giving the Fireflies the closest thing to a happy ending that is possible for them. Which is a major anticlimax, as it makes the film feel like it just ends, that it's just an episode in some endless saga. And maybe it is, because there's nothing stopping Rob from doing this again in another ten years. “3 from Hell” certainly does not justify its own existence. It's a tired film, hopelessly straining in the shadow of “The Devil's Rejects.” It's not even a good tribute to the late, great Sid Haig. But it's not totally worthless either and is slightly better than I anticipated and then the acidic reviews suggested. [6/10]
Movie studios might not have been as wild for horror sequels in the seventies as they would become in the next decade. Still, a success of “Willard's” level – not to mention the waves of knock-offs and similarly themed films that followed – suggested the public might be hungry for a killer rat sequel. Willard died at the end of the first movie but who needs a human protagonist when you have a homicidal rat you can build a movie around? Thus, the premise for a follow-up emerged, Ben the rat supplanting Bruce Davidson as the star of the show. Rushed out for release the very next summer, “Ben” would be another box office success, if not on the level of the original. But that's not the reason people remember this movie, when they remember it at all.
“Ben” actually utilizes some of the untouched elements from Stephen Gilbert's original book. Such as a scene of the rats infiltrating a grocery store or the rodent attacks driving the public into an anti-rat panic, the government forming rat exterminating kill-squads. After his death, Willard's notebooks leak to the press. This starts a manhunt (rat-hunt?) for Ben and his brood of verminous offspring, who are just trying to survive. Ben befriends Danny Garrison, a lonely little boy with a heart condition. Soon, Danny and Ben are called upon to protect each other, as the boy is bullied and the exterminators close in on the rats.
“Ben” is a movie that occupies two worlds. The first of which is a nasty horror movie about rats invading human spaces. In that regard, “Ben” is actually more effective than “Willard.” Even speaking as someone with no fear of rats, sequences of rats swarming through a grocery store or filling out the interior walls of a building are squirm-inducing. The rats bring down police officers, wreck an eighteen wheeler, and absolutely infest the sewers underneath suburban streets. People scream as rats crawl all over their bodies. Aside from a campy scene of the rats invading a women's gym, “Ben” is an effective horror movie.
That's just half the movie “Ben” is, though. The other half is an extremely sappy kid's flick. The scenes devoted to Danny and Ben's relationship feel like something out of a Disney family film of the same era. Danny, also an amateur puppeteer, performs elaborate marionette shows for Ben. He even makes a puppet of the rat, which dances in one scene! Danny cuddles with Ben, sings songs for him, plays games with him, puts him in a box, and declares him his best friend. Ben, in return, rescues Danny from bullies and happily watches Danny perform. Lee Montgomery's performance is as gee-shucks adorable as you can imagine. In the end, after the cops wipe out all the other rats, Danny and Ben have a tearful reunion. This subplot is best summed up by Michael Jackson's saccharine theme song, which is performed several times throughout the film. Ultimately, the tonal shifts are whiplash inducing. The film can not correlate Ben, the lovable pet, with Ben, the leader of the bloody rat revolution. The disconnect is real.
“Willard” had some, probably unintentional, racial connotations. Socrates, the white rat, was beloved and accepted. Ben, and all the other brown and black rats, were rejected and scorned. The sequel leans into this aspect. Though the film obviously plays Ben's rebellion for horror, it's also emphasizes that he's just striving to live. The last act is devoted to extended scenes of the police exterminating the hordes of rats. They march into the sewer lair with flamethrowers and shotguns, eliminating every last screeching one of them. The police are being unnecessarily brutal. The cops also, pointedly, utilize fire hoses. The film's detective and journalist heroes are played straight. Yet the film is clearly depicting law enforcement officers are oppressors and the rats as antiheroes of sorts. (I'm willing to bet, however, that racial minorities did not appreciate being compared to literal vermin.)
I'm sure Bing Crosby Productions – did I mention that Bing Crosby produced these movies? – didn't loose money on “Ben.” However, M.J.'s theme song would have a far greater impact on pop culture history. It would be the iconic performer's first number one hit, would win a Golden Globe and be nominated for an Oscar. While the movie has been more-or-less forgotten, the song remains well known. To the point that most people probably don't even know that this romantic ballad to friendship was originally intended for a rat. (And it's certainly fitting that Jacko, self appointed King of the Freaks, would perform a totally sincere love song to a murderous rodent.) The sequel certainly has its moments and is, in some ways, better than its predecessor. Yet those kid-friendly scenes are almost unbearable. [6/10]
When George Romero and producer Richard P. Rubinstein realized they couldn't make “Creepshow: The Series,” as they weren't the sole owners of the film's right, they decided to make “Tales from the Darkside” instead. The show would largely ditch the comic book gimmick but keep the idea of tales of presenting macabre and the fantastic on a weekly basis. Frequent cable broadcast and nostalgic memories of seeing the show in syndication has made “Tales from the Darkside” a cult classic. (Part of this can definitely be attributed to the show's excessively spooky opening narration.) While not every episode was horror related, the show frequently veered in that direction. Naturally, that's the genre that was chosen when episodes revolving around Halloween, like season two's “Halloween Candy,” arrived.
Mr. Killup is a bitter old man with no use for frivolity or joy, caring only for food. His son, whom he is also hateful towards, stops by on Halloween night. He doesn't want to clean eggshells off dad's house again and insists on bringing some Halloween candy by. Dad instead keeps the candy for himself and gives trick-or-treators glue and mayonnaise. Late at night on the 31st, a very strange trick-or-treator comes to Killup's door step. The apparent child demands candy and won't take no for an answer. Killup soon awakens in a nightmarish night of endless horror.
