Entries Tagged 'Reviews' ↓

Here's a brief review that was going to be published elsewhere, but ended up lost in the shuffle. Sometimes this happens when you travel on the Information Superhighway- it's perilous. This is unlike my usual Final Girl reviews, but I'm posting it/them as a public service. I'm sure you've seen the DVD double feature reissue of Uninvited (1988) and Mutant (1984) at the store or on your gramma's movie shelf and you didn't know what to think about it. You'd never read any reviews of them anywhere, so you weren't sure if they were worth your time...well, I'm here to help because that's what I do. Don't live in fear, my friends. Read on and be at ease.

Here’s a hokey creature double feature that finally proves beyond a reasonable doubt what horror fans have known forever: industrial toxic waste- be it puke yellow or neon green- inevitably turns living beings into blood-thirsty monsters. As a society, we should be thankful that this DVD now exists to warn the ignorant. As horror fans, however, “thankful” may not be the right term, exactly.

First on the docket is Mutant, which begins like all the best movies do- that is, with some angry rednecks running some city boys off the road. With their car in a ditch, the fluffy-haired brothers have no choice but to hike into the one-stoplight town in search of a tow truck, and it’s soon evident that angry rednecks will be the least of their worries. The rest of the local populace is largely missing, and then, they’re turning up dead…and they’re turning up undead, transformed into zombies of a sort. What, did you think they’d actually be mutants?

While the movie is sort of fun in a Dawn of the Dead lite meets CHUD lite way, it’s seriously hampered by the lack of effects. The zombies, as such, are strictly of the blue-faced variety and the gore is all but non-existent. It does, however, have the balls to feature a children-on-child feast scene, so that’s worth something.

Rounding out the disc is Uninvited, undoubtedly the stronger film of the two. Genre stalwarts George Kennedy and Clu Gulager find themselves stuck aboard a yacht with a bunch of frizzy-haired Spring Breakin’ college kids…and even worse, with a pissed-off radioactive cat, on the run from a science lab. While an angry tabby might be easy to handle, this one has…well, it has another, much angrier cat growing inside of it, like a vicious feline Russian nesting doll. Cat #2 busts a move out of Cat #1 from time to time to dispatch the boaters by biting them, scratching them, and as you might expect, poisoning their blood. Veins pulsate, boils boil, blood bleeds, and both cats alternately look like rugs and puppets.

Personally, I don’t see how you can go wrong with a horror movie featuring George Kennedy and a radioactive house cat…except, you know, the movie isn’t actually any good. Neither is Mutant, but hey, that doesn’t mean they’re not enjoyable. Sometimes a big slice of ‘80s cheese is exactly what hits the spot.

I am of the mind that The Exorcist is one of the best horror films ever made. Yes, it scares me and it always has. I know there are people who find it laughable and dull and not scary at all. I cannot concern myself with these people, because they're jerks. JERKS I SAY. The fact is, William Friedkin's 1973 film is an absolute classic- take away all the horror elements and it's still a fascinating study of religion, faith, medicine, and female sexuality. I will say as I've always said, however: if Regan's post-possession behavior is any indication, Pazuzu is pretty lazy.

Maybe my feelings on that will change after this viewing of the follow-up, Exorcist II: The Heretic (1977), directed by John Boorman. That's right, my friends, somehow I've never seen this, one of the most reviled films in the history of...film. Oh, I've seen teeny bits here and there: Regan in some weird headgear acting all tranced out, Richard Burton yelling about something, Louise Fletcher being NOT Ellen Burstyn. I imagine this movie will be as terrible as it's said to be, although I may be pleasantly surprised. Either way, however, you're coming along with me. That's right, it's time for another one of my famous* live blog reviews, so let's dig in and get our Pazuzu on!

*not at all famous

• Man, these opening titles make me think about how much I love The Exorcist. It's so damn unsettling...wait, Ned Beatty is in this?!
• Okay, so we start with a Spanish-speaking girl who's apparently possessed...Father Richard Burton stands around doing nothing and the girl sets herself on fire. Way to go, Father Richard Burton!
• Aw, Regan's all grown up and tying her shirts to show her tummy! And she's tap dancing in short shorts to "Lullaby of Broadway". She's so normal now!

• Regan only remembers being sick and having nightmares when she was in D.C...apparently she doesn't remember all the cussing and the crucifix up the hoo-ha. I don't blame her for blocking it all out. Still, Dr. Louise Fletcher wants to hypnotize Regan to MAKE her remember. Is that a good idea? My zero training in psychiatry says NO.
• Alright, Father Richard Burton is supposed to investigate the death of Father Merrin. Apparently the church doesn't like all the "devil talk" that Merrin was throwing around. Wouldn't they use it to draw more people to the church's teachings, rather than cover it all up? I'd think it would drum up some good business for 'em.
  
• Ooh, Regan's got her hypnotic headband on. Strobe light time! She's literally going cross-eyed as she gets all tranced out. Awesome.
• I miss the Linda Blair years.
• This hypnosis machine is sweet. People can link their minds and, like, go places and stuff. The cross-eyed thing is embarrassing, but still.
• Flashback! Oh my...oh my God. Can't they just use footage from the original movie, rather than re-enacting it? It's so bad. So bad. And tap-dancing Regan is dueling with possessed Regan over...well, they're both grabbing Louise Fletcher's breast. It's all very uncomfortable. That's REALLY not Mercedes McCambridge doing the voice. Bleeearggh.
  
• Okay, I guess they're supposed to be battling over her heart. But really, they're copping a lot of feels here.

• Actually, lady, Regan does NOT draw well. Sorry to be harsh, Regan, but it had to be said.
• Father Richard Burton is trying to beat a flaming cardboard box to death with a crutch. It's really not helping. But Regan's drawing was so prescient! Except for the crutch part.
• In Regan's dreams, Pazuzu takes her to...Africa? Tatooine? Aw, I guess it's Africa. Or, you know, a soundstage.
• LOCUSTS!
• Regan, noooo! Don't fall off the roof! Although killing Regan would be a rather Scream thing to do, if you know what I mean.
• Alright, Father Richard Burton has gone back to the Georgetown house to investigate. As you might expect, there's a locust hanging out in Regan's old bedroom. Well, that was anticlimactic.
  
• Back to Africa. Father Merrin is battling Pazuzu, who's possessed a boy, and swarms of locusts, which...is how Pazuzu gets about, I'd imagine. I wish he'd also battle this fucking Kmart Ladysmith Black Mambazo soundtrack that's happening right now...
• LOCUSTS TERRORIZE SOUNDSTAGE VILLAGE, NEWS AT ELEVEN
• James Earl Jones has magical leopard breath.
• IS THAT DANA PLATO???
• I looked it up. That is indeed an uncredited Dana fucking Plato as the shy, stuttering girl.
  
• "What's the matter with you?" "Oh, I was possessed by a demon." "..." "It's okay, he's gone."
• Regan's kind of annoying in a "golly gee!" sort of way, isn't she?

• Ugh, this extended Africa sequence where Father Richard Burton goes off in search of James Earl Magical Leopard Breath Jones is pretty boring.
• But now it's all better: The Sparkly Top Hat Tap Dance Revue is GO! What a strange interlude.
  
• Is Sharon in love with Regan or what? She so is.
  
• Regan says "Please don't drug me, Jean..." while sounding completely fucking drugged.
• Oh God, I want to fast forward all the Africa scenes. Can I do that? Or will I miss too much?
  
