"A REALLY INTELLIGENT INTERVIEWER." -- Lance Henriksen "QUITE SIMPLY, THE BEST HORROR-THEMED BLOG ON THE NET." -- Joe Maddrey,Nightmares in Red White & Blue
So I thought I lost my laptop tonight, for a few very harrowing minutes. Not sure what that has to do with horror, but it sure scared the crap out of me.
I've been enjoying The Walking Dead on AMC so far, and am in fact getting set to watch the replay of episode 3 in just a few minutes. I must say, they've managed to capture what made the book such a favorite of mine, and I look forward to continued greatness. AMC has clearly overtaken HBO as the place for top-flight TV drama (although I do love my Boardwalk Empire...)
For those who may not know, I happen to be very fond of exploring old cemeteries. It's kind a "hobby" of mine, if you'd call it that. I'd like to share a handful of recent pictures I snapped while traipsing amongst the dead...
I think I could probably watch Suspiria every single day. Just wanted to put that out there...
Who do you think would win in a fight between original Freddy and remake Freddy? I'm sure few would disagree, but I'm thinking O.G. Krueger would have the little imposter for breakfast.
Why do people consider The Hunchback of Notre Dame (either version) to be a horror film? It's really not at all, even by a very liberal definition of the genre.
I'm exciting to be returning to the Avon Theatre this Thursday to introduce a screening of Poltergeist. If you happen to be in the Stamford, Connecticut area, come on down and say hello!
For those looking for an in-depth recap of the Hudson Horror Show, which myself and Captain Cruella attended earlier this month, look no further than my official Fangoria.com report!
Speaking of Hudson Horror, I had the distinct pleasure of interviewing Dr. Kim Paffenroth there. The author of Gospel of the Living Dead, Valley of the Dead and other zombie tomes (not to mention a fellow LoTT-D member) was very gracious with his time, and I look forward to posting the video of the interview later this week.
Still peaking of Hudson Horror, one of the private collectors who provided 35mm prints to the show, Matt Pennachi, also happens to be hosting his own 35mm series down in North Carolina, known as Cinema Overdrive. Best of all, each show gets its own vintage-style poster featuring the movies being shown. There's some very cool artwork on display here, and I was psyched to find that the posters are actually for sale as prints, for any of you who are interested in horror film art. Well worth checking out!
They say that war is hell, and hell is certainly familiar territory for the horror genre. Therefore, it's pretty easy to see that war would provide a perfect backdrop for some genuinely terrifying cinema. Truth be told, there are quite a few horrifying war films which are technically not actual horror films. War is horrible enough, in and of itself.
That said, there have been a number of powerful horror films revolving around the subject, and we here in the Vault and over at Brutal as Hell decided that in honor of Veteran's Day, we'd devote this week's Lucky 13 edition to just a few of them. So read on, and please make sure to thank a veteran, if you haven't already done so. In their efforts to protect us and all we hold dear, they faced down horrors far worse than anything seen in the movies...
B-Sol on Pan's Labyrinth (2006)...
There may be no greater visionary working in cinema today than Guillermo Del Toro, and Pan's Labyrinth was quite possibly his finest hour. It is a visual feast--a twisted, nightmarish look at childhood, seen against the backdrop of Fascist Spain during World War II. This is a film of great power, a visceral experience in a very real sense.
I've always been fascinated by fantasy and dark fairy tales. The origins of the Brothers Grimm stories in particular have always held a certain allure. And quite simply, Pan's Labyrinth is a potent distillation of that whole vibe, brought to life as only someone with the talent of a Del Toro could've ever done.
And through it all, what impresses me the most is the way in which such a bizarre, supernatural narrative could be so successfully juxtaposed with the very real setting in which our young protagonist finds herself. There is perhaps no monster in the film more terrifying than her own sadistic and brutal father, a cold and calculating captain in the Spanish army. The horrors of war are contrasted intriguingly with the horrors of a totally unearthly realm, and it makes for some unforgettable viewing.