Since “Creepshow” was inspired by the E.C. Comics, it's only fitting that “Tales from the Darkside” would frequently feature stories of mean people getting punished. That's exactly what “Halloween Candy” is. Roy Poole is perfectly nasty as the old man, a total asshole who heaps scorn on absolutely everyone. Tom Savini directs the episode and captures a decently spooky Halloween tone in the few shots of the outside of the house. The demonic trick-or-treator has an appealingly scaly design. The way it leaps through the air in slow-mo is kind of cheesy though. “Halloween Candy” doesn't really have time to explore concepts like time loops in its brief half-hour run time. It's gooey horrors, like a bag moving across the floor on its own or a glass full of roaches, are more effective. Overall, “Halloween Candy” never truly impresses but has enough clever tricks and fun ideas to sustain its brief run time. [7/10]
Earlier in the Halloween season, I watched the remake of “Child's Play.” Swedish director Lars Klevberg got that gig based on the strength of “Polaroid,” a long-shelved haunted camera flick he previously directed. While the feature version was finally released earlier this year, I opted instead to watch Klevberg's original short, as horror shorts are almost always superior to their feature expansions. The short follows two teenager girls, Sarah and Linda, who are trying to kill time while snowed-in at Sarah's house. They discover an old Polaroid Instamatic camera, a possession of Sarah's recently passed mother. After snapping a picture of themselves with the device, spooky shit begins to happen.
What does work about “Polaroid” is Klevberg's visual sense. The entire short has a gloomy, nighttime greenish-blue coloration to it that I rather like. (The use of color was also a highlight of Klevberg's Chucky remake, so clearly it's a strength for him.) There's a stand-out moment of suspense, when a someone crawls across the floor under a swinging light bulb. Sadly, there's not much else of interest in “Polaroid.” The girls never come to life as characters. Their long scenes of dialogue do not build up their personality but just seem to be killing time. There's no interior logic to the film's events. Once the old camera is snapped, ghostly incidents happen for no rhyme or reason. It all builds up to a lame jump scare, as seemingly all horror shorts on the internet must. “Polaroid” certainly suggest its director has the potential to create an effective horror film but he's not quite there yet. [5/10]
Blumhouse just can't be stopped. Born on the back of “Paranormal Activity,” and shot into the stratosphere by the likes of “Insidious,” “Sinister,” and “The Purge” franchise, Jason Blum's house is clearly the reigning horror specialists of the moment. Earlier in 2017, they scored a huge commercial and cultural hit with “Get Out.” As Friday the 13th dawned this October, they found another. “Happy Death Day,” though obviously a way less important movie than “Get Out,” has already proven to be a solid-sized hit. The horror-ifed “Groundhogs Day” riff has also won some positive reviews, from fans and critics. I like to catch a horror movie in theaters during the Six Weeks of Halloween and this seemed like the one to catch.
Theresa “Tree” Gelbman awakens on her twentieth birthday. She spent the night in a strange man's dorm room. Throughout the walk of shame back to her sorority house, she dodges romantic advances and phone calls from her dad. Her day is going to get worst though. Tree is being stalked by someone in a King Cake Baby mask. Eventually, the person finds her and kills her. And then the day starts all over again. Tree is stuck in a time loop which repeats whenever she dies. If Tree hopes to escape this repetition, she has to solve the mystery of her own murder.
As in the movie that inspired it, the implicit premise of “Happy Death Day” is that the protagonist will be caught in this cycle until she becomes a better person. So, Tree begins the movie as a bad person. She's a bitchy sorority girl. She stands by while others are bullied. She ignores her friends and family. After dying and coming back a few times, she gets better. She reconnects with her dad, stands up to her evil sorority sisters, and generally becomes nicer to everyone. Yet the audience never quite gets over that first impression. Tree's evolution from selfish to generous happens essentially during a montage. Jessica Rothe's performance is always slightly too snarky. A more appealing actress probably could've smoothed over this problem but Rothe is not that compelling.
Despite this issue, “Happy Death Day” is a fun little mystery. It reminded me of early slasher flicks, like “Happy Birthday to Me” or “Prom Night,” in that it functions like a whodunit for most of its run time. The early scenes present Tree with a long list of potential suspects. Watching the girl whittle down the list, eliminating her sorority sisters or the guy she went on a date with once, is mildly entertaining. It's fun to interact with the film, trying to figure out who could be responsible. “Happy Death Day” looses a lot of momentum once it reveals that a totally unrelated character is actually the killer. Tree's eventual revenge on this guy comes off as hopelessly phony, another element of her redemption that the audience can't believe. This turns out to be a decoy ending but the film never quite recovers. “Happy Death Day” should've ditch the switch-a-roo and only included one murderer in its script.
I remember when the “Happy Death Day” trailer premiered. I was totally sold on the movie until the rating came up. Inside this sleek PG-13 horror flick, the heart of a slasher movie beats. There's plenty of murder in the film. One clever death involves a weaponized bong. Another has the killer taking his spree on the road, blowing up a car. The masked murderer even stacks up some other bodies, claiming some collateral damage. The killer's mask, designed by the same guy behind “Scream's” Ghostface mask, has the potential to become iconic. Yet “Happy Death Day's” mayhem too often proves literally and figuratively bloodless. Listen, this is a movie about the main character dying repeatedly. Was a little gore, a little special effects flash, too much to ask for? Where's that “Final Destination” magic when you need it? Let R-rated concepts breed R-rated movies.
“Happy Death Day” nearly ends on a sickly ironic ending, which would've happily set up one of those sequels Blumhouse is fond of. Instead, this is yet another fake-out. Then again, it's success might mean grant the film a sequel anyway, though I'm not sure how. “Happy Death Day” is pleasant, a likable enough experience. It's also totally forgettable. The characters or ideas do not linger in the viewer's heart or mind. Several of Blumhouse's productions have had a hand in shaping the direction of modern horror. But this won't be one of them. I doubt we'll be talking about the movie in a year. “Happy Death Day” is as nice as a murder movie can be but it ultimately could've used a little more bite. [6/10]
Jack Hill is a mostly unheralded master of the exploitation and horror genres. Yes, hardcore fans of the genre know his name but it's only been recently that he's gotten his due. “Coffy” may be one of the best exploitation movies ever made, in my opinion. Hill got his start doing odd jobs around American International Pictures, editing and doing additional photography. He would make his solo directorial debut with “Spider Baby.” The film was shot in 1964 but sat on the shelf until 1967. It received little attention upon release. However, horror fans would eventually discover “Spider Baby” realize how special this strange, hilarious, creepy motion picture is. Nowadays, the film is rightfully regarded as a cult classic.