• While I think a sequel to The Exorcist is rather unnecessary, there maybe COULD have been a decent sequel that dealt with Regan's post-traumatic life. Maybe some sort of abuse or rape allegory. Or maybe Regan's dealings with religion in the wake of her ordeal. The Exorcist II is not that movie.
• James Earl Magical Leopard Breath Jones has a locust hat! It looks like something you'd get at Disneyland, or perhaps the Orkin Bug Zoo.
• "If Pazuzu comes for you, I will spit a leopard." That's comforting. I need to incorporate that into my life. "If this traffic doesn't let up, I will spit a leopard."- that sort of thing.

• Father Richard Burton is kind of possessed by Pazuzu...or maybe Actor Richard Burton is drunk and trying to go to his happy place...
• Oooh, everyone's heading to Georgetown for the big Showcase Pazuzu Showdown!
• Locusssstssss! Crashing cabs! Exorcist II: The Heretic is a white-knuckle thrill ride I'll never forget!
• Regan doesn't seem too bothered to come face to face with her possessed self...
• Okay, Sharon just set herself on fire, Father Richard Burton wants to get it on with a sexified Pazuzued-out Regan, and Louise Fletcher is running around a soundstage.
• The house is coming apart! The Mirror Has There are two Regans! It's all a weeeeee bit over-the-top. It makes the head-spinning, pea soup-spewing finale of the first look subtle.
• Regan is spinning against the the locusts! She's winning!
  
• When did the Kitty Genovese incident happen in New York? Did Georgetown learn nothing from it? For fuck's sake, a car crashed through a fence, a house came down, there was a fire, people died...AND NOT ONE PERSON ON THIS STREET HAS COME OUTSIDE.
  
• Oh wait, they're all there at once. I guess time was standing still while the Regans duked it out.
• Okay, that wrapped up REALLY FUCKING QUICKLY. Guess everyone's gonna be fine! Except Sharon, who ended up Extra Crispy Recipe.
  

Well, that wasn't very good. It wasn't near the debacle I thought it was going to be (or it's been made out to be), but it didn't come close to achieving its lofty goals about the nature of good and evil and the duality within mankind. It's a bit of a mess, though the blinking hypnosis machine is quite the product of the late 1970s, as it was the dawning of the age of New Age. And, of course, let's not forget The Sparkly Top Hat Tap Dance Revue. Or Dana Plato, R.I.P.

PAZUZU!

True (and possibly gross) story: A long time ago in a galaxy...well, in this galaxy, I lived with someone. One fine evening this so-called Co-Habi-Tron 2000 got a stomach bug and barfed. Barfed on the way to the bathroom. Now, I've not had a stomach bug since 1st grade and I've never had food poisoning. I'm not a vomiter, unless...yes, there have been some alcohol-related times but what can you do? I live on the edge, and I always fight for my right to party.

Ahem.

Anyway, this sudden display of not being in control of one's body completely freaked me out. It broke my brain. Really. I became paranoid about catching the stomach bug. I spent the next 2 weeks fixated on perceived feelings of nausea: "Am I gonna throw up? Am I gonna...yes, I think...ohh...I'm...eh, never mind." I never got that bit of flu (awesome) and I never barfed, but no matter: as I said...brain broken. I got paranoid about eating in restaurants for fear of food poisoning. As everyone else in the world has had it at one time or another, I grilled everybody: What's it like? How did you know you had it? How long did you have it? Where did you eat? Whenever someone at work said he had the "flu", I had to ask if it was a cold or a puke thing. I couldn't watch anyone barfing in movies or shows or what have you.

I don't know why it happened or why it continued so long. It was ridiculous. Then all of a sudden I was better. Brains are funny that way, I guess.

Another true (less gross, more juvenile) story: There is an office building along the highway near my hometown that has windows on one side laid out like this:


To me, this place has become known as The Tit Building. Generally people don't know what building I'm talking about when I mention it as a point of reference...but I cannot unsee the word "TIT" spelled out in its windows. It baffles me that it got past the blueprint stage.

I tell you these two anecdotes not simply because my life is so incredibly fascinating...no! I tell you because both anecdotes came to mind while I was watching Uzumaki (2000), the tale of a small Japanese town that falls under the curse of the vortex.

It all starts innocently enough. People "act a bit funny". A man spends several hours quietly videotaping the swirl of a snail's shell. Soon enough, however, many of the citizens of Kurouzu are completely obsessed with the vortex pattern- like, obsessed to the point that they begin to harm themselves in some incredibly grotesque ways. Everywhere they look, they see the spirals. Their brains are broken by the curse, and the only hope, it seems, is to remove all signs of the spiral from their environment. That sounds easy enough, but ask yourself this: is a life without Pecan Spins a life worth living?

Uzumaki starts out as a bit of a kooky fairy tale; the music is exceedingly incongruous with the action, and it almost plays as a horror-comedy. By the time the words "There is still a spiral in your ear..." are spoken, however, it crosses over into the land of dread and mindfuckery. In a word, it's creepy.

None of it is really explained, so you're going to be left with questions in the end, like: Why is the town cursed, exactly? And...how do people turn into giant snails...? But this is an imaginative, bizarre just take the ride kind of horror film, and as such it's both unsettling and entertaining. The idea that thoughts can become obsessive to the point where they lead you to break as many of your own bones as possible- and you think it's a capital plan- is truly terrifying. I'm glad I got over my weird puke obsession when I did.

Yes yes, I'm sure Junji Ito's manga that provides the basis for this film is better than the film itself. I've never read it, although I know I should. And I will, one of these days. You don't need to remind me, Bossy!

Film Club Coolies, y'all!
--------------------------------
Parry Game Preserve
firthofforth
In One Ear...
Sinema Obscura
The Horror Section
Va's The Cinema Experience
The United Provinces of Ivanlandia
Pussy Goes Grrr

While I could simply launch into my review of The Crazies (2010), I feel the need to clue you all in on the circus that was last night's screening. Apparently it was an event staged for horror press; non-genre journalists attended a regular ol' red carpet screening the night before. Folks like myself (and those from all the major horror outlets) endured an "immersive" affair that began a week or so ago, when we had to call to RSVP for the...quarantine.

Last night our car was stopped at the studio gate by "Army guys" (some in gas masks, all brandishing rifles) who checked our IDs and wanted to know if we'd imbibed any tap water that day. I lied and said no- I'm clearly not to be trusted at the End of Days. We drove deep into the "quarantine zone" past more shouting, flashlight-waving army guys and sheriff's department officers, past humvees and warning signs and flashing lights. After we finally parked, we were herded into a line where it would be determined whether or not we were "infected". Army guys checked my credentials while "doctors" took my temperature (in my ear, thank jebus)...as we were apparently "clean", we were given green wristbands and yelled at some more. Guns were pointed at us as "MOVE MOVE MOVE!" was barked, Crazies on gurneys pleaded for help, other crazies were restrained at gunpoint...it was all very loud and bewildering. Finally we got on a school bus and were driven...not the half-block to the movie theater, but to another location. We were forced off the bus and told to walk single-file...of course, we were heading to the theater, but now we had to walk a greater distance than it was from the parking garage where we started. And it was raining. And there was so much yelling! Despite all the threats, none of the journalists seemed to "hustle".

Finally we got to the fucking theater. Before the movie began there was a "security breach" and Army guys hauled off a Crazy. I wondered why we were sitting in a movie theater when clearly the world was ending and there were people dying right outside. Then the movie began.

Was all of that fun? Sure it was. I probably would have rather just, you know, gone to a screening, but I do enjoy those haunted houses that pop up during October, you know? While the extravaganza didn't influence my opinion of the film, I suppose that's a possibility with some critics so bear that in mind when you read reviews. Shit like this goes on and perks are given to journalists...and while I certainly don't want to accuse anyone or any websites of giving out good reviews solely due to said perks (or the opportunity to be quoted on a poster or ad), I think you should know about the wooing. I mean, I haven't even gotten to the after-party yet.

