The Book of Horror (May Contain Spoilers)

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Chapter 140: Bloody Stupid Pom Poms


Cheerleader Camp
(1988 / director: John Quinn)

½★

Well... when I bought this DVD for $5.00 from DeepDiscount.com, I said I wanted bad. And bad is what I got. Unfortunately... it's not the good kind of bad. Nor is it any fun... at all. This Z-rate wannabe Troma (who have actually produced some genuinely entertaining no-budget wonders) spoof / sex-comedy / "slasher" thing (the blood looks good but nothing else in this department is the slightest bit remarkable) is truly one of the worst direct-to-video 80's horror flicks I've ever had the displeasure of sitting through. Why is it, with a movie that is supposed to be about female cheerleaders, we have to suffer through "boys will be boys" antics? I'm sorry, on the cover of this disc and on the back as well, I see pictures of girls. Why am I forced to watch scenes of Googy Gress wannabes mooning people in windows with their impossibly-fat asses naked onscreen for 3 minutes straight? And of course, that's not even half as low brow as this thing gets. Said Token-Fat-Guy also cross dresses and films himself peeing on a portable video camera (he doesn't pee on the camera, he pees in the woods). And as if that weren't enough, this movie throws in yet 2 more horny guys. Only in this case- they're old horny guys. These "filmmakers" want to make sure they can narrow your opinions of as many stereotypes they're able to fit in one movie (and I'd say they did their job admirably- try to not be repulsed by the men in this movie). Leif Garrett is the only semi-attractive guy here and even he can't be bothered to be a decent human being. Wait... you may be thinking to yourself: why are there men at a cheerleading camp? Well, we all know there are male cheerleaders. But these guys don't dance. Dancing's too gay or something. These guys rap. You can just see where this is going. And, yes, it makes Sleepaway Camp 2: Unhappy Campers look artful. Forgive me for expecting this would have a lot more bitch antics and... well, something for female viewers (you can't even tell these girls apart except by their hair color). Or...for any viewer with a brain. The only thing this has going for it is a truly inspired twist ending. But, wow- 2 minutes out of 88? If any of you have this in your Netflix Queue, do yourselves a huge favor and drop it like it's something that belongs in the toilet. It does.

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Chapter 127: Dario Argento's James Bond?


Cat o' Nine Tails
(1970 / director: Dario Argento)

★★

Dario Argento has many talents. His most on-the-surface talent is for taking the viewer on one hell of a ride, through a wild number of spinning, scaling, flying, dizzy camera moves. Argento is the Horror Equivalent to a Rollercoaster (for proof of that, just see the "releasing of the ravens" scene late in Opera). But he also has a hidden talent for an almost subversive brand of deep, provocative intrigue. Even though all the work with Italian social archetypes (the recipe-sharing cop is the best example here but there are others) is lost on me (and most American viewers), the flair with which he handles the lot of them is impressive. It took me a long time to finally see the genius inside of Tenebre's outer shell of Homicide Chic. But you only have to look at the shell to know it's so slick- it's slid way ahead of its' time (the futuristic approach of the late 70's into the 80's). Many of Argento's themes revolve around mysteries which reflect internal things about the film's characters. Tenebre and Cat o' Nine Tails are the more shallow, but share something in common. A suggested network of deception. One character betrayal begets another begets another begets... And in Tenebre especially, this highly corrupt code of conduct opens the door to a heady atmosphere of paranoia. As Harvey Danger said, "everybody's coming to get me!" Were I a character in that film, I would imagine so; save time. This theme reached a fever pitch in Mario Bava's signature slasher Bay of Blood (aka- Twitch of the Death Nerve). And it's distinctly Italian.

But in the end, the difference between Tenebre and Cat o' Nine Tails is that in the late '60s / early '70s, Dario was totally new on the scene of Italian giallo thrillers. Mario Bava was already considered King (Dario was later branded the Italian Alfred Hitchcock in the media and that's unfair: Bava was the Italian Hitchcock, the Godfather / Dario was the Italian Brian De Palma, the Rebel Prince and a true revolutionary, who really brought the definitive horror touch to giallos in the '70s). Dario was such a rebel, in fact, that after his first film Bird with the Crystal Plumage sky-rocketed him into instant stardom (in Italy, directors like Dario are treated like Steven Spielberg- he couldn't walk the streets without people recognizing him fast) he decided that he wanted to play around with the genre. Almost like he resented the attention he was being given and the popularity of his film. So he decided to make Cat, this western-styled city life detective slasher fueled by silly character attitudes, baffoonish comedy, and promises of an epic tragedy finale that never comes, and featuring a truly hideous load of cocky jerks all constantly spitting in each others' faces (in one way or another). That's the biggest problem with the formula here- what can you do with a slasher movie where every character acts like they're untouchable? Unless you're a fan of the stuff Argento is borrowing from to form this fairly shoddy construct, all you're going to get are underwhelming death scenes and a little style.

I don't know if he should have tried to stick to the Bird mold, but either way, his next film clearly bests this one. As does Bird. This is his only truly weak giallo film until the 1990's and that still boasts an intimidating record. Best scene: cooler than ice (which is why it's all the more disappointing to see how they basically prozzie-slap her with one of the sleaziest revelations in Italian film history) Catherine Spaak behind the wheel trying to shake off the police. After this though, you'll yearn for Daria Nicolodi's Gianna Brezzi - like I did. Her Deep Red girl-power spunk and pure energy are sorely missing from a film this unmotivated.

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Chapter 129: What's Death Got to Do- Got to Do with It?