The Merrye Syndrome is so named because it only affects the members of the Merrye family. The unique disease causes those afflicted, once they reach a certain age, to be regressing backwards mentally. Allowed to live long enough and someone with Merrye Syndrome will repress beyond speech, into madness and cannibalism. The last surviving members of the Merrye family hide in a dilapidated mansion. Family butler Bruno has his hands full watching the children: Infant-like Ralph, prickly Elizabeth, and the spider-obsessed Virginia. A further branch of the family, unaffected by the disease, arrive at the house, there to discuss the estate. However, the chaotic and deadly Merryes can only co-exist with normal people for so long before someone winds up dead.
When you take its original filming date into consideration, “Spider Baby” emerges as more than just a fascinating item of obscure cinema. It may be the missing link between the classic horror of the thirties, forties, and fifties and the bloodier, edgier, sleazier brand of horror that would define the genre in the sixties, seventies, and eighties. The film is awash in the tropes of classic horror. There's a spooky old house. The story of normal outsiders coming to visit a family of lunatics recalls “The Old Dark House.” Cobwebs, shadows, spiders, and dust define the film's look. The most obvious reference is Lon Chaney Jr., in the kind of manservant role he frequently played in the twilight of his career. The film even directly references the Universal Monsters Chaney played. Yet there are no wolfmen or mummies in “Spider Baby.” The monsters are humans, wielding knives and pitchforks. Scantily clad women are persuaded by maniacs and one is even raped. The film contains features from both ages of horror, an unlikely bridge between the past and the present.
The film also reminds me of another program that attempted to fuse modern trends with classic horror trappings. The Merrye family are a bit like the Addams family. They live in a gothic mansion. They have a male groundskeeper with a memorable name. They eat weird food. Mostly, they fight to protect their unique lifestyle from quote-unquote normal people who attempt to take it away from them. No matter how insane they are, the audience is on the Merrye's side. This is partially because at least two of the guests in the house – the fittingly named Mr. Schlocker and Emily – are immensely unlikable. Schlocker is a thief, a conman, and a jerk with a Hitler mustache. Emily is stuck-up and clearly disgusted with the Merryes. Even if they're murderers and madmen, the Merryes have a point of view. They have unique interests. They love each other and care for each other. Their need to protect one another, and protect their lifestyle, rubs off on the audience.
The Merrye siblings, in particular, are especially charming. Their childish personalities lead to a disregard for other people's lives. However, it also leads to a child-like joy. Virginia and Elizabeth's pure glee at seeing Ralph again is utterly endearing. How happy Virginia's pet tarantulas make her are equally pleasing. The sisters fight with each other but, ultimately, beg not to be hated, to be loved and understood. Virginia is really the heart of the film. When she “plays spider” – catching people in nets and stabbing themselves to death – she hardly understands what she's doing is wrong. Jill Banner's performance is energetic and alluring. The film's original poster refers to her as a “lolita” and, indeed, there's an odd sexuality to her as well. This is apparent in the scene where she ties up Peter, a scene that plays more like a seduction the longer it goes on. Banner is mesmerizing in the part and, sadly, would die at a very young age.
It's notable that Peter and Ann, ostensibly the film's heroes, are not all that bad. They accept the Merrye siblings, up to a point anyway. They play their games, eat their foot, and generally seem less square than Schlocker and Emily. However, they still represent the establishment. Like so many horror films of the sixties, “Spider Baby” is about the culture war. As in “Psycho” and “Night of the Living Dead,” reasonable society brushes up against something rawer, wildier, and are promptly terrifying. This is even more apparent in “Spider Baby,” as the Merryes are clearly more lovable than the outsiders. Yes, they murder and rape and literally eat the other generation, the way a new culture must destroy the old one. Bruno, who walks in both worlds, realizes the Merryes can never survive in polite society. Peter and Ann marry, have children, and become as boring as their parents. Peter seems to think the insanity of his heredity has been banished. The closing shto, however, seems to suggest that his daughter carries some of the ol' Merrye madness in her. Thus, the untamed underground is always waiting, always present in modern society, waiting to take its revenge.
“Spider Baby” represents so much of what I love about cinema. The gorgeous sets, black and white photography, and classic horror references appeal to my monster kid soul. The themes of childhood rebellion and counterculture revenge speak to my punk rock spirit. The sex and violence touch my love of cinemas that grimy, sleazy, and crazy. It's a wonderfully weird little movie, campy but progressive, classical but exploitative. A goofy theme song co-exist next to incest and cannibalism. Every time I watch the movie, I love it more and more. This is the entire horror genre, wrapped up in a sleek eighty minute package. [9/10]
Over his first four features, Rob Zombie: Director had carved out a pretty clear aesthetic for himself. His horror films were full of extreme violence, omnipresent vulgarity, and white trash characters and settings. Some loved these antics, others hated him. After the “Halloween” remakes, Zombie's reputation as a director was especially divisive. For his fifth feature, Zombie said he wanted to try something a little different in tone. “The Lords of Salem” is, indeed, a change in pace from the shock-rocker-turned-filmmaker's previous efforts. Yet the film would receive a similarly mixed reaction from fans and critics.
Zombie's previous movies were occasionally obnoxious, due to constantly reminding the viewer how hardcore and in-your-face they were. “Lords of Salem” steps this back slightly. The trashy dialogue and settings have been reeled way back. In fact, the film works best when establishing its setting and characters. The scenes devoted to Heidi working among her fellow deejays are likable comfy, gently mocking the sound-bite heavy morning zoo setting. We get passing nods towards Heidi's past, a history of drug abuse being referenced. Yet her current life, living in a stylish apartment with a dog, seems comfortable. Zombie happily lingers on the Salem setting, drawing attention to the local landmarks. Zombie showed a similar strength for setting in his previous films but pointed that skill in a more revered direction with this one.