The small town of Ogden Marsh, IA falls apart quickly after residents suddenly become...homicidally weird. A man locks his family in the house and sets the house on fire. The town drunk brings a shotgun to a high school baseball game. People are just plain jerks.

Some hunters find a dead body out in a marsh; his tangled parachute indicates that he was a pilot, so Sheriff David Dutton (Timothy Olyphant) goes in search of the downed plane. It's found a short time later and Dutton quickly deduces that this water feeds into Ogden Marsh's drinking supply- something from the wreckage could be causing the widespread wackadoo-ness.

Before Dutton or his wife Judy (Radha Mitchell), the town's doctor, can figure out a way to help people or stop the spread, the Army sweeps in. They quickly round up the denizens of Ogden Marsh, executing the infected and quarantining the town. The Duttons, along with a couple of their colleagues, need to get the fuck out of Dodge.

If you're familiar at all with the 1973 film upon which The Crazies is based, you'll see that the plot hasn't much changed. Trixie, a biological weapon developed by the military, is still to blame for the onset of violence. The Army still takes drastic measures to contain the outbreak. What's changed in the 35 years since George Romero's effort is style and approach. While the original film was subtle by no means (so much yelling), the "Crazies" themselves were a bit more insidious than they are in their modern incarnation. The developing illness was a gradual thing, and it was almost impossible to tell who had murderous intent until it was too late. Here, the incubation period is fairly short and there's a physical change to the infected...they get grody. They're also extremely violent, but it's of the 'kill kill' variety; again, if you've seen Romero's film you'll realize that there's a lot of abhorrent violence one can inflict that doesn't simply mean "murder". The Crazies '10 never pushes that boundary, despite plenty of opportunities to do so.

Director Breck Eisner's effort is very solid. It's well-made, it looks terrific, and it's a hell of a lotta fun. There are some very welcome touches of humor, there's plenty of gore and action, the cast makes us care a bit about characters that aren't all that interesting. It's possible that The Crazies would be best seen with a group, so everyone can scream and yell and have those sorts of communal horror experiences. It's that kind of movie. It's also worth noting that the editing, thank Christ, is not of the frenetic variety. Even when the action is at its height, you can see everything and tell what's going on. I wish that approach to horror filmmaking wasn't noteworthy, but these days it is.

The Crazies is also the kind of movie that relies heavily (I can't stress that word enough) on jump scares- enough that it gets a little grating after a while. Music stings and loud noises, one can only take so much, you know? Eisner also goes to the well a few too many times in certain instances, employing the same trick over and over: you know, one of those JUMP SCARE - "It's just me!" moments repeated several times, or "Oh no, the Crazy is gonna kill me oh no oh no oh no PHEW my friend saved me!" executed so often that you quickly realize the protagonists are never going to die.

Overall, would I recommend The Crazies? Yeah. It's a good time. It's not necessarily a thoughtful time- whether that matters to you or not may determine if you drop your 15 bucks on it. If you're looking for a film that's going to provoke discourse (beyond the requisite logic issues that spring up) or tap into, you know, grand themes or give insights into human nature, well, you'd best keep looking. Still, you could do a a lot worse- The Crazies is better than any number of recent theatrical horror releases.

Oh, and Lynn Lowry gets a cameo so it's alright in my book.

So, that after-party...it was a fucking circus. Music, free drinks, free food; various photo opportunities, the option to get your face done up all Crazy-like; a stuntman set himself on fire for our entertainment. Radha Mitchell and Timothy Olyphant were there to work the crowd. Heidi and I spent some time telling them how we would have liked the film to end, and they laughed at our jokes so that's fine. Ms. Mitchell asked if I enjoyed the movie overall, and I told her basically what I told you above. I mentioned the original film, and we had this exchange:

Her: You what scene I missed from the original?
Me: The rape scene?
Her: Exactly!
Me: Right, you don't know your dad's a Crazy until he's, you know, raping you.
Her: They really should have kept that. It was remarkable.

Then I had a cookie, watched the stuntman burn, and left.

EDITED TO ADD: Shock Till You Drop has a photo gallery of the screening madness.

Return of the Living Dead Part II (1988) is a sequel in the same vein as Sam Raimi's Evil Dead II, meaning it's kind of a sequel but it's also kind of a remake. Director Ken Wiederhorn goes so far as to bring back RotLD actors James Karen and Thom Mathews. The character names and occupations are different (here they're grave robbers, not morgue attendants), but their personalities are essentially the same this go-round. When they begin spouting lines from the original film, you may begin to wonder why you're not just watching the original instead.

A drum containing a corpse and a batch of 245-Trioxin falls off an Army truck and ends up in a sewage pipe. A few curious kids poke at the barrel until it cracks; a toxic green cloud rises into the sky, there's a convenient insta-rainstorm, and before you can say "This seems familiar...", the dead are rising from their graves.

A few survivors band together, James Karen and Thom Mathews turn into zombies...why, the only thing missing here is a naked Linnea Quigley. Of course, I say that about most movies- but you know what I mean. Return of the Living Dead II swaps kids for punk rockers, but otherwise...yeah, we've seen this.

And that's kind of okay. If RotLD is 70% horror and 30% humor, RotLD II is the opposite. Everything here is played for laughs, from the zombies to the non-zombies. The zombies look straight outta Thriller, bad wigs and all- an MJ lookalike even busts out some moves at the end. Karen and Mathews are given little to do but scream, whine, and mug, but it's funny. Mind you, I adore James Karen so your mileage may vary.

All in all, it's a pleasant enough diversion, an above-average horror comedy...or rather, comedy horror. Still, I'm not sure why you wouldn't simply watch the original- it's this film minus kids plus Linnea Quigley: math makes Return of the Living Dead the right choice. What are you, a weirdo?

I'd seen it in stores
but had not read about it-
I was curious.

Written by the guy
who wrote Going to Pieces,
it had potential-

-but then, ev'rything
has potential, no matter
who's behind the script.

Still, I put it on
my Brain List of stuff to see
one of these damn days.

(also: Audition)
The opportunity came
this weekend, thanks to

Netflix streaming (thanks
Darren!), quite possibly the
best thing in the world.

Wicked Lake began
in an art class. Art students
are quite annoying

(trust me, I was one)
but this guy Caleb was, like,
ULTRA-annoying.

Twitchy, affected-
how could I watch this dude for
ninety minutes? Huh?

His family was worse-
like Leatherface's family,
with 60 percent

more retard, more perv,
more ridiculous...yet far
less interesting.

You may find "retard"
to be offensive; sometimes
it's appropriate.

Anyway, a bunch
of lesbian witches or
something head off to

a cabin for some
weekend lesbian antics.
They make out and serve

to tease the hillbillies
at a gas station; they are
unremarkable

save for their overt
sexuality, because
that makes women strong.

Ever notice that?
I've no problem with sexy
female characters,

but when there's nothing
else to them it seems a l'il
silly. And boring.

Anywho, shortly
after the ladies get to
the cabin, Twitchy

and his family
show up to get their rape on,
'cause that's what men do.

Ever notice that?
How in these movies it's a
given that men will

rape a woman just
because? Maybe someday a
horror movie will

examine that- but
Wicked Lake is not that film.
Instead, there's a long

period of time
where there's just the threat of rape,
and it's so boring.