Pan's Labyrinth is the kind of film that reminds us that as terrified as we may be of the unknown, there is perhaps nothing worse than the horrors of the familiar, and of the real. It is a treat for the senses, and my personal favorite horror film dealing with the subject of war.
War is hell, as they say. And sometimes that hell can invade the peace of the home and hearth. Such was the story of Andy Brooks, the main character in director Bob Clark’s fourth feature film Deathdream. Having previously tickled our morbid spines with 1972’s ghoulish Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things, Clark takes us down a completely different and dark road with this tale of battle scars that never heal.
When Andy returns home from fighting in the jungles of Vietnam, he’s not at all well. In fact, his father and sister were originally told that Andy had died in combat, so his appearance back home is peculiar to say the least. Dedicated fans of the horror genre could probably tell where the narrative is about to go at this point, but the film nevertheless manages to chill in its depiction of Andy’s terrifying transformation. The veteran soldier covers up his body from the sunlight with turtlenecks and gloves… and has an insatiable thirst for blood. He has become, for all intents and purposes, a vampire.
Deathdream though, much like George Romero’s Martin from the same decade, deals with the complex psychological implications of carrying a “curse” instead of focusing on the supernatural aesthetics of the scenario. Andy’s transgression into a walking nightmare provides moments in the film that are fraught with tension and dread. Clark lets us know that he isn’t messing around, starting right from the moment Andy brutally crushes the family dog in a chillingly inhuman manner. Like he was in combat, Andy cannot stop his killer instincts from getting the better of him as more and more people meet death at his hands.
It’s a potent metaphor for the tragic state in which some troops have been known to suffer from upon their return to their countries. Clark’s masterful direction of the story allows him to breathe life into this metaphor, and it never once becomes heavy-handed. It remains heart-wrenching up until the very end, with a climax in which Andy’s mother weeps over the living, rotting corpse of what was once her son as it desperately tries to dig itself back into its grave. It’s a moment that truly has to rank amongst one of the saddest scenes in horror history. And it’s on this grim note that Clark reminds us that, sometimes, life too can be hell.
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Join us next week for The Lucky 13, when we give thanks for our favorite Turkey Day horror flicks...
There’s really only one place to be in the Hudson Valley around Halloween, and that’s New World Home Cooking. If you don’t know about New World Home Cooking, or specifically Chef Ric Orlando, recent Food Network “Chopped “ champion, you clearly live under a rock.
New World Home cooking, located on Route 212 in Saugerties, New York, has been dishing out “clean food’ for about 16 years, and is recognized as the place for exceptional food, amazing music and outrageous parties. The recent Halloween season there was no exception.
Chef Orlando’s terrifying treats ranged from blackened chicken dishes, squid ink rice sides, blood orange drinks and so much more! The group I went with all sampled the “dark themed” menu specials for the night, which left us all totally blown away by the flavors, the textures, and the incredibly interesting combinations of all the food that was served.
As the night progressed, more and more Halloween revelers spilled into the place. By 10 pm the entire restaurant was hopping, with people dancing in two rooms separated by a big cozy bar area. One room playing everyone’s favorite disco tunes and the other room more house and techno beats--all jam-packed with dancing bodies and spectacular light shows. The costumes were as original as always--what would you expect? It’s Woodstock, baby! Everyone came out to enjoy what we all have come to know as the IT place to be. I recommend making the trek to spend the weekend in the Hudson Valley--and if you do, make sure to swing in, say hi to Ric, and tell him the Captain sent you.
Cruella gives New World Home Cooking:
4 Decaying Thumbs Up
Be sure to check out their delicious Thanksgiving menu too!
And CitD returns after a month-long hiatus! What better way, I ask, to bring the series back than with the one and only Stacie Ponder, author of a little blog some of you folks may know, by the name of Final Girl? Hmm...anyone?
Anyway, Stacie was kind enough to enter the Vault this week to touch on a ridiculous variety of topics, ranging from the nature of great horror, to why '70s music rocks, to the joys of blog trolls, to why the youth of America is lame, and so much more! So listen in on two crazed individuals going on and on about whatever happens to pop into their heads. It's nothing if not entertaining.