“Lords of Salem” is also employing a more subtle type of scare than “House of 1000 Corpses” or “Halloween II.” At least at first. The film isn't heavy on graphic gore or excessive fuck-bombs, initially. Instead, Zombie seems influenced by Polanski's Apartment Trilogy here. There's a spooky atmosphere to the scenes devoted to Heidi wandering the halls of her apartment. The sound design is built upon slowly building, rambling unease. This unnerving atmosphere ultimately explode towards more blatantly shocking scenes. Some of these moments are effective. Such as a nightmare involving a glowing red cross and a sudden yeti. Other antics are more distracting, such as a sexual assault in a church from a priest. Moments like this seemingly show Zombie torn between his attempts to make a more subtle horror film and antics more typical of his films.
Say what you will about Rob Zombie but his films usually have interesting casts. As is expected, he fills the film with recognizable cult performers. Bruce Davidson is likable as Francis, the local librarian that investigates the mystery. Sadly, that story arc ends abruptly, though Davidson makes the most of his scenes. As the cabal of evil witches, Patrica Quinn, Dee Wallace, and Judy Geeson fittingly juggle being sinister and friendly. Meg Foster is just purely creepy, primarily appearing in heavy make-up and partially nude, as a spectre of Satanic evil. Zombie, being who he is, also drops a number of notable cameos into the film. See if you can spot Michael Berrymore, Sid Haig, Barbara Crampton, and Lisa Marie.
Yet none of these experienced performers technically star in the film. Instead, Rob sticks his wife and constant muse, Sheri Moon, in the lead role. Moon's performance here, and her acting in general, have always received mixed reviews. I actually think Moon does okay in the lead. The script has here spending most of the film in a dazed state. Sheri has no issue bringing that to life. Yet, in keeping with the film's comfortable setting, I also like the scenes devoted to her work and home life. Heidi seems like a nice person, a far more relatable and likable character then the outrageous parts Moon has played in her husband's previous motion pictures.
“The Lords of Salem” is mildly effective as an atmosphere driven horror picture for about half of its run time. As the story goes on, the film becomes more dependent on shocking images. By the last act, the film descends totally into incoherent chaos. The climax is a surreal parade of bizarre images. We're talking masturbating mummy popes, Harlequin baby Satan, stuffed goat rides, and swirling colors. Zombie leans on his prized graphic violence here too, featuring a bizarre monster child being gorily torn from a woman's womb. At this point, “The Lords of Salem” looses its audience. It's almost as if Zombie couldn't think of a real ending to his film and instead just threw some crazy bullshit at the screen, hoping that would be enough. That's not quite the case.
Rob Zombie can be commended for attempting a change in direction. “Lords of Salem” does show off his strengths as a filmmaker, proving the director doesn't need to toss around excessive F-bombs and necrophilia to shock an audience. However, his weaker tendencies ultimately overtake the film, preventing the film from being totally satisfying. Sadly, the director would immediately get back to his old tricks with his next picture. Maybe he'll make a more subtle horror picture at some point. [6/10]
Like everyone else, I read Shirley Jackson's “The Lottery” in high school. As a teenager, a story of tradition and conformity having ghastly consequences especially spoke to me. Somehow, though, I've never seen the highly regarded 1969 short film adaptation of Jackson's famous story. Writer/director Larry Yust does not waver from Jackson's text at all. The short is still set in an unnamed small town. Every year, a lottery is held. The matriarch of every family grabs a piece of paper from a black box. Most of the papers are blank but one will have a black spot on it. Once someone grabs that paper, a second lottery is held within that family. Whoever receives the black spot, this time, will be this year's sacrifice.
What makes Jackson's story so chilling, even today, is how normal she makes this ghastly ritual seem. People make small-talk before the lottery takes place. They gossip and share bits and pieces from their everyday life. One woman is late. Someone in town has broken his legs, forcing his wife to draw for him. A town official performs the drawing without blinking. He asks everyone to work quickly, so they can get on with the rest of their day. An old man grouses about how some towns have abandoned the lottery. How progress is chipping away at tradition. Even more frightening, no reason for the lottery is given. There's a reference to the lottery leading to a healthy crop but this is fleeting. People have been doing this thing for so long, they don't even remember why it's important.
By sticking so closely to Jackson's prose, Yust maintains most of its power. The conclusion is just as startling and the reader feels the injustice, as poor Tessie Hutchinson, is stoned to death for no reason. Yust's direction is simple, stripped down, and even raw at times. There's a couple of rough zooms and pans. However, this gives the film a quasi-documentary feeling, reminding the viewer that this could be happening in any small town anywhere. The short story is better, as you get to experience this normal small town where this horrible thing happens a little more. However, the short film is definitely worth seeing. This isn't the only adaptation of Jackson's story. It was also made into a feature length TV film in 1996 and, oddly enough, adapted in an episode of “South Park.”[7/10]
Like seemingly everybody else in the world, I have not been having the best 2016. I was hoping that bad luck would break during the Six Weeks but the last month and a half was filled just as much nonsense as the proceeding eight. Halloween got off to a rough start, some family drama interrupting my afternoon. My friend who I trick or treated with last year had to work so that was off the agenda too. I wasn't going to let this stuff ruin my Halloween. As soon as I could, I got to work on watching as much spooky stuff as possible. As always, here's my reviews.
