The Book of Horror (May Contain Spoilers)

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Chapter 101: Here Comes Your Man


The Exorcist II: The Heretic
(1977 / director: John Boorman)

★★½

In the world of Hollywood sequels, there are many turkeys. But I can't think of one quite as juicy as the reviled epic of bad taste known as Exorcist II. On many levels, it's offensively bad. And altogether? Nobody asked for it. But, man- it could have been worse! As it stands, it's a 3-piece trip: part hauntingly sweet story of a girl with the psychic ability to heal the wounded, part insanely-boring historical surrealist vacation (I want my money back on this one), and part funhouse, batshit crazy, fly-by-the-handles, wacked-out laugh-riot. The last 30-something minutes of this movie are some of the funniest I've ever seen in a horror film. So funny, I think some of it HAD to be intentional! And sitting there, watching it myself, I can promise you this: Mystery Science Theater 3000 couldn't have beat the cracks I was coming up with.

To start... Kitty Winn (the mother's PA from the first film / and why they even bothered to recycle her is beyond me) has a meltdown - both mentally and physically - of epic proportions. In an unbelievably-hilariously bad series of intercuts between the pairs of Linda Blair as Regan-and-Richard Burton as Detective-Priest and Louise Fletcher as Concerned Doctor-and-Winn as Loony-Psycho-Bitch (to coin a phrase from the tamer-in-comparison finale from Urban Legend) as they race to the haunted house of the original film, she's rattling off one-liner after one-liner... and they're all antagonistic and full of bitchy attitude. Yet, it's the fact that it's Fletcher traveling with her that makes it so funny- she puts up with all of her shit (the character, Gene Tuskin, deals with children everyday). Anyone else on the planet would have decked her. Their leg of this 4-person, 2-half journey is filled to the brim with absurd observational gags (watch them try to get a taxi at one point) and Donnie Darko-esque disaster scenarios which are so out of left-field and hectically paced, the film becomes a farce. Nevermind that it was already so spastic, it was giggle worthy. The giggles graduate to guffaws as an invisible whirlwind sends Louise-and-Kitty's taxi into a tailspin, then a crash, then an aftermath scene where we see a bloody Louise and a ready-for-the-butterfly-net Kitty emerge from the mangled cab in an utterly bizarre confrontation... But, nevermind the black taxi driver, who was the only nice guy in the city willing to help them out. The movie entirely ignores him. Is he definitely-dead? Slightly injured? Slowly dying? I think we see his hand wiggling... for a second. Ah, but who cares- he's black. Honestly- Fletcher's doctor character doesn't give him a second thought. She's driven by one goal: help Regan. But... wait a minute; in a previous scene, she stopped her car in a hurried rush to Regan to help a bleeding white man (while Kitty bitched about it). The hypocrasy of this ending must be seen to be believed!

Then... I seem to be starting this at the end, but you'll understand why when you get there. Most stirring of all (for the wrong reasons) is the final dialogue sequence where the God-serving Priest and the Science-loving Doctor have to comfort Regan following the destruction of that cursed house and death of nutty Winn. Fletcher apologizes in Tearful-Wreck mode for not believing that the God vs. Devil Battle Between Good and Evil was responsible for all the freak occurences that happened in the film. Even the ones she thought were just accidents. Basically, she's apologizing for supporting atheist views and condescendingly says: "the world won't understand- not yet." Yeah, all those 70's people who haven't been swimming in locusts and flying through walls were the ones living in the intellectual dark ages. Worse still, the 50-something White-Man-with-Booming-Voice is portrayed as the wise one and the great hope while, before his intrusion into their lives, the people he's helping were women all living either alone or with other women. Whether it knows it or not, the film is making the statement that: Women Alone without Christ or Satan-fearing Men are headed for danger. What would Murphy Brown or Daria say to that? A real pro-Man flick... with a mostly female cast.

However, despite that bit of real-world blasphemy, the film's great flaw is that it's weird, silly, and in parts- much too boring. It's a very expensive film and an exercise in bringing style and substance together in perfect harmony. With the money they put into it- it looks great (especially the scenes on the roof of Regan's apartment and in Fletcher's building). Then, there are the very cool Synchronizer scenes. But as for substance... unless you're one of the converted who already believes the crap this thing is selling you- you'll be too smart to fall for its' tricks. Though it is certainly touching to watch Linda Blair spiritually teach a little mute girl to speak, moments like this only take the movie so far... until we get a scene of the white Priest being attacked by black tribesfolk because they think he's in league with the Devil. Why? Because he helped them find the body of one of their friends who had fallen to his death earlier in the film. Whether this is the kind of the thing that would really have happened back then or not- we don't want to see it. It's a derailment of the story's purpose. As is a scene where the Priest searches their native village for the savior-warrior Kokumo (no, not the Beach Boys' song), calling upon their aid. What do they do? Give him a black prostitute. The whole thing seems like racism to me.

Just look at the cool architecture, mirrors, and white beams of light. They actually do coalesce into something attractive. It's also well-paced and edited (a big surprise comes during the walking-on-nails scene). The rest of it is pure stupidity. The star of the film, Richard Burton, is apparently a really big actor from that time. You wouldn't know it from watching this, though. His performance is just plain terrible. Max von Sydow puts in a cameo- out of 60-whatever age makeup, (vainly?) showing off his nubile, youthful 20-something looking face when in reality, he was actually in his late-40's. Argento's regular composer (up 'til 75's Deep Red), Ennio Morricone does the music score here and it's laughably bad. Just like most of the film.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 25: Can't We All Just Get Along?


Dolls
(1987 / director: Stuart Gordon)

★★½

When it comes to killer doll, puppet, and marionette flicks- there's no such thing as a perfect film (though I haven't seen 1978's Magic yet). The makers of Poltergeist knew this, so they only utilized the freaky toy for about a minute and a half screentime in a nearly 2-hour film. And though the success of Child's Play bred rip-offs like flies (Demonic Toys, Pinocchio's Revenge, Dolly Dearest, Silent Night Deadly Night 5, and scenes in The Tommyknockers mini-series... and the family-comedy Look Who's Talking Too, of all things), Stuart (Re-Animator) Gordon's often overlooked Dolls (his 2nd best feature-length horror film, though I haven't seen his 1990 adaptation of The Pit and the Pendulum yet), was perhaps the first to attempt the creepy-doll scareshow experience. Although it isn't nearly as dreary and serious as Child's Play, it knew that a fairy-tale atmosphere would make things scarier. And so, indeed, Dolls is a mighty spooky little thing at times (the teddy bear scene traumatized me when I rented this on VHS back in the 90's- I nearly choked on my licorice stick). It walks the line between unpredictable freakfest - with creatively extreme death scenes - and quaintly sentimental, precocious, child-friendly commentary as the main character, kid Judy, walks through the film's house of horrors and is only in danger from the adults, while the adults are all in danger of mutilation at the hands of the film's collection of frickin' ugly little old-fashioned dolls (many in character-oriented costumes).

While the look and feel of the film is wonderfully fairy-tale, it mines the mid-80's for materialistic, selfish, opportunistic, bitterly mean Reagan-era antagonists to give the story a crude edge. The story doesn't specify where this is taking place (a far away land?), but a fractured American family stumble upon a castle-ish old house after getting caught in a storm where a sweet old British couple take them in. Later, they're joined by another American traveler with two British girls as his companions. I think this about evens the American-to-British ratio. Then, they don't listen to radio news broadcasts or watch local TV - so we never find out by those means whether the Brits are in America or the Americans are in England. And I think the film was shot in Italy, tossing even more confusion into the blender. Morally, the film sets up the gimmick that if you're nice- you'll live, and if you're not nice- you'll die. This becomes a sore spot later on as the kindly old couple explain that all kids are nice and adults who admit they're adults are not nice. What I mean is- the couple and the dolls are working together. The dolls attack someone for simply saying, "I'm a grown-up." I personally found this a little troublesome, since the film's barometer for judgment goes back and forth too easily. For example, of the group of characters trapped in the house- two are easily "good" types. But the dolls scare them into taking defensive measures to protect themselves. This is seen by them (and the girl, Judy) as going against the toys and so, by the morality of the film- they must now be killed.

So, the film's flaw is that each scene determines for itself what is righteous and fair instead of the entire film being consistent. Which leads to a lot of dumb moments. None worse than a group lynching scene where the childlike adult character, Ralph (the occasionally amusing Stephen Lee), is harassed for hanging out (not necessarily by choice) with kid Judy. He is paying for the film's decision to make her cling to him as a substitute father figure, which she does because her own father is such a jerk. Also, since there is a child in the film who sees things the other people don't (and she's the only child in the film, until the end credits coda), the film staples on the cliche of her trying to get the adults to believe her. Yawn. But, as killer doll films go, Dolls is the length of a Disney animated film and only as simplistic as most of those. As an Empire small-creatures film, it's far better than the Ghoulies franchise. And as for style points, this racks up quite a few. Mostly for the gore (especially during the stepmother's dispatching), the excellent and broody Fuzzbee Morse music score (he also did Ghoulies 2), Carolyn Purdy-Gordon's Cruella De'Vil-ian bitchy stepmother, the punk girls' costumes (Isabel is clearly Madonna, as for Enid- I think she's meant to be Adam Ant), and the scene of Bunty Bailey's character searching the attic. Watch her eyes. She has very intense eyes.