I'm not a fan of
rape in movies, but come on.
Holding these women

captive while pointing
knives at them and threatening
violence makes for a

rather dull time. Shit
or get off the pot, you know?
I was getting sleepy.

Then, The Internet
intervened. Netflix cut out
and the movie stopped.

I thought to myself,
"I could start the film again,
but, I mean, really.

There are better ways
I can spend my time. Better
movies I can watch...

...or even staring
at the wall, that would be much
better than this crap."

And so, I did not
start Wicked Lake up again.
Maybe it would have

gotten good. Maybe,
but I don't really care much.
The first half hour was

miserable, and
life is too damn short. Naked
lesbian witches,

Going to Pieces,
none of it matters if the
movie just plain sucks.

Y'all should know by now that I'm not ashamed to admit I enjoy House on Haunted Hill. I recognize that it's not necessarily good, but that matters not- it's fairly entertaining and I have a fondness for it. It has a special place in my heart...but not a special place in my special place. It's not that good.

Anyawkward, when I sat in on a panel for the sequel Return to House on Haunted Hill at San Diego Comic-Con 400 years ago, I was intrigued by the promised Choose Your Own Adventure-ish-ness of the hi-def straight-to-DVD release. Intrigued in a "Oh. That's...something." kind of way. I knew I wouldn't partake in the hijinks (I'm SDTV, y'all- I know, right?), and I knew that the sequel, largely unnecessary, would probably stink. I can't help it, sometimes I'm just a big old cynical pessimist.

Sometimes!

Sure enough, when the DVD hit, the reactions were much the same as they were with The Unborn: everyone warned me away, telling me it was awful. While this confirmed my suspicions, I couldn't help but feel those old familiar feelings. No one really likes the original much, but I do- maybe that would be the case with the sequel. I would understand it. I would see something special in it that no one else could see. I would have...enjoyment, and it would be enjoyably enjoyable. Yes, all this optimism amidst all my pessimism.

Man, I really gotta quit with this "savior" mentality.

Ariel (Amanda Righetti) is a bigwig magazine editor. She's a no fuss, no muss, no sleep, no man kind of gal- it's hard being a career woman, y'all. Her sister Sara is Ali Larter- well, you know what I mean. The survivor from House on Haunted Hill; yes, somehow she got down off that roof. The siblings don't speak, however, because Sara is convinced that house on haunted hill was more haunted house on regular hill and Ariel won't abide that ghost talk shit. When Sara commits suicide, though...

...there begins a plot thread about some valuable artifact and whatever whatever it's in the asylum-turned-house where all that death occurred. I can't get be bothered to wade deeply into the Tomb Raiderness of it all, frankly, because it's too silly and I'm too lazy. Suffice it to say, a bunch of people needed to get back into the house and this artifact is the reason they go.

Once there...sigh, they get picked off by the resident ghosts. Yes! The nameless characters- let's call them The Nerd, The Hothead, The Lesbo, and The Black One- encounter a bunch of CGI specters and the blood flies.


I guess this is pretty much what happens in the first one, right? So why does this sequel fail while the original (almost) succeeds? Maybe because in the near decade since that original trip to haunted hill, CGI ghosts are so overdone they're, like, Cajun blackened. The whole ghosts have shaky heads thing? Yeah, that's so old I forgot to die (awesome 5th grade insult). Maybe it's because the characters in the first, while not fleshed out, were more fun- hell, the whole movie was more fun. It was a bit camp, even, and the acting was certainly better.

There's also the style of the thing. Director Victor Garcia employs every shitty music video trick here: shaky cam, jump cuts, strobe lights...I'd be surprised if any shot lasts longer than three seconds. ADD filmmaking really needs to bite it.

It's too bad. Maybe I'm being lenient, but the plot isn't completely terrible. I don't mean the Raiders of the Lost Ark shit- I mean the evil doctor/corrupt insane asylum/patient rebellion plot. Cheese and crackers, people, this movie features Jeffrey fucking Combs as an evil doctor and he doesn't even speak! Wait, yes he does- he says "No! No! No!"in the last moments of the film. What a waste. Waste. Waaaaaaste.


Heck, that underlying plot might be dumb as well, but at least it has potential to be watchably so. Look, for all my "I heart 1981" blatherings, I'm well aware that there was some dumb shit cranked out back then, too, but most of it was...different. Fun. That may actually be true, or that may simply be a result of my age at the time- and I won't deny that nostalgia is powerful. Still, I think a film like Return to House on Haunted Hill should be fun first and foremost- that's why the original (almost) succeeds- but the return is not fun at all. And honestly, I doubt the hi-def Choose Your Own Adventure schtick would make it any more so. For fuck's sake, this movie has blood and naked lesbian ghosts and it still isn't any fun. That's like having dough and sauce and cheese and not being able to craft a damn pizza.


A word of warning, though, for the general public: Ariel sets the evil of the house free by throwing the artifact into the sewer. That means the evil is loosed! Loosed so very easily! The point is, Los Angelites, be sure to use a Brita filter before you drink your tap water.

----------------

Return to House on Haunted Hill counts towards Category 3 in Operation: 101010!

Dear The Unborn,

Since the day you made the rounds at press screenings, I'd been warned about you. "The Unborn is no good, Stacie," my friends said. "Stay far, far away." It always bums me out to hear this about a horror film- I mean, I want all of you to be the love of my life- but I had to listen. When you were in theaters, I stayed far, far away.

Don't take that too personally, though. I tend to stay away from theaters because 1) umm, expensive and 2) umm, to go to the theater I have to leave the house and that directly conflicts with my career goals as a shut-in.

I figured you and I would eventually cross paths someday. Maybe after I'd been drinking and my resistance was low- you know, at a Halloween party or something when I'd had too many gin & tonics and deviled eggs and it was late and you were there and I said "Eh, the hell with it- it's Halloween." But time went on and that never happened, and...I'm sorry to say this, but when I encountered you in stores, there was always something else to rent and you were always too expensive to buy on a whim, and then there were those warnings from my friends. I'd pick up your DVD case and think, "Well, maybe..." and I'd hear a voice echo in my head- like when Luke was about to blow up the Death Star and Obi-Wan Kenobi chimed in to remind him about that whole Force thing- saying "Stacieeeee...it's terribbblllllle..." and I'd have to put you back on the shelf.

Okay, I'm being nice here to spare your feelings. The truth is...for fuck's sake, The Unborn, you're a Platinum Dunes movie. No, you're not a remake out to poop all over a classic, but still- you were brought into the world by horror's Unholy Trinity of Michael Bay, Brad Fuller, and Andrew Form. I try not to judge someone by the company they keep, but I do have limits.

Last night, however, circumstances led to our being in the same room at the same time...and I'd had some wine. My inhibitions were lowered, The Unborn, and you took advantage! I gave you the benefit of the doubt despite having oh so many reasons to ignore you...and you swept into the DVD player like you owned the place. When I said, "How bad can it be?" you should have, like, snapped yourself in half or something to stop me from giving you a try. When I said "Gary Oldman is in it!", you should have shot down my hopes with "Yeah, but he's wasted in a stupid cameo." But you didn't, The Unborn...you didn't.

Now here I am, a day later, wondering what the eff I was thinking. I'm full of sorrow and regret, and I'm ashamed to tell my friends what happened. Sure, they'll be supportive, but I know they'll be thinking "I told you so..."- and I know they're right. If Luke didn't listen to Obi-Wan, that fucking Death Star would still be sitting out there, waiting to zap planets into dust like nobody's business. Have I learned nothing from Star Wars??

I don't know why I'm being nice about this, The Unborn. You really don't deserve a polite, gentle scolding...or a well-thought out critique.