I think that instead of "Tuesday Too Scared to Watch It Twice", we should've called this feature "Tuesday Too Disgusted to Watch It Twice." But, be that as it may, Missy Yearian of Chickapin Parish and myself are back after a couple weeks with two more horror flicks that have creeped us out to the point that we avoid them (though we may admire them, nonetheless.) So jump right in, and let us know what you think of our squeamishness...
House on the Edge of the Park (1980)
Make no mistake, this is not a movie for everyone. It took a full five years for it to be released in the U.S. Banned in Singapore, Finland, the U.K., Canada and Norway; denied ratings classification in Australia and also released unrated in America. One of Britain's notorious "video nasties". Chock full of rape, torture and sadism.
I cannot deny that this movie enthralled me. I found it distasteful at times, but nevertheless I was fascinated by it, and also cannot deny that it is a fine little piece of filmmaking, for what it is. But there can be no question that it was designed to titillate, and to do so using some very questionable means. More than most of the movies today that get labeled "torture porn", this is a movie I would certainly classify as such.
The main problem I have with it is in the depiction of rape. This is the kind of story in which the rape victims actually start to "enjoy" themselves and give in willingly to their rapists. In other words, at times it feels like some guy's warped sexual fantasy, and I found it pretty damn uncomfortable in parts. There's a certain hypocrisy here--on the surface the film is condemning the callousness of these characters, but truth be told, you're intended to get off on watching what they do.
It walks a dangerous moral line, that's for sure. And yet, I'd rather have a horror flick like this which challenges me and makes me uncomfortable than most of the cookie-cutter, soul-numbing drek we get spoonfed these days.
While I'm not sure what it says about me, I admittedly eat stuff like this up. Maybe it's because it disturbs me--maybe I find it somehow cathartic to deal with material like this in a relatively safe way. It's the kind of movie that definitely provokes strong emotion.
Stepping back from it, I can certainly see how people would have problems with it. Much of the movie is simply one tense, gut-wrenching rape or near-rape after another. And when you watch a rape scene in which the supposed victim begins to "get into it", there's no denying it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. And yet, I somehow relish the power the movie has to provoke strong emotion, even if that emotion is disgust.
...Now on to Missy, with a look at an HGL "classic"...
The Gore Gore Girls (1972)
I love Herschell Gordon Lewis. Never in my life have I encountered a director so uninterested in making a quality film. What can I say? I love the arrogance required to make his kind of films. The man has got cajones.
I sat down to take in The Gore Gore Girls as my first HGL film. That’s right. I hadn’t seen Blood Feast or The Wizard of Gore or anything else before sitting down to what has rightly been called an “unwatchably offensive” film.
Reading the description of the film (strippers are being hunted and murdered one by one in a grisly fashion) confirmed for me a deep-down belief that this would either be the best film of all time or the worst. I was getting excited to see this Gore Gore Girls movie. Unfortunately, it is neither of those things. Oh, it’s bad. It’s terrible, in fact. But it’s not the worst, and as such, it sort of falls into that netherworld of “Meh” that bums me out so much.
Why then, you must ask, am I writing about this for the Tuesday Too Scared to Watch It Twice? It’s quite simple, really. This movie is filled with a gleeful hatred and a series of images one can never be prepared to see. From the first murder, we realize that the French have nothing on bodily mutilation. Our first stripper’s face is all but obliterated with the most aggressive facial stabbing I have ever seen. I’m pretty sure Lewis was just chopping up chicken parts. Another stripper is… how shall I say this? Tenderized? And, you know, that’s all well and good, and if the murders from then on were of the average stab-bleed-dead variety, then I likely wouldn’t think anything of it.
But then comes the boob-abuse. During a particularly brutal scene, our killer decides to cut off the nipples of a woman. Out of one nipple spills white milk. Out of the other spills chocolate milk.
I’ll just let that sink in for a moment.
The murders in this film are done with such wanton glee that it’s hard to notice the underlying tone of hatred. But this film does hate women. There is no way around it. To make a joke of not just the sex industry but also the ways in which the female body can be mutilated and destroyed is a dangerous choice and one that Lewis failed in making.