[nopersonality]

Article 2:
A Spoonful of Bava
4 Films of Director Mario Bava

Hanging Around


5 Dolls for an August Moon
(1970 / director: Mario Bava)

★★½

There doesn't really seem to be all that much love for this 1970 warm-up to Bava's fashionable slashers featuring a party of money-hungry psychos all looking to do each other in. In fact, Bava himself didn't want to make the movie. However, in doing so, he not only crafted a new signature style, but he also made what is perhaps his best-looking film to date (well... that I've seen). Instead of relying at all on architecture (ugly, dusty sculptures and statues which are meant to reveal something about the characters' inner-workings), this film stays half outside on the moody beach and half inside the jet-setting luxury of the characters' futuristic, James Bond-esque mansion / flat. Actually, the film is so futuristic that by the end, one of the survivor characters appears in the final scene dressed in an outfit you'd swear Jane Fonda camped around in in Barbarella.

For a film of empty style, or an ode to the endtimes of swinging (and that turns out to be the theme of the movie since the characters really do a lot of that, in various forms), this cold-blooded murder-mystery / black comedy hybrid fares very well. Though it's reliant on both twists and cliches, it is still a lot better than you might be expecting. With moments that certainly made me sit up as though I'd just been belted from behind. For example, this is the first Italian film I've seen where a woman is truly as tough as the men. In a shot carefully set up so that no one would think to suspect it, the hard-as-nails Trudy character just whips the intense Nick through the air and flat on his back. And this is almost 35 years before Kill Bill. Though it's really more of a surprise when you consider women in Bava films aren't really treated with any respect at all (they're usually viciously slapped, choked, and insulted before they're dispatched - even Argento was kinder to his women than this).

Bay may have a slight edge over this film in that the women are as blood-thirsty as the men, to the point of hacking heads off and etc. But this film has the distinction of having women with more tenderness (not necessarily simple vulnerability) and being clever rather than beating people up (and not in self-defense, as in the example I pointed out in the last paragraph) or yelling at the men to try and intimidate them. There's certainly more tenderness in the lesbian romance here than Argento usually affords to his women. But again, you can't trust anyone in a Bava movie where money is at stake. So, there are some smoke signals peppered throughout that any and all love relationships here will end badly. None more attractively than the reveal of a suicide victim in a swimming pool / jacuzi / bathtub. After, that is, a fight between two of the husbands sends a table full of drinking crystal tumbling onto a floor and a beautiful collection of glass orbs rolling down a long, spiral staircase, leading the camera to the bottom floor of the mansion all the way from the top.

Pot Luck


Baron Blood
(1972 / director: Mario Bava)

★★½

Following the ultra-chic parade of money-oriented mystery murders in Bay of Blood and Five Dolls for an August Moon, Bava decided to return to what made him famous: gothic horror. Here he sets his sights on something akin to AIP's (American Pictures International, the famous low-budget studio run by Sam Arkoff and James Nicholson) somewhat hokey 1961 adaptation of the classic Poe story, The Pit and the Pendulum, a ghost story with the avenging spirit of a sadistic torture-killer mixed with some Phantom of the Opera by having the title baron's face be grotesquely deformed. Truly, I doubt anything here is original at all (although there are some hippie-esque elements that are pre-Wicker Man). But what it really has going for it is that finally we get a Mario Bava who doesn't fart around with nowhere symbolism. Everything floaty here is in direct service to the story. Mainly because - most likely - it's such a basic story.

But better still, for a film that owes its' existence to the castle (and all the skeletons which lie therein) that AIP built, it actually out-spooks all the Corman-Poe-Vincent Price films. Although, at first the overexposure of the Baron character himself is something of a hinderance on the story (though certainly not on the atmosphere), after awhile he sort of begins to disappear as the movie introduces not one- but two soothsayer / fortune-teller figures which steer the film into the much welcomed arena of psychic sensory spectacular. Despite the Baron's mockable monster incarnation, the film stirs up a great creepy wave that soon sweeps over the latter half of the film, enveloping it until it nearly explodes with unpredictable dread. Sometimes almost elevating to the level of sweat-inducing Fulci-quality freakiness (especially Elke Sommer's very strange chase scene through an empty city square that seems to go on forever - the square, not the chase).

It's Bava- therefore, there will be moments where you wonder what's going on. But this time, that's a good thing. As very little in the film's opening 10-15 or so minutes actually prepares you for how morbid the film gets at times. Especially toward the end. The characters could be better fleshed out, the music is almost understated (not a typical trait for Bava's films), and the final scene is a little head-scratching. But it's just a really surprising little sleeper gem of a horror film. Without exception- my favorite of the director's work. Who would have known dear old Bava had this many tricks up his sleeves? (I actually wanted to talk more about this scene inparticular, but it's just too good to be able to put into words- I'll just have to YouTube it: www.youtube.com/watch?v=7E1Hqqe3uik . It plays all the way from 0 - 8:20.)

Born A-g'in


Lisa and the Devil
(1973 / director: Mario Bava)

★½

This film has one of - if not 'the' - best music soundtracks of all Bava's work.

And with that, you have just about the only reason to watch Lisa and the Devil- a preposterous, chalky romantic / religious-baggage fantasy that almost seems to rip off 1962's b&w classic Carnival of Souls... The reason I have to mention that film is because it was such a masterpiece, there will never be another one like it. And it already gave us an ugly (creepy) man chasing a beautiful blonde and a race between a soul and the forces of the church. But, of course, the reason I have to call this an almost rip-off is because Carnival's themes were overt (while a brilliant undercurrent of complex - at least from a social standpoint - paranoia ran along with it simultaneously). Lisa is so intentionally hazy and facetious about what is happening to its' heroine in trouble - throwing in an utterly irritating spiritual (not demonic) possession subplot which was better done in another 60's classic: Tomb of Ligeia - that whatever fascinating angle has led to this movie's cult (and critical) revival... is only evident in the film's admittedly-wonderfully slick camerawork and lighting or inside Bava's strange head. The film is unbelievably crammed with suggestive poetic sexual perversion (and no, I'm not talking about the adultery sub-sub plot- just about the only truly romantic thing about the film) which Bava and co(.) hopes will play as heartfelt drama (in so much as an Italian arthouse film can) and historical religious garbage. But, since it's all in vain, it's no surprise that all the film's grand intentions just sit and fester in their unmolded block forms.

And this movie isn't just vain- it's stupid. The lofty romantic pursuits of the film's beautiful young stud Maximillion are communicated through rape, necrophilia, and eventually impotence. No, wait, I'm not finished: and the movie actually expects us to feel sorry for this man. As he has chloroformed and stripped an unwilling girl to violate her, he is unable to remain erect. And the film turns up the sad music. That is beyond sick- it's just plain stupid. But this isn't the beginning of the film's theme of raping women. Lisa wouldn't be given to a jerk like Max without the film also forcing the spirits of other women inside of her. She just walks down the street (out a sidewalk shop's back door) and suddenly, she's got assholes running up to her and trying to force kisses and embraces on her (forget the story- what about the audience?). Maybe some people were able to find themselves not hating Carlos, but I personally don't think it's wise to introduce a sympathetic character by having him run up to the movie's heroine and start grabbing her like he owns her. Later, in a dream / hallucination sequence, she takes on the form of the other woman (Elena and the Devil, morelikeit) with new hairstyle and weird dress as she frolics in the grass with the same man who was (basically) trying to update her religion. And now we know what the movie is about: forcing other people to believe what (Bava) believes. With physical force, if they think it necessary. I know this is a horror movie, but this thing really pushes the Violate button one time too many. Doesn't this girl get any rights of her own?

I'll forgo any further discussion of the cheating wife's jealous wife-beating husband, the love interest of Maximillion who would actually choose Carlos over him (impossible to fathom), and the mother and son team of murderers who run around killing completely innocent people. Because, of course, it's a horror movie. Someone has to die. Though, with that having been said, I did enjoy watching the son kill the mother (not the finest hour of Suspiria's butch hag Alida Valli... by the way, here's what she used to look like in the prime of her career) and the wife run over her husband repeatedly in their posh old car. You go, girl!

Gymnasium of the Possessed


The House of Exorcism
(197? / directors: Mario Bava and Alfredo Leone)

½★

After working out all those inner demons from Lisa and the Devil, I would agree that a mental vacation is just what the doctor ordered. Not exactly the order of the day for this 1976 re-packaging of that film padded with newly-shot scenes ripping off The Exorcist. Poorly. And none too subtly, I might add. At the request of producer Alfredo Leone, because Lisa was headed for financial disaster after its' one theatrical showing at film markets (he screened all his films with Bava for distributers and never had trouble selling them but after one look at the light-and-lazy Lisa, no one wanted to buy it), star Elke Sommer and stooge (aka: flat supporting character) Kathy Leone (Alfredo's daughter, of course) returned to production a year and a half later with Robert Alda (I don't know 'im either) in tow.