Quite frankly, you suck. You're lethargic. You're lazy storytelling...yet somehow, you're also no storytelling. You don't make any fucking sense. My new daily struggle is trying to overcome picking apart your plot holes, lest said picking apart completely consumes my life. You are nothing but the cheapest of cheap jump scares. Scenes full of jump scares. A movie of jump scares. You're derivative of 50 better horror movies I'd rather watch.

To get all Nancy Thompson about it, you're nothing. You're shit.

I never want to see you again.

Love,

Final Girl

Imagine if The Thing (or The Thing from Another World for you purists) took place on a trans-Siberian train, and it starred Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. Go ahead, imagine it- we'll wait.


Wouldn't that movie be rad? It would, I know. Well, friendo, you're in luck. You don't have to imagine it anymore! You simply have to pop in a copy of Horror Express (1972) and watch your dreams unfold on your TV screen. Life is so sweet sometimes.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1906! In China, Professor Alexander Saxton (Christopher Lee) is exploring a cave in search of fossils when he comes across the mother lode of fossilized old stuff: a frozen ape caveman guy.

Saxton crates it up in preparation for a train trip across Siberia, refusing to let anyone know of his great discovery. Before it's put on board, however, a sneaky thief-type picks open a padlock and tries to get his hands on the goods...he's found dead a few moments later, his eyes turned into something straight outta The Beyond.

The crate, however, is once again sealed up tight...so on board the Horror Express it goes.

Prof. Saxton maintains his silence about the contents of the crate, even when his colleague Dr. Wells (Peter Cushing) shows up asking questions. Not to be thwarted, Wells bribes a baggage man to drill a hole in the crate and take a peek inside. The best part of that plan? The baggage man is the Andorran Marty Feldman himself, the innkeeper from The Witches Mountain!

It may surprise you to learn that his name is not actually The Andorran Marty Feldman. Nope, it's Victor Israel, and he had a rather prolific career (working with everyone from Sergio Leone to Bruno Mattei) before he died this past September at the age of 80. Cheers, Mr. Israel...you'll always be The Andorran Marty Feldman to me.

The baggage man quickly learns that prying open the big mystery box was a mistake. The ice man's eyes glow red which, as you can imagine, is not good for the baggage man. He bleeds, his eyes turn white, and he dies.

The ice man is now on the loose, running (or perhaps shuffling) around the train showing off his red eyes to passengers...much bleeding and eye-whitening and dying ensues. It's all a creepy delight.

Saxton finally admits what was in the crate; the authorities get involved; Wells conducts an autopsy on one of the victims and is startled when he opens up the skull and spies and brain that's gone completely smooth. This can mean only one thing: the monster drains the memories of his victims. While this gives the brain a wrinkle-free, youthful appearance, it's ultimately fatal. Dubious science, you say? Piffle. I'm sure Horror Express is 100% accurate in its scienceology.

Inspector Mirov (Julio Pena) pursues the monster and manages to shoot it in the eye; before the monster dies, however, he ensnares the Inspector in a one-red-eyed stare. This transfers the monster's spirit or soul or essence or whatever into the Inspector himself. The ice man is still on the loose, only now he's disguised as the Inspector.

Dr. Wells performs an autopsy on the monster and is startled yet again: the creature's memories are stored in its eyeball, and dubious science dubious science it's actually an alien! From outer space!

Chase chase, red eyes, crazy priest, white eyes...things get really haywire when Telly Savalas climbs on the Horror Express as Captain Kazan, a man who's going to whip and shoot his way to the bottom of things. Kazan has a delightful Telly Savalas-ian New York accent, despite the fact that he's a Cossack.

So, what will happen to this ancient alien intelligence? Will Professor Saxton satisfy his scientific curiosity at the cost of human lives? Why doesn't Oil of Olay look into these brain-smoothening techniques? Who builds train tracks that lead off a cliff?

Most of these questions will be answered by the time the Horror Express pulls into its last stop, which just so happens to be in Fuckingawesomeville. There are many versions of this film available on DVD, as I believe it's fallen into the public domain. Picture and sound quality are sure to vary, and when you get your hands on a copy it may well be a cruddy transfer. Mine was, but then the DVD only cost $0.79, so who am I to complain? The murky picture didn't diminish my enjoyment of this superior monster movie- I mean, Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, and an alien that makes people bleed from all of their head holes? That's a good time, if you ask me. Actually, that's a good time even if you don't ask.

----------------
Horror Express counts towards Category 9 in Operation: 101010!

I knew going in that Category 7 of Operation: 101010, movies pulled from my 50-packs, would frequently cause me to find myself swept up in a Category 7 storm of crap. If the Spanish film The Witches Mountain (1972), the first film I'm ticking off that list, is any indication...well, I may have to upgrade it to a Category 10 and call in Nancy McKeon or Randy Quaid or someone else who's portrayed a Stormologist to help me survive.

Now, I'm not gonna lie: the first five minutes of The Witches Mountain are completely awesome and completely insane. As some of the softest soft rock plays, a woman arrives home and finds that someone has plunged a knife through a wig, pinning it to her front lawn. Wanton wig abuse! I was immediately smitten with this movie.

She goes upstairs and spies her cat all bloodied and dead on her bed. A little girl comes in, calls the woman an infidel, admits to the kittycide, then heads to the garage to play with her pet snake (not a euphemism). The woman follows and...promptly SETS THE CHILD ON FIRE. Cue The Witch Chorus Singers (redundant I know, but it sounds better), the opening credits, and a look of What the fuckery? that would remain until it was time to cue the end credits.

Wait, there are no end credits in The Witches Mountain...but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Whenever I set a child on fire, the first thing I want to do afterward is go on a nice vacation with my boyfriend. This mystery woman is no different, so she gets two tickets to one paradise or another and tells Mario (Cihangir Gaffari) to pack a bag. Mario is the very picture of delightful 70s sleaze, from his fluffy proto-mullet to his ambitious moustache to his chest carpet and medallion. He is kind of amazing.

At this point, I would like to remind everyone that a moment ago the woman SET A CHILD ON FIRE.

Perhaps he can sense that she's a nutcake, or perhaps he's just a cad. Whatever the case, Mario declines the offer of a free vacation and calls his boss to ask for a new "photo assignment" starting, like, now.

Mario must be a photographer for the CIA or something, because all we ever find out about his assignment is that he must go take some pictures of some mountains. Where, exactly? Eh, somewhere in the Pyrenees, it looks like. Why, exactly? 'Tis a mystery.

Along the way, Mario stops to take some photographs of a woman out sunbathing. The two begin talking and the woman, Delia (Patty Shepard) agrees to accompany Mario on his trip. This makes total sense. I mean, who wouldn't drive for hours deep into the middle of nowhere with a total stranger? It's not like anyone knows where she's going, so no one's going to bitch that it's a bad idea.

Anyway, they end up at a hotel run by Andorra's own answer to Marty Feldman. He is kind of amazing.

Thus begins our slog through the excruciating middle 65 minutes of The Witches Mountain. People talk, people sleep. Mario takes some pictures. Delia sleepwalks. They encounter a mysterious goat herder. They walk around. They say everything twice to the Marty Feldman innkeeper because he's deaf. Delia says she sees a face in the window in her room, but as usual, the picture is too dark for me to see anything.


At one point, Mario and Delia are out taking pictures- well, Mario is talking pictures...Delia just sort of stands there- and someone drives off in their Jeep. They run after it and find it abandoned far down the road, outside of some little village that appears abandoned. It turns out that one house is occupied by a little old witchy-looking woman who claims she knows nothing of the Jeep thievery and she's totally the only person around.