Still, try as I might, I can’t quite dismiss it. It’s quite a picture. And as much as I am sure it’s never going to be put in my DVD player again (even though I own it), I am also sure I will always be talking about it. And that’s worth something, right? Right?
What's that you say? It's the second week of November? Pshaw! The Shadow of Samhain lives on in The Vault, with a look at the enduring legend of the Headless Horseman, from Jeanette Laredo of Monsterland...
“Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that [the horseman] was headless!—but his horror was still more increased on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle!”
--Washington Irving “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”
Mention the Headless Horseman and most people will recall a larger than life specter that is a staple of Halloween lore and stories told around the campfire. A Hessian decapitated by a cannon ball during the revolutionary war, he wanders the back roads of town called Sleepy Hollow, searching for his head and spiriting away any traveler unlucky enough to cross his path.
The figure of the ghostly Hessian comes to life in Washington Irving’s 1858 spine-tingling tale of an awkward schoolmaster who encounters the supernatural. In it, the horseman pursues Ichabod down dark country lanes, while Ichabod comically tries to escape on his trusty steed, Gunpowder. The chase culminates at the town bridge, where Ichabod believes once he has crossed it he will be safe from the violent spectre, but this part of the old wives’ tale fails Ichabod, as the horseman flings his head across the bridge and knocks Ichabod from his saddle.
The next morning no trace of the schoolmaster can be found, save for his hat and next to it a shattered pumpkin.
While Irving may have given us the most recognizable version of the headless horseman according to Dutch lore, the galloping Hessian can be traced back to other instances of the headless rider in myth and folklore.
In Northern India there is a creature called the “Dund” that rides with his head tied to the pommel of his saddle. He appears before the doorways of villagers, a sword in each hand, and calls the name of the inhabitant within. If the owner of the name answers, he is sure to die from fever or some other malady.
This creature, like the famed Hessian of Irving’s story, has its own fabled backstory. In life his name was Kharak Singh and he continued to fight for his lord after being beheaded in a vicious battle. In order to defeat the spirit, local lore says he must be thrown over a piece of dirty cloth.
The Dund also has an Irish cousin, the Dullahan, an unseelie spirit that prowls the countryside. He is a figure of death, and in addition to holding his disembodied head under his arm, he carries with him other macabre trappings, including a whip made of a human spine. Wherever he stops, someone is due to die and he will call out his name. Like the victims of the Dund, the poor soul will drop dead on the spot. There is no way to stop this dark spirit except for gold. Apparently the Dullahan is afraid of the precious metal and very small amounts can drive it away.
The folkloric versions of the headless horseman give rise to other, more literary versions of the ghost in the 14th century tale of “Sir Gawain and the Green Night” and “Der Wilde Jager,” in 1777 by the German poet, G.A. Burger.
In “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” the massive figure of the Green Knight intrudes on King Arthur’s court during New Year’s with a challenge for the new King. He demands to receive a blow at the hands of the King, one that he will return a year and a day from now. Sir Gawain, the youngest of King Arthur’s knights, steps in to accept the challenge. His blow lops off the Green Knight’s head. Instead of dying, the Green Knight simply scoops up his noggin and rides away with instructions that Gawain meet him at the Green Chapel a year and a day from now to receive his equal blow.
In Burger’s poem, a cruel huntsman is condemned to be chased by devils for his inhumane treatment of man and beast on earth. Burger’s poem is one of many versions of the German folktale where the pursued horseman appears headless.
Though Irving thrills and chills us to this day with his timeless tale of the headless horseman and the hapless schoolmaster, he is definitely not the first to dream up the nightmare of a headless spirit, hell bent on revenge and destruction.
There's a chill in the air. The warmth of summer has decidedly past. The leaves are turning. There's no doubt about it. As it does every year, nature is turning against us. Only lucky for us, we'll probably all survive it, more or less. But what about those extreme circumstances--when nature takes a look at man and says, to quote the little Marie in Rocky, "Screw you, creepo!"