The idea alone is just about completely worthless. If the buyers weren't buying because they assumed audiences were bored with the original version... why give them the exact same film with a few pieces cut out? And in their place is what amounts to an over-the-top spectacle of a therapy session. There's really nothing new this film could possibly say about spirituality, religion, or possession. And it already lacks the vague dizziness of Bava's approach to dogma (typically- from the point of view of one of the God fearing). So, it doesn't even bother to try to tackle any serious issues. Whoever is truly responsible for the writing here sees the formula of The Exorcist very much the same way as The Heretic does: scientists and doctors don't have a clue what they're doing, so when you're gonna call someone, you'd better dial a priest.

What really makes it an entirely worthless affair is in just how poorly it guestimates Exorcist's skill in generating fear and shock. If a pre-teen Linda Blair says "fuck" and "cock" a couple times, Leone makes full-grown Sommer say them a couple dozen times. Along with a few other choice curses (my favorite; "get your shitty hands off me!" - I doubt that was intended to conjure an image, and yet, it does - and that's already following "get your fucking hands off me," so not only does she have a nasty case of tourette syndrome, she's also got short term memory loss in the worst way). If Blair spits a little pea soup (though, does anyone else not remember a scene of her eating any?), Sommer does that and also coughs up a pool of green syrup and a few frogs too. If Blair floats off of her bed, Sommer demonstrates her athletic skills (actually, they were performed by a double) spreading her legs, somer-cartwheel-backflip-saulting, and leaping into the air like a grasshopper.

Instead of healing our wounds from Lisa, it's just a pretext-free cannonball into exaggerated bad behavior. Even if there had been no Exorcist and this film had invented all of these conventions on its' own, there's still the matter of how much it believes what it's saying. House of Exorcism has no beliefs. Rather, it just points and shrieks at other people's dogma. Not a single line comes off with any conviction. There's no glue holding any of the ideas together. And then to keep the audience awake, Leone forced Bava's crew to shoot a scene of the priest's dead girlfriend returning to him in Sommer's hospital bed completely nude (full pubic hair and all) while he cries and tries to convince himself that "you're not my Anna!" The crew was very opposed to shooting it and even went so far as to say it went entirely against the story. Leone was always very pervy about forcing nudity into Bava's films but I think in this case, the problem is hardly that it conflicts with the story.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 84: Simply Mad


Hatchet for the Honeymoon
(1969 / director: Mario Bava)

★★★½

I never thought I would be able to say this in a Bava review... but: before there was Halloween, before there was Black Christmas, before Argento(!), and so good you don't even need to bother with the Psycho franchise which popped up about 14 years after this milestone in modern-setting Italian horror... before 70's North American slasher / serial killer horror exploded, there was Bava's masterpiece- Hatchet for the Honeymoon. A sort of wedding-themed American Psycho of its' day- because the killer narrates every other move he makes, kills people he works with because he's being driven mad by his wife (who is exactly like them, only he's been forced to live with her for years; she won't give him a divorce), and much of the film milks humor from high society jerks. It at times moves seemlessly from patio breakfast table hilarity to psychological trauma flashback seriousness. And yet, for raw power, I couldn't think Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho (here a reference for the Freudian mother baggage and cross-dressing playing a role in a key murder scene, though Bava isn't trying to feminize the killer) more effective. Another classic Bava score sees to that (stinging guitars and Morricone-n sad melodies really pre-date the work he did for the themes in Argento's sorrowful animal trilogy). Though not alone; the cinematography here is so captivating that for most of the running time, it didn't bother me that there were detectives all about (the one thriller element that almost restricts the film, relegating it to a by-the-numbers giallo).

If the whole show rested on actor Stephen Forsyth, he could pull it off. His eyes are so frozen solid psycho, he's the closest thing I've ever seen to a human-tiger (or whatever animal you think has the most intense eyes). They're purely inhuman. And he's in good company; his co-stars are equally bizarre or intimidating in the occular department. The gorgeous Femi Benussi has a Katy Perry-like dead doll-eyed thing going on. So much so, that during her obviously telegraphed death scene you can't tell her apart from the mannequins that fill up the room. And of course (some would say: what would a Bava film be without her) there's Bay of Blood's stiff psychic Laura Betti (thinner and blonder) as the wife who won't go away. Again floating through the film (she may get killed in every Bava film I've seen her in, but she's always given a far more interesting exit than most anyone else), this time in a variety of shots emphasizing her boney hands and pasty white skin until she becomes a ghost and turns whiter than a sheet (so white, she glows in the dark in several shots- especially in the dance club scene). Oh... did I mention there's a ghost in this slasher film? But in an atypical twist, the person being haunted by her... can't see her. Everyone else can. So he can't even pick up women in bars because they tell him things like, "you're already got company." And even though he's one of the sexiest things in Italian cinema history (he's Canadian- surprise surprise; I have a serious thing for Canadian men, I don't know what it is), they slap him and call him a creep. Before this scene, the ladies all fell at his feet (plot requirement, not that it's a very realistic film).

Most remarkable of all, is how much this film resembles later slasher giants. I had previously seen 6 of Bava's films (starting back with 1960's Black Sunday and 1963's The Girl Who Knew Too Much) and heard much of his genius. Though, I had never before been able to witness it except for in minor fits and starts (the glass orb scene in Five Dolls for an August Moon, the airplane finale of Lisa and the Devil, the woodland campfire seance in Baron Blood, and what amounted to mostly background in Bay of Blood- color stained doors, a relaxed woman looking through a plate of glass circles, every 3rd or so death scene). But this film really takes one's breath away. There's no question in my mind this film was, visually, an inspiration for Halloween, and especially Black Christmas. An early death scene turns to foggy waterglass lens after the raise of the blade of the murder weapon in the air and much later, a pitch black shot lights in a specific area to reveal a single eye in the dark. You could say Argento borrowed this for Deep Red, but if you see that film you'll see how radically different both scenes are (it's the reveal itself that makes it original). Black Christmas on the other hand is really an identical twin to this shot. Which makes the obscured shot of a terrorized face during a key murder the more kinning. Then we have the pair of shots that are quite like two seminal moments in Halloween. The first also in the very opening 5 minutes, the killer holds a weapon to the side of their image onscreen (this time a razor with shaving cream on it) while not really noticing. The second the slow reveal in black that the killer's face is RIGHT THERE. This one much scarier because by the time you finally see him, he's looking right at you and his face is filling the whole screen.

The opening scene is even more satisfying because it seems to have influenced George A. Romero's problematic Martin; both scenes take place on trains and feature slow stalking routines (to show us how the killers operate when on the prowl). This one however is far more tense. And features a fairly interesting pay-off. Stylish and bloody... as in: you can see blood on objects. This is still horror before the 70's revolutionized onscreen violence and enhanced graphic content (2 years, basically, before Bava lead the march of gore with Bay of Blood). I don't know if the films the Bava fanclub consider to be his masterpieces (Kill, Baby Kill and Blood and Black Lace) will be able to compare to this film until I see them. But as it stands, Hatchet for the Honeymoon is Bava's Argento film: either the end of an era for the director or the beginning of one. Technically flawless in its' own design- though as a horror film, the many styles interwoven together here don't always play successfully. The very end for instance makes a couple fatal mistakes, as are the scenes bringing an adult traumatized mama's boy together with his blonde tween-self. No back or forth dialogue is spoken between them, of course. But the gesture itself is enough of a red flag. 'I'm so sorry it has to be this way for you. This is all my fault.' That's basically what one of them has to say to the other and can't. But up 'til this point, we haven't needed split-personality interaction. We've been the in-the-footsteps-of-a-killer witnesses. It was a bad move. And the ending itself reaches a predictability point where you know exactly what the protagonist is going to do. That's where things get schlocky, or fall into the giallo template. The whole movie changes for about 3 or so minutes. A few simple adjustments and this could have been a perfect horror film. Probably the only reason you haven't heard of it.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 53: The Kids Aren't Alright


A Nightmare on Elm Street 3:
Dream Warriors
(1987 / director: Chuck Russell)

★★½

Where sequels get their reputation for continuity, I'll never know. Dream Warriors, like most sequels, acts as a series' reinventor (after the vague, heavy-headed, and misguided psycho-sex of Freddy's Revenge 2 years prior) with half its' focus on highly clever surrealistic freak-outs, and the other half on bad hospital melodrama. Somewhere in the middle, the movie actually loses grip on its' typical teen p.o.v. and the whole thing begins to feel like some kind of afterschool special. Or, again to harp on the hospital melodrama format, the teenagers are the supporting cast and the bulk of the story work rests on the usually oblivious adults. This ambition is not completely ill-conceived, as the film's Dr. Simms' character is surprisingly not portrayed as a Nurse Ratched hag villain. Of course, this doesn't keep the story out of trouble, as later, a nasty Dr. Carver turns up and not only becomes the token Evil Asshole in Charge Who Doesn't Understand, but also reveals that Simms is more interested in saving her ass than doing what's right / being honest. That's cold.

