The Red Eye Report

Red Eye Reviews on the Way

2010-10-31T21:19:00.003-05:00

Hey, guys. I just wanted to drop in with a quick explanation as to why I've fallen behind on the reviews. Plain and simple, work and real life have taken up a good chunk of my time, and while I've watched all the flicks, it's been hard to sit down and write or summon the energy to even start. But I've only a few reviews left to write up, so in the next couple of days, we should be good to go.

Again, thanks for sticking by, and I hope you enjoyed this year's October Horrorthon. If you have any ideas for potential themes for next year's fright fest, feel free to leave a comment below.

Take care, and have a kickass Halloween!

-A.J. Hakari

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #31: "Rosemary's Baby"

2010-10-31T21:18:00.001-05:00

(Review on the way!)

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #30: "This Night I'll Possess Your Corpse"

2010-10-30T20:21:00.001-05:00

(Review coming soon!)

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #29: "Saw 3D"

2010-10-29T19:10:00.004-05:00

Jill Tuck (Betsy Russell) has had enough. She barely put up with ex-husband John (Tobin Bell) being the notorious Jigsaw, but with Detective Hoffman (Costas Mandylor) bent on continuing the game, it's Jill's duty to slam shut this book of blood herself. Unfortunately, Hoffman survived his own trap at the end of Saw VI, and with a fresh scar on his mug, he's after Jill and playing for keeps. In the meantime, former Jigsaw victim Bobby Dagen (Sean Patrick Flanery) has made a fortune helping others like him come to terms with life after their horrible experiences. But Bobby has a secret that's gotten him into trouble, as he's kidnapped and forced to endure a whole gauntlet of torturous obstacles that ensure Jigsaw's final hours be the goriest of all.

Saw 3D claims it's the last of the series, and ready or not, I'm sure as hell done. It's time for any series to close up shop with the big draw is that you don't have to watch it anymore. Of course, this is hypothetical -- they said the same thing about The Final Destination, but the next one's in production -- so the almighty dollar will ultimately dictate how many more Saws we'll need to slog through. But it sucks that Saw 3D is in such a big hurry to wrap itself up to begin with. Four years ago, I would have been ravenous for another of Jigsaw's twisted tales, but at this point, even the filmmakers feel like they're sick of the routine. Saw 3D displays the most cavalier attitude towards killing off characters that we've seen yet, hoping to Etch-a-Sketch away all its loose ends instead of providing a halfway respectable resolution.

Maybe if Saw 3D actually emphasized Jigsaw's deranged moral code -- you know, the thing that was so fascinating that we got a zillion sequels because of it -- then it might've brought the entire series full circle. But no, this fully bought into the spectacle that viewers have come to expect from the franchise and left whatever was thought-provoking about it behind. There's no love in these frames, just an empty ordeal that hasn't the self-awareness that made The Final Destination a blast when it wasn't even trying to be funny. If anything, the most grotesque death scenes have been saved for last -- heads are crushed, jaws are ripped off, and flesh is peeled before the bloodthirsty public, with the added touch of having all this fly at them in the third dimension. But strangely, the amped-up violence actually makes this feel less like a legit Saw sequel and more like a cash-in, a la Captivity. The fact that Tobin Bell is barely around doesn't help, and while Cary Elwes' character from the 2004 original pops up, the way he's used here is exactly as cheap and unimaginative as I'd feared.

Depending on how you've regarded the series to date, Saw 3D will play to either your dismay or delight. Some will be bummed to see this genre war horse take its final bows (maybe), while this supposedly last chapter will have been a long time coming for others. But even if the box office gods decree that Jigsaw live to slice and dice another day, Saw 3D is a bust on its lonesome, a follow-up that throws in the towel well before its blades whir to a stop.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #28: "The Pit and the Pendulum" (1961)

2010-10-28T23:29:00.005-05:00

Roger Corman cranked out some crap in his time, but those hours spent with Vincent Price were among his most golden. 1961's The Pit and the Pendulum is no exception, starring the diabolic Mr. Price as mentally-unstable nobleman Don Nicholas Medina. Medina's father was a deranged torturer in the Spanish Inquisition, and the basement of his ancestral castle is still packed with all manner of ghastly contraptions. It's this terrible history that Medina suspects drove his wife Elizabeth (Barbara Steele) to her death, but her brother Francis (John Kerr) isn't convinced. Francis is determined to show that the supernatural had nothing to do with his sister's demise, but his ensuing investigation provokes not only outside forces but also a madness brewing within Don Medina that's pushing him closer to picking up where his papa left off.

Team up Corman, Price, and Edgar Allan Poe, and you usually got an American International picture that was not only tolerable but downright awesome. Yeah, War-Gods of the Deep was a bore, and The Haunted Palace was more Lovecraft than Poe, but in any case, this combination still had a solid batting average. The Pit and the Pendulum is arguably the most remembered of the bunch, eclipsing the superior (in my humble opinion) The Fall of the House of Usher thanks to its memorable images and a plot that cannonballs into pure madness. You may not think of it as an epic production today (with only a $200K budget behind it), but it was by Corman standards, and though it's still rough around the edges, the extra effort put into it makes all the difference. The costuming and production design are just fine, but The Pit and the Pendulum really shines through its Richard Matheson script, which isn't meant to frighten on a base level but to suggest deepseated terrors that last forever and rear their heads when least expected.

Corman has a ball playing with Price's character, who comes across as surprisingly complex. Price has played countless kooks over the years, but it's never clear off the bat if Don Medina is a sinister mastermind or victim of a psychological conspiracy. In any case, we get another classic Price performance out of the deal, as he plays "wounded" as well as he plays "off-his-freaking-rocker." The remainder of the cast buckles a bit under Price's weight (especially Kerr's hero, with all the personality of a plastic picnic spoon), but everyone does their jobs well enough, with Steele pulling overtime as the obligatory and quite alluring eye candy). Even the main mystery has a sturdy structure, the intricacies kept from coming together long enough for viewers to get their fill on wondering what in the hell is really going on. Once Corman's made with the revelations, the film just kind of piddles around for the last ten minutes or so, though it's in this chunk that the image of a giant swinging blade edging towards Kerr's stomach forever etches itself in the minds of movie fans.

Showing remarkably few hints of age in the almost 50 years since its release, The Pit and the Pendulum can still unsettle any and all comers. While it has little to do with Poe's original story, the movie does a great job of matching its visuals with those Poe's readers conjure in their own minds. With eerie atmosphere, effective suspense, and a premise exploited to an unusually fascinating degree, The Pit and the Pendulum is one vintage horror great that's far from dated.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #27: "Zombie Self-Defense Force"

2010-10-27T16:06:00.006-05:00

When the first five minutes of your movie include UFOs, radiation, and George Romero references, you know it can't end well. Sure enough, when aliens crash-land in suburban Japan, the ensuing fallout spawns hungry hordes of the walking dead. Any who die for whatever reason rise again as ghouls, and even the old "shoot 'em in the head" stand-by isn't enough to put these suckers down. As the zombie ranks swell, survivors spanning a group of soldiers on maneuvers and a spoiled pop idol come to gather at a secluded country inn. But the situation only grows more dire as the undead continue to congregate, with the gang's only hope of escape resting with an army grunt who has a secret not even she's aware of.

So there's these guys in a house against a zombie apocalypse -- oh, wait, you've heard this one already? Yeah, and it seems like the rest of the world has, too. No matter how versatile the undead have become over the ages, it's the oldest of hats that we see filmmakers don time and again. The best shot at being entertained is if someone plays the formula for goofs, so in this respect, Zombie Self-Defense Force is a step in the right direction. The film is fully aware of how many thrill-seeking hipsters and horror nuts will seek out anything with a whiff of controversy, so it plays its slim 76 minutes to a sensationalized hilt. Everything this movie can do to draw attention to itself, it does, and you know from the start that not a frame is to be taken seriously. But while there isn't a zombie genre cliche that's not addressed here, the trouble is that the flick does jack-all with what it's got.

Zombie Self-Defense Force subscribes to the Friedberg/Seltzer theory that just mentioning things constitutes good satire. Other than merely bringing up that one guy who's clearly hiding a zombie bite or how the most hateful character gets the goriest death scene, the film does nothing funny or observant with its material. It tries to coast on pure crazy, which helped make Monster X Strikes Back go by more quickly but leaves this one gasping for air. And just like Monster X, it chucks in a political angle that goes nowhere, matters little to what plot there is, and comes off as pretty damn vague to begin with. For what positions itself as a silly gorefest, Zombie Self-Defense Force isn't a whole lot of fun, and the uneven special effects don't help much. You'll get an impressive set piece once in a while (such as when the zombies pull a Rhodes on an unfortunate soldier), but most of the blood splatters and gore geysers look like they were drawn with "Mario Paint."