Psychos in Love
(1986 / director: Gorman Bechard)

★½

I had some idea that when I bought this movie, I was getting into something unusual. I've known about it since at least 2001 and just because of the cover alone, was dying to see it. I had to see it! It was a mission. I mean- that cover is basically exactly what you get. I promise you, if you have the guts to watch this movie, you will see endless montages of him killing people, her killing people, both of them killing people together. Anyway, in case you also hadn't noticed, it's a total joke. Comedy, spoof- that sort of thing. For the first 45 minutes solid, I was in shock. For a multitude of reasons. One being how utterly unsophisticated this was. I mean: we're talking shot-on-video stuff here. The quality of the photography is actually quite good but only one cast member here I think could be mistaken for being a professional actor. It looks like something some friends got together and shot in their houses and on the streets and in whatever business would let them. And in that respect, this movie could never hope to be better than the once overrated but now underrated Dead Next Door or the amazing There's Nothing Out There.

Another reason I was in shock was because, initially, I was having absolutely no fun with it. Think about it: there's a lot of novelty in a movie where a man and a woman meet, are both serial killers, and on a date tell each other they're serial killers, and like each other so much that they won't kill each other- they'll just continue to pick up victims and dispatch them. There is a lot of potential for great comedy here. But for a long time, this is just a dreary, cheap series of lame, sleazy kill scenes. Stopping only occasionally for an Elvis reference (which Jim Wynorski does better anyway). I just had to say - and I did, several times in that first hour - Troma's The Newlydeads was better than this. I also couldn't get past the fact that she was fairly attractive (sort of a dead ringer for Molly Ringwald) but that this guy had just about zero charisma. I just couldn't believe that she would have any interest in him (I was definitely recalling the outrageously stupid Maniac in my head). And it takes at least 55 minutes, but that feeling eventually dulls and the movie does get better.

It's a long wait and you may lose your mind, but in that last half hour, the movie got... well... clever. When they decide to get married and they get tired of killing and try to settle down into a life without it. That's when things get fun. Which shows me that these guys actually have a real flair with comedy. And I think they do. The more they make jokes about this being an actual movie and not pretending it's realistic- the better it is. And they don't just knock down that 4th wall- they blast it with dynamite! They push boom mics out of their faces, they talk directly to the camera, the camera pans over to show the movie crew and the blood pumpers, they stop a scene completely to "give a message" to the audience, and base entire scenes around discussing character motivations. Which I was very grateful for. I was ready to call a character on his hypocrasy and the pointlessness of the "she liked grapes" shower murder at the beginning- but the wife character (Debi Thibeault) did it for me! The more you watch the killers do what they do, the more boring it is. The more they talk about it, the more originality the movie has.

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Chapter 133: The Kindest Cut


Ichi the Killer
(2001 / director: Takashi Miike)

★★★

Takashi Miike is the single most exciting thing in New-Millennium horror, bar none. His insane parades of ultra-violence, gore, gross-out, and psycho style recall (and seek to overshadow) the glory days of Sam Raimi, Peter Jackson, and Dario Argento like they were just kids playing around with cameras. Though he most likely inspired countless hacks to try and match his brutality with worthless garbage like Saw and Hostel: Part II, Miike (like Wes Craven wasn't responsible for the wave of copycat teen slashers that proliferated after Scream in the 90's) is not responsible for the substance in his films being clouded by the sensationalism of the violence (Americans are the ones making a big deal of it). Asian horror has never been pure before and so neither is this film, a street war gangster film (on the outside) that really knows how to wind you up (the Ichi character, within the movie's universe, becomes an infamous enigma only to have his reputation for leaving whole roomfuls of people in pieces to be mistaken for a sadistic act). The tension is highly diluted through quirky characters, silly CGI, and an irresistably fast pace (which is appreciated after the slower, more head-scratching moments of The Happiness of the Katakuris) until it nearly becomes a farce. If anything, this is a relief. Because - like rape - we really don't need to feel torture to understand that it is bad; though you'll definitely feel something here, I admit to being fairly immune to it.

Though, again, that may be because this isn't hardcore realism. Miike is the true creator of the modern torture horror subgenre (so he uses this film to unload dozens of philosophical observations about the meaning of it in relation to several characters). With that in mind, I only hope this is as nasty as it gets (I've only seen 3 Miike films). Because, this is damn nasty. Ichi is filled to the brim with clever deceptions (this approach seems to be Asia's bread and butter in the genre). At worst, this goes a little too far into misogyny at times. After the woman is punched in the face 4-5 times in a row, in closeup, I have to say: we get the point already! But honestly, the movie's playing field is more than fair since an untold number of men are placed on the chopping block. The movie has many remarkable qualities. Most of all that it allows us to find the nastiest character to also be its' most beautiful and vulnerable (it doesn't make us feel for him exactly, instead I think it gives us something to relate to) while the obvious, sympathetic underdog becomes a kind of joke. I always got it but still, everything he does is in spite of himself.

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Chapter 57: Who's Laughing Now?


Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn
(1987 / director: Sam Raimi)

★★½

This movie's existence is owed to 80's advances in special FX; it's a total KNB-showcase. But in the 80's, FX were advancing faster than the movie directors could keep up with. In the heyday of Rick Baker and Rob Bottin, the critics scoffed. But audiences didn't care. Instead, they screamed with delight and made huge box office successes out of An American Werewolf in London, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and Re-Animator to name a few. On a smaller scale, The Evil Dead was also a similar hit. And went on, in cult circles, to eclipse the reputations of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Re-Animator (considered a great deal more mainstream thanks to dozens of references on sitcoms and in Hollywood movies such as American Beauty) as the ultimate cult film experience. A sequel was inevitable but it was obvious that it wasn't going to be easy to make since the first film was so original. To anyone willing to put money into a sequel, it also had to be made by the same guy. But in the years following that film, Sam Raimi lost his razor-sharp master's touch. Due no doubt to the intense controversy the film had caused in England, being added to their infamous "Video Nasties" list, and several people complaining about a certain scene involving what could only be described as a rape committed by a tree.