Nightmare's original surviving heroine, Nancy, returns- as we all know. But the real lead here is split between future Medium star, Patricia Arquette, and thriller/horror veteran, Craig Wasson. Having recently starred in Brian DePalma's classic Body Double, he was clearly a big name for the film (as is Carrie's Priscilla Pointer), and turns in something of a puppet performance. Not only is he throttled by the vision of ultra-creepy Nan Martin's nun, Sister Mary Helena, but whipped into a daze by Heather Langenkamp's Freddy tale, and then- can't even lift a finger to help John Saxon in a showdown with Terminator-Freddy. What good is he? Well, in his scenes with Langenkamp where she's more than a little wooden herself (though she looks like she needs a good, long nap- so it sorta works in her favor), he's a better performer. Lending a little sophistication to his scenes of argument with various staff members. At least, at first. As he's drawn into the nightmare world- the more he's meant to be seen as understanding the supernatural circumstances of the story, the more lost he looks.

Though conceptually, this film has the strongest ambition / story elements (Wes Craven and future Shocker actor, Bruce Wagner, spoke at length in 1999 interviews about the influence of dream psychology and foreign film surrealism on this film in particular), it's also just as messy. Sometimes this matters (the group therapy scenes are painfully ho-hum) and sometimes it doesn't. It's the latter that really drives the film home as an impressive series of ultra-showy death scenes, elevating it above muddled dramatic nightmare to a dream slasher spectacle. Boasting graphic deaths that you'll never forget and incredible special effects (making Bradley Gregg's horrific ripped out vein/tendon sleepwalking scene one of the nastiest things in horror history), finally the clever details of the film are given a chance to take the helm away from the problematic story. Though occasionally, another weakness (the music score) will pop up (for example- the effectiveness of an early bathroom trauma, one hell of a set piece visually, is sadly undermined by bad cheap, farty horns and a wholly inappropriate keyboard slide).

It's an uncomfortable mix that doesn't hold up very well. But, we all know about the fate of movies with pieces that work and pieces that don't. Nothing that talking about them is likely to fix. It's Freddy's Hospital. So, come if you want to wallow in the disease rather than glean insight from a diagnosis.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 75: Search Party of Spirits


Sorority House Massacre 2
(1990 / director: Jim Wynorski)

★★★

Some very good horror films will forever be classified as "Z-grade." Typically for reasons of prestige. The Sorority House Massacre series has even less of that than its' mother franchise, Slumber Party Massacre. Made in 1982 for Roger Corman to contribute to the slasher boom of the early 80's, by a pair of feminists- no less, Slumber Party became a big home video success for the company. Though Corman's company-made sequels and rip-offs of the film didn't begin to trickle down until the latter half of the 80's, where the competition between studios hiring serious directors still trying to say something / do something different (George A. Romero, Wes Craven- pre-contract with Universal, Henenlotter, Argento) and the ones hiring just about anyone willing to direct a cheapie or sequel so they could work, was wearing the genre down. Not that the films themselves weren't signs of desperation- the original Sorority House Massacre can't even bother to create a backstory for the killer. The guy's practically a nameless maniac who escapes the local institution and starts killing anyone in sight. Without the humor, insight, or suspense of an Alone in the Dark or Clownhouse (or cool costumes of Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Freddy Krueger, or the miner from My Bloody Valentine). As a matter of fact- forget the original film altogether. This sequel, made after Corman stopped even sending these things to theaters, is a complete fresh start for the series and goes in a totally different direction. Namely... the camp melting pot of splatter film and supernatural thriller.

Its' camp aspects are no doubt what drew the attention of famous celebrity "B-film critic," Joe Bob Briggs (host of TNT's endlessly entertaining MonsterVision show, which ran steadily through most of the 1990's, and The Movie Channel's Drive-In Theater previous to that). Consequently, there hasn't been a home video release of Sorority House Massacre 2 to date without his high praise plastered all over the front and back covers. Briggs is truly a genius, even though sometimes he plays to his image rather than being fair with a movie - he was almost as quick to heap the same praise on the absolutely abysmal Cheerleader Camp. But then- go trust a straight guy; he was probably hypnotized by the skimpy outfits and T&A. Wynorski's film has this too. In even greater abundance. But, to slightly curb the sexist cloud that hangs over a great deal of these Bimbos-in-Bikinis type films (which belonged to a chain of command of mostly L.A.-produced exploitation films), the men are reduced to the smallest of parts and only get rowdy in a scene at a strip club which uses a tough female cop as a disapproving spectator. Yes, being a gay man I would very much like to roll my eyes at anything like this. But, while the L.A. direct-to-video exploitaiton master-genre was indulging in dark-alley debauchery, they were also trying to show us a cinematically true version of the disturbing underbelly of the world of strippers and prostitutes (1991's Angel in Red, aka- "Uncaged"). They typically failed to swim further than the shallow end, but cinematically they committed no crimes of blandness any worse than a Steven Seagal flick and at the same time, turned very few male characters into heroes.

There are a lot of things that make Sorority House Massacre 2 special. Other than the low man-count (perhaps not including the hulking Peter Spellos - whom you may remember as Tracy's evil lecherous father in Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare - as a token creeper nominated #1 Suspect to be the killer), the film is shot and edited very well and acted more than serviceably (one of the main reasons this film rises above "Z-grade" status). Especially by Robyn (aka- Gail) Harris, who not only acts fear and drama remarkably but also manages to look level-headed and strong inside after extreme moments of emotional terror. The chatty girl-talk dialogue here is clearly reminiscent of Halloween but is given a great spike of classic haunted house / ghost story flavor mixed with the psychic late-80's theme of "it'll be fun" spiritual kids' games (a Ouija board). And for being such a campy, no-nonsense slasher cheapie, the death scenes are great creepy fun. Lots of shadows mixed with light, misdirection, and in one instance- a great blood on the walls sequence that just screams Tenebre. The one undeniable mark of quality is the film's music score by Chuck Cirino. After seeing this film, it won't surprise many to learn he added atmospheric sounds to the score for Killer Klowns from Outer Space- you'll hear those same alien-brooding, chamber-crawling elevator climbs here, as well as a haunting human chorus moaning away in Greek-hymmy glory as the film's 5 young 20-somethings walk quietly, alone, from room to room. This film is truly a classic. One that defies the pan of some jaded genre enthusiasts, who have no business searching out "Z-grade" films in the first place.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 95: That's the End of All Time


Masters of Horror:
The Screwfly Solution
(2006 / director: Joe Dante)

★★

Joe Dante is one of my top favorite horror directors. Because I think he keenly understands how to make a really intense horror film. His thing is that he mixes the horror with humor so that you're expecting the entire film to be a fun breeze... and then he hits you with straight-up, pure horror in one key scene. And when it comes, it packs a serious punch. From that moment on, you have to hold on to your seat because a Joe Dante film is an unpredictable ride of crazy, quirky horror. But... he hasn't made a horror film since the exquisite Gremlins 2: The New Batch. So, while sitting through his offerings for Showtime's 2005-2006 series, one can't help thinking- maybe he's gotten rusty. Masters of Horror wasn't a very good gig for Joe. Of course, he might say different since he was very enthusiastic about getting the chance to direct 2 projects he'd been wanting to do for a long time. In his interviews for his season 1 enstallment, he mentioned that Masters was pretty much the only place in the new millennium that he could make a horror flick like Homecoming. He was really inspired to make The Screwfly Solution during the 1980's. But his trademark style of horror was ultimately stifled by the high ambition of his chosen projects versus the limitations of the genre at any given time.

The Masters of Horror format only guaranteed him that he had a place to finally make a version of Screwfly. Not that it could be great. And sadly, it's inferior to what it truly might have been. Especially with a director who cares as much as Dante. I doubt the few weeks of prep with 10 days to shoot was enough time to fully form, organize, and work out a story of this level of dire intensity to make it horrifying enough for maximum impact. And this is a subject that deserves maximum impact. I'm sure Joe did the best he could, but unfortunately all he had time for was to project the idea of what would happen if this situation were to come upon the human race while deciding to use the Science Fiction genre to explain everything. I don't think The Screwfly Solution is a horror that should be or needs to be explained rather than shown. The only way to feel and learn from this story, to have it truly affect us, a director can't apply the traditional storytelling method. This is actually the best excuse for the new-millennium credo: show it to us raw. Leave us really questioning how much of a problem this is. Because it's obviously a subject of great interest.

The specific problem with Screwfly is that the men, who are the killers in the film, aren't scary. They are merely shown as frustrated and annoyed. But that's what we experience every day from men. And it's not really all that horrifying. We see territorial man, road rage man, military authority man, and the standard pig-headed man. But are we afraid of these men? No. We fear that they will set us back, irritate us, and make us late for a dinner appointment. The man Screwfly completely forgets to show us is Serial Killer Man. This of course might have something to do with the movie's decision to make the men killing women kill them because of sexual arousal. For instance, there's a scene in the movie where a man stabs a woman in a rhythmic manner with his knife aimed at the level of his crotch as he kills. That is where this piece's head is at. It's another case of Joe Dante implying a greater horror than what we see. This could be considered compensation for the fact that Dante's trademark satire-humor is completely missing. And in its' place is a full dose of science fiction. Which also helps to ensure that Screwfly merely drops a few intriguing details, rather than winding up to horror.