I hate to beat up on Zombie Self-Defense Force for doing what made the likes of Versus so damn awesome, but it goes to show you how vital execution is, especially with horror. It's not enough that you have zombies shuffling about; if you have passion, creativity, and, God forbid, a budget, chances are that you'll have a cult favorite on your hands. But when Zombie Self-Defense Force takes the easy way out, true bloodhounds can smell the dull disinterest from a mile away.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #26: "You'll Find Out"

2010-10-26T14:23:00.005-05:00

Just when you thought you'd seen every old dark house movie -- well, here's another one. But in lieu of Bob Hope or Creighton Hale prowling about a spooky abode, You'll Find Out features Kay Kyser, star of stage, radio, and apparently haunted mansion flicks. On loan from their College of Musical Knowledge, Kay and his ragtag band are hired to play at the 21st birthday gala of pretty young Janis Bellacrest (Helen Parrish). The shindig is being held at her ancestral home, where the spirit of her eccentric father is said to still roam the halls. But the house has attracted some flesh-and-blood terrors, as an old judge (Boris Karloff), a phony psychic (Bela Lugosi), and a gap-toothed mythbuster (Peter Lorre) have teamed up to swindle Janis out of her healthy inheritance. With all the strength a wimpy wisecracker like him can muster, Kay sets out to brave the Bellacrest house of horrors and keep Janis out of harm's way.

You'll Find Out is a scary movie that normal people can feel good about watching -- which is to say it isn't scary at all. It's more in tune with The Cat and the Canary, only with even more emphasis on humorous shenanigans. The spooky side of the story is pushed aside a lot, as You'll Find Out was essentially made as a vehicle for the Kay Kyser players. As such, we get a ton of musical interludes that pop up without much rhyme or reason, and this film having been made in 1940, they can be mighty lame (the "Bad Humor Man" number alone sent me into a corniness coma). The only things to fear here are Kay's one-liners and the slapstick set pieces, which make Abbott and Costello's schtick look like Bill Hicks material. Even the main mystery doesn't seem to have been given much thought, considering it's not even really a mystery. The bad guys are revealed not even halfway into the movie, and while it's part of the joke that an oblivious Kay puts his trust in the nogoodniks, it's a reach just to make him look like an even bigger doofus.

But in spite of it all, I'd be lying if I didn't say that You'll Find Out didn't warm up to me at least a little bit. The humor is campy and dated, sure, but neither your intelligence nor the cast's dignity suffers for it. It has an innocent spirit that's hard to hate, and it doesn't treat its thrill-centric side as a total joke. Karloff, Lugosi, and Lorre are all in on the act, and all three give surprisingly wonderful performances. Lugosi was a treat in particular, playing the role of a self-important psychic straight and getting more laughs for it (there's even a silly seance scene with a few freaky tweaks). Plus, for as many cheesy songs there are, some can be extremely charming, especially the Oscar-nominated "I'd Know You Anywhere" -- it hasn't a thing to do with the story, but it's a good tune anyway, dammit. Kay Kyser himself also carries on a fine tradition of film cowards, playing the part of unlikely hero, who's more liable to throw out snarky quips than battle the forces of darkness head-on.

You'll Find Out isn't terrible funny, and it's even less suspenseful, but I can't rag on it too much. The sentimentality seeps from every pore, and despite the best efforts of that cranky old fart in all of us, we can't help but be charmed by the earnestness of the production. You'll Find Out comes in a set with three other Karloff/Lugosi cheese wheels, so if you've got the stomach for some serious saccharine, this well-meaning ditty will be a breeze to watch.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #25: "X the Unknown"

2010-10-25T23:26:00.004-05:00

When there's somethin' strange under British soil, who you gonna call? Well, Quatermass is busy at the moment, so in X the Unknown, Dr. Adam Royston (Dean Jagger) answers the call for Queen and country. An expert in all things atomic, Royston is called to investigate when soldiers on a training exercise experience an earthquake that leaves one dead and others covered in radiation burns. Similar incidents occur throughout the area, always around sources of radiation and leaving behind a melted corpse or two. Though he's as wary of accepting the absurd as his superiors, Royston deduces that a force suppressed over several millennia has once more made its way to the surface. Feeding on the radioactivity mankind has come to fear, it grows larger with every meal, leaving Royston scant time to devise a solution to stop it dead in its tracks.

After slogging through the pseudo-academic dud that Quatermass and the Pit turned out to be, I hoped that Hammer's X the Unknown would pick up its pace. For a while, what actually began life as a Quatermass adventure does pretty well for itself, by way of not saving all its thrills and chills for the end. X the Unknown is the title, and it's the unknown that drives this premise, as viewers are wondering what the deuce is going on from the word go. Director Leslie Norman teases and prods you in just the right ways, preserving the story's mystique while keeping you watching to see what happens next. The level of suspense is just as well-paced, starting with a few minor incidents before working its way up to the Incredible Melting Man (which, for a late '50s sci-fi picture, is a pretty gruesome image). The presence of a valid threat is always there, and you know it isn't going to wait til the last ten minutes to actually do anything.

Now I hate to keep bringing up Quatermass and the Pit, but whereas that film got unnecessarily verbose, X the Unknown can be alarmingly simplistic. If it had been a straight-shooter and gone for the typical B-movie yuks, it'd be another story, but it tries to get all cerebral on us to little effect. The flick attempts a conflict between Royston and his skeptical boss (Edward Chapman) that devolves into one of my least favorite movie cliches: the looming crisis that can't be solved because one character is being an obstinate prick. Oh, and remember that steady progression of suspense that was working so effectively? Well, that's ruined once X the Unknown decides to announce the main monster's identity with no fanfare, and while I dare not spoil it myself, let's say that it's hard to accept so many people running in fear of such a snicker-inducing foe. To top it all off, we end on a cryptic note that might have worked had we known where it came from or what the hell it even meant.

So again, a rendezvous with Hammer cinema lets me down, but vintage horror/sci-fi fans could have fun with X the Unknown. Dean Jagger gives a solid performance, the atmosphere can get durn creepy, and the little graphic content there is works like an unsettling charm. X the Unknown isn't the nadir of '50s science fiction, but that it puts on airs with so much rampant goofiness makes it hard to get into on either level.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #24: "Werewolf: The Devil's Hound"

2010-10-24T21:52:00.005-05:00

What's a guy to do when there's a werewolf in the family? Well, UPS isn't the smartest choice, but overnight delivery is what happens to Christine (Christy Cianci) when her father gets fed up with her lycanthropic freak-outs. But instead of reaching the doorstep of paranormal investigator Kwan (Lance Atrik Hallowell), the crate is delivered to a struggling special effects studio. After breaking free and catching up on her meals, Christine decides to carve a new life and selects the nerdy Kevin (Michael Dionne) as her mate. Once the bite's put on him, Kevin's metamorphosis kicks into overdrive, but with a concerned wife (Tamara Malawitz) at his side and Kwan on his way, Kevin's soul might just be saved before the beast within assumes control.

To be honest, Werewolf: The Devil's Hound wasn't my first choice for the "W" leg of the horrorthon. I wanted to get at least one werewolf flick in, but when I was too late to get Wolfen from Netflix, this was the first one I could get my hands on. Boy, does it suck, but I didn't to tell you that. Its pedigree says it all, having come from the straight-to-DVD horror wing of Lionsgate that's delivered such delights as Open Water 2 and the atrocious Dark Harvest series. But even with its dodgy reputation for horror outside of Saw, I wasn't prepared for the chore Werewolf turned out to be. For one, it's not the gloomy thriller the cover art suggests but an ill-conceived horror/comedy with no idea how to pull off what it wants to do.

As with the Feast movies, Werewolf thinks that being silly gives it free license to flip the genre switch whenever it feels like it. We get aimless skits and lame pratfalls followed instantly by disemboweled hobos, with zero consistency achieved. There's a very amateurish mindset at work, and while I hate to kick sand in the faces of some indie filmmakers who had little to work with, having the desire to make a movie isn't the same as having the ability to. Werewolf has ambition, but it's not used well, which is most evident through the often painful overdirection. Not even the act of opening a door can go without feeling like a Requiem for a Dream audition, and you'd swear the editor was having a seizure whenever the werewolf (who looks like one of the evil Congo apes) attacks.