Yes, Raimi caved to pressures that the film was too dark, too vicious, and too scary. So, for Evil Dead II, his answer was to lighten the mood. That's a mistake, because now almost no one takes the "tree rape" scene seriously and if anyone complains about Evil Dead now, it's that the movie's too comedic. If that's how you feel, prepare yourself for a shock: this one's even sillier! It starts pretty much from the beginning where I was personally shocked to find the music score had lost all the awesome frightful spookiness of the first in favor of a more epic renaissance feel. Then, the decision to remake a large number of scenes and sequences from the original in an attempt to "improve" upon what was already masterful with their superior new tools. Well... in the case of the camerawork, the new tricks are superior and result in scenes so breathtaking, they kick Argento's ass. But then, when the camera stops zooming and speeding around... there's really not much left. This goofy sequel has a good number of effective JUMP moments but none of the creep factor of the original. It's a spectacle to behold for sure, but it's just not the movie it should be. Basically, by this time, Peter Jackson's Bad Taste was catching international word-of-mouth. And next to that film, Dead by Dawn doesn't have a prayer.

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Chapter 69: Baby Love


The Brood
(1979 / director: David Cronenberg)

★★½

David Cronenberg was, before Takashi Miike came along, the horror genre's greatest and most-respected mindfucker. Most of his pre-Videodrome films (and certainly the nauseating Naked Lunch after), however, were seriously hampered by trying too hard to find visual ways to make his insane ideas came to life. Some directors did this through technical style (Argento). While others (like the kings of the body-horror subgenre: Peter Jackson, Frank Henenlotter, and Cronenberg) did it through heavy amounts of mutant / creature FX work. On that level, The Brood is one of Cronenberg's more successful early films because it throws those in the backseat until there's nothing left for the story or characters to say. He knows this is horror, the medium he's chosen to express himself through, and that there is a time for the talking to end. But the film is a lot more talking than gross-out, so the real question is- is the story a successful one? Resoundingly, the answer is- yes. This is a highly intelligent, deeply personal and passionate story featuring themes of child abuse and a father's struggle to gain full custody over his daughter. What makes this highly intelligent is that it's not made to pander to audiences the same way a soap opera or a Hollywood drama might. It's presented instead matter-of-factly so that each viewer can decide how much they can relate to it themselves. And importantly, all the main bases are covered. Though it is set-up for the purpose of generating tension.

However... watching how seriously the film takes its' subject matter does raise some questions. Only because several elements here were already covered by 1976's horrific made-for-TV thriller, Sybil. Maybe Cronenberg didn't see that film (in fact, it's highly likely he didn't). But is this movie bringing up the topics of writs and court custody cases for drama or misdirection? Or just to give the character of Raglan something to do outside of the therapy scenes? Those therapy scenes being the most compelling material in the movie- I don't know where she came from but Samantha Eggar gives a dynamite performance, managing to always be creepy, sweet, and sad at the same time. The acting here is first-rate, all around. But at times, the focus is taken completely off of the cast and dropped onto their heavily made-up deformities. The movie already walks a tight line between Brian De Palma psychological tension and weathered, overstuffed queasiness (even in dialogue scenes; this is mostly Oliver Reed's fault- he always makes me feel like I just rode the Teacup Ride at Disneyland 45 times without stopping). So, it's even more of a test to then be expected to accept the characters' unbelievably gross physiological mutations. In these moments, all the hard work establishing interesting characters and story is reduced to a sideshow. Which really is a waste of the film's great wintry cinematography and excellent, icy Howard Shore music score.

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Chapter 97: The Downward Spiral


The Church
(1989 / director: Michele Soavi)

★½

Lucio Fulci has made some of Italian horror's worst yet most visible films- a few of which aren't so bad, usually the zombie films. Such as the unfathomably dreary City of the Living Dead, the absurd yet hypnotically awful House by the Cemetery, the tropical fever-pitched gorefest Zombie, and his most disgusting (in terms of bad special effects) yet competently (almost compellingly) bizarre film, The Beyond. But this is not a Lucio Fulci film. The reason I bring him is: Dario Argento. He was so big for so long, that in 1985, he decided he had to become a producer and writer for other people's films. He became a brand-name that movie executives plastered all over some truly schlocky stuff. Yet, nothing worthy of the quality of his reputation (as built by an amazing body of work- I still say Argento is probably the most important director in the genre's history) or his name. Basically, the stuff by Lamberto Bava and Michele Soavi that was released under the "Dario Argento Presents" label couldn't be further away from Argento's stylish, intriguing worlds. Fulci should have at least had his own label.

Sort of a Cabin Fever for the 80's, The Church is even more lost than that film. It was supposed to be a follow-up to Lamberto Bava's hugely popular Demons movies only with less schlock and more of Argento's trademark surrealism. But Soavi had greater ambitions, nearly all of which are buried under some of the most embarrassingly, agonizingly bad special effects I've ever seen in my entire life of watching horror movies, as well as endless scenes of people walking around in a daze. The latter of those I usually like (Herk Harvey made a masterpiece out of it with 1962's Carnival of Souls). But Church has to ruin it every time by intercutting it with grotesque children making out with each other or playing the saxophone. There is no story left to follow after about the 40-minute mark. Just... people walking around in a daze... or, wait- I should say: people walking around in a circle in a daze... and the children acting like freaks. Before that, the story involves an Indian Jones-ian hottie and his equally pouty girlfriend scheming to raid the church of the title's basement looking for religious antiquities that might be worth a lot so they can sell it and become rich. Meanwhile, in the church live some really creepy old guys, one of whom's daughter (Dario Argento's daughter herself, future megastar and international sex symbol, Asia Argento) sneaks out to party every night. Well, the explorer's greed does him in when all he finds is a symbolic key that locks the church's doors while a disease that infects everyone inside with wacky hallucinations passes from one person to the next from various forms of physical contact. Some people die, most just leave the main room. The movie ends when the church explodes and there's one of those horrid back-where-we-started endings that suggests there will be a sequel.