Well, that makes for some seriously panic-inducing horror. It's a deep-seated fear in humankind, this notion that the natural world is against us, or can snuff us out in the blink of an eye. Whether its the weather, or the myriad flora and fauna that teem on its surface, Earth is not always the safest place to be. So join us this week, both here and over at Brutal as Hell, as we take a look at our favorite "Man vs. Nature" horror films...
B-Sol on Them! (1954)
It really doesn't get much scarier than giant, radioactive ants. There have been a whole slew of films about massive insects turning on humanity, but by my estimation, the granddaddy of them all will always be Gordon Douglas' 1954 masterpiece of atomic-era creature horror--THEM!
It all starts with a little girl in the middle of the desert, frightened beyond the capacity to speak? Why, you ask? Well, because she's witnessed the massive ants trudging their way through the New Mexico desert, tearing apart the silence with that ear-splitting, unearthly chattering. From there, the grown-ups discover exactly what's got her spooked, and before you know it, all manner of scientists and military men are enlisted to stave off the very dire threat.
Them! was one of a series of films that warned against the dangers of nuclear testing. It was because of that testing that the ants grew to such gargantuan proportions and set their sights on us. Granted, that might be an unrealistic scenario, but the message is clear: It's not nice to fool with Mother Nature. Bottom line, you mess with the natural order of things at your own peril. Man saw fit to split the atom, and as a result, he's forced to pay the price for his arrogance.
Them! is one of the all-time classic horror films of the so-called "Silver Age" of the genre. And the best part about it, when you get right down to it? Still, after all these years, those ants, with their cold eyes and incessant screeching, still have the power to chill the blood.
Every now and then you find a movie that seems to have been made with you in mind. The filmmakers must have been doing research on you specifically to come up with a concept that is so unique to you and you alone. I mean, really, how could anyone know that you, say, have thing for giant bunnies attacking a small town in Arizona? Night of the Lepus, it seems, was made specifically for me.
Cole Hillman is experiencing a plague of rabbits on his Arizona ranch. When he asks resident scientists to help him out with the problem, the consequences are... well, they're just so charming. Roy and Gerry Bennett (Stuart Whitman and Janet effing Leigh) get their experimentin' on to see what they can do to help save Hillman's ranch. When they inject a single rabbit with a hormone meant to weed out the population, their daughter--proving once again that children are evil and must be destroyed--accidentally releases the rabbit into the wild.
As the rabbit runs about in the wild, it grows to an incredible size. (One thinks this could have been the progenitor of the human growth hormone, no?) It doesn't take long for this rabbit to get it on with other rabbits, as rabbits are wont to do. And the town is soon faced with a plague of super-enormous rabbits. What will our heroes do to save Arizona from this scourge of furry-faced fiends?
Yeah, you see, Night of the Lepus sounds like a piece of dookie. And you know, you'd be right to assume that's just what it is. It is, after all, about giant bunny rabbits attacking a town. But the film is also an exercise in pure amusement. Though the first forty minutes of the film are largely rabbit-less, it works well to build up suspense and make our first viewing of a killer bunny--in an old mine shaft--all the more exciting.
As the irritating child of our scientists lurks about in the mine shaft, she discovers one of our enormous bunnies viciously attacking the already-dead body of a miner. This image is complete with bright red paint-like blood smeared all over our bunny's face. It's a shining moment, my friends, and I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that I nearly fell off my couch for the laughing.
After this first viewing, we are treated to many more shots of our killer bunnies. And here's how it goes. We see regular-sized pet bunnies attacking a teeny-tiny set of this Arizona town. And trust me when I tell you there is nothing better than watching cute, furry little buggers hop all over a fake town. It's, as I said, terribly charming.
I suppose therein lies the problem. If you see it as a problem, which I, obviously, do not. This movie is not scary at all. But really, do we want it to be? Do we want to have nightmares of giant bunnies? Well, I suppose, yes, the best of us do want that, but the point is in the joy of the affair and not the terror. You'll laugh. You'll cry. Oh what a time you'll have. After all, who doesn't love a movie that includes this line: "Attention! Attention! Ladies and gentlemen, attention! There is a herd of killer rabbits headed this way and we desperately need your help!"