Werewolf: The Devil's Hound is awful, awful stuff, but it'll pass. For the time it lasts, it's an ordeal, but no midnight movie parties will be held in its ironic honor. But if anything, that's the worst fate Werewolf could suffer -- for a flick that tried way too hard to be the next cult classic, complete and utter obscurity is all that awaits it.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #23: "Voodoo Man"

2010-10-23T21:15:00.004-05:00

If horror films have taught us anything, it's to never trust the open road. In 1944's Voodoo Man, a line-up of lovely ladies learn this the hard way when a phony detour sign leads them right into the hands of the demented Dr. Marlowe (Bela Lugosi). For the last two decades, Dr. Marlowe has been obsessed with resurrecting his dead wife, using the life essence of girls he kidnaps to do so only for very brief periods. The snarky Stella Saunders (Louise Currie) is snatched up en route to her cousin's wedding, but luckily, she has the groom, Ralph Dawson (Michael Ames), as a traveling buddy. A Hollywood screenwriter who's seen it all, Ralph is quick on the case when Stella turns up missing, leading the charge to get to the bottom of Dr. Marlowe's witchery and save Stella from becoming a shell of her former self.

Well, kids, I guess they can't all be winners. Lugosi is as revered as classic horror stars get, his name synonymous with terror and the vampire's image for years -- but man, was he in some real stinkers. Everyone knows about Lugosi's collaborations with the infamous Ed Wood, but the cheapie Voodoo Man popped up a decade before the two crossed paths. It's the sort of picture many horror icons of the time made on the fly (or a speedy seven days, in this case). The production's thriftiness sure shows in the all-around crummy quality, but Voodoo Man doesn't reach the epic awfulness of a Plan 9 or a Manos. In fact, for a B-movie, it's pretty low-key, with little to its name other than some traces of nostalgic cheesiness. It even came out while Lugosi was still doing his best work, hitting theaters close to The Return of the Vampire and a year before he tangled with Boris Karloff in The Body Snatcher. For a man whose career unfortunately became a joke as it progressed, Lugosi made the best of it and delivered a halfway decent performance here.

Needless to say, Voodoo Man still possesses some quirky aspects that make it an amusingly dumb flick. For one, the voodoo man of the title isn't Lugosi's Marlowe but more so George Zucco's character, a henchman who leads a dark ritual meant to sap the souls of young women. Of course, this being the '40s, the film's concept of "voodoo" consists of guys in Snuggies covered in Lucky Charms symbols and chanting gibberish (and don't even ask me how Marlowe's hypnotism experiments are supposed to help out). Also, in addition to Lugosi and Zucco, horror vet John Carradine shows up in what the Netflix disc sleeve claims was his least favorite role. Carradine appeared in worse flicks in his time, but I do see how it'd suck having to play vacant-eyed, bongo-bashing flunkie to Lugosi's stare-happy madman. The "normal" characters are plenty bland but inoffensive, the actors caring enough so as not to come across like they're ready to take their slim paychecks and run.

Voodoo Man isn't a very good film, but it's not the be-all, end-all of B-cinema, either. You can find it in a lot of those sets of 20+ public domain horror movies, or if you're in the mood for a chuckle, Rifftrax sells a version with its own damn funny commentary track. But Voodoo Man is nothing to get worked up over, not rancid enough to make enemies or endeardingly corny enough to win over Lugosi completists.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #22: "The Unseen" (1945)

2010-10-22T23:44:00.002-05:00

As would Jamie Lee Curtis and Carol Kane after her, Gail Russell assumes the role of a babysitter who's really in for it in 1945's The Unseen. Russell plays Elizabeth Howard, a young woman hired by the stern David Fielding (Joel McCrea) as governess for his children (Nona Griffith and Richard Lyon). But she's hardly had time to unpack her things before realizing she's stepped into the nuttiest house since the Femm estate. All manner of strange characters drift about the Fielding residence, including a shifty real estate agent, a handyman who keeps odd working hours, and a former nanny who's not about to move on. From all of this hubub emerges a peculiar mystery, involving a recent string of murders and a figure rooting around the house next door. When she learns the Fielding kids know more than they're admitting, Elizabeth attempts to gain their trust and crack the crimes before her name ends up in the obituaries next.

It was but a few days ago that I ragged on Return of the Living Dead 3 for having bugger-all to do with its namesake series. But now we have The Unseen, a film I like a fair deal more than has even less to do with its own supposed roots. You can see from the poster that The Unseen was billed as a follow-up to 1944's The Uninvited and is accepted as a sequel in certain circles. But not only do none of the latter film's characters show up here, the former completely ditches the supernatural angle in favor of more earthly chills. The only common threads are director Lewis Allen and star Gail Russell, no longer playing an outright victim but a more proactive part this time around. Strangely, though, I didn't mind so flimsy a connection, since the first film's spirit is present here, even if the spirits themselves are not. The set-up is straight out of The Turn of the Screw, wherein the relationship between governess and children provides the film's emotional core, as well as its main source of conflict.

But here's where The Unseen gets a bit murky, kids. The resentment kids have towards any foreign authority figure is natural, and the junior actors here convey this very well. But Griffith and (mostly) Lyon do almost too good a job of exuding brattiness, so much so that the story's flow suffers as a result. With much of the mystery hinging on what the Fielding kids know but won't tell, it gets irritating to see the resolution prolonged because one of them is being a stubborn little demon spawn. As such, The Unseen is often left trying to find stuff to do, and though it only lasts 81 minutes, it's still dishing out red herrings an hour in. It doesn't develop an intricate puzzle so much as it just makes everyone but Russell look guilty as all get-out, resolved whenever's convenient for the culprit. This doesn't give Russell much of a chance to really play detective, but she still delivers a sweet and sympathetic performance, particularly when she puts up with McCrea's crusty ways to an almost saintly degree.

Though I've exhibited more jeers than cheers, The Unseen isn't at all terrible. Again, Allen nails the atmosphere, which is dark, foggy, and teeming with spookiness. Although the supernatural isn't part of the plan, you still find yourself getting nervous over what real-life terrors await Elizabeth in the surrounding mist. Even more hard to find than The Uninvited nowadays, The Unseen isn't worth breaking a sweat over, but should the Turner Classic Movie gods feel generous enough to schedule it, it's worth catching just to say you've seen it.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #21: "Teeth"

2010-10-21T19:38:00.004-05:00

Dawn (Jess Weixler) is your standard, factory-issue late bloomer. Still mystified and even scared by the onset of puberty, Dawn channels her energy into spreading the gospel and preaching the values of abstinence. But even she can't resist getting a little curious when a classmate catches her eye, although when the Don Juan DeHorndog makes his move, both parties are in for one bizarre revelation. It turns out that a certain part of Dawn's anatomy comes equipped with its own set of teeth, which her would-be suitor finds out the hard way. Initially horrified, Dawn comes to embrace this discovery and even use it to strike back at any hormonal sleazebag that dares try taking advantage of her.

Feminism is something that's always hung around the horror genre but been nervous about really cutting loose. There's I Spit on Your Grave's crass exploitation dressed up as faux empowerment, and God knows how many Final Girls we've had through the ages, but the special few that nerds like me write essays about run thin beyond these. How fortunate it is, then, that Teeth isn't all hype but a film worthy of sharing the same mantle space as Carrie and Ginger Snaps. Vital to its success is its ability to not only devise an attention-grabbing premise but develop the perfect tone to make it fly, as well. The result is halfway between Grindhouse and the Lifetime Channel, a premise writer/director Mitchell Lichtenstein takes seriously but still plays for comedic effect when appropriate. The outrageousness of the story will bring in the teeny thrill-seekers, but while they're squirming in their La-Z-Boys, Lichtenstein's message cuts through more effectively than any sex ed PSA you had to see in middle school.

To address what's probably your greatest concern, yes, what you think happens in Teeth does happen, and a few times at that. This is where you could say Teeth earns its "horror" stripes, but Dawn remains the object of sympathy. No one gets chomped unless they deserve it (unless you're Josh Pais's gynecologist, in which case it's a darkly gut-busting accident), and Dawn is plenty terrified herself. But as she learns not to fear her own body, Weixler's performance helps to hammer home her character's gradual transformation. Never mind that she's a twentysomething playing a high-schooler to perfection, as Weixler nails both Dawn's naive innocence and the seductive qualities she uses to punish the world's pervs. That said, the narrative doesn't give itself much to work off of and has a tendency to wander, taking what seems like forever to find the meat of the story (no pun intended). Plus, while the symbolism is always engaging, there are some touches (like a recurring image of nuclear smokestacks) that make you wonder if Lichtenstein is just screwing with us.