Hey, remember when that woman set that kid on fire? Me too.

Mario and Delia invite themselves to stay with the old woman. Lest the sounds of The Witch Chorus Singers (they're back) lead you to think something is actually going to happen...well, don't get your hopes up because we're still ensconced in the 65-minute negative zone. They talk, they sleep, the old woman makes a big cauldron of something or other, Delia sleepwalks, Mario goes out and takes pictures. He stays out too long and after the sun goes down, the eeeevil fog rolls in. He gets lost, but spots some robed figures carrying torches and singing; yes, I think we've found The Witch Chorus Singers' Secret Hideout.

The next morning, Mario makes his way back to the old woman's house. He busts out his portable picture developing kit and...develops his pictures, anxious to see those robed figures again. The pictures of them are blank- however, random women appear in other photographs despite the fact that Mario did not see them and what's even more eerie, there's a photo of Mario and Delia that they did not take. Then some women drag the old woman out of her humble abode.

Finally, some GD action and stuff in this movie! Mario and Delia follow. They end up at the spot where The Witch Chorus Singers were hanging out...then they leave. Then Mario goes back. Then Mario finds some blood on a rock. Then I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that The Witches Mountain will probably never make any sense.

Now, I'm going to sum up the rest of the film using this series of rapid fire questions my roommate asked me when it was over. My answers are in parenthesis:

• So, they grab her...and she wears a bridal gown? (yes)
• Then she's in a dungeon? (y-yes)
• And there's...a hairy, oily guy in there? (umm...)
• And the witches are dancing? (It's like a failed musical.)
  
• Then someone hits him over the head? The lead guy. (I think so.)
• Then the girl he likes runs away? (yeah)
• And he chases her. (yes)
• And she runs off a cliff. (that was awesome!)
• So he sets the village on fire. (It looked like it...)
  
• Then all the witches are at his house. (I guess so.)

THE END, no credits.

The Witches Mountain leaves one with oh so many questions. What's the deal with the witches? And the bridal veil? And the dungeon? And the guy in the dungeon? And...why? And what the fuck is the thing that one of the witches is holding at the end? Seriously, your guess is as good as mine: I see a door hinge and a Zuni Fetish Doll.

AND WHAT ABOUT THE WOMAN WHO SET A CHILD ON FIRE? Well, she was there at the very end, but that doesn't explain anything. Oh, Witches Mountain, thou art verily a place of mystery.

This movie is so, so bad. So bad. Bad. Bad movie. If it consisted solely of the first and last 5-minute portions, though, I'd be sitting on a 50-pack of gold! The Witch Chorus Singers are purely and simply awesome, and they need to be heard by all. How you can achieve this without sitting through the film, I don't know. It may not be possible, but it may be worth the risk.

Nah, that's not true. The Witches Mountain may be a bad movie that's just plain bad. That's so hard for me to say, especially because of all the wig violence and singing and Mario's moustache. Siiigh.

...Daybreakers!


As I've mentioned before, I'm not one to get all goo goo over vampires- particularly the ones that are more "sexy" than "monstrous". I mean, I have zippo interest in True Blood. I'm not one to get all goo goo over Ethan Hawke, either, so why did I actually pay to see Daybreakers in a theatre?

Well, I didn't- my mom did, as she treated me during an afternoon out whilst I was home on vacation. Maybe it's because I wasn't expecting much from the film, maybe it's because I like ruminating on the "what about...?"s of horror (what about when zombies run out of people to eat? what about when vampires run out of blood? what about NOT bringing Jason back to life, so he'll stay the fuck dead?), but I was surprised to find I enjoyed it.

Yes, this is a future world in which vampirism has taken over- it spread throughout the populace like the Black Plague or Pac-Man Fever- and the world's blood supply is almost dried up. Hawke stars as Edward Dalton, a scientist charged with finding a solution to this food shortage problem; if the vampires go too long without feeding, they'll devolve from pale-but-pretty to leathery-and-scary. Quelle horreur!

Actually, the animalistic vampires featured are pretty damn scary and I wish there'd been lots more of them. I suppose, however, this isn't a people vs. scary vampires movie; rather, it's more non-jerk vampires vs. jerk vampires with a dash of scary vampires thrown in.

Overall, Daybreakers stylish and violent- and it probably takes itself a bit too seriously, but it's rather nice to see a horror movie in the multiplex that takes itself seriously at all, so I can't complain. Why, I would've been happy even if I had to pay for my own ticket!


wud up, category #8 in Operation: 101010?

Save for remakes and the work of Uwe Boll, few films have been as maligned as Jennifer's Body (2009). From the moment it was announced that Juno scribe Diablo Cody had written a horror film to star babe of three minutes ago Megan Fox, genre fans started frothing at the mouth. Cody was knocked, Fox was bashed, and the premise (a young woman sacrificed by a rock band seeking favor with the devil returns to life all eeeevil and stuff) was pronounced "stupid" from the get go. I'm not going to say I was looking forward to the film- I'm not particularly a fan of Cody's writing style- but the uproar smacked of a bit of elitism on the part of the horror community, as if people like Diablo Cody, Megan Fox, and director Karyn Kusama didn't have the right to play in our playground. Couple that with The Internet's proclivity for naysaying for the sake of it and Jennifer's Body was doomed before it hit screens. When the box office numbers proved to be only wee, horror fans felt validated- not that ticket sales always correlate to quality, of course, but everyone was happy that the movie failed.

Yes, I'm generalizing here, but I'm allowed.

It was released on DVD around the holidays to no fanfare...but does it deserve some? I mean, wouldn't it be kind of nice if the movie was actually worth watching and not the big, steaming pile that genre fans hoped it would be? Well? Wouldn't it? Answer me, dammit! I...

...err, yes. "Needy" (Amanda Seyfried) and Jennifer (Megan Fox) are total besties, and they have been since early grade school. Now high schoolers, they're navigating life in the town of Devil's Kettle, a cold, rural town in the Midwest. When the band Low Shoulder comes to play at the Kettle's only excuse for a bar, Jennifer drags Needy to the show. The band is just capable and just cute enough to entrance Jennifer, whose eyes are glued to the stage. Needy, however, notices that all of a sudden the bar is on fucking fire- the girls and the band make it out alive, but eight other people don't.

As the tavern burns, the band's singer (Adam Brody) cajoles a shocked Jennifer to get in his van. Despite Needy's insistence that it's a really bad idea, she climbs in. As she settles in, surrounded by a bunch of skeevy guys, there's a sort of great moment between Jennifer and Needy; the latter looks on helplessly, and there's a hint that Jennifer may have changed her mind, may have realized at the last moment that yeah- this is a really bad idea. Still, she's resigned to her fate; the door of the van closes and it drives away. Sometimes movies have those perfect moments that ring of absolute truth, and this is one. Everyone knows a girl...or maybe is a girl...who would quiet the voice of reason and climb into that van. It's the girl who would sleep with a z-grade rocker for that tiny bit of fame that would...well, rub off on her and give her a moment's escape from her shitty life in her shitty small town. I have no idea if Kusama and Cody meant that moment to be as deep as I'm saying it is- who knows, maybe it's not that deep at all- but with the specter of gang rape hanging over Jennifer's head (and the inability of Needy to prevent it), it's really the most horrifying sequence in the film.



Low Shoulder didn't abscond with Jennifer for sex, however- they're simply looking for a virgin to sacrifice in the hopes that Satan will grant them success. The wrench in the works: Jennifer's not a virgin. Surpisingly, this isn't a detriment to the band's efforts; they get the success they desired and it's Jennifer who still pays the price. She shows up at Needy's house bloodied, muddied, and ravenous. She pukes up some black liquid that seems alive, then splits to leave her best friend to wonder what's going on.