While not a horror film, The Edge (1997) is man vs. nature at its best. Starring Anthony Hopkins and Alec Baldwin, it is a tale of survival, jealousy, and betrayal - with a heaping handful of adventure and some fairly gruesome sequences tied in.
Charles (Hopkins), a brilliant yet reserved billionaire, makes a trip to Alaska to accompany his fashion model wife Mickey (Elle Macpherson, not straying too far from type, obviously) on a photo shoot. It’s obvious from the get-go that she and her principal photographer Bob (Baldwin) share more than just a work-oriented relationship, and when Charles and Bob go further north with another assistant, Steven (LOST’s Harold Perrineau), and a bush pilot to look for a better vantage point for the shoot, things become strained. It’s quickly evident that while helpless and abandoned in the woods, Bob considers it a fantastic time to quite possibly just kill Charles so he can return and continue to woo the old money-bags’ wife and walk into some easy money.
When the plane crashes, killing the pilot and leaving the other three men stranded deep in the Alaskan wilderness, true colors are shown and tempers flare. Adding to the already distressing condition of simply being left in the wild with your enemy and dealing with the harsh weather conditions, they have the dreadful misfortune of pissing off a 1500 pound Kodiak grizzly bear with terrifying results.
At first, Charles tries to reassure the men with his book-smart acumen, telling them all will be fine, and they will simply walk out of the woods if no one comes for them. But as time goes by without rescue, they start walking in circles and they meet up with not only the man-killing bear (several heart-pounding times) but with hunger, disorientation, and blame, it becomes a struggle to stay alive and recognize who the true enemy really is.
A thrilling adventure, The Edge also has the added benefit of being scored by the late great Jerry Goldsmith - and it’s a positively superb accompaniment. Well acted and all-too realistic (yeah, Bart the Bear did his own stunts!), The Edge should find an audience with horror fans looking for some survival frights - it certainly has more than enough of that to go around.
Vault contributor Paige MacGregor on Jaws (1975)
It is an undeniable fact that then 28-year-old Steven Spielberg’s first major motion picture, Jaws, changed the face of film forever. The film cost approximately $8 million to produce and became the first summer “blockbuster”, making $7 million during its opening weekend alone. The movie is best known for the iconic great white shark that terrorizes a small New England island community called Amity, but it isn’t the shark that makes Jaws my favorite “man vs. nature” horror film.
I hadn’t been exposed to many horror films when I first saw Jaws, and I have to admit that the movie really freaked me out. It would be years before I watched something like Hostel and became accustomed to the amount of blood and gore is frequently featured in contemporary horror movies, and for that reason Jaws seemed pretty gruesome those first few times I watched it. Of course, the really freaky part of Jaws is the fact that viewers can’t see the shark for the majority of the film (due to technical malfunctions with the robotic shark, “Bruce”, which prevented cameramen from capturing many of Spielberg’s planned shots), and as a result of this technique in combination with the film’s infamous soundtrack suspense builds, ultimately creating the movie’s reputation as an iconic “man vs. nature” picture.
I continue to watch Jaws time and time again not because of the shark, however, but based on the performances given by the film’s main cast: Roy Scheider (The French Connection, SeaQuest 2032) as Amity police Chief Martin Brody, Richard Dreyfuss (Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Mr. Holland’s Opus) as Marine scientist and shark expert Matt Hooper, and especially Robert Shaw’s (From Russia with Love, The Sting) portrayal of the old sea salt shark hunter Sam Quint. Between Quint’s repeated rendition of “Spanish Ladies” and the interesting and often comedy-ridden dialogue and interactions that arise from three disparate men sharing a common goal—to kill the man-eating shark—I can’t decide if I’d rather have Quint, Hooper, and Brody as three crazy uncles (okay, maybe two uncles and a cousin) or as beer-drinking, shark-hunting buddies.