If all this talk of metaphors and meanings has you scared, fret not, ladies and gents. The beauty of Teeth is that it is engaging on a thematic level but gleefully acknowledges its more lurid roots. Gals get the benefit of feeling better about themselves, and guys will think twice before draping their arm around the shoulder of said significant other. No matter how twisted your palate, Teeth was born and bred to please it.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #20: "Subspecies"

2010-10-20T16:03:00.005-05:00

In far-off Transylvania, a truce that's protected man from the vampire scourge is about to be shattered. Exiled bloodsucker Radu (Anders Hove) has returned home to do in his father (Angus Scrimm) and lay claim to the Bloodstone, an artifact housing the blood of all saints. The only thing standing in Radu's way of becoming lord of all undead is his half-brother Stefan (Michael Watson), who doesn't look fondly upon his demonic heritage. But just as their blood feud heats up, into frame wander a trio of friends/students who've come to bone up on their Transylvanian folklore. When one of the girls (Laura Tate) starts crushing on Stefan, however, Radu sees it as all the leverage he needs to turn the fight in his sinister favor.

The Full Moon gang is nothing, if not persistent. The B-movie pioneers churned out what their fans craved on a regular basis, whether or not they had the funds and film stock to do so. It was in Full Moon's heyday that Subspecies came about and made surprisingly decent use of the studio's cost-cutting measures. Charles Band movies having been 80% of Romania's economy in the '90s, it's no biggie that Subspecies was shot there too, but what is surprising is how effectively its locations were used; they wanted a crusty, eastern European setting, and dammit, they got one. The mood fits the scope of the story, which is simple and direct without feeling too lazy. You can tell Full Moon was proud of this one, especially when the credits boast a full orchestra, as opposed to Richard Band slamming his head on a Casio for 90 minutes. Even Radu's devilish minions (the "subspecies" of the title) look kinda cool, a product of Full Moon's fascination with all things small and homicidal.

But this is a Band collaboration we're dealing with, so here's the part where I dish on how straight-up mediocre Subspecies is. There was some effort put into this (being the first chapter of a franchise, there wasn't any stock footage to recycle just yet), but the filmmakers burned through what they did have pretty quickly. Hell, Scrimm (wearing one doozy of a Doc Brown fright wig) is dead in two minutes, so the remaining 80 are spent trailing the Baby-Sitters Club until Radu actually attacks somebody. To his credit, Hove's make-up work makes Radu look fairly imposing, but I couldn't tell you what he hopes to achieve from having the Bloodstone other than having the Bloodstone. The rest of the story moves as expected, from an anemic romance subplot to the standard sequel-establishing finale, turning up no surprises and performing no feats of ambition along the way. As horrible as it was, even The Gingerdead Man gets points for pure crazy.

As low-budget vampire outings go, Subspecies is no better or worse than the norm. It's notable for little more than being one of the few times Charles Band was responsible for something that didn't breathe Andre Toulon's name for once. Underwhelming for horror at large and par for Full Moon's course, Subspecies aims to be nondescript and succeeds with flying colors.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #19: "Return of the Living Dead 3"

2010-10-19T19:45:00.005-05:00

Long before Umbrella entered the picture, Uncle Sam had the market cornered on misguided experiments involving the undead. The zombie outbreaks in the first two Return of the Living Deads apparently weren't enough to phase army brass, since number three here begins as they use the dreaded Trioxin to make the ghouls into indestructible soldiers. But even after seeing himself how the stuff tends to inspire cravings for flesh, despondent teen Curt (J. Trevor Edmond) uses the Trioxin to resurrect his gal pal Julie (Mindy Clarke) after she dies in an accident. Come back she does, and with her comes not only a touch of rigor mortis but a love of body modification that keeps her newfound hunger at bay. But a few stray nibbles threatens to unleash a zombie horde in South Central, forcing Curt to choose between staying by Julie's side or saving the world from a Romeroesque fate.

1985's The Return of the Living Dead was a goofy mirror image of the traditional zombie flick. Written with as much dark hilarity in mind as bone-chilling creepiness, it was a truly refreshing movie, and as maligned as the second one continues to be, it was faithful to this semi-serious vein. So what does Return of the Living Dead 3 have in store? How about absolutely nothing its name had come to be known for? Now before you cry fanboy, let me say that I have no problem with movies that deviate from an established formula, given they pull it off. But then there's trying something so different, you might as well strike out on your own instead of clinging desperately to name recognition as a means of finding success. That's not to say Return of the Living Dead 3 couldn't have worked (zombified version of a Roger Corman biker romance? -- sign me up!), but the tone it adopts would be too melodramatic for the Hallmark Channel, let alone for something from the director of Society.

Satire, gallows humor, irreverency -- none of that's in Return of the Living Dead 3. The most it has to do with its forefathers is Mindy Clarke's Julie pulling a Cenobite two-thirds of the way through and turning into the Linnea Quigley-in-training you see on the cover art. Instead, the film opts for a love story it treats far too seriously, so downbeat and dreary in tone that it clashes big-time with the insane effects work. If anything, these are the remnants of the Return of the Living Dead 3 we could've had, one packed to the gills with unrelentingly disgusting zombies made on a budget of what covers Brad Pitt's cheese fries these days. More than any other story in the franchise, this is the one that could've done with living it up and embracing its campy side. But amusing Latino gangster stereotypes aside, the flick is just no fun, and as sweet of a girl Mindy Clarke most likely is, don't be surprised if her hammy performance starts giving you Creedence Leonore Gielgud flashbacks.

I know there's an audience for Return of the Living Dead 3, and hell, anything that gives the ladies a chance at being however brief a horror icon is worth a little something. But whatever good times I hoped for were washed away a depressing plot, a dull sense of pacing, and a cast whose acting skills each achieved their own shade of bland. I've seen worse (like Return of the Living Dead 4 and 5), but this one would've done well by honoring its ancestors over taking the emo way out.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #18: "Quatermass and the Pit"

2010-10-18T13:57:00.003-05:00

Beneath the bustling streets of London lies the greatest terror to face England since S Club 7. While working on extending a subway tunnel at fictional Hobbs End Station, a construction crew uncovers the well-preserved remains of ape men dating back five million years. But as the scientific community jumps for collective joy at this discovery, an even more fantastic find is just a few shovelfuls of mud away. Workers proceed to dig out a strange vessel, which very much intrigues Bernard Quatermass (Andrew Keir), a professor asked to help oversee the excavation. But the more evidence he turns up, the more Quatermass believes that not only is the craft not of this earth but is also the source of an ancient evil. Of course, the military shoots down his theories in order to avoid a panic, but pandemonium is just what runs amok when whatever's in that ship decides to unleash its powers on an unsuspecting populace.

Quatermass and the Pit is among England's most well-known science fiction tales -- though it beats the hell outta me as to why. Perhaps it's a response to how gung-ho America is with its own sci-fi, featuring characters who are scientists in the sense that there are beakers around when they blast little green men to kingdom come. Thus, patience is a virtue in Quatermass and the Pit, as the story hinges on the professor learning exactly what's buried down below before the worst occurs. It's a film in which fools pay the price for rushing in, but while that sounds great on paper, the flick doesn't leave itself much to go on. Hypotheses and experimentation do not a rip-roaring thriller make here, and the story's admittedly cool concepts end up muddled as a result. It's hard to discuss without stopping in spoiler country, but Quatermass and the Pit pulls the "we are the monsters" card with little basis for it, which has much to do with the film's inconsistent stock in the fantastic.

I don't think it's a big shock to learn that we're dealing with aliens here, but just try to dissuade Quatermass and company from presuming otherwise. As the professor delves into the bizarre history of Hobbs End, the possibilities of ghosts, demons, and poltergeists are brought up, but just about anyone who mentions aliens may as well be laughed out of Europe. It's another case of Indiana Jones 4 Syndrome, in which you've figured things out two acts before the story has, and the movie's only response is to plug its ears and go, "Lalalalala!" Plus, while it might just be my lack of familiarity, Quatermass just doesn't seem to be that interesting of a character. This is only the second time I've seen a Quatermass adventure (and I caught the last one three years ago), but there's still nothing about the professor to suggest why he's so hailed of a genre hero. He's your typical scientist trying to convince the world that he's not off his rocker, and though Keir's performance isn't bad by any means, he doesn't do much to deviate from the archetype.