If I’m being totally honest with myself, my favorite author has and always will be Ray Bradbury. “Something Wicked This Way Comes” is the book that made me realize words could be an art form themselves, that narrative storytelling was no leash on poetry. Bradbury was the writer that made me want to be a writer. Bradbury first conceived of “The Halloween Tree” as an animated film back in 1967, supposedly a collaboration with Chuck Jones. When that fell apart, Bradbury rewrote the story as a wonderful novel for children. In the early nineties, “The Halloween Tree” finally emerged as the Halloween special it was always intended to be. Though it has yet to be elevated into the pantheon of great Halloween cartoons, it has been regularly broadcast over the years.
Halloween has come to a small town. Four friends march out in their costumes – Tom the skeleton, Ralph the mummy, Wally the monster, Jenny the witch – ready to begin a night of trick or treating. There’s only one problem. Their friend Pip, the greatest trick or treater of all, has gone missing. Locked up in a hospital with a potentially fatal case of appendicitis, the other four are concerned for Pip’s safety. They see his ghost running towards the haunted house of Mr. Moundshroud, a strange old man. He promises to take them to Pip, as long as they follow him on a trip through time and around the world. He shows them the various forms the tradition of Halloween has taken over the centuries.
Bradbury wrote the screenplay himself, which means “The Halloween Tree” is a close adaptation. He pairs the kids down from eight to four and adds a girl. Moundshroud is more overtly antagonistic. Pip is more involved in the adventure. The novel’s events are simplified, in order to fit inside a 70 minute run time. Otherwise, “The Halloween Tree” sticks closely to Bradbury’s text. He even narrates a few scenes. (Though I wish the film had included the songs.) The animated version certainly maintains the book’s main purpose. Bradbury connects Halloween with older rituals. The young characters witness the death rites of the ancient Egyptians, druid festivals in medieval Europe, witch trials in young America, the building of Notre Dame in France, before concluding with the Mexican Day of the Dead and the mummies underneath Guannajuato. Bradbury is showing that Halloween is much older then rubber mask and trick or treating. That the holiday stretches back millions of years, in many forms.
“The Halloween Tree” was produced by Hanna-Barbera, a company not exactly associated with high quality animation. At times, the film’s cheap television roots show. Aside from Mr. Moundshroud, whose head brings both a raven’s beak and a rotten pumpkin to mind, most of the character designs are flat and generically unappealing. The colors are often dull while the movement is usually standard. However, “The Halloween Tree” still has a pretty image or innovative moment up its sleeve. The kids running out of their houses on Halloween night is memorable, the film swooping around a trashcan. The sequence where Notre Dame is assembled in a minute is certainly eye-catching. The montage displaying the persecution of witches over the centuries is also well assembled. It’s not theatrical quality animation but it does look better then you’d expect from the studio.
“The Halloween Tree” happily relishes in the morbid. This frankness may make the film a little scary for younger viewers. One sequence features a mummy sitting at a dinner table. Another has gargoyles springing to life and flying to their perches on a cathedral. The finale has the Mexican mummies springing to life, pulling themselves from their cobweb strewn alcoves. More important is how the story gets at the meaning of the holiday. The moment when Tom Skelton realizes that Halloween is about facing the inevitable, about conquering death for a day, is genuinely powerful. At least for a Halloween faithful like myself.
Aside from Bradbury himself, Leonard Nimoy also lent his voice to “The Halloween Tree.” He plays Moundshroud with a nasally, old man whine that is interesting but, admittedly, not what I imagined while reading the book. (During this month's re-read, I couldn’t help but picture the late Angus Scrimm in the part.) The television version is unable to totally capture the tone and grace of Bradbury’s prose, just by the nature of it. For the record, Ray was pleased with the film, considering it his favorite of any adaptation of his work. The film is certainly best viewed on the 31st, where it acts as both a history lesson and a celebration of the day. [7/10]
“Freaks” is set in the world of sideshow performers. Their deformed bodies led to persecution from the outside world but, under the circus tent, they’re a family, with their own rules and system of justice. Trapeze artist Cleopatra is dating Hercules, the strongman. For fun, she pretends to be romantically interested in Hans, one of the circus’ dwarfs. After learning that Hans recently inherited a large fortune, Cleopatra begins to seriously pursue him. She marries the dwarf and begins poisoning him. The other sideshow freaks soon learn of this treachery. Their revenge will be righteous.
Though “Freaks” has a reputation as a shocking horror classic, the film is truthfully a melodrama. Love triangles, betrayal and secrets revealed are the main components of the story. Numerous subplots pad out the run time. One of the clowns is attempting to woo the pretty girl who rides the horses. Another clown, one with a bad stutter, has recently married one half of the conjoined twins, despite the protest of her attached sister. The acting fits the melodramatic script. Browning casting the film with real sideshow performers added to the story’s verisimilitude. Sadly, most of the circus folk aren’t accomplished actors. Harry and Daisy Earles are wooden as the dwarfs. Prince Randian, the Living Torso, shouts through his few lines of dialogue. Of the circus performers, only Angelo Rossitto and Frances O'Connor, the armless girl, show any actorly confidence. This stilted quality infects the non-circus performers too, as Wallace Ford, Olga Baclanova, and Henry Victor are all quite broad.
Browning’s fascination with the circus and sideshow, as previously shown in “The Unknown” and “The Show,” was genuine. “Freaks’” greatest strength lies in the sense of community and sympathetic it has for the sideshow performers. An early scene has the pinheads and seal girl playing in the forest, until a pair of hikers chase them off. They then run to their din mother, who treats them as wounded children. Browning delights in showing the behind the scenes life at the circus. One of my favorite moments has legless man Johnny Eck joking around with one of the clowns. Or the look of pleasure on the one conjoined twin’s face as her other half kisses her boyfriend. “Freaks’ has been accused of being exploitative, which it no doubt is, but Browning’s sympathy was always with the freaks. In the infamous wedding party scene, it’s clear who the real monster is.