Regardless, the scene from Jaws that will forever be emblazoned in my mind is Quint’s monologue about the sinking of the USS Indianapolis: “Sometimes that shark he looks right into ya. Right into your eyes. And, you know, the thing about a shark... he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes.” Thankfully, Spielberg’s initial plan to cast Sterling Hayden (Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, The Godfather) as Quint fell through because of some issues between Hayden and the Internal Revenue Service and Robert Shaw was brought on board to play the veteran. It’s not often that a single scene makes or breaks an entire film for me, but when it comes to Jaws I highly doubt that I’d be as devoted a fan if Scheider, Dreyfuss and Shaw weren’t cast as the three main characters. After all, can you imagine someone else saying, “You’re gonna need a bigger boat”?
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Join us next week for The Lucky 13, when we honor Veterans Day with a look at the horrors of war...
We're back again with our penultimate edition of Thursday Guilty Pleasure. Yes, I know we missed Tuesday Too Scared to Watch it Twice this week, but October was a mondo busy month here in the Vault, what can I say? Anyway, just sit back, relax and enjoy the douche chills that are sure to ensue as you read all about some crummy movies that we really love. And incidentally, I'd like to go on the record as saying that not only do I enjoy both films selected this week, but I would go even further to say that House of 1,000 Corpses is a damn fine horror movie, so nuts to anyone who makes Missy feel bad for enjoying it.
TerrorVision (1986)
OK, If you really want to talk schlock--I mean, outright, absolute unapologetic crap that you can't help but love--then you can do no better than that mid 1980s gem which haunted the HBO airwaves during my youth. That's right, it's TerrorVision.
I cannot possibly describe how bizarre my love affair with this film is. The amount of affection I have for it is pretty much inversely proportional to how much it deserves that affection. Simply put, this is a really bad movie. And I've adored it for a quarter of a century.
Think E.T., only as a horrendous, campy horror comedy in which E.T. eats people. The special effects are at about the level of Hardware Wars, the comedic level of the acting is broader than the side of a barn, and then there's that theme song that bores its way into your brain stem and doesn't let go. "Terr-or-Vision!!"
I distinctly remember enjoying this movie so much, I would watch it each time HBO would air it, if I happened to be home. And once its cable TV run ended, I moved on to the neighborhood video store, so I could rent and enjoy it some more. And of course, back then, as with most horror comedies, I completely missed all the humor and irony, and found myself terrified of this ridiculous-looking creature swallowing people left and right.
The concept of a carnivorous alien pest transported to Earth via satellite TV is really one that needed exploration, so thank God that TerrorVision came along to fulfill that role. The level of absurdity is utterly infectious, and I make no excuses for loving this film the way I do. It's pure garbage. I'll take a nice, steaming, stinky helping, please. Thank you.
And now, on to Missy's infatuation with Rob Zombie's first foray into the horror biz...
House of 1,000 Corpses(2003)
This week is the first time in the series that I have actually been ashamed of my film choice. I mean, isn’t there some alliance among horror fans to universally hate Rob Zombie? Weren’t we planning to tar and feather him next weekend?
But here I sit before you about to tell you that I have a weird and totally incomprehensible affection for his first film, House of 1000 Corpses. Yes, I know it makes no sense. Yes, I know it is the most derivative film ever made. Yes, I know it is criminally awful. And yes, I am very irritated by the fact that there are not 1000 corpses in the movie, but I just can’t help it. Whenever I sit down to watch it, damned if I don’t have one good ole time.
As I said, the movie makes no effing sense. And I don’t mean that in that glorious Fulci way. I mean, from start to finish, there is just no logic to the movie. Besides, everyone knows that The Devil’s Rejects is the superior film—what with that “Tooty Fucking Fruity” scene and all. But every time I put the DVD in, and I see Karen Black, I just get all schoolgirl giddy. There is nothing that makes me happier on a rainy day than watching that woman’s eyes roll about in her head. And inevitably, I am drawn to watch Burnt Offerings by the time it’s over.