Trust me: none of that is a spoiler and if you actually watch the movie, you won't care anyway. I've said this about the movie everywhere it's come up in discussion online; nothing happens. It was the Demons formula that a mounting series of scenes build up an insane tension that you could cut with a knife. Both Lamberto Bava's films had their groan-worthy moments of silliness but actually achieved that nail-biting quality where the viewer, sitting there, is tighter than they can remember being in years and are legitimately dreading (in a frightful way) what's going to happen next. When the shit's going to hit the fan (a.k.a: when the tension gives way to the Carrie-style slaughter you know is imminent). In The Church, the shit hits the fan somewhere around the 4-minute mark (yeah, 4 minutes into movie, right after the credits) and it's all downhill from there. Though the movie wants you to think what happened in the prologue will happen again- it never does. This isn't an unforgivable sin or anything. What is unforgivable is that the movie intends the multiple montages of hallucinating weirdos to be something they're not. Either provocative, sensual, fascinating, intriguing, spooky, or beautiful depending upon the image currently in your face (this movie is like a ViewMaster of weak, ugly leftovers from Argento and Fulci). Instead they alternate between harmlessly pretentious and outright "WTF!?!?"-inspiring. Most unforgivable of all, Soavi copies one of the best scenes from Rosemary's Baby shot-for-shot. That's a huge no-no in my book. However... the movie does have a few good qualities. Some online rave about the music score. It doesn't live up to the hype but it does have a few runaway glorious moments. The camerawork is almost up to Argento's standards at times. The opening is good. And Antonella Vitale actually looks a lot better here than she did in Argento's Opera. Finally I believe her as a fashion model (her hair just looked so ratty in Argento's film).

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Chapter 118: Euro-Horror in the Ghetto


Bones
(2001 / director: Ernest R. Dickerson)

★★½

Speaking of Argento and Fulci, Bones director (and one-time Spike Lee cinematographer) Dickerson is a fan and horror film buff who joined Masters of Horror for their miserable 2nd season in 2006. Based on the strength of this film (and the fact that other directors in the series, Rob Schmidt and William Malone, didn't have a single good film between them), I would have to say Garris-and-co. backed a winning horse (though his entry, The V Word, was the second worst of the season). Dickerson also knows there are a lot of black horror fans, though Hollywood rarely makes movies with them in mind. They are a rarity in the genre and usually have to be distributed through Troma (Def by Temptation) or HBO (Tales from the Hood) who target niche markets. Bones is not as good as those films but it's surprisingly fresh and its characters are shockingly less annoying than most white characters (even in equally good new-millennium horror films such as Jeepers Creepers). There are in general a huge number of horror films borrowed this borrows from, but most of them are made by Italy's Mario Bava (one of Dickerson's favorite directors), Argento (the Suspiria references are obvious), and Lucio Fulci, whose mythology from City of the Living Dead and The Beyond is one of the most fascinating things about this film. It doesn't have a name (like City had "Enoch" and Beyond had "Eibon") here but it gives Bianca Lawson a real glow during her dialogue scenes.

Like the Italian horror movies, Bones draws a lot from movies of the past. Done in a more natural, laidback way than in Quentin Tarantino's often obnoxious nostalgia films (reaching its' ulimate who-cares point with the criminally overrated Grindhouse), Dickerson takes elements from the 70's such as the strong black woman (in the form of Blaxploitation Queen, Pam Grier of Coffy and Foxy Brown), the wrongfully murdered black man (of J.D.'s Revenge) and the soothsayer character (I'm so tempted to say Whoopi Goldberg's character in Ghost, but that's jumping quite a bit ahead of where this movie's at) and mixes them with modern icons like Snoop Dogg, and Spike Lee's cinema of asking questions. Here the question is, "how did crack get in the ghetto?" The movie answers it with the revelation that something in American city culture drove black people to sell the drug to users, mostly blacks, which eventually turned the thriving, peaceful neighborhoods into rundown, dark alleys of desperation and decay. It's a bit heavy for a movie like this, especially since Dickerson doesn't go all the way with it. Eventually, the movie's awesome, colorful style and great build-up to startlingly exciting, artful scenes of horror melts into a truly awful ending that sinks this from being one of the new-millennium's best genre films.

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Chapter 120: Mommie Dearest


Sleepwalkers
(1992 / director: Mick Garris)

★★★

I didn't know Mick Garris was really a secret action director- but this is a seriously fun popcorn movie. It's inventive, at times surprisingly creepy, elegantly paced, everyone turns in a quality performance, and the special effects are excellent. Slick and sophisticated in its' almost satirizing of wholesome families, King's script somewhat intends this to be an assault on home-sweet-home American TV-family values. And if you've seen as much bad 80's tv as I have, you know is long in coming. Here, the incestuous monster mother and son are called the Brady's. Hell- there might be some pent-up 40's and 50's stuff here in Tanya's (played by Mädchen Amick, the Alicia Silverstone of her day) family too, her mother and father being sickeningly Growing Pains-esque. Or, like the parents from Critters. Littered with amazing scenes. From great gore (the hand rip, the finger bite, corkscrew in the eye) to artful intensity (the kitchen scene with the scissors and the rose) to the good girl stereotype spoofing... It doesn't all work, though. The weak link here is clearly Charmed's beefy Brian Krause, especially when his character turns into Freddy Krueger spouting out awful one-liners. But, the amazing Alice Krige (1981's Ghost Story) in a true powerhouse performance that shames Dee Wallace's shotgun-toting psycho bitch in The Frighteners more than makes up for what he lacks. After busting heads, stabbing cops with corn cobs, scratching and clawing... she tears Ron Pearlman (Mr. Hellboy himself) apart!! Right after he reveals himself to be a woman-hating, 'them teenagers got no respect' douchebag. She's where the film first gains its' sophisticated quality, because she turns every small gesture into something creepy, grand, and exotic. Then, it's like her character got Rambo disease and decided she ain't takin' no more of their shit! With all that... a couple morphing shots and a loud black cop stereotype are not enough to ruin this good time.