While Browning is clearly on the side of the circus people, the film still mines their conditions for horror. Cleopatra is obviously the villain but she’s also a pretty woman being threatened by deformed people, drawing a clear line between traditional beauty and “otherness.” The climax features the human torso, the pinheads, the dwarfs and seal woman slithering through the mud. They brandish knives and pistols. The film adds additional atmosphere in the form of a severe thunderstorm. Because we’ve already been set up to believe all the circus performers are real, Cleopatra’s fate as the chicken woman is also unnerving. Browning presents these images to us to horrify, to frighten, us. It works too, as the ending of “Freaks” is as starling now as it was eighty years ago.
In its current form, “Freaks” is only a little over an hour long. Browning’s original cut was closer to ninety. The cut footage reportedly featured a more explicit conclusion, showing the freaks mutilating Cleopatra and castrating Hercules, an element totally excised from the final cut. These scenes were purportedly so shocking that a woman sued the studio, claiming they caused her to have a miscarriage. The deleted scenes are believed to be lost. Who knows if the lost footage is as distressing as it sounds? As it exists now, “Freaks” is still a film totally unlike any other, a true cult classic with the power to shock and touch the heart. [9/10]
Gee, there sure are a lot of horror movies with some variation on “Night of the Demon” in their title. There’s the previously reviewed “Night of the Demons” franchise, currently numbering four entries. There’s the sleazy Bigfoot slasher flick form 1980, also entitled “Night of the Demon.” You could even imagine “Demons” being tossed up in this bewilderment. In order to save myself the confusion, I always refer to Jacques Tourneur’s 1957 film – known as “Night of the Demon” in its full version – as “Curse of the Demon,” the title used for the shorter American edition. It’s a more fitting title, in some ways. The nights devoted to the demon only occupy two scenes, while most of the film is concerned with the demon’s curse. These are the kind of things I think about on Halloween.
A man flees through the night, screaming about a demon. After his car strikes a telephone pole, he’s electrocuted on the wires. The man, it turns out, was an expert in cults and religions, due to lecture at a convention on these subjects. When Dr. John Holden learns of the death, he investigates more closely. He discovers that the dead man was going to expose Dr. Karswell, who claims to be a black wizard and leads a cult in the English countryside. Reportedly, Karswell passed a curse onto the victim. After passing him a paper covered in ancient runes, a demon would claim him at a specific time after several days. Holden is a skeptic, not believing in such things. After Karswell passes him the same runes, after the demon begins to pursue him, his mind changes.
Tourneur came to fame for directing several of Val Lewton’s 1940s horror films. “Curse of the Demon” resembles these pictures in several way. Like Lewton’s production, this one relies primarily on atmosphere. The opening scene is thick with shadowy ambiance, as the demon’s latest victim flees through the forest. A beautiful sequence has Andrews and Peggy Cummins hiding in his home during a thunderstorm. The rain outside adds to the environment while the fantastically lit hallways undeniably catch the eye. A later sequence features a similarly, impressively staged hallway, leading towards an open window. The interaction of shadows and light undeniably create chills in at least two other scenes, also devoted to night time runs through forests or train tracks.
“Night of the Demon” has the chops to be a great classic. Yet I’ve never loved it like others do. The film attempts to be about skepticism versus superstition. Dana Andrews is a man of science, unmoved by Karswell’s supposed powers. Ideally, the film would have left us wondering if there really was a demon. Instead, “Curse of the Demon” puts its monster on-screen within the first ten minutes, removing any doubt. So Andrews’ doctor spends most of the film denying the existence of something we know is real. This makes the hero look like a huge asshole, an assumption Andrews’ pompous performance does nothing to deflate. This is a shame, as the rest of the film’s cast is quite good. Niall MacGinnis is brilliant as Karswell, creating a sinister villain through dialogue and body language. I also like Peggy Cummins as the heroine, who shares solid chemistry with Andrews.
Of course, if Jacques Tourneur had gotten his way, we wouldn’t have seen the demon. The director insisted all throughout filming that the existence of the monster be kept ambiguous, similar to the trick he pulled in “Cat People.” (Tourneur also replicates that film's famous jump scare, switching a train out for a bus.) Producer Howard E. Chester went behind the filmmaker’s back and inserted sequences of the demon at the beginning and end, insuring this monster movie actually had a monster in it. I have no doubt that “Curse of the Demon” would be a stronger film without the titular entity. Yet it is an awfully good demon, isn’t it? The effects are somewhat choppy, as the creature is clearly an elaborate puppet. Still, the image of the monster slowly walking through the night – surrounded by a burning aura, its claws and wings waving back and forth – is undeniably spooky. So is a scene where we see the demon’s footprints appearing in the dirt, slowly advancing towards the hero.
The American version of the film is cut by fourteen minutes. That might be a bit severe but I do think the British version is a little on the long side. It drags before the final scene, before Andrews’ confrontation with Karswell on the train. I’ve only ever seen the longer edition, so maybe I should give the shorter version a look some day? Individual sequences in “Night of the Demon” are brilliant but some decisions keep me from loving it totally. Maybe a fan should patch together a version without the demon, to see if it truly improves the film? One can’t help but wonder. But, hey, it did inspire a great Kate Bush song. [7/10]
Once again, I proclaim the obvious: It’s just not Halloween without Vincent Price. This’ll mark the third year in a row I’ve watched a Price vehicle on the 31st. Why break with tradition now? It’s hard for me to pick a favorite Vincent Price performance. Is it the intensity of “Witchfinder General?” The campy shouting of “The Tingler?” The silent theatricality of “Dr. Phibes?” Or is it, perhaps, the Shakespearean heights of “Theatre of Blood?” Released in 1973, the film clearly emulates the Phibes films. In all three Price plays a man who returns from the grave to murder those that wronged him, via elaborate death scenes based off pre-existing material. Sometimes formula works, as “Theatre of Blood” is just as delightful as “Phibes” was.
Edward Lionheart is the greatest Shakespearean actor of the stage. At least, he is in his own mind. When a circle of London critics deny him their highest acting award for a series of Shakespeare performances, Lionheart is so distraught that he commits suicide, leaping into the Thames. A year later, someone begins to murder the critics. Each killing is patterned after a death from a Shakespeare play. The police and the surviving critics suspect Lionheart has returned from the dead but they don’t know how. Of course, they are right.