Quatermass and the Pit was a Hammer production, not to mention one that wasn't a Gothicized monster mash. The Hammer touch does come through in the eerie atmosphere, and as chuckle-inducing as the big revelations are, director Roy Ward Baker does a good job of getting you at least a little freaked out by the unknown. But overall, Quatermass and the Pit is a really stiff watch, its ideas too ill-conveyed to fully intrigue and its structure too formal to enjoy as a straight-up fright flick.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #17: "Pumpkinhead II: Blood Wings"

2010-10-17T23:36:00.004-05:00

Ah, yes, the 1950s. It was an innocent era, one of soda fountains, Buddy Holly, and premeditated murder. At least that's how it was in the cozy hamlet of Ferren Woods, were some teenage toughs slashed up a deformed mountain boy and made his death look like an accident. Some years later, whispers of the kid still echo throughout Ferren Woods, and they only get louder when a group of 30-year-old highschoolers swing by his gravesite. Through an elaborate and easily-avoidable ritual, the teens end up calling upon the demon Pumpkinhead, who proceeds to go on a bloody, vengeful tear through town on the dead boy's behalf. But after justice has been served, Pumpkinhead gets a hankering for fresh meat, leaving the kids little time to save their skins and send the giant clawed one back to the hell from whence it came.

Pumpkinhead II: Blood Wings was one of the first scary movies I remember noticing when my parents buckled down and got HBO. Chances are that if it was late at night, this was on, and the likes of Leprechaun 2 or Ticks were soon to follow. But I never sat down for the whole thing (Killer Klowns from Outer Space was more my speed), and when I finally caught the 1988 original a few years back, it took me till now to summon the interest to explore its sequels. After watching Blood Wings, I could have waited a few more centuries, but to be fair, not a lot of folks dig this one to begin with. Pumpkinheads 3 and 4 have gotten a crummy rap as well, though it's Blood Wings that gets particularly dumped on for departing so much from its cult predecessor. Still, I wasn't a huge fan of the first flick, so I don't really hate its inaugural follow-up out of a sense of allegiance -- not when there are so many other things to hate it for.

No doubt, Pumpkinhead II is a dud, but it's a dud for the usual reasons: paper-thin acting, ho-hum effects work, and a script that chews up and spits out anything mildly creative (which you tend to get with Jeff "Sequel Killer" Burr in the director's chair). But reports of the film's unendurable crappiness have been greatly exaggerated, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't amuse me, at least a little bit. While the acting is indeed terrible, just looking over the casting choices is entertaining on its own. Andrew Robinson (Hellraiser) and Linnea Quigley are no big shock, but then come Soleil Moon Frye, Kane Hodder, and Roger Clinton (of "I'm freaking related to Bill Clinton" fame) to have you eager to see what C-list celebs will pop their heads in next. Also, as horribly executed as Pumpkinhead's kills are (mostly due to an accompanying strobe light that makes them borderline unwatchable), they're fun in their inherent silliness, especially when he takes on a trio of redneck chicken farmers.

Most people can and will go their whole lives without seeing Pumpkinhead II: Blood Wings. In fact, horror fans probably can too, save for us masochists, completists, and the compulsive at heart that just have to watch anything and everything. It'll be a while before Pumpkinhead: Ashes to Ashes ends up in my player, but should anyone be foolish enough to question why, one finger pointed in the direction of Blood Wings oughta be enough to say it all.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #16: "Onibaba"

2010-10-16T23:39:00.002-05:00

Japan's "Warring States" period was not a good time to be a peasant. Civil war left the country in ruins, its two highest courts were at each other's throats, and, as always, the lower class paid the price. In a house stationed amidst a vast susuki field live the mother (Nobuko Otowa) and wife (Jitsuko Yoshimura) of a farmer who was called off to battle. It's just been the two of them for a while, squeezing out a living by ambushing the occasional samurai and selling off whatever belongings they can. But out of the blue one day comes Hachi (Kei Sato), a neighbor who finally fled from the bloodshed. Slowly, he integrates himself into the womens' self-enclosed world, spurning the mother's advances while enjoying some splendor in the grass with her daughter-in-law. Emotions are mounting as is, but when a wandering warrior with a demonic mask pays the trio a visit, all of the brewing treachery and betrayal comes to a terrifying boil.

One man, two women, an isolated setting, the air thick with sexual tension -- you'd swear Onibaba was written by Tennessee Williams after a sake bender. But Kaneto Shindo's 1964 picture draws its inspiration from a Buddhist parable, which is enough of an indication that this flick will be playing old-school. Onibaba isn't very steeped in the supernatural (as unlikely as certain scenarios are, they do have basis in reality), but karmic overtones are liberally dispersed throughout. Shindo shows some very bad people doing very bad things, but it's how he goes about displaying his morality that makes the story so fascinating. This isn't so much a battle between good and evil as it one between two different evils -- the farmer's mother doesn't want to lose her partner in crime, and Hachi is just a horny bastard, and in spite of all this, the daughter still grows herself a conscience. It's fair to say Onibaba doesn't sound interesting if a bunch of bickering louts is all we get, but Shindo has us covered by adding a distinctive visual sweep to an otherwise simple story.

While there are several sections in which very little action takes place, Onibaba always has something planned to keep viewers absorbed. The opening scene, which contains no dialogue and lasts around ten minutes, follows two unfortunate samurai who stumble through the susuki reeds and discover the true extent of the dangers war hath wrought. The unknown does present itself when the mother uses her daughter-in-law's fear of religion to scare her away from Hachi, which brings the film's Buddhist origins (not to mention that funky cover art) full circle. These interactions really make the film, thanks in great part to a hell of an on-target ensemble. Otowa projects a hint of innocence (after all, it wasn't her character's first choice to blindside samurai for a living) while she embodies the perfect manipulative spirit. Meanwhile, Sato taps into his inner Toshiro Mifune to play a scoundrel who couldn't be more pleased to be one, and though Yoshimura has a tough time being noticed, she still holds her own and walks away with a solid performance as the closest thing we have to a "good guy."

A bit slow-going at times, Onibaba more than compensates for it with a tale whose emotions draw in your psyche and keep it locked on the action. Emphasis is on art over keeping the plot occupied, but it's to Shindo's credit that he involves you in the proceedings with a minimum of story and many sections that do without spoken words period. The Criterion Collection did well in admitting entrance to Onibaba, a tale whose terrors are no one's fault but our own souls.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #15: "Noriko's Dinner Table"

2010-10-15T23:35:00.006-05:00

Noriko Shimabara (Kazue Fukiishi) is like any other 17-year-old girl. She's pressured to do well in school, isn't that popular, and feels distant from her own family. So what does Noriko do instead of seeking help from a professional counselor? Why, she tags along with an Internet cult, of course. After visiting a site frequented by lonely teens like herself, Noriko is taken under the wing of its creator, Kumiko (Tsugumi). If convincing over 50 schoolgirls to leap to their deaths off of a subway platform wasn't enough, Kumiko introduces Noriko to her specialty business, which provides clients the luxury of surrogate family members on demand. Noriko's sister Yuka (Yuriko Yoshitaka) soon follows suit, but with his family crumbling before him, their father (Ken Mitsuishi) sets out to reclaim his flesh and blood, no matter the cost to what's left of his life and limb.

To be clear, Noriko's Dinner Table isn't a horror film, strictly speaking. Writer/director Sion Sono meant it as a companion piece to his cult favorite Suicide Club, with a number of its events woven throughout this one. It'd probably help if I'd seen Suicide Club before, but give or take a few moments that stand out, I was never all that lost. Noriko's Dinner Table is its own beast, addressing the troubled teen angle not from Suicide Club's sensational perspective but with a somber, low-key touch. Images here are meant to shock but on a different level, by way of Sono challenging viewers with concepts we usually take for granted. Does just being around make you a good parent? How well do you really know your children? What is it like to perform all the functions of a family unit without any of the commitment? Sono has a firm grasp of what he wants to get across and does so without allowing his ideas to fall prey to exploitation.