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Chapter 106: Deep Orange


Halloween II
(1981 / director: Rick Rosenthal)

★★

When it comes to sequels for movies as seminal and genre-defining as John Carpenter's Halloween... you have to learn to lower your expectations. The long and short of it is: Universal bought the rights to the sequels after Carpenter's film blew up huge and then put one into production the second Paramount had a hit with 1980's Friday the 13th. You'll find most Hollywood studios are competitive with each other and always try to steal a little bit of the thunder from one another. However, the difference between Friday the 13th and its first (and indeed, its second) sequel is very little. Whereas the difference between Halloween and its first (and actually, every sequel to follow) is astounding. Mainly, the first film had a real story involving a logic that isn't present here. Halloween was about the boogeyman in the form of Michael Myers symbolizing a range of fears. From shadows and darkness to the grim reaper to the violation of the suburbs by a criminal element that was born within the suburbs. Despite what many people would have you believe, Michael Myers wasn't a realistic killer. He wasn't even human. He was "the shape." Just a figure formed from whatever evil you could think up. To Laurie Strode, he was a ghost. To Dr. Sam Loomis, he was a child of the devil. To the police, he was a serial killer. To the audience, he is all of these things and more- as the reputation of the movie was questioned by people who even assumed he was a kind of murderous moral officer, killing teenagers for having sex before marriage and smoking dope.

Here, the rules have changed drastically. In the first film, Michael Myers just found his victims at random and stalked them. But to necessitate this sequel, they have added a special revelation that will give credence to the radical change in the killer's behavior: Laurie Strode - the only survivor from the first film's perspective victim pool - is his sister! So that explains why he followed her around for most of the first movie. It had nothing to do with the fact that he ignored her until, standing beside her friend Annie who shouted, "speed kills!" at him, he drove down the road she walked home from school on. This is done because the makers of this second film think the audience have forgotten most of the first movie and would find the plot illogical if they didn't change the things that fail to make sense. I'm not normally against sequels that don't want to repeat the original. If you insist on a franchise, it's imperative that you do switch things up to keep a new movie fresh. But in this case, what is done here has infected the audiences who went to see the sequels. They honestly believe Laurie Strode was Michael's sister, even in the first movie. It literally has gotten so ridiculous that there are cults online (not to mention more than 2 Official Halloween Message Boards, one of which I'm a member of) who debate the logic back and forth amongst themselves. This is something that never made sense to me, even less so than the decisions made for this movie. That's mostly because I just can't forget the filmmaker's vision for mixing the story with the style and atmosphere, which are vital to horror.

John Carpenter returned to write this script, so you would think that most of the blame should go on his shoulders. His motivation for doing so however is understandable. Since he wasn't Spielberg, he wasn't rich and felt he deserved a bigger paycheck for the work he did, considering how much money Halloween raked in. Not one single movie he's written or directed since has made that much or been 1/3rd as successful. So, I more than sympathize with why he did it. No wonder he needed so much booze to get through the writing. I can also forgive him for this, since he at least adds some references to Argento's Deep Red into the mix. His attitude about the sequels has also been good considering none of them tried to show the original any respect. For this particular one, Rosenthal had some excellent ideas to shoot more psychological scares involving build-up and dread rather than showy, graphic Friday the 13th style kills but either Universal or Carpenter himself weren't willing to listen. What we do get is very sleazy most of the time. Laurie is shipped off to the local hospital where foul-mouthed guys try to bed whorey nurses while singing dirty limericks. To pad the 92-minute running time, they basically fill the place with good looking people and told them to improvise their lines. The only thing that feels like the writers even tried is a bunch of wooden nonsense about Michael Myers having followers (in one sentence, Loomis talks vaguely about some kind of awakening) and trying to pimp this "Samhain" thing; some ancient holiday about the end of summer. Humbug!

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Chapter 43: Finding the Morning?


The Crazies
(1973 / director: George A. Romero)

★★★

Pretty much all the best horror films of the 1970's played with drama or were steeped in tragedy of one sort or another. Of that lot, George Romero can claim two of the most depressing. The spooky and deceptive Dawn of the Dead (deceptive because the viewer often thinks it's meant to be a horror-comedy), and this 70's disease-horror remake of 1968's Night of the Living Dead. Beating David Cronenberg to the start of the body-horror subgenre by 2 years, it would be fascinating to compare this chaotic military-horror film to Cronenberg's equally impressive Rabid (1977). Both share various themes; a population of people attacked by a disease that infects them one-by-one, not knowing what's really going on or how to stop it, the military having to physically step in and weed through people, and an attempt to create a vaccine. Cronenberg's film is atypically prettier while Romero's film is rougher in every way imaginable. Therein lies Crazies one true flaw and it's a biggie. Since this is so cheap and Romero's style back in the day was to use some pretty cruddy library tracks from other movies, his insistance on trying to make this a hard and fast action film dates it horribly. Instead, it mostly feels like a made-for-tv movie with a little bit of sexual edginess thrown in at the last minute.