Dante usually depends on one key scene as an accelerator. Unfortunately his work in this series only has one scene in each piece that reminds you that you're watching a horror film. In Homecoming, it was a wonderfully threatening and unexpected burst of violence where a zombie-for-peace actually kills a human being. In Screwfly, it's when we see a man kill a woman with the physical force of his sexual frustration (while another almost joyfully jabs a broken beer bottle into his own crotch). After he's finished killing, his facial expression seems to be that of an orgasm. Although, due to the in-the-moment action-film shooting style of the scene, the most disturbing factor is that after killing the woman, other men in the club hold him back at gunpoint and you don't see their faces or hear them say anything. In many science fiction films, the theme is invasion. Disease isn't uncommon to horror either. 28 Days Later, for instance. Maybe the appeal of making this a disease-horror film has to do with the fragility of our psychological stabilities. That we can be easily overriden by our own bodies. Just a twist of a few chemicals in our systems or hormones in our brains and we could be manipulated into doing anything.

The last remaining bit of horror in Screwfly involves an escape for (apparently) the last living woman on Earth. Which I think brings the viewer to the best part of the piece: the ending. A lot of people find it terrible. However, what other people find far-fetched about it is exactly what makes it somewhat... happy (under the extreme circumstances set-up previous to it). It's a cop-out to some, depending on how you look at it. One of the greatest horrors in real life is of condoning the genocide of an entire group of people for an arbitrary reason. So maybe a story like this needs an unrealistic ending to help us sleep better at night (since it's meant to be taken ultra-seriously, some people undoutedly could be effected by it). A lot of movies have had endings that feel like different movies altogether. I wouldn't have rather watched the kind of movie that would have expanded the ending here by itself. As it stands, the ending here actually adds a creepy tone to Screwfly it previously lacked. It's certainly not very disturbing. In fact, I think, save for nudity and language (and a little blood in 2 scenes), this is exactly the sort of thing that would show up on Lifetime. It has that characteristic TV drama-thriller flatness about it. Lifetime meets The X-Files. I'd rather be beamed up.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 102: All Through the Office Building


Hard to Die
(aka- Tower of Terror / Sorority House Massacre 3)
(1990 / director: Jim Wynorski)

★★★

Lightning rarely strikes the same spot twice. But this theory only informs Hard to Die's financial success. The reason you've never heard of the movie is because it sounds like a tactless rip-off of Die Hard. And that's what Corman and company had in mind with their video release of this sequel. Nothing makes this clearer than the trailer for the film, which actually attempts to near-delete all the slasher scenes, and scenes of women screaming to make room for a bunch of clips they cut into the promo from other films. They just kept the shots of the girls shooting off machine guns (which doesn't come in to the film until the last 10 minutes) and tried to sell the film as a "guys who like girls who shoot guns" pic. In the film's new high-rise office building setting. Director Wynorski later puts in a cameo as the whiny director of a "Skin"emax-type erotic thriller, which is the same as announcing that he's the director of this film, although the director's credit reads "Arch Stanton" (a film-buff reference to one of Sergio Leone's westerns). So, it's possible that there were some creative differences in its' making. I've even heard there's a version of the film where they cut out all the scenes of Forrest J. Ackerman explaining what the women are doing when they open a strange mystical "soulbox" (something borrowed from Hellraiser, no doubt) which brings forth the same spiritual havoc as in the previous film.

Thankfully, I've never seen this version (although I heard it was the only one available for some time) because there's no movie without the supernatural elements, an explanation of them (this is important because the cops play a bigger role in this sequel), and the slasher scenes. True, the latter half of the film completely transforms into "run for your life"-type mania. But the first half also succeeds in building just enough spooky moments. As well as a full boil-down of the entire previous film in the form of new shower scenes, chat sessions, and an expansion on the role of Orville Ketchum- who is promoted to janitor, so unlike the first film where he and the women were separated by the house- he's inside the area where they will be slashed and now they can't avoid coming into contact with him repeatedly. This, naturally, serves a purpose. Which may represent a dip in one of the previous film's strengths. You didn't know for sure whether Orville was the killer until the end, but you'll remember by the beginning of this film. And so, they rather use his one important character arc (what he wanted to be doing on the fateful night of the original murders) to beat you over the head with. Though refreshingly, it's mostly the source of a lot of humor (especially the paper/note-stabber scene).

Another one of the film's minor weaknesses this time around is that music isn't uniformly as strong as it was in Part 2. The main theme is to-die-for (as it was in the 1989 horror spoof, Transylvania Twist, another Chuck Cirino score for Wynorski), but there are very out-of-place little tidbits of sound effects added that practically destroy certain important moments. None moreso than the first death scene, which actually has some twinkling steel tings and a "Wild Thing"-type kinky swinging ratchet stuck in there. I didn't notice this in the original Cinemax broadcast version but I do now. There is also some very unnecessary cymbal tapping during another suspenseful moment- which does much better with the cold, rising release of some of the same pressurized, beneath-the-walls deep synthesizer brooding from Part 2 and haunting animal howling (that's new, and thankfully not your typical werewolf type sound either). Not all the new changes for the movie work, but with the old reliables (including at least 7 returning cast members - mostly playing new characters, a hook for a murder weapon, blood spraying on the walls, and nighty-clad buxom babes)- it's still every bit as fun. I can say far more often than not, lightning definitely does strike twice with Hard to Die. In fact, like the first film- it's almost as if the crew were standing outside with huge antennas to ensure it did.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 160: Can We Get a Statement?


Tremors 3: Back to Perfection
(2001 / director: Brent Maddock)

★

The creatures from the Tremors series may multiply in greater numbers from movie to movie, but so far the quality of the films divides- eating into whatever made it great until we get here: a film that not only has squandered away all the series' remaining cinematic cred (choosing instead to devolve into total made-for-TV in all aspects of production), but... even features a scene of the creatures themselves turning cannibal for the sake of a gag. Lacking the intelligence of the first film and the excitement of Aftershocks, there's nothing more for this film than to become a video game. I want to make something very clear before I go any further, just because I gave the first film a high rating (which it earned) and had so many good things to say about the second film doesn't mean I wanted to see this formula turned into a franchise. With some people, when they see something they like, they want more of it. That's only natural. But with me, I usually tend to be fine with what was and don't expect more of it. As other franchises (most franchises, actually) prove, there's often just enough to make a couple good movies and the rest get rather batty in the name of making a buck off popularity and gullibility.

Speaking of making a buck... Tremors 3 has a bit of an ax to grind. Against the forces of - what it sees as - above-ground evil. The story returns to the original town of the first film to show us how the leftover characters are handling the fame of the creatures, the wealth of "Earl and Grady" (bit of a brand-name, apparently), and the prestige of Rhonda's great scientific successes. The answer? Not well. You see- times are tough. Especially for all the small business folks. But in the town of Perfection, everyone is involved in a business. Except for the tourists. But, despite a money-swindling scheme by a yet-unseen opportunist trying to set up a sleazy housing project, the people are managing okay. Until the government steps in and tells them that they can't protect themselves by hunting the creatures down because they're being considered an endangered species by animal activists in Washington. If you're like me, this moment in the movie leaves you with your mouth wide open. If you're not, allow me to shed some light on the subject: that is what's known as a contradiction in terms. A huge one.

In 2001, America was starting to get more political. In certain subsects of the nation, that is. Many people think a whitewash began. But terrifyingly, what happened instead is that a lot of people started proudly waving their ignorance flags (including, tragically, Z.A.Z. - masterminds of the Airplane! and Naked Gun franchises). The people behind the Tremors series are among them. Tremors 3 is a downright angry and aimless fable of 'Mean Lefty Slimbeballs' scamming off the downtrodden middle-class townfolk, while said struggling townies spout lame one-liners and talk outdated slang so we can't even feel their plight. Later, a clueless representation of "Big Government" enters the picture to affirm the suspicions of survival-nut Bert (who was actually mocked somewhat in the first film for being too paranoid) by protecting the right-to-live of the evil grabboids. Yeah- don't expect any consistency or presence of mind here. It doesn't take a Terri Schiavo reminder to understand what side of the political spectrum the real impeachers of civil liberties come from. The one our heroes think is protecting them. Melvin is not a left-winger. His brand of dirty-trick opportunism (as well as his lazy, selfish point-and-laugh snottery in the first film) is indicative of the right-wing, which makes Bert's revenge on him at the end completely pointless.