So with this good of a premise and mature of a philosophy, why do I hate Noriko's Dinner Table with the intensity of a million exploding Kryptons? Well, as much as I hate disliking a film based on one factor alone, it's a real doozy in this case: plain and simple, the characters do not shut up. I'm not talking about a little extra dialogue here or some unnecessary narration there. If Kumiko has suspicions about a customer, she talks about it. If Yuka is writing a story, she details what she's writing while she writes it. If Mr. Shimabara is plotting to get his daughter back, he takes us through every step of doing so. There's rarely one moment on God's green earth in which we the viewers are allowed to study body language, listen to dialogue, and -- GASP -- form our own damn interpretations of what's going on! True, you could see it as an abstract way of commenting on how teens like Noriko constantly confess their turmoils, but it's taken to such an extreme (an agonizing, repetitive, 159-minute extreme) that no matter the intelligence Sono began with, his results feel as emotionally resonant as a Justin Bieber groupie's LiveJournal.

You really have no idea what a chore it was to sit through Noriko's Dinner Table. Decorum dictates that I give it merit for introduction the concepts it does and, in the scant moments where Sono isn't yanking you around by a thematic choke chain, enabling them to come through to a fascinating effect. But the fact that so many characters run so rampant with their internal monologues so often is what makes Noriko's Dinner Table less a slice of social commentary and more a battle not to end up wearing your flatscreen as a wristwatch.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #14: "Monster X Strikes Back: Attack the G8 Summit"

2010-10-14T22:38:00.003-05:00

Another year, another G8 summit, and another chance for world leaders to pretend they're accomplishing something. Heads of state from the U.S., Russia, and elsewhere have gathered at Hokkaido's scenic Lake Toya to brainstorm ways they can save the environment. But the talks have barely begun before a greater threat arrives in the form of a towering monster from outer space. Focus instantly switches to taking down the massive beast, and while all the G8 attendees have their own plans of action, their attempts only egg on the creature's tour of destruction. Luckily, two plucky reporters (Kazuki Kato and Natsuki Kato) are on the case, and with the help of a backwoods cult, they might be able to summon the only force that can destroy this intruder from beyond for good.

Monster X Strikes Back is the second flick I've seen in as many years in which Japan pokes fun at its own kaiju conventions. The other was Big Man Japan, whose approach was very deadpan, so it falls upon Monster X Strikes Back to travel the road more goofy. But no matter how much sentiment was put into them, both features share a very inconsistent sense of humor and satire. It's Japan's answer to The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, as both are pleasant parodies of B-movies whose only gags consist of -- well -- being B-movies. It's affectionate, but it's just not that funny, something the Godzilla-style romps it's spoofing were while actually being honest-to-God entertaining. Monster X Strikes Back is structured like a joke that takes 98 minutes to tell, and at the end, the punchline is that you were told a joke.

But I should mention that kaiju disciples may be disappointed that this film is less monster mash and more political satire. In this respect, Monster X Strikes Back lands its share of zingers, most of which stem from how gleefully stereotypical it portrays the G8 bigwigs. Everyone's looking out for #1, everyone has their own agenda, and everyone has silly names like "Beefstroganoff Puttin" and "Maplesyrup Harris" that are never actually used in the flick but the credits supply regardless. The goofiness of it all is pretty amusing, but the film loses its effectiveness the more it goes for the easy laughs. Topical humor aside, the movie is still a mighty letdown in the monster department. The title titan (who's named Guilala and never referred to as Monster X -- you figure it out) sorta resembles Godzilla with his head stuck in a UFO, but other than catching stray missles and trampling the odd power plant, he's there chiefly to make the G8 crew look like a bunch of dumbasses.

Monster X Strikes Back isn't necessarily bad and might even provide giant monster fans more seasoned than I with a few nice chuckles. I dug the silly tone and shamelessly overt political jabs, but the misses just happened to outweigh the hits by too wide of a margin. Though Monster X Strikes Back is a harmless lark, honest laughs are as hard to come by as a Tokyo skyscraper that the Big G hasn't set aflame.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #13: "The Last Supper" (2005)

2010-10-13T21:59:00.007-05:00

If plastic surgeons were rock stars, Dr. Yuji Kotorida (Masaya Kato) would be at least an Allman brother. A man whose surgical prowess has earned him the nickname of "God-Hand," the doc has made out well for someone who started out as a meek med student. But little does a visiting TV crew know about the true secret behind his good fortune: old-fashioned cannibalism. One bag of fat stolen on impulse kick-started Dr. Yuji's hunger, and from then on, his appetite for the human body grew and grew. Conveniently, Yuji has chronicled his history on an anonymous blog, which he kindly narrates for the viewers at home. From finding his first full meal to attending an underground dinner in Hong Kong, Yuji details how dining on nubile young women has changed his world for the better -- a lifestyle that, with the arrival of a curious cop, is about to become much harder to maintain.

Y'know, The Last Supper is guilty of many things, but false advertising isn't one of them. Twenty minutes in, and that noggin on the cover is staring right back at Yuji as he munches on what was probably her favorite thumb. Just reading the premise had images of The Untold Story dancing in my head, but while it is about as gruesome, The Last Supper lacks the right sense of humor, arresting performances, or anything that might help make it a halfway enjoyable experience. Long story short, the flick is a total bore, and it's a lazy one at that. You might not think that of something that serves up the flesh-eating equivalent of Eyes Wide Shut's orgy scene, but it's incredible how remarkably dull such an odd premise has been rendered. The Last Supper mainly consists of Dr. Yuji narrating blog entries, and what do his reasons for turning to cannibalism amount to? "Because." But don't worry, there's some gratuitous religious imagery that helps give the story a first-class seat on the Pretension Express.

Yuji just isn't that fascinating of a character, neither as anti-hero or target of satire, which he easily could've been. A guy paid to carve up women takes his job to the extreme when he's off-duty? The Last Supper could've ripped the likes of Dr. 90210 a new one, but instead, it pulls the character study card, which, in this case, means Yuji moping around and giving hollow excuses as to why Mrs. Yoshita is missing a torso. Kato's performance isn't the worst, but he definitely needs a charisma transfusion, and between those consumed by Yuji and those who appear whenever they damn well please, it's not worth getting attached to the supporting cast either. Not even the gore scenes provide any satisfaction, as you're either too grossed out by organs being flat-out shoved at the camea or laughing too hard at the many amusingly fake decapitations.

Don't be fooled by the lurid cover; The Last Supper is just another feckless attempt to cash in on horror buffs in search of the next big shock. Japanese hottie on a bed of lettuce aside, it's a pretty boring affair, not diabolical enough to make the gore fly or intelligent enough for what it calls "observations" to hold any water. Maybe this is a sign of how jaded a genre fan I've become, but The Last Supper goes to show that if you've seen one cannibal chef on the loose, you've sure as hell seen 'em all.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #12: "Kaidan"

2010-10-12T22:30:00.006-05:00

Set in the days of Edo old, Kaidan centers on the relationship between young tobacconist Shinkichi (Kikunosuke Onoe) and singing instructor Toyoshiga (Hitomi Kuroki). When the two meet, their attraction is undeniable, though both are unaware of the sordid ties that bind them. As children, their fathers were involved in a spat that left Toyoshiga's pop slain and Shinkichi's damned to a life of misery. Sure enough, the curse works its magic on the two lovers, fanned by Shinkichi's penchant for young women and Toyoshiga's searing jealousy. Ultimately, the latter passes on, but not before declaring a curse of her own, swearing to wreak havoc not only on Shinkichi's life but also that of whoever dares bat eyes at him next.

Consider Kaidan a glimpse at J-horror's very roots, courtesy of Hideo Nakata's Wayback Machine. Although known best for the modern chillers Ringu and Dark Water, Nakata's picture harkens back to when Japan's ghost stories were treated as sagas and art forms unto themselves, rather than a means to put little Toshiro to bed. This respect is evident throughout Kaidan, from the stylized pre-credits sequence to the bittersweet finale. Shinkichi is no schmoe haunted by a cursed Cuisinart but the hapless victim of his father's sins, gradually driven mad by his inability to find peace in this world and seeing only torment to come in the next one. If horrible things occur, they truly are out of his control, and for as much as she spends the film in Sadako mode, Toyoshiga's own issues allow her more dimension beyond the usual vengeful ghost stereotype. Knowing the shared history they remain oblivious to paves the way for a good deal of characterization and dramatic weight that horror flicks generally shirk in favor of getting to the gore as soon as possible.