The first time I viewed this, I was bored to tears and could barely sit still waiting for something to happen. Romero likes intense stories of human interaction and enhances them as best he can with actors acting intense. Everyone seems to be on the same side; we see politicians sweating, military personnel with hearts of gold, really-pissed off scientists, and some kind of police force all dressed in white Hazmat suits. They all yell and scream at each other while trying to establish a system of handling the outbreak of civilians going insane and attacking the people who aren't infected. A seemingly uninfected 5-person group is formed and the movie becomes about their fight for survival as they try to figure out how they escape military capture. This is wise since we quickly learn the soldiers are just throwing everyone they catch in big rooms together. Anyone who isn't yet infected become infected because of this, while the soldiers figure they'll come up with a vaccine... eventually. The 70's were a decade in the genre of very few happy endings. So, I don't really have to tell you how this turns out. I will tell you this though, with Romero's keen sense of irony, the ending we get is one of horror's biggest surprise moments of genius. Once you've processed all of what's between the lines.

Watching the movie now it's a lot like Carrie, the teen drama that becomes a full-fledged terror tale. The Crazies is a disaster movie (the opening mostly focuses on property damage - houses being destroyed and raging fires) that becomes a powerfully sad and potent horror film which, along with The Last House on the Left before it and Deathdream the same year, represents a wake-up call that the laidback, peace-and-love 60's are over. This film focuses more than those on distrust of authority figures (the survivors are literally on-the-run from people who actually do want to help them) and rather than youth, how adults are affected by panic of the breakdown of society. Friendships are tested, every variety of family is torn apart, and in the end- hope is entirely annihilated. Both this and Carrie also share a highly personal tragic tone and a fine talent for simmering its' blood effectively until it reaches boiling point. This film never explodes like that one does but the results in relation to the main characters are every bit as devastating. And also have relevance to the audience's world as well. You might wonder why anyone would want to see a movie like this, since in several ways things in the world have gotten better. I guess, like history itself, documents like this are kept around so we'll never forget.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 50: Not People... Brains!!


The Return of the Living Dead
(1985 / director: Dan O'Bannon)

★★★

The history of Return is a continuation on the history of Romero's Night of the Living Dead (1968). Romero had nothing to do with this, but rather - following Night - he and John A. Russo (co-writer, co-creator of the whole idea) stopped working together afterward and made a split agreement where if either wrote another movie about zombies and wanted to use the title, Romero would not be allowed to use the word "Living" in any of them. Then Romero made Dawn of the Dead in 1978, which seems to be the same year Russo's Return of the Living Dead novel came out. It took 10 years, but each one made another move. Does it seem suspicious then that 7 years later come the next two movies in each series? Romero completely throws himself into the making of each of his famed Dead movies, but rumor has it the people putting the money into 1985's Day of the Dead were not at all happy that they would be competing with Return. The results prove there was never any competition. Return mopped the floor with Day at the box office and I don't know that I'm normally given to gloating, but - though many believe Day is a masterpiece - I've always felt that film was criminally overrated. Originally, Return was to be directed by none other than Tobe Texas Chainsaw Massacre Hooper (no doubt because of the huge success of Poltergeist... and the fact that he wasn't being given any more prestigous offers). Somehow, that didn't work out (Hooper was notorious for being replaced from and fired off of movies he was slated to direct and even, in some cases, had already started directing).

Instead, it became the directorial debut for noteworthy horror-screenplay writer Dan O'Bannon, of Ridley Scott's Alien and Hooper's Lifeforce (1985), which had yet to come out and later was considered a quite large failure for most involved (sorry, Hoop; ya should've chosen Return). O'Bannon proves to be a great burst of John Carpenter-esque attitude and likably-opinionated snobbery mixed with an off-putting friendliness. He agreed to take on the directing gig without being asked to re-write but he insisted on being allowed to, and so he took to re-writing with a mission to make it a real punk-horror movie. That's not only what gives this a fresh edge over the other 2 cult zombie films of '85, but is also responsible for its' continued popularity with teenagers decades later. It actually even came up in a class discussion in my high school. Most horror films of the 80's were doomed to be dated, so Return embraces this in its' spirit in most areas. Its spirit is all-punk, with a killer soundtrack to prove it. My favorite moment of O'Bannon's looking back on this film is when he comments on the famous Linnea Quigley stripping scene. He mentions on the DVD that he intended the film for a male audience because he didn't know so many women would show up. When he realized they did, he remarks that had he known he would have made Thom Mathews take his pants off. That's the kind of thing I like to hear: if there must be debasement, make it equal-opportunity. Though Quigley shows she doesn't mind going topless by doing it in a majority of her films, making her one of the genre's most recognizable post-Jamie Lee Curtis scream queens.

This Scream of the 80's fittingly fills the screen with Friday the 13th party teens (and in fact, very much predicts 3 years in advance the nasty attitudes of the more loathsome groups to come in sequels like The New Blood and Jason Takes Manhattan), though their occupation of the cemetery is not unlike that of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre's farmhouse where they are not alerted to the danger that lies ahead in any way but we the movie-going public know all the warning signs (thanks to both Chainsaw and Friday). Return is faster than the very dull Re-Animator and a great deal more fun than the overrated Night of the Creeps. Evil Dead II has more flash but this is much darker. There are certainly better-looking zombies out there (this film boasts very few Tarman's) but few that give them the power to creep us out like the torso woman does here. I like my horror comedies in all shapes and sizes, but among the 80's crop- there are few more exciting or as entertaining than this. This one usually gets the mix just right. Although sometimes it's hard to watch because it takes-no-prisoners when slaughtering through the victims, most of whom you have to admit to liking once they're gone. Most positive reviews don't normally end this way, but perhaps to its' credit- Return has a high number of very uncomfortable, almost disturbingly serious moments. For example: the Pet Sematary-ish sequence where the mutilated dog corpses come back to life, one of them shown to be in pain. That's business as usual for this movie but it left a truly bad taste in my mouth.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 16: And a Child Shall Lead Them