Basically, Tremors 3 doesn't know what it's doing, who it's attacking, or that it's backing the wrong horse. As a matter of fact, for as many times as the Miguel character says "not no more" about doubting that Bert's survival mantras were right all along, what good does Bert's fortress of safety do for him? The new Version-3.0 incarnations of the creatures break-in and, who destroys Bert's house? Bert, and all the dangerous things he stocked in it. Yeah, that's irony for you. But does the movie know what to do with it? No siree. This thing couldn't be in poorer taste if they tracked in a busload of nuns and had children running around singing Michael Jackson's "They Don't Care About Us." But it does get lower, with the choice to cast so many Latino and Asian actors in an attempt to try to say the right-wing are the ones who feel the plight of racial minorities. Lest we forget all the black votes the right-wing Bush administration tossed out so he could become "President." Actually... I think us forgetting is what the production team of this film were counting on.

As for the technical aspects of the movie, it won't surprise anyone to hear the thing is a shower of CGI. And... now, this is a rare opportunity for you to get to know why I burn movies for having TV-quality acting. To many people, acting is a true art. To cinema, and some high-quality television, it's a real skill. But for the kind of TV that the Tremors sequels get their stock actors from, it's nothing more than a cold plug-into-socket operation. These actors don't live the lives of their characters, they light up and perform set-functions. Like, to quote The Stepford Wives (oddly appropriate in cases such as these), "one of those robots at Disneyland." The choice to bring back actors from the first film was a good one. And I won't complain about the 3rd repeat attempt at a sidekick pairing with hunkalicious Shawn Christian (who similarly steamed up Summerland, which I only checked out for a few minutes because Lori Loughlin from Full House was on it). But there's nothing going on here to give a damn about.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 180: A Most Deplorable Manner


Tremors 4: The Legend Begins
(2004 / director: S.S. Wilson)

½★

I want to make this one as quick as I can (good luck- I know). There's no need to beat a dead horse... And this sequel proves that Tremors died some time ago and has just been stinkin' up the place since with its' orange-bled festering carcass. We've already established that these movies are running off of a TV formula when the first film was refreshingly cinematic. For a short period of time, The Legend Begins is doin' pretty well. The best bet is to really trot out that western film vibe. And Billy Drago rides in like a real outlaw hero to save the movie (contrary to his performance in Takashi Miike's Imprint, where he overdid everything at twice the pace of the English-speaking Japanese cast). But, well... then he dies. There are several big problems with Tremors 4. The first is that it's a cheap morality tale. Real cheap. Not nearly as politically-charged as Tremors 3 but in fact- perhaps worse. Seeing as how it lacks even the misplaced conviction of that film. Replacing it instead with racial stereotypes (adding Native Americans to their pet-store-of-people checklist) and awful "soft man" posturing from series' trademark head-honcho tough-man, Michael Gross (who does interviews in full sophisticato- glasses, tie, intelligent demeanor). Everything's "dandy." If I never hear that word again 'til my dying day, I'll be just fine. And yet... he turns out to be a perfectly adequate role model for little Chinese boy Sam Ly (who the film shamelessly uses as a victim at the last minute to up the stakes of the scene- how I long for the days of Short Round or Data, kids who were allowed to take care of themselves). The scene pic'd above is the best example of this uneasy hypocrisy present in the film (how funny I should be writing this 3 days from Christmas- this boy really is Tiny Tim and his hero just kicked the crutches out from under him).

Shockingly, this sequel actually has a cinematic source of inspiratiion. I know you're probably thinking Back to the Future Part III. Think lower: the hastily goofball Evil Dead sequel, Army of Darkness. Where Bruce Campbell's Ash is a first-class jerk who is guilted and "aw, but... we're so vulnerable: can't you help us even though you're scared?"-into staying to fight the creatures (zombies in that film) and help form the village/townspeople into a makeshift army. And hey, in that film- the person Ash insults actually slaps him and is repaid with some of ultra-fine (and muscular) Campbell's "sugar." No such luck here (the bathtub sees more action than fiery redhead Sara Botsford). More disturbingly, Bert / Hiram gets off far more on shootin'- and that's only when he finally picks up his gun (typical conservative). When a film kills its' only good luck charm in order to rush back to a town called Rejection (fitting in this case, trust me)... Well, you can read the signs from there. It won't be hard; you've seen all of this before. Also, the film is still far too close to 2 hours long for my taste (give us a BREAK, people! That's the length of nearly 5 whole TV-show episodes!!) and there's even more CGI this time than in Aftershocks or Back to Perfection. If you can imagine that. With all the Asians in the film, I'm surprised someone didn't shout: "LOOK! The computers are attacking the city!"

[nopersonality]

Chapter 23: Through the Eyes


Zombie
(1979 / director: Lucio Fulci)

★★½

Lucio Fulci had a master's hand affected with a nasty case of that Evil Dead II possession syndrome. For a period of time between 1978 to 1981, everything he touched turned to gold... then, he either got drunk, went nuts, was bullied by people on production, or his hand rebelled like Ash's, he chopped it off, it ran amok, and then proceeded to throw up tar, sludge, and fake blood and unconvincing grue shavings all over the films, because- the man got sloppy. Either he was 50% hack all along or he actively sought to ruin the great pieces of horror art he started building. Let's start by observing the higher 50% of Fulci. Although he's responsible for some of the most offensive, schlocky, ugly, and mind-numbing pieces of Italian filmmaking ever consigned to horror history, he - as I said before - had the master's touch and used it from time to time in certain doses. His greatest quality was in atmosphere. Argento was more into flexing the nerve and there's no doubt that, since most Eurohorror fans aren't that discerning with their films, he and Fulci were always in competition from the mid-70's and on. Argento's films moved faster and Fulci went slower. Agonizingly slower. But you won't hear me ever complain because that is the power he had. He could turn something ugly and dirty and slimy and pussy into something truly menacing, despite its' inherent schlockiness. With a camera and his composers and what little story that was going on, he had a knack for drawing you into a strange gothic world unlike you've ever been in before. He created fever dreams and nightmares that easily whipped Bava's ass- you were really there and you kinda wanted to stay due to morbid curiosity. And of Fulci's best fevers, there are only two I suggest you catch. The cold sweat, City of the Living Dead, and the hot sweat, 1979's Zombie. Easily Fulci's best horror film - by a long shot, Zombie is an absolute marvel of tension, creepiness, and style.

Set on a small, semi-lush tropical island, and almost all of the main bulk of the horror in the movie set in the blazing daylight, you'll be amazed at how Fulci turns such a beautiful place into one you will never want to visit. Even on a million-dollar dare. Let's start with the interludes which take place at a scrappy little rundown hospital, where the suspicious Dr. Menard is said to be doing "research" on a plague which has swept over the island and is turning people into flesh-eating zombies. We never get to see his dark side (beyond the cliched, misogynstic slapping scene) or see him doing any of the underhanded things his very spooked wife alludes to. But in the meantime, the bodies are piling up. Some are buried in the sand while a score of amazing air-piercing sound effects rattle off. Others are left to rot and scream as they slowly slip into insanity inside the hospital, drooling and spitting out green and red slimes while soaking through and soiling the sheets of their beds. It's a very uncomfortable series of sequences. But then, that's Fulci's specialty. He doesn't want you to be comfortable. At all. Meanwhile, the reason for this zombie plague is not explained. Not that it needs to be, but some kind of exposition is dragging out of it. Involving a "Ju-ju Man," something of a voodoo priest who is leading the villagers to revolt or form an army. To do what? The always cryptic (though, this works to the movie's favor) Lucas says they are making voodoo. And the only time we ever notice them is when they torture poor, equally frail as the Dr.'s sanity-deprived wife, exotic Auretta Gay by beating their tribal drums into a frenzied nowhere-march. An awesomely stupid scene which is part of the final 35-minute demolition Fulci sets up to wreck his previously excellent film.

But for nearly 1 hour, this film is made of pure 70's horror goodness. From its' toes (the stark opening scene featuring the camera showing us all the quarters aboard an empty boat as it recklessly, yet peacefully- since there's nobody on it, sails into the harbor) to its' forehead (all of Olga Karlatos' deliriously fun freakouts). It's only maybe twice before the movie decides to put on a stupid wig which it didn't need does the entire thing fall to pieces. And it's an epic fall, too. Probably the greatest tragedy of Fulci's career. All the buildup, all the tension, all the terror... poured down the drain as the characters attempt to flee the island by jeep. One tells the driver to "watch out!" to avoid hitting a zombie. This is one of horror's greatest WTF?!'s of all-time. A zombie is not a puppy. It's not cute, sympathetic, nor would hitting it really damage the vehicle. So, as you probably've guessed- swirving to miss the zombie, they lose control of the jeep and crash into a tree. Oh, but that's not enough. Having them walk all the way AWAY from the edge of the island and back into the center of Zombie Holocaust isn't good enough for this idiotic movie. They have to injure one of the survivors' legs. Now, he has to be carried by two people all the way back to Dr. Menard's hospital. You have no idea how much I wish I were kidding. Not only is their escape foiled but they are drastically slowed down and the movie forces them to go the wrong way because they need help to fix the wounded man's leg. And so, since by the time they reach their destination, hobbling all the way- it's pitch black outside, the Dr. has absolutely no clue that the zombies have reached their side of the island, and there's only maybe 20 minutes of movie left... I guess I don't need to tell you that they're too late.