What's going on is that Jennifer now has a demon inside her. She's been transformed into a succubus, and in order to survive she must feast on the blood of men- or, at least, the male population of Devil's Kettle High.


Boys start turning up dead, Jennifer is alternately greasy & sallow and clean & squeaky, while Needy tries to figure what's going on and stop it before her boyfriend becomes a victim. As you may have guessed, this all puts a bit of a strain on the relationship between the girls.

So what's wrong here? Doesn't all the world love a good succubus story?

The downfall of Jennifer's Body is that it's not enough of any one thing; it falls squarely between genres, residing in some cinematic Negative Zone. It's not horror enough for the horror crowd, it's too horror for the comedy crowd; though it's about young people, it's a bit too mature to resonate with that demographic. Jennifer doesn't have a proper home.

Karyn Kusama bathes the world in pretty, candilicious color, perhaps in an attempt to give Jennifer's Body a fairy tale feel. While it does make the film enjoyable to watch, again- it's not enough of any one thing. Were the theatricality heightened, the story might come off like a Tim Burton film, a fable true to the folklore of the succubus. Were the horror movie aspects heightened- more gore, more violence- it would have succeeded as a monster movie.

And then, of course, there's Maude Diablo Cody. The dialogue in Jennifer's Body is much like the dialogue in Juno- people don't converse, they quip. They call each other funny names and they drop pop culture references at a lightning-fast pace. It's a conceit that ultimately does a disservice to both Cody's ability and the film itself; when everyone in the movie speaks so cleverly all the time, no real emotion ever peeks through the artifice. There are several instances during the course of the movie that are completely undermined by the jokes- instances that could have packed some sort of wallop, or maybe a scare. It's a testament to the ability of Amanda Seyfried (and yes, Megan Fox- she's actually kind of terrific in this) that we feel anything at all.

Though it's more than a bit futile to spend much time wishing a movie was this or that instead of what it actually is, sometimes you can't help it...or I can't help it, especially when it comes to Jennifer's Body. There are a few baby-sized ideas at work that, had any been developed further, would have made for a much more interesting film. In particular, I'm thinking of the relationship between Needy and Jennifer. Though seemingly a mismatched pair (Needy's a geek! Jennifer's a hottie!), the friendship between the two has survived because they just get each other.

The kiss between the girls, talked about during the film's production to drum up buzz, is a bit of sensationalism, sure...but in the context of their relationship, it makes sense. There are broad hints that Jennifer and Needy are simply in love with one another. They kiss, they hold hands, they gaze at each other from afar...Needy thinks about Jennifer while having sex with her boyfriend- granted, it's not necessarily sexual thoughts, but the point stands. Had this theme been fleshed out rather than hinted at, it would have made a stronger film. Instead, the idea withers on the vine.

Towards the end of the film, Needy lets fly the "truth" about Jennifer: that she's a terrible friend, a has-been at school, a girl pretty thanks to an eating disorder. Mind you, nothing in all the minutes that preceded that scene did we get any notion that their friendship wasn't anything but healthy- Jennifer's lousy behavior didn't start until after she was sacrificed. Again, it's a coulda been plot thread; the once-popular girl driven to great lengths to recapture her glory days would have been interesting (not to mention it would have echoed the succubus lore nicely). But alas, we're left to just take Needy's word for it.

I know all this reads as if I'm not endorsing Jennifer's Body, but I am. I watched it twice before I reviewed it (both the theatrical and extended versions), and it was a much more satisfying film the second go-round. It's not going to be everyone's cup of tea, certainly; as I said, it's decidedly a "Diablo Cody" film (if a person can be rendered a genre), and in the horror department it's rather lite. Still, I don't think it necessarily deserved the huge ass-whuppin' it got. It looks nice, it's got a bit to chew on, and really- who doesn't love a good succubus story?

That said, I'm still irritated by the song that begins the end credit sequence. If you're going to name your film after a track from Hole's Live Through This and you decide to use a track from Hole's Live Through This in said film, why the fuck would you use "Violet" instead of "Jennifer's Body"? This, it makes no sense. Just had to get that off my chest.

I want to make out with Mario Bava's Black Sabbath. I want Black Sabbath to like me in that sort of desperate way, the way you feel when you're smitten with someone who's so much cooler than you are, someone who's prettier and has an accent and manages to command a room by simply walking into it. Mmm, Black Sabbath. I tre volti della paura. The Three Faces of Fear. Whatever you call it, this 1963 movie has style and atmosphere and it's an anthology and yes, an accent...so what's not to love? Nothin', that's what! There, now that that's settled...

Bava does away with any attempt at a typical lame framing narrative by simply having star Boris Karloff stand in front of a candy-colored screen and let us know that...well, that we're going to watch a movie. It will be a journey into the supernatural, we'll be scared, etc etc. It's all rather trippy and mood-setting, but it's a bit of a bummer that Karloff's wonderful voice is dubbed over in Italian. Still, it's good that we don't waste any time before getting down to business.

Preceding Black Christmas, When a Stranger Calls, Scream, and all the other great terror-on- the-telephone flicks, this segment features Rosy (Michele Mercier), a young woman who comes home one fine evening and immediately receives a series of threatening phone calls.

As the calls coincide with the prison escape of her violent ex-boyfriend, she's rightfully anxious about the whole "You're gonna die tonight!" thing. To ease her mind, Rosy calls Mary (Lidia Alfonsi) and asks her to come over. It turns out that Mary is another of Rosy's exes, and she may also have nefarious plans for Mary...

Mua ha ha! There are several twists and turns in The Telephone, and it all zips by like one of those summer breezes that makes you feel fine. There's a minimal amount of dialogue, the action is confined to a single set, and it's pure tension barfed up on screen. We all know that tension is best when it's barfed up, so it goes without saying that The Telephone is a success. Before the premise overstays its welcome, we're whisked away to the magical land of...


A family, living way out in the woodsy middle of nowhere, awaits the return of their patriarch Gorca (Boris Karloff), anxious that he may have succumbed to the curse of the wurdulak, a type of vampire who craves the blood of its loved ones. When Gorca finally arrives (bearing the head of an eeeevil cursed Turk), it's difficult for everyone to discern whether or not he's been transformed...what's not difficult to discern, however, is that Gorca alarmingly resembles something a cat would cough up.

So begins a long night of waiting and suspecting- who, if anyone, has become a wurdulak? Wouldn't you like to be a wurdulak, too? Again, Bava employs minimal yap yap; there are lengthy passages, silent save for a constant wind, throughout the segment that create a feeling of creeping dread. When these periods of quiet are broken by the sound of a dog howling or, even more frighteningly, the pleas of a child thought dead, the effect is startling.

Bava truly captures the feel of a gothic fairytale in The Wurdulak; the colors and the artifice of the sets (interspersed with real outdoor locations) make it play out like a Hammer film by way of Dario Argento. The pace may be slow, but the visuals are scrumptious. It's tempting to simply post the entire segment frame by frame, but that would perhaps imply some sort of mania on my behalf, so here are a mere few of my favorites.





The first two stories in Black Sabbath may leave you riding high, but it only gets better: Bava saves the best for last.

A nurse is called to the home of a recently-deceased countess; the body needs to be dressed and the resident housekeeper is way too skeezed out to do it. And who can blame her? If I walked into that bedroom and was confronted by this visage:

...I'd probably just go squat in a corner and cry.