The Omen
(1976 / director: Richard Donner)

★★

The Omen owes its' existence to 2 far superior films, Rosemary's Baby and The Exorcist, neither of which it could hope to share a crucifix with. Not even at its best, which we all know is during the admittedly impressive death scenes. They aren't exactly too few as they are simply too far between. And in the meantime, this expects to get by mainly on the strength of the ambassador's (Gregory Peck) sense of duty to his post and his family, and the creepiness of the little kid playing Damien (think more a brunet, bite-sized Junior from Problem Child). The Exorcist was a portrait of a family unit in turmoil over being spiritually violated and tormented by an evil, demonic spirit. And how they're eventually saved by a man questioning his faith. That film tried to make us believe in the force of Satan's power through shocking and spectacular special effects sequences, which took on a life of their own. And after that, viewers should walk away asking themselves- where else can a movie go in terms of confronting biblical fears of The Devil? The Omen's answer is to let Regan out of her room. It's less an us vs. the devil-made-flesh as it is the next phase in evolution from The Exorcist, which confined the physical presence of the demon in the possessed character's bedroom, and Rosemary's Baby, where the son of Satan was just a newborn cooing in a crib. What do we really get? A very long series of "hunting for answers" scenes and a little brat you just want to smack. That's what happens when you try to show the face of evil. You wear it out.

I guess the concept alone is supposed to be enough to scare us. The movie sets up the distinguished young couple in politics (a JFK and Jackie O for the U.K.?) spending lots of time building up their oh-so-happy life together raising their child which they don't know is evil (a shout-out to Village of the Damned?), then literally gives them the governess from Hell (a twisted version of Julie Andrews' ultra-sweet nannies from Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music?). Scared yet? Not quite. So, to help the tyke along (in gaining evil word-of-mouth) is a preacher telling us the final day of reckoning is near. Or, decades into the future (as the sequels endeavor to profile). The scenes of horror here (not associated with cosmic, astrological murder and implications of Armageddon) are slow, dull, lack finesse in every possible way, and don't even try to mimic (which could have maybe led to campy fun) far more visceral or potent fears from other (better) movies related to Satan and evil kids. For example, It's Alive. Both movies begin with a mother going to the hospital to give birth. But here the main character, the father, doesn't feel the need to be there until he receives the news that the baby has died. That's a brain teaser in itself. But by the time we get to a shot of the happy mother holding a beautiful baby in her arms and a shrill montage of other idyllic moments in the upbeat start of this new chapter in the characters' lives... it's obvious this thing is just working off the ending to Rosemary. Or what "could've have been" the ending, had the baby looked normal.

It's not as though the genre had used up the last maternal fears of a baby becoming a monster (just look at 1986's remake of The Fly). This movie simply chooses to read text from the bible and hope that will stir fears that may be in some viewers. Which obviously limits the amount of viewers who will feel personally affected by the story. So the ending rests on a highly manipulative moment where even non-religious viewers demand the character think twice. The story's greatest implication is only realized in our modern, post-Reagan America where we can see how things like "The War on Terror" brought that "turning man against his brother" passage to fruition. Is the movie's infamous final shot scary? Well... kinda. When you notice the kid didn't actually do anything. The other characters destroyed themselves and he smiles as though he knew all along everything would turn out this way. The sequel is a better film. Not only does it write a better character for the evil child and cast a compelling actor, but the kills are every bit as spectacular as they are here and the implication that Damien has no other choice but to turn to evil no matter what he does is handled with bravado. This film doesn't strike me as being subversive enough to be taking a swipe at politics or religion. Instead, it treats them both as sacred. I can't tell if that's because the team involved are really passionate about them or because they couldn't be bothered to dig deeper and find anything other than the same doom predictions we've seen before. Either way, nothing about the movie's abject spinelessness justifies it being this long or this boring.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 138: With Friends Like These...


Office Killer
(1997 / director: Cindy Sherman)

★★

When I talked about Cheerleader Camp a few pages back, I said I wanted bitch antics. That's not exactly true. A great movie bitch is fun but I've always been happy with the traditional slasher movie formula, which usually relies on the nice girl who either stays home from or leaves the party early and some other nice girls who stay out all night. Well, if I still want bitchery, Office Killer has enough of it to fill my prescription for years to come. There's so much diva attitude and self-obsessed behavior running rampant in this movie, even the men are doing it. So, the only real question to ponder is: "are you a good" Bitch "or a bad" Bitch? There really isn't much to do with a story about people who work in an office. A bunch of jerks "work" (and I use the term loosely) at a magazine called "Constant Consumer" and all are worried about losing their jobs due to a recent downsizing. They slither and click down the hallways with frantic hands in the air and mouths moving a mile a minute, whining about themselves and their work-related problems (mostly to the air because the people standing closest to them couldn't give a shit). I think if I had to put up with that everyday, I'd go batty and start killing people too. The key here is that- nobody cares. Even the audience won't care about the dozens of shrill, melodramatic scenes of people arguing with and irritating each other (perhaps, ala- Mtv's The Real World, only minus the alternative rock songs). Worst of all being 80's teen queen Molly Ringwald, who returns to American film like a decade too late to shatter her good girl image by making out with one of the rattiest, ugliest male characters in a horror movie I've ever seen not already wearing a mask or playing a bum (there actually is a bum character in this movie, come to think of it).