Supposedly, “Theatre of Blood” was Vincent Price’s favorite film of all his leading roles. Why? Because it gave the actor, long since typecast in horror roles, a chance to act the bard. And not just one play either, as Lionheart recites monologues from many of Shakespeare's plays. Price is clearly relishing the oppretunity, sinking his teeth into notable speeches from “Julius Caesar,” “The Merchant of Venice,” and “King Lear.” Casting Price as a hammy actor takes away any excuse to hold back. Lionheart assumes several disguises throughout the film, presenting even more chances for Price to gloriously overact. He plays a cartoonish French chef, a campy gay hairdresser name Butch, a Cockney massage therapist, and an especially sniveling Richard III. As wonderfully ridiculous as the script is, Price still imbues the part with pathos and soul. Lionheart is a ham but he’s still got feelings, sadness as being passed over for his achievement and rage at those responsible.
“Theatre of Blood” is far gorier then the “Dr. Phibes” film, rivaling even some of the slasher flicks that would appear later in the decade. The reason the producers likely got away with this is the deaths are taken straight from Shakespeare. By cutting together a greatest hits reel, “Theatre of Blood” draws attention to just how grisly ol’ Bill’s plays were. A man is graphically run through with a spear, his dead body dragged behind a horse. A stabbing escalates until blood pours onto the camera lens. Beside his sleeping wife, another critic has his head sawed off. The film illustrates this with comically spurting blood. The film adds its own embellishments. Lionheart rewrites “The Merchant of Venice,” Shylock claiming his pound of flesh via a cut out heart. Joan of Arc being burnt at the stake is updated to a salon chair electrocution. A decapitated head is left on a milk bottle. As comedic as the film is, “Theatre of Blood” plays the carnage totally straight, creating a surprisingly uneasy effect.
The laughs the film generates are very much of the sicko variety. A mother being fed her two children in a pie, lifted “Titus Andronicus,” is transformed into a portly critic being fed his pet poodles. The scene is obviously ridiculous, even including the puffy poodle heads on the pies. Yet it’s also kind of viscerally disturbing. A fencing scene features some silly leaping across giant trampolines. Another element “Theatre of Blood” has in common with “The Abominable Dr. Phibes” is the incompetent detective chasing Price. That subplot even escalates to a zany car crash sound effect. The movie isn’t making any serious point about the relationship between critics and art. All of the critics are caricatures, even when paired with fine actors like Robert Morley and Coral Browne, Price’s future wife.
In execution, “Theatre of Blood” isn’t as smooth a ride as “Dr. Phibes.” The comedy is large, the carnage is cruel, and Price is nuanced. A plot twist concerning Dianna Riggs character is plain as day. Even with the uneven tone, I love the movie anyway. It’s just too much damn fun. Appropriately, a stage adaptation starring Jim Broadbent as Lionheart premiered in 2005. While it’s hard to imagine anybody but Price in the part, I still would have love to have seen that. [9/10]
Two years ago on Halloween, I watched “Trick r’ Treat.” By now, that film is recognized as the reigning modern cult classic for Halloween fanatics. One year ago on Halloween, I watched “Trick or Treat,” a film not quite as highly regarded by horror fans but certainly has its fans. Turns out, there is a third horror movie with a similar title. “Trick or Treats” – notice the plural – is a film I had heard of a few times, occasionally mentioned by hardcore slasher fans. I had never seen it and knew almost nothing about it. The guy at the VHSPS booth called it “a weird one.” He wasn’t wrong.
Malcolm O’Keefe got carted away to a crazy house, a decision made by his wife. Several years have passed, O’Keefe’s anger and insanity only growing stronger inside the mental ward. On Halloween night, he escapes and heads back to his ex-wife’s house, for revenge. On that same night, the wife and her new husband leave, headed to a party. They leave their mischievous son Christopher with a babysitter, an aspiring actress named Linda. Linda has her hands full with Chris, a budding magician who loves to play pranks. This makes her assume that Malcolm’s threatening phone calls are just Halloween jokes at first, leaving her unprepared for the violence to come.
“Trick or Treats” is, indeed, a weird one. What makes the film so strange is the abrasive comedy that the script liberally applies to a typical slasher flick scenario right out of “Halloween.” For most of the film, the comedy is focused on over the horror. Little Christopher pulls a new prank roughly every five minutes. He pretends to die in a guillotine, drown in the pool, and cut his thumb off. Weirdly, the babysitter falls for each one of these. He tries on multiple spooky mask, talks through a ventriloquist dummy, and performs several easily recognizable pranks. When the film isn’t focusing on the tricks, it piles on other bizarre comedic beats. Such as the killer escaping the hospital dressed as a nurse and being sexually propositioned by several different men. None of it’s funny. Instead, it’s all just really off-putting and strange.
“Trick or Treats” was clearly a passion project for Gary Graver, who raised the budget himself. He wrote, directed, produced, photographed, and edited the film. He also cast his son, Chris Graver, as Christopher. The kid is obnoxious. Jacqueline Giroux plays Linda. Giroux appeared in many adult films, under the alias Robyn Whitting, but has a few above ground credits, like “To Live and Die in L.A.” She shows a decent sense of humor in “Trick or Treats,” doing enough to ground some of the film’s duller stretches. Graver managed to talk some more notable actors into appearing in his film, albeit briefly. David Carradine plays the stepdad, attempting to seduce Giroux in one mildly creepy scene. Carrie Snodgress plays the mom, contributing nothing. Steve Railsback shows up as Linda’s boyfriend, appearing in a few scenes while dressed in a knight outfit. Lastly, Paul Bartel has a bit part as a drunken bum.