While it might be an unpopular opinion, I have also grown to like Sheri Moon Zombie. Whatever you might say about her, she commits to each project. And she really knows how to irritate the shit out of you. And when she teams up with Karen Black, the two manage to take the exceedingly dreadful material and make it surprisingly funny. There is nothing like watching a duo of dynamic women take an atrociously bad script and turn into something worth watching.
Say what you will about the plot, but visually, the film is impressive. It’s the pastiche-ness of the whole affair that makes it unbearable, and while I can understand that most viewers would not be able to look past that, I have spent my life wading through all the feces the horror genre has to offer, and this one just barely manages to save itself from the scrap heap by going almost Argento in its color scheme.
Zombie has… oh, I am loathe to use this word… crafted a film that combines its senselessness with its gorgeous colors and becomes somehow magical. It’s one of those experiences that only fits on a turn-your-brain-off Saturday. We all know we have that desire to watch a film that is for nothing more than downing popcorn and dozing off before the end credits. For me, House of 1000 Corpses fits the bill perfectly.
After a little post-Halloween breather, The Shadow of Samhain once against casts a pall over the land! Yes, we're continuing into November...just a few more excellent entries to go. This time, Paul Bibeau, best-selling author of Sundays with Vlad and a blogger in his own right, shares with us one of Halloween's most tried-and-true legends...
The cheery, gap-toothed pumpkin you see on every doorstep conceals a dark history. According to the excellent Halloween by Lesley Bannatyne, we’ve inherited Jack from an Irish folktale about a man thought he could trick the devil.
Stingy and mean-spirited, Jack found himself face to face with Scratch, who told him his time on the earth was up. Jack requested one last drink at the local tavern, and Satan obliged – changing himself into a few coins in Jack’s purse to speed up the transaction and bring him on his way. But the devil found himself trapped by the cross that lay there among Jack’s belongings. In exchange for his freedom, the devil grudgingly granted Jack another year.
When the time passed, he confronted Jack again – and this time Jack’s last request was for the devil to climb up a tree and obtain a delicious apple. Jack whipped out his penknife and carved a cross on the trunk, again trapping the poor Prince of Lies. And this time, Jack’s bargain was to be left alone. When he finally died, Jack was refused admittance into heaven, but the devil couldn’t house him either. He sent him on his way through a dark and windy afterlife, with only a lantern carved out of a turnip and lit with a single ember from hell itself to guide him.
The story is part of a long line of folktales about mortals attempting to trick the devils – or the gods – and gamble with their own fate. And there’s usually a punishment. Because we intuitively understand, in that deep, dark place we don’t visit very often, or willingly… that we aren’t really in control of what happens to us. No matter what you do for the next few decades, or years, or even moments… soon you’ll find yourself, like Jack, being taken by the hand and told it’s time to go. No trick will save you.
A funny thing happened when the Irish came to the new world. They fell in love with these magnificent new world pumpkins, and substituted them for their turnip lanterns. And then the carvings of human faces became more elaborate. Jack became, in a curious way, trapped in his own lantern. Remember that as you trick or treat through a dozen country fields or suburban lawns this season. Because as you pass all those cheery, happy, well-lit faces, you might just hear one of them whisper your name as ask you:
Please. Please let me out.
Paul Bibeau blogs about horror folklore and posts his own scary, funny stories at www.goblinbooks.com.
I've been enjoying The Walking Dead on AMC so far, and am in fact getting set to watch the replay of episode 3 in just a few minutes. I must say, they've managed to capture what made the book such a favorite of mine, and I look forward to continued greatness. AMC has clearly overtaken HBO as the place for top-flight TV drama (although I do love my Boardwalk Empire...)
Who do you think would win in a fight between original Freddy and remake Freddy? I'm sure few would disagree, but I'm thinking O.G. Krueger would have the little imposter for breakfast.
Speaking of Hudson Horror, I had the distinct pleasure of interviewing Dr. Kim Paffenroth there. The author of Gospel of the Living Dead, Valley of the Dead and other zombie tomes (not to mention a fellow LoTT-D member) was very gracious with his time, and I look forward to posting the video of the interview later this week.