On the plus side, Cindy Sherman being a professional photographer and all, the movie is one of the best looking horror films of its' type. For a direct-to-video horror movie (especially on Dimension's slate next to stuff like Children of the Corn IV: The Gathering)... well, you'd never know it by just looking at it. The cinematography looks expensive and attempts to impress. It does. You could say, from the staging and framing of many shots, that it looks like a really elaborate music video (and there are some moments when that trademark 90's blurring effect comes into play). But for a horror film that refreshingly tries to revive the old "creeper" subgenre of the 70's to very early 80's (stalking, corpse gathering, sympathetic weirdo killer), this is stuff you could never get away with on Mtv. Faded Hollywood stars Ringwald and Jeanne Tripplehorn (Basic Instinct, The Firm) were probably not told beforehand how gory the movie would be. And it's quite gory. This is welcome, especially as a kind of punishment for how annoying the characters are. The music score is also equally refreshing and atypical for a horror film. So good really, that it's a shame this film has gotten so little recognition and been relegated to direct-to-video obscurity. Well...in case of the music. It at least deserves to be heard. Oh, and: Carol Kane (Scrooged, When a Stranger Calls) is a genius. A truly interesting face who plays this character to the brink of inspired insanity. Every shot of the movie is extraordinarily either pleasing or repulsive to the eye. Given a re-write and some actual story direction, this could have easily been a modern classic. As it stands, it just piddles about. It's not even fun for a black comedy. I'm sure - since this was co-written by indie hero director Todd Haynes (the gay David Lynch, and I can't stand David Lynch) - there is a fascinating film going on in the mind of the makers. Upon future analysis, maybe we'll be let in on that secret one day.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 85: Peer Pressure


The Stuff
(1985 / director: Larry Cohen)

★★½

Larry Cohen is a damn smart man and a highly respected low budget film director in many different circles. Which is why it's surprising to see what an utter goofball he turned out to be in the 2nd decade of his career. Once the 80's came around, he refused to take almost anything seriously. This resulted in one masterpiece, a few duds, and this film- which is high-brow when compared to inept spoofs like Wicked Stepmother and the excruciatingly awful Full Moon High. Nevertheless, it was a busy decade for the man and ripe with good ideas (if nothing else). The Stuff is a simplistic monster movie about a white, Fluff-like substance that just appears one day, bubbling out of the ground like the subterranean goo from Ghostbusters 2. What is it? Where did it come from? Who cares; it tastes great. You heard me correctly, someone actually has the presence of mind to stick some of it in their mouth (obviously we're not talking Jordy Verrill rocket scientist here). That's scary by itself, but it's not the end of this story. The yokels who come across it get the notion to try to sell it. Then, boom: 3 Movie-Minutes later, we're watching the first TV commercial promoting The Stuff, "the brand new taste sensation." It's like ice cream. But you can do anything you want with it. Like whipped cream, you can dab it on anything. Soon, an uproar surrounds it. People are getting hooked. The public loves it. They love it too much. And competing dessert industry executives want to know why. They hire a private detective to find out what happened to the food and drug administration reports. And why no one seems to know what The Stuff is made of.

The Stuff has all the right ingredients to be the devil's food of sci-fi horror. And most importantly, Cohen takes great care with shooting all the scenes of the behavior patterns of people eating The Stuff. They're spacier than people who are not eating it, which is to be expected. Or, to be exact, they are at first. This is where the real horror part comes in. Or, it's supposed to be. This was so close to being Cohen's Gremlins or Halloween, his pure horror epic and signature film. But Cohen opts to goofball out of making this a harder movie and a true zombie film. Characters act possessed and talk like they've got your number right to your face. So far so perfect. And then... the silly music starts up (only slightly less horn-driven than 1991's Suburban Commando), first-class turkey (but it's good white meat) Michael Moriarity (with SNL's Garrett Morris beside him) starts doing action heroics all over the place, and we climax with a shockingly hammy Paul Sorvino as a hard-headed military leader spouting anti-communist buffoonery. Right there, the movie this could have been goes right out the window. That's a shame. Because there are actually a lot of fascinating implications of what The Stuff does and what people might use it for. Half of the movie's plot is devoted to a pre-teen boy who lives in the perfect archetypal suburban American family home with irascible father, tough but balanced mother, and antagonistic older brother. When The Stuff sweeps the nation, we see more of these people eating it than anyone else. Sort of like a guinea pig demonstration of how it gradually changes people and the results are not what you might expect. They do turn a kind of evil, but they also become gentler and more relaxed.

Well- most of the people on The Stuff become possessed to a devious behavior. Others just grab rakes and poles and chase our intrepid heroes through the puddles of Georgia at night. Because, of course, the origin and whereabouts of The Stuff must be protected at all times. Not like I had to tell you, but this movie is as far-fetched as they come. And I literally mean that as: a game of how far out this thing can go. There are some surprises along the way (only one of which will come close to scaring or freaking the audience out) but the biggest is that despite incorporating the best stock for some creepy, dark fun; this just doesn't go in the right direction. Although... this certainly does attempt to go for broke where comic ideas are concerned (and is a lot more successful than either High or Stepmother). Cohen lampoons commercial spots with an expert flair, including Burger King's "Where's the Beef?", starring the actual old woman who says the infamous catchphrase (though he mentions on the DVD that he thinks they paid her too much, I'm inclined to agree since you can't hear her first line and she only has two). Also, the cast do a very good job (especially Robert Frank Telfer as the boy's creepy father and the brothers who are actually brothers in real life, Brian and Scott Bloom), the characters are likable, and Moriarty's slick shtick suits him well. It's worth mentioning lastly that the movie's main villain is also the mastermind of the horror in 1974's masterpiece of human horror, The Stepford Wives. I don't know if any of this a throwback to 1958's The Blob (the movie most 80's sci-fi horror hybrids are forever indebted to, along with Invasion of the Body Snatchers) but this Stuff easily bests the 1988 Blob remake.