Graver’s film drags a lot. He pads long scenes out with Christopher’s countless pranks and shots of trick or treaters coming to the door. An especially useless subplot has two of Linda’s friend, who work as editors for a movie studio, cutting bizarre scenes out of some sort of horror movie. Finally, in the last half-hour, “Trick or Treats” remembers it’s supposed to be a horror movie. Chris’ dad makes it back to his house, kills one of Linda’s friend, and a long chase sequence ensues. Even this portion of the film features some weird comic relief, with Malcolm bemoaning that he’s killed the wrong person. The way the killer is dispatched is easily predicted and the last minute twist makes the audience feel like the film has wasted its time.
Despite what the title suggests, “Trick or Treats” is more trick then treat. The film’s sense of humor, tone, and pacing is bizarre enough that it’s certainly memorable. It’s rarely actually funny though and drags a lot. There was no reason this story needed more then ninety minutes to be told. It won’t offer much to slasher fans, as there’s little blood. Mostly, I think the film will appear to fans of tonally strange motion pictures. I would usually consider myself in that company but “Trick or Treats” just doesn’t work. It does feature plenty of Halloween imagery so it does get points for that. [5/10]
Rob Zombie is a love ‘em or hate ‘em kind of guy. Or at least his movies are anyway, as a certain part of the population seems to agree on his music. With “The Lords of Salem,” Zombie took a break from his white trash, vulgarity, puke obsessed style. It didn’t totally leave it behind but he was trying something different as a director. With his latest film, “31,” he’s made a hard turn back to his usual theatrics. Typically, the movie has been lovingly received by some people and utterly dismissed by others. As someone who runs hot and cold on Zombie, I wasn’t sure what I would think. Would this be closer to the grungy genius of “The Devil’s Rejects” or the overly grotesque “Halloween II?”
A group of carnies is traveling across the American South-West, from one gig to another, on October 31st. Along the way, their van is stopped by a blockage in the road. The five friends are violently attacked by masked intruders, some killed, some captured. The survivors awaken in an underground series of tunnels. Their hosts inform them that they are playing a game of 31. A group of psychotic killers will chase and pursue them, attempting to kill each of them. If they can survive for twelve hours, they’ll be set free. The odds, however, are not in their favor.
“31” is a distillation of Rob Zombie’s aesthetic. The film is set in 1976 for pretty much no reason, other then that’s Zombie’s favorite decade. The carnies speak in overly profane dialogue, dropping F-bombs and crude sexual references in every minute. At least two characters are introduced while having graphic, sweaty sex. A gas station attendant swears at the heroes as they arrive, just out of rudeness. Once the gang arrives at the murder camp, Zombie only leans harder into this style. One of the killers is a Hispanic little person, who dresses as a Nazi and idolizes Adolf Hitler. There’s a pair of chainsaw wielding clowns who constantly threaten to rape everyone and like to violate their victim’s bodies. Everybody swears. The story’s structure, with crazed killers hiding in different themed rooms, bring the haunted mazes Zombie likes to design to mind. If you can’t stomach Zombie’s bullshit, “31” will alienate you within minutes and never stop.
Rob is obsessed with showing you how in-your-face he can be. Even in “31,” his strengths as a writer are apparent. He can create memorable characters. He provides Meg Foster with a strong part, as the surprisingly resilient matriarch of the carnies. Jeff Daniel Philips is vulgar but likable as Roscoe. The killers, overdone as they are, are genuinely frightening. One duo, Deathhead and Sexhead, are a giant German man and a short, sexy female, played by a typically squeaky E.G. Daily. Both wear white T-shirts and stockings. Malcolm McDowell is nicely erudite as the organizer of the death game. The film does introduce a great villain. Richard Brake gets some of the most disgusting dialogue, as Doom-Head. Yet the guy has an unnerving physicality and brings a suitably freaky energy to the role. For example, before attacking the others, he punches himself in the face. If “31” dialed back the vulgarity a bit, making Doom-Head the main villain, it might’ve been a really thrilling film.
The biggest bummer about “31” is not how unpleasant it is. I expected that. What’s most disappointing about the film is how hard so much of it is to watch. During the attack scenes, Zombie turns on the shaky cam. Some of the fight sequences are so chaotic, that you simply can’t tell what’s going on. While Zombie made his budgets count on his other films, “31” is less visually interesting. The majority of the film are set in indistinct underground tunnels. The lighting is mostly sickly blues and greens. There are some clever sets, like the various death rooms or the Satanic ballroom Malcolm McDowell hangs out in. But far too much of “31” looks the same. The film’s budget was provided by two separate crowdfunding campaigns. I wonder if the contributors felt their money was well used?
“31” is unendingly nihilistic. If you’re expecting the ending to wrap things up in a satisfying or interesting way, prepare to be underwhelmed. I can’t say I enjoyed the film, as I don’t think it was designed to be enjoyed. Rob Zombie set out to make the most hardcore, fucked up thing possible. I don’t know if he met that objective but he clearly created something deeply unpleasant. “31” isn’t entirely artless, featuring some interesting performances and production design. However, it’s constant need to be extreme is quickly exhausting. Despite the title, the film barely utilizes its Halloween night setting, making it a weak pick for the end of the Six Weeks. [5/10]
Well, I did my best. There’s no doubt that this year’s Halloween could’ve been more then it was. I did none of the fun Halloween activities I looked forward to. I didn’t hand out candy, navigate a corn maze, survive a haunted attraction, or see a midnight screening. The universe even conspired to ruin my annual trip to Monster-Mania, by throwing a flat tire at me.
It wasn’t a total wash though. I made the most of the Six Weeks of Halloween. I watched 95 movies, 63 television episodes and 13 short films. That leads to a total of 171. Which means I managed to top my previous record. I made some cool discoveries, finished my journey through “Tales from the Crypt” and “Lost Tapes,” and definitely had some laughs. Was it spooky, scary fun? It certainly was. The sun is getting ready to dawn on November 1st, meaning the Halloween season has officially come and gone. As always, I’ll miss you, Halloween. As always, I’ll be waiting to welcome you back with open arms next September 18th. Good night, spirits. Can’t wait to see you again.