It seems that the reclusive countess was heavy into séances and the like, trying for whatever reason to make contact with the spirit world. The local populace believes that it was this tinkering with ghosts that killed her, not the reported heart attack.

Nursie doesn't buy into the mumbo jumbo and quickly does her duty, pausing only to swipe a ring off the corpse's finger. As you may have guessed, this is a big karmic no-no. The countess doesn't look kindly on this from her perch in the afterlife, and the nurse (who I kept pretending was actually somehow Diana Scarwid) soon learns that pre-grave robbing is not a good idea. In a word*, The Drop of Water is hair-raisingly creepy, outright terrifying, and more than worth your ticket price to Black Sabbath.

In a bizarre, brief, 4th wall-breaking outro, Karloff lets us know that he hopes we enjoyed our journey into the supernatural. Yes, Boris, I truly did. Black Sabbath is a true Creep Show, all old school storytelling and oodles of atmosphere. I like it so very much...I just hope it likes me back.



*may be more than one word

By the way, I'm counting this film towards Category 1 in Operation: 101010!


Film Club Coolies, y'all!
--------------------------------
Nilbog Milk
Moving Pictures - Haiku Film Reviews
The United Provinces of Ivanlandia
Banned in Queensland
In One Ear...
namtab
The House of Sparrows
Things That Don't Suck
United Monkee
Film Shuffle
firthofforth
emma blackwood
Mother Firefly's Faster Pussycats!
Mondo Bizarro
RJ Battles

FYI: The title of this post alludes to Pizza, Pipes, & Pandemonium, a sort of Chuck E. Cheese-type place that was local to my hometown when I was a youngling. Imagine, if you will: pizza, arcade games, and a PIPE ORGAN all under one roof! It was a child's dream come true- or mine, anyway. It lasted but a couple of years, then the building became a hardware store, then a gym, and finally, it was torn down and replaced with a shiny new CVS...but my memories of gulping down crappy pizza while listening to a pipe organ rendition of the Star Wars theme before running off to play some Galaga remain strong. For the other three people in the world who remember that bizarre place, this post title is for you.

In other FYI news, there have been rather torrential rains falling in southern California over the last week or so. Tornadoes were spotted! Mud is sliding! Burbank Blvd is closed west of the 405! It's...why, it's pandemonium, it is. These wet, grey days have left me feeling like a wet, grey lump, desiring little more than some quality couch-n-movies time. A few days ago, however, I did manage to leave my house- to partake in some quality couch-n-movies time at a friend's abode. I brought over some DVDs, while she went to the video store to see what was what. She came home with, amongst other titles, Rob Zombie's House of 1000 Corpses. I frowned. She said the dude at the store recommended it to her because she said she loves The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. I frowned some more. She asked what my problem was. I relayed that I'd gone to see House when it was playing in theaters, and I'd almost walked out because I hated it so much. My friend frowned. Then I asked if she'd seen The Devil's Rejects- while I didn't like that film either, I found it more tolerable than House. She said she fucking hated The Devil's Rejects and then she frowned a whole lot more.

No, we didn't watch Pandorum. We watched Michael Haneke's Cache, and in the end neither of us got what all the hype was around it. Oh, and the "e" in Cache totally needs an accent aigu, but I don't know how to make one.

I tell you all of this to make a point, and that point is...I do not like House of 1000 Corpses, but plenty of people do. This phenomenon (for which the Germans have a word: Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacherkleinfreude) (I made that up) (mostly) is called "varying opinions". Some people enjoy things that others do not! I know this is a hard concept for The Internet to grasp, but it's true. Sometimes it leaves one scratching one's head- "What kind of crack are these people smoking that they actually like that movie, and where can I get some?" At other times, one is left scratching one's head and pondering the inverse- "What kind of crack am I smoking that I actually like that movie, and where did I get it?" Such is the case with Pandorum.

When trailers for the film popped up, its seeming Event Horizon had a baby with The Descent premise intrigued me; in a not-at-all surprising twist, I never made it to the theater to check it out. Reports from those who did were unenthusiastic at best. Pandorum has recently been released on DVD, and once again, unenthusiasm abounds. Why, then, did I enjoy it, and why do I seem to be the only person who did? Again, what kind of crack am I smoking?

Payton (Dennis Quaid) and Bower (Ben Foster) wake up on a space ship- in the middle of space, people- with no idea who they are, where they are, or how long they were in hypersleep (or cryosleep...you know, one of those super-long space sleeps). They split up; Payton stays in the CIC while Bower heads off into the darkness to make repairs. Their memories slowly return, which is good; there are hundreds of bloodythirsty (and totally mean) mutant creatures on board with them which is bad. Scant few other survivors are encountered! Secrets are revealed! Pandorum (which is, like, space mania) sweeps through the remaining crew! Thank goodness the one chick who is left is a hot scienceologist!

The entire affair is just about as derivative as the trailers led everyone to believe it would be. It really is Event Horizon meets The Descent, with a little Alien thrown in for good measure- familiar, perhaps, to the point of staleness. The science (for lack of a better term) spouted is confusing at best, the script is fairly weak, the camerawork is at times too frenetic, and the middle of the film is bloated like A Certain Someone (okay, me) after too much Diet Coke and salsa con queso, but...dammit, I had a good time. I'm not denying that maybe I have a soft spot for "gritty" sci fi/horror- there's not much of it around and I've never met one of these films that I didn't like. Chances are, this is why I liked Pandorum while everyone else finds it...well, familiar to the point of staleness. Simply put, I get where the criticisms are coming from, and I don't really care. Gimme some dark metal hallways, some dirty crew members, some monsters and some blood and I'm happy. Yes, it's shocking but true: sometimes I have low standards...and that's okay. Everyone has his or her cinematic Achilles heel. Why, I've even heard that some people like Rob Zombie movies!

That said, your mileage regarding Pandorum will most likely vary. If you want a pretty, bloody picture that's all spacetastic, you may feel as I do about it. Or, you may be a jerk. Who am I to judge? After all, I know of Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacherkleinfreude.

Look, I realize that I've been asking you to click a lot of links lately so you can read things I've written that have been posted at other sites (like Bitch Slap-a-Mania!) or to listen to my yammering about stuff (like part one my interview with The Graveyard Show!) and I apologize. I know how lazy you are, and how taxing clicking can be. I also know that Final Girl is the only site on The Internet that you visit, so you'd rather read everything right here on this very page. I understand, truly. But sometimes- just sometimes- don't you think a little variety is nice? I mean, I love Dunkin' Donuts coffee, but if I had it every day...wait, scratch that. If I had it every day, I would be a...a...I would be, like, a giant, highly caffeinated metaphorical boner that walks like a woman because I would be so happy. In fact, during this vacation of mine I'm running an experiment in which I see how much Dunkin' Donuts coffee I can drink while still managing to sleep at night. Which brings me to my point (I think): you must do some more clicking today, but it's good for your soul.

Late last year, my cyberpal Heather emailed me and asked me to write a guest post for her horror blog, Mermaid Heather, which turns 5 this month. I was duly honored she asked, because Heather's blog is a favorite of mine. She's low-key about the entire affair, in it simply because she loves horror movies. She chugs along quietly, cranking out honest reviews and tidbits she finds interesting. When life doesn't get in the way of her posting, she's quite a juggernaut.

Anyway, I was tasked with writing about a movie that has some sort of personal significance for me. Because I've already written extensively about House of Ass Volume 9, I was left with really only one choice: a little something called Track of the Moon Beast.

Head on over to Heather's neck of the woods to read my spiel, stay a while, and wish her a happy blogaversarystravaganza!