Unfortunately, that's not all I have to say on the matter either. I mentioned a few moments before the final half-hour dip into retardation. Both reminders of the director's disturbing perverted streak. The first is a complete, though low-grade, WTF?! set-up. As one character turns to the others to say they believe they've found the island our heroes are looking for, another one says: stop the boat. She wants to swim. The boat isn't the only thing that stops. The boat driver's wife strips to almost buck naked... and everyone is watching her in stone-silence. Why? There damn well should be a reason. But there isn't. Even the other woman on the boat is watching her, as well as sharing reaction glances with her male companion. Her boyfriend is paying no mind that there is another man leering at his naked girlfriend's tits and ass. What the hell is this- communal voyeurism by way of Last House on the Left / share and share alike? Pretty much. And it doesn't end there. There is an extreme closeup of her crotch as she clips a buckle into a harnessing strap between her thighs- clearly a psychological inserting of the director's penis into her vagina (and her panties are such a light color, you can see pubic hair right through). What's the matter, Luc- not getting any at home? Tainting this movie is no kind of excuse to show off how fucked up you are. This pops up again later, when Olga Karlatos showers (nude, of course). From outside the bathroom window, with her naked body in plain view, a hand reaches up and gropes the window glass- touching over her figure in a highly perverted manner. There is a lot to complain about, and I don't want to leave you with this thought as a conclusion. Instead, I'll just say- if the movie is mapped out in percentage form, more than 60% of it works very well. Which makes it an above-average film for its' type.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 122: Putty in Your Hands


Society
(1989 / director: Brian Yuzna)

★

Of the huge boom of human-mutation films and very bizarre creature feature sci-fi horror hybrids to come in the 1980's- Society is by far the strangest (and yes, I'm including 1986's Street Trash in a list of films less strange than this one). The directorial debut of Re-Animator producer, Brian Yuzna, this low-budget teen / high school flick has grand ambitions to be both a scary satire of the lifestyle of California's rich mansion-in-the-hills Americans and an interesting sci-fi film (not actually a contradiction in terms- remember The Day the Earth Stood Still) dealing with a secondary species of people who are half-human and half-slug. Think that sounds far-fetched? You haven't heard anything yet. This actually starts out as a teen paranoia fable, and a Bush-era Rosemary's Baby. Which the movie pushes to the brink of nausea factor with a cast of highly repulsive older actors, most of whom you've never seen before, and all of whom would look perfect in a period costume film set in the heyday of the French society wig-freaks (Marie Antoinette, Dangerous Liaisons and all that). Historically, the French aristocrats would do shocking things in order to look beautiful- including using things as makeup that wound up killing them (think Tim Burton's Batman). Society never gets that twisted or clever. Instead, the real gimmick is that the special effects are done by Nightmare on Elm Street 4's "Screaming Mad" George. And thus, we end up with a movie that eventually breaks down into a solid block full of mini-Human Roach Motel scenes. There's enough goop, glop, Jaba the Hut flab-rolls, and milkshake thickener here to make From Beyond's mouth water.

There is, however, an interesting side to this movie. It washes in and out like the waves on the film's hot summer beach. In its' quest to make you think you're really in the main character Billy's dreamlike waking life, the first 40 or so minutes have some quality otherworldly fantasy material. The 80's to the early 90's were a surprisingly heady time anyway, culturally, and people must have liked to see little pieces of that in their movies because from Nightmare on Elm Street to Mannequin- hallucinations, dreams, and fantasies were all the rage. This takes the physical form of "dreamgirl" Clarissa (Devin DeVasquez), who saunters all over the place (that sounds funnier than it really is), commanding dramatic shifts in ambience and an exotic lilt in the music score (much welcomed after the awful almost-electric accordian rendition of "weird" classical music pieces). More essentially, though, she has a knack for turning the movie in another direction. Akin, perhaps, to a pornographic film's feeling of any-place, any-time; although she keeps the weirdness in-check with her goofy rhyming lingo. Billy is - unbeknownst to him - an orphan. She, it would seem, senses this about him and spirits him away from the family and peers he doesn't like. He at one point feels she's being predatory, and maybe the movie wants us to think that too due to her extreme sexual forwardness. But in one important moment when Billy is metaphorically homeless, she reveals she just wants to protect him and they spend the night outdoors in his jeep holding each other.

Her sensitivity is refreshing. As is that of his sister, Jenny. Both balance out the movie. Though not quite enough to keep it from being overwhelmed on the whole by the fluctuating obnoxious levels eminating from his less-"popular" friends Milo and Blanchard, not to mention the stereotypically hopheaded mother, quietly-menacing father, not-so-quietly menacing shrink (this guy gives off major predatory vibes!), and God-complexed judge-mayor who serves as everyone's boss in the film's disturbingly light-toned finale (at least with Killer Klowns, they had the decency not to give the puppet master to all the creepy drones dialogue). There's also a guilt-tripping cop who likes to judge Billy as though he were worse than his snoot-nosed parents. Speaking of the ending (which avoiding is sadly impossible), its' outrageousness factor (in concept, at least) alone may tempt some to find it groundbreaking. But what I can't avoid in dealing with that is the film leading up to it. You have a character who behaves in a way that makes him a complete stranger from the world he lives in. Which is indeed a world that could support the silliness of the infamous ending, but Billy makes it impossibe for us to see him in this situation. If anything, the Clarissa element is a journey away from getting Freaked. No hairball-munching wrestler-sized mothers can help us forget this. The biggest problem may be that this ending isn't right for Billy, and Clarissa's taking it too seriously as well. They have their own movie going on. And that's the one I'd like to see. She's like the key to another place. And the movie treats her - if the slug race of folks are insects - like she eminates bugspray. That's just what the movie needs. An intensive bug spraydown. As does, I'm guessing, Yuzna's next effort- Silent Night, Deadly Night 4.

[nopersonality]

Chapter 100: Blame the Movies


Scream 2
(1997 / director: Wes Craven)

★★½

Wes Craven's 1996 masterpiece Scream was such an effective, pedal-to-the-metal horror film in spite of also being a ground-breaking, self-referencial satire, that it seems there was nowhere for a sequel to go but into thriller territory. The inevitable (thanks to buku box office returns) Scream 2 starts out with a scene of horror that lacks the fear of the original but in terms of intelligence and depth, it's as if the first film never ended. But it has, and this scene mostly serves as a last hurrah for that formula: would-be savvy young people (aka- people who think they're more clever than they really are) who don't happen to hold the horror genre in all-too high regard as they scoff at or belittle it, then find themselves in a dangerous situation that their wits have failed to help them escape. Sounds like yet another influence to rack up on Saw's rip-off belt, right? Anyway, this time around the focus is much more on characters that the filmmakers believe the audience have grown to like. Survivors from the first film, or characters who only seemed to survive by chance rather than by script calculation. This is my cue to tell everyone reading this that Wes Craven didn't plan Scream to be a trilogy or to have a sequel ahead of time. I have to believe the same goes for screenwriter Williamson, since again there's very little indication in the film that there was a future for characters like Gale Weathers, Deputy Dewey, Randy the movie geek, or Cotton Weary.

Therefore, Scream 2 is bound by the rules of drama and action that govern the thriller genre. This would render the sequel a complete disappointment were it not for the fact that Craven (at the time) could never be mistaken as an action director (even though Shocker and A Vampire in Brooklyn had their moments that argue otherwise). One of the things that made the original film extraordinary was that every scene was serving the structure of a horror movie within a horror movie. This film acts entirely as a means to explain the previous film's story (thereby replacing its' set-up, post the opening scene at least) and tie up the loose ends for anyone wondering- what will become of the survivors(?). But if you were one of those people, you didn't watch the movie correctly. A lot of people didn't, since a great majority of viewers at one time found the film to be a comedy. Some even thought the film was mocking hardcore horror fans. Scream 2 doesn't know the damage it's causing, so I'll just say that what it's trying to do is expand the message of the original film (which would be, after all the people burned by improper assessments: don't be so quick to judge) and re-focus its' aim to include violence in all facets of American culture (just shy of making its killer a victim of domestic or sexual violence), leading to a criticism on the political manipulation of Americans in the film's Tarantino-esque gun shootout finale. I wouldn't be surprised to learn this was a statement Craven himself was hot to make after none other than 2009 Republican Presidential hopeful, John McCain himself, spoke out publically against Scream on the grounds that it would likely make young people go out and reproduce the films' murders- as though smart Americans needed one more reason to vote for Obama.