Nakata has the right tone in mind for Kaidan, but nailing it is one tale that doesn't have a happy ending. For one, in terms of the leads being dragged to hell and back, Nakata doesn't seem to know when enough is enough; Shinkichi is mostly innocent, but all the hardships he endures makes you wonder if the story really does regard him as an outright villain. Similarly, Toyoshiga is so vicious and relentless, it becomes hard to view her just as a wronged woman seeing that her memory is served justice. The ambiguity needed to pull it all off just ain't here, and while Nakata set out to pay homage to the past, he can't help but fall back on tired tricks from the derivative thrillers he helped inspire. He remains honorable and never outright cheap, but with random love scenes and babies farting out dozens of snakes, one gets the feeling much of the film was spiced up to appeal to Western perceptions of Asia Extreme. Plus, the flick looks pretty damn flat overall, a shame considering how nifty and alluring its intro scene turned out to be.

If there's an audience for Kaidan, it's more for the Snake Woman's Curse crowd than for Grudge groupies. Its reverence to the past and commitment to building up characters are what get us to care about the proceedings beyond who'll be dispatched next and how. You don't have to be Nobuo Nakagawa to tell that Kaidan isn't a total artistic success, but I'll take something that makes it halfway there over something that accepts mediocrity with open arms.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #11: "Ju-On: The Curse"

2010-10-11T15:54:00.003-05:00

Before Sony saw fit to give him a budget, Takashi Shimizu cut his teeth in the world of shot-on-video with Ju-On: The Curse. A prototype of his J-horror hit-to-be, this Ju-On also centers on a house that's been damned to the nth degree. A tragic event took place there some time ago, leaving behind a festering evil that claims the lives of those who dwell within its walls. As with the others in the series, the seemingly harmless abode's story is chronicled through nonlinear vignettes, ranging from three to ten minutes in length and focusing on one particular soul that comes in contact with the house. From a concerned teacher to a worried girlfriend, many fall prey to the wrath a croaking spirit that comes to scare them into an early grave. But when the curse finds its way to a frightened real estate agent, she resolves to warn potential buyers of the two stories of terror that await them.

I like to think that Takashi Shimizu is a smart guy. His work impressed and scared the hell out of Sam Raimi, who brought him to the attention of stateside horror fans and kept the Asia shock boom truckin' in The Ring's wake. Shimizu knows what's expected of him and delivers nothing less, which is why the idealist inside me wants to believe that he made six Ju-On features (counting The Grudge and its first sequel) to prove how much the premise just doesn't work. There's no other way to explain why anyone rational would regurgitate entire characters and story threads so many times, when it's been made clear that everyone in these flicks is boned from the word go (turns out there's not much suspense in nihilist horror stories). Maybe Ju-On is meant to be enjoyed in fragments; take a random frame from any ghost sequence, find the right sound effect, and boom, you have Internet screamer gold. But trying to follow an actual story or sympathize with anyone not currently undead here is as worthwhile as watching a Ringu print that's being fed through a woodchipper.

Speaking of choppy structures, let's talk about the one Ju-On: The Curse has to share with the class. To Shimizu's credit, it works better here than in some of his other movies, but it still reeks of cheating to have the turn of events jumbled around for the sake of Shimizu feeling good about bamboozling you in the easiest way possible. Plus, for a film built on the element of surprise and ghosts that appear out of nowhere, nothing really shocks you here. Even forgetting that its fellow Ju-Ons exist, you know exactly what will come to pass here (that its climactic plot twist is telegraphed by the freaking opening title card is kind of a downer, as well). Hell, I thought being video-based would help Shimizu here, since it added a lot to the film's flawed but intermittently spooky comrade Ju-Rei: The Uncanny, but no dice. The effects are crummy, the dramatic zooms are hilarious, and let's say it's not all that horrible that actors this stiff don't last long onscreen.

I want to say I read somewhere that much of Japanese cinema is based on a foundation of emotion over storytelling perfection. The ultimate goal gets more attention than the journey there, which I can totally see going on with Ju-On: The Curse. When all's said and done, it'll freak out its share of folks, but if 70 minutes of near-silence and household busywork are the best it can serve up along the way, you're better off having a grand old time doing your own damned chores.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #10: "Isola"

2010-10-10T22:21:00.005-05:00

In the wake of a 1995 earthquake that rocked central Japan, Yukari (Yoshino Kimura) has come all the way from Tokyo to pitch in with the clean-up. Once there, she learns that she has the ability to read the minds of others and starts using it to help relieve their various traumas. But one girl Yukari encounters proves to be quite the enigma: Chihiro (Yu Kurosawa), who seems to be a perfectly average high schooler. The reality is that she possesses thirteen different personalities, including a suicidal junkie and a five-year-old reliving a car accident. But the most dangerous personality of all is Isola, a wraith who can actually cause harm to those who antagonize Chihiro. Still trying to get a grip on her own abilities, Yukari sets out to uncover Isola's origins and stop her from hurting Chihiro or those around her.

Films ask their viewers to accept the impossible on a constant basis, but in a few cases, the demands can seriously pile up. Not only does Isola ask the world of you, it unloads everything it has in one sluggish, eye-rolling load without even waiting for an answer. Not only that, but it's very flippant towards itself, casually acknowledging elements and events that would barely fly in Hideo Nakata movies. There's a lot to go through here, what with Yukari's psychic powers, Chihiro's multiple personalities, and science experiments that kinda, sorta attempt to tie the fine mess together. But nothing comes close to gelling, and that's mostly because Isola hasn't a hint of logic to its name. I'm all for flicks tapping into their bizarre sides (hell, that's pretty much why I have a Netflix account), but there has to be some structure for me to accept any of this without the words "Pabst," "Blue," and "Ribbon" being involved.

Take, for instance, Yukari. She's a bit of a wild card, since we see her have the occasional freak-out in between popping antipsychotics throughout the film. Fair enough, and at the beginning, she seems surprised that she can hear what those around her are thinking, but towards the end, she gives the impression that she's been living as a psychic for some time. Then there's Chihiro, who the movie goes out of its way to say has thirteen personalities. Even the film's technical subtitle is Persona 13, but the most we ever get to know are three or four, and that's including Isola. On top of that, if Chihiro is so troubled to begin with, why isn't she being cared for professionally? Sure, she has an adoptive father who couldn't care less about her, but when Yukari proposes medicating Chihiro later on, she acts like it's the breakthrough of the century. There's no consistency whatsoever, just plot twists that duck their heads in because the drama of the moment dictates that something happen.

I didn't mean for this review to turn into a total bitchfest, but one of my benchmarks for a bad movie is that I think more about the nagging details than I end up enjoying the action. I dug some aspects of Isola, especially Kurosawa's sympathetic acting and a creepy look that you'd swear didn't belong to a ten-year-old flick. But as Isola demonstrates in the latter's favor, there's a big difference between a thriller that grabs you by the balls and one that pounds them into baking soda.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #9: "Horror of Dracula"

2010-10-09T13:45:00.002-05:00

Bela Lugosi and Frank Langella had similar debuts as the king of all vampires, but leave it to Christopher Lee to change things up a bit. Horror of Dracula starts off as Jonathan Harker (John Van Eyssen) arrives at the Count's humble abode not to sell him Carfax Abbey but to send his bloodsucking ass to the great beyond. When Harker's hunt hits a snag, good ol' Van Helsing (Peter Cushing) picks up the trail, only to find that his partner has met an unfortunate end. What's worse is that Dracula, driven by revenge, has targeted Harker's fiance Lucy (Carol Marsh) for assimilation into his undead fold. Van Helsing is prepared to combat Dracula with all his might, but in a society that's shunned old myths like that of the vampire, stopping the Count's evil influence from spreading is easier said than accomplished.

Though I pride myself on being a classic horror nerd, the Hammer pictures are ones that I've spent embarrassingly scant time exploring. I guess I've been on bended knee at Universal's altar too long to catch much beyond 1959's atmospheric but dull take on The Mummy and the blood-soaked gender politics of Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde. But I can get why Horror of Dracula came to be; the titans of horror needed to retrieve their lost luster, and if Universal wasn't going to answer the call, then dammit, Hammer would. For its time, Horror of Dracula probably was a little intense, even with but a fraction of the violence and titillation the Hammer flicks would become famous for. But nowadays, the film is harmless and borderline quaint at times, which would be fine, had it not embraced the brisk pacing of a molasses avalanche. It clocks in at a little over 80 minutes but feels eternal, especially when Van Helsing and crew painstakingly track down Dracula in scenes better left to line the Count's parakeet cages.