Unfortunately, a movie can't be saved by good intentions alone. So for all its' added drama (which I wouldn't be surprised if most of you agreed with me: it's boring), how much and what of it actually works? Gladly, I come to report that some of it does. A good half of the film is dedicated to Sidney's tragic lovelife (and Derek is the single most wooden of all characters I've seen Jerry O'Connell play, though kudos to him for the ultra-beefy bod). But the other half - the one that works - gives Courtney Cox a chance to continue to shine above her TV skills (which she does, yet again) as she yearns to get future husband David Arquette to forgive her for writing their almost-love affair from the first film as a how-to guide on looking like a nimrod. He baits her into bearing her soul by slinging accusations that she's a cold-blooded, heartless bitch who'll do anything to get ahead. And thus, life and art combine: the two actors do a convincing job of portraying a realistic romance blooming (they married in summer of '99, though sadly they separated in 2010). Between the two of them, they juggle the best supporting characters (including David's real-life father, Lewis Arquette- who you may have seen in the season 2 Tales from the Crypt episode, "Lower Berth," or the 2nd House sequel, called The Horror Show in its' own right). Although Roseanne's Laurie Metcalfe actually needs to stop acting with her eyes (seriously, it hurts after awhile).

Most thrillers are, by nature, gimmick driven. And this sequel gave Scream haters even more reason to think the creative team behind it were only in it for the money. From writer Williamson's camp, that's most likely not far from the truth. Since he was at the time already developing Dawson's Creek, this sequel feels like more of a test drive for that show's girly formula of drama and one-liners. Eventually the movie becomes a tug of war between him and Craven. Though they would probably see it as more of a stew, as long as both contribute and allow each other to stick in what they want to see then they're both happy. But for the poor viewer, if you're like me, there's no thrill in any of Randy's 2nd-hand speeches (and after the Tom Cruise and Richard Gere cracks of the first movie, the "loose wrist" and "homo-repressed" references make Williamson's coming-out in 1999 redundant) which this time around, lack the cinematic commentary of the drunken audience; the whole movie as it turns out is suffering from a lack of Matthew Lillard's wild, reckless abandon. Studio heads were probably thinking this sort of thing could be covered up with 4 hip black actors and a soundtrack full of big names- Foo Fighters, Everclear, Master P, Sugar Ray, Dave Matthews Band (the most exciting figure of the original's soundtrack was Julee Cruise from David Lynch's Twin Peaks- although Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' "Red Right Hand" is one of horror's best songs as themes). Although Williamson may not be taking this seriously as a horror film, Craven is and shows it with a few scenes that prove he's still got the master's touch. None better than Cox's harrowing race through a sound recording studio - let's see Saw invent something like that!

[nopersonality]

Chapter 30: You're Going to Get What You Deserve


Alice, Sweet Alice
(1976 / director: Alfred Sole)

★★★½

Rumor has it that Alice, Sweet Alice has a real thing for the notorious image of the dwarf in Don't Look Now. Some people might even say this movie ripped it off with its version of the raincoat-wearing, blade-wielding midget psycho killer. The similarities are strong. Especially when you get past Alice's famous Valentine-ish red-lipped cupid Halloween mask, and you see another old, wrinkled face (surprisingly- I am talking about the 2nd mask our little heroine from hell here dawns to freak out little Brooke Shields) underneath. But the two sources couldn't be more different in intention. The sourced Daphne du Maurier story for Don't is full of hard drama and honest attempts to scare people. Alice is quite hard as well, but let no one make the mistake of calling it dramatic. It's a rare 70's example of a hysterical freakshow. The kind which John Waters, were he more religious, might be proud to put his name on. You see, despite the film's oppressive connections to Catholicism and the brutal characterisations (there isn't a single person in this film who is completely likable or able to keep their calm throughout the hurricane of atrocities hurled onto everyone), this movie is mostly content to point and laugh at people when horror is heaped upon them.

The story shifts and turns all about like a soap opera (again suiting the very large cast of characters and the story's hasty inclusions of cop procedural, failed romance rekindling, and family unit issues). But it's intentionally very shrill and over-the-top. While various Italian horror-inspired images pierce the scenes of the film's two young monstrous sisters Alice and Karen playing (one is constantly running away to be mischevious and the other screams and whines over every little thing that doesn't go her way), accompanied by generic 70's creepy music (whispery and vocal by nature) moaning on the soundtrack. Following the film's first of several rather nasty yet wacky murders, a psychological aspect is added to the mix (only the most nausea-inducing coming-of-age nonsense you'll get from an edgy 70's horror film: almost Exorcist-inspired references to Alice as having a wildly sexually promiscuous side). Alice's mother faces the music of being a neglectful parent (apparently, she failed to have a Pamela Fitzgerald reaction to learning of her daughter's first period) while asshole detectives talk candidly about the girl's breasts and perceived come-ons traded between her and the polygraph man.

But little of any of that is the reason why this film is a near masterpiece. It made choices to dip so deeply into religion, to be so sick and grotesque (you'll get what I mean when/if you decide to check it out), and to fill itself with characters you can't stand. What makes it so great is that it is flat-out inspired in the scope of its' depravity, cruelty, and cinematic-minded skewering. Basically, for every person who says or does something mean or stupid- there is an either disastrous or amusing fate waiting for them. Not a single stone is left unturned: if you make a mistake, you're going to pay for it. This was a true theme of the 70's but never is it as ingenious as it is here (though it was certainly done elsewhere badly: the Vincent Price catastrophe Theater of Blood). And you might be surprised to see it finds its' way into dialogue, character reactions, and of course- the details of every scene featuring a panic in public (most of the murders take place during the day with spectators present which breaks the cardinal "always at night, in the dark, alone" rule of slasher films). You'll find yourself pointing and laughing too. The film has a few small noteworthy flaws. But the biggie: the entire Mr. Alphonse set-up. It's not clever and it goes nowhere (despite him having one of the film's best lines).

[nopersonality]

Chapter 67: TV Rots Your Brains


The Video Dead
(1987 / director: Robert Scott)

★★★

Man, the day I saw 1986's overrated horror-comedy Night of the Creeps, I knew it was a loser. And now that I've seen this little direct-to-video superstar gem (which is sadly still in the MGM nightmare limbo alongside The Town That Dreaded Sundown, both very much in need of a DVD release), I realize why. It just isn't clever. Well, that's where Video Dead arrives to fill that void. It has so much cleverness, it almost makes trying to take the many previous 80's horror films that inspired it seriously a daunting task. What jumps to mind right away? Children of the Corn for one. Not because it's so bad or anything, mostly because I've had the score's main theme from the movie on CD for about 10 years now and so I recognize the first 8 or so notes in this movie's score- which is all over the place (though in the case of Corn, it did always sound a little too much like Amityville Horror to be an original). Speaking of the score, one of the brilliant touches here is that it seems to stick in references to a huge number of other horror films- including, I believe, the New World acquisition of the same year, Slugs. Ha; speaking of a movie where you can't tell if it's intentionally funny or serious... There are moments in the score where I would swear I was watching 1980's The Boogeyman (Slugs' superior, barely more-American cousin in the world of camp, or if you prefer: The Dead Next Door home-made brand, horror). Then, of course, there's Steve Miner's House (which I suppose could be seen as either a mentor movie for Video Dead or just another movie they made sure to ape in the score). And finally, in the arena of must-mention films this movie is better than yet probably wouldn't exist without, we arrive at Romero's Day of the Dead. Though this movie would be seen by many as being a lot closer to The Return of the Living Dead, minus the punk music, the informal acting style puts it closer to Day (not to mention the climax takes one of Day's points to heart).

But, when placed beside almost any other film of this type (save for the future, somewhat obscure, release of Psychos in Love, which doesn't have a serious bone in its' body), it's a full-on parody that only seems to get serious when you least expect it, at the end (which perhaps makes this, however unlikely, an inspiration for the utterly idiotic Dead Snow). Which is propelled by a great performance by an amateur and an idea so smart, you almost wonder why another movie hadn't thought of it before. More importantly, the humor never comes up short. One scene featuring a poodle walking in a dangerous area left me fearing another Friday the 13th Part II type situation, or maybe even worse: Re-Animator (animal violence used as a gag) and I was totally blown away to find not only was I wrong about what we would see, but they found a way to make what we did see funny anyway. Expect the unexpected. It might not have been scary but it did make me jump. And there's something about it feeling like it's taking place in the living room of a house you've been in before (or maybe that's just me, yet the widescreen format has an equally trippy effect- the curtains in the house make that room look huge) that makes the things people without love for no-budget horror might scoff at a lot more enjoyable, even if they are executed in a cheap way. The top-notch camerawork and a few post production tricks help keep the pacing a dream (which, in turn, keeps the energy high so that you don't give up on the movie when it starts to look like it's getting boring: namely the shack in the woods stakeout scene) and scenes that look as though they were borrowed from Phantasm and Evil Dead II complete the picture. Yes, it owes its' existence to classic horror films but it's so good it deserves to be a fore-runner alongside the likes of Night of the Creeps (certainly it's funnier than Frankenhooker and light years ahead of Blood Diner). It rather always deserved the spot horror fans have kept warm for that one.

Note:
The version of the film watched for this review is located exclusively for viewing online at Netflix. It's currently the only film in the Book of Horror that has not been released on DVD in the United States and may only be available for a limited time - although a YouTube user by the name of " michael1981uk " has the entire, from what I can tell, fullscreen version.