This brings me to what is arguably Horror of Dracula's greatest flaw: Dracula himself. The man is one of the most-performed characters in the history of the arts, a figure recognized by millions, and, as far as the horror genre is concerned, a freaking rock star. So outside of having Omar Epps in the cast, how can you possibly ruin a Dracula movie? Well, as Horror of Dracula demonstrates, barely including the guy is a good start. You could say Lee chose to make Dracula more animal than man, only emerging to strike fast and vanish just as quickly, and you'd be right. The Count is a straight-up monster here, making no effort to feign nobility, but feeling truly threatened is difficult when he's mainly seen dashing off to his coffin. This leaves us to follow Van Helsing, and bless Cushing's droll heart, but without being featured less so than Dracula or at least depicted on equal terms, Van Helsing's pious monologues fall on deaf ears and weary eyes. If anything, this flick goes to show you why Dracula is nobody's opening act.

Horror of Dracula has its place in fright film history, and I'm inclined to forgive it certain flaws. The set design is really fantastic, and compared to other versions of the Bram Stoker tale, be they Coppola or Browning, this one has an identity all its own. Lee's Dracula left an impression on monster fans, and I look forward to catching his other outings behind the cape, but it's unfortunate that the one to start it all holds up about as well as the Count would in sunny San Diego.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #8: "Goth"

2010-10-08T15:07:00.004-05:00

On a sunny, nondescript day, a woman's body is found propped up in a public park and her left hand completely severed. As another corpse was found in a similar state months prior, the police ponder the possibility of a serial killer, though they're not the only ones following the case. A fascination with all things morbid has brought together two teenagers from otherwise different background: Morino (Rin Takanashi), who's since given into her outcast status, and Kamiyama (Kanata Hongo), a cheery kid who harbors a secret obsession with death. Once they catch wind of the murders, the teens team up to track down the culprit and uncover his true motives. But when they stumble upon the killer's own journal, Morino and Kamiyama are forced to choose between going to the authorities or risk allowing potential deaths for the sake of understanding their own wounded psyches.

As in real life, it's hard to distinguish true adolescent angst from abject whining. But Goth isn't here to dissect subcultures; it's just a moody mystery, which is all jake with me. Hell, it doesn't even seem overtly mopey -- until you realize it's precisely that, just not from an aural standpoint. As Goth's characters suffer in silence, so does the viewer, who bears witness to a 96-minute pout-off that probably could've taken half an hour if its leads got the anchors out of their pants. This movie buys its dramatic pauses from the same Sam's Club as the Twilight franchise, and it's even more cavalier about using them to create the illusion that, no really, we're totally sad, you guys. There's feeling numb towards the world, and then there's catatonia, and from how blase Morino and Kamiyama react to the horrors they encounter, one wonders behind what plants their life support machines are tucked.

But as much as I'd love to fully condemn Goth as emo twaddle, here's where I have to pump the brakes. I hate to say it, but Goth isn't altogether uninteresting; the false emotions stem more from a director who's allergic to editing than from a flawed story. There are times when the plot is quite absorbing and not prone to beating us over the head as high school melodramas have before. For the most part, the sadness Morino and Kamiyama feel is genuine; it never seems like a vapid call for attention, and in Morino's case, it's even a form of penance. Kamiyama isn't as well-defined, but I dig the idea of a social butterfly hiding his dark side with disturbing ease. But again, their nonchalant nature returns to bite them in the aft end, sapping all the oomph from erstwhile challenging scenes, such as when Morino dresses as a murder victim to feel the sensation of being stalked. The climax is its own beast, one that bum-rushes story threads it should be resolving and prolonging ones that beg for the Old Yeller treatment.

A few years back, the Pang Brothers, those masters of inconsistency, made a minor masterpiece about dwelling on death. The film is called Ab-Normal Beauty, and it's a lurid, seedy, and whip-smart riff on everything Goth tries to do. Respectable as the filmmakers are towards characters often thrown to the stereotype wolves, real insight is in short supply, while the greatest terror comes from realizing you put money towards something scraped off the side of J-horror's aquarium.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #7: "Flesh for Frankenstein"

2010-10-07T22:36:00.003-05:00

Baron Frankenstein (Udo Kier) views the world as a five-year-old would an ant farm. Within the bowels of a secluded mansion, he obsesses over purifying the human race and creating life as he sees fit -- by way, naturally, of stitching together only the finest body parts. As our story begins, the Baron has chosen a farmhand (Srdjan Zelenovic) to provide the head topping the culmination of his life's work. Unfortunately, he's missing the sex drive required to propogate the Baron's master race with a female creation he also has stashed away. That belongs to a local stableboy (Joe Dallesandro), who's currently using his gift to service the frigid Baroness Frankenstein (Monique van Vooren). But after the servant discovers what happened to his friend, he sets out to railroad the Baron's experiments and end his madness for good.

You have to wonder what frame of mind was used in making Flesh for Frankenstein. Considering Andy Warhol's involvement (which was reportedly very thin), being confused could just as well be the point, but this intensely sexualised take on a classic horror story has an agenda that rings quite clearly. The film is on a mission to challenge you, and challenge it does, reminding viewers of the true terrors of a tale that had at the time been rendered innocuous by kiddie monster shows. In fact, Flesh for Frankenstein could have the strongest moral code of any Frankenstein adaptation. While so many other versions inevitably cast their doctors as erstwhile noble men falling under the spell of scientific progress, Kier's Baron is a bastard to the bitter end. Blunt and open about his desire for racial purity, the Baron not only gave into insanity long ago but couldn't care less who knows it.

Yet as Wikipedia is so kind to include in its summary, Flesh for Frankenstein pays as much stylish tribute to the mad scientist classics as it satirizes and sensationalizes them to the extreme. The decaying laboratory, the various apparatuses, monologuing about life and death every three minutes -- there's enough common ground for monster fans to get comfy before being plunged into a psychosexual clustercuss. But the flick's on-the-fly approach does have its drawbacks, namely in the acting (or lack of acting) department. Although we know and love Udo Kier as the cult icon he is today, you can tell this is one of his first big gigs, so don't be surprised to catch a whiff of Tommy Wiseau in his performance. But he's still bugnuts crazy enough to let pass, as opposed to Dallesandro's wooden American accent leaving his scenes with the profundity of a cabbage belch.

Notorious for a reason and not for the faint of heart (or those who value joy in the world), Flesh for Frankenstein is rough around the edges but undeniably fascinating. Even if Warhol didn't have much to do with the production, his presence is there, persisting in writer/director Paul Morrissey's quest to show audiences what true horror is. Driven equally by ideas and exploitation, Flesh for Frankenstein is one tawdry little creation with plenty of life in it.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #6: "The Entity"

2010-10-06T22:18:00.002-05:00

Carla Moran (Barbara Hershey) is an independent woman and proud of it. She's a single mother of three, works all day, and attends typing school at night, all with her sanity intact. But on a night no different than any other, the unspeakable begins to take place in Carla's home. An invisible force barges in and violates Carla in the worst ways, before disappearing as quickly as it arrived. Overcome with distress as is, she's further angered when it seems that there's no logical solution to what's happening. The more well-meaning psychiatrist Dr. Sneiderman (Ron Silver) delves into Carla's past, the more frequent and intense her attacks before. Whoever or whatever Carla's assailant is, it's real, though it'll take something special to bring it down in our world.

Schindler's List. United 93. The Passion of the Christ. These are very admirable films, from artistic and thematic standpoints, though it's a little weird to say I "like" them. They reached their respective aims as effectively as they could have, but it'll be a long time before I pop any of them in on a rainy afternoon. As much of a sore thumb as it looks stacked against these pictures, The Entity is just the same, ostensibly a mainstream creepfest that deals in unexpectedly mature and very disturbing concepts. Just as startling is that the film, having been released when most moviegoers based their image of the supernatural off of the Amityville clunkers, makes it to the end without a scratch on its overall dignity. The Entity is a tough sit, but it survives by servicing its characters more so than the gorehound crowd. There are images of sexual assault that are difficult to watch, but the absence of some simplistic objective on which to hang these sequences spares the film the ravages of crass exploitation.

From shocking beginning to harrowing end, The Entity is firmly focused on Carla and never once wavers. Psychologically and physically, she's put through the mother of all wringers, savaged by a demonic aggressor and tortured by the fact that there's sound way to deal with it. A wrenching scene in which Carla breaks down and ponders submitting to her assailant is as riveting as the more showy attack sequences, both of which are still tastefully handled. Things do start to come apart in the third act, when the story edges away from mimicking its real-life basis and throws in a climax with Carla being pursued by a possessed freeze gun. It's never skipping hand-in-hand through a field of silly alongside The Manitou, but it definitely shows how the biggest pyrotechnics show you can muster is no match for a performance like Hershey's that encapsulates all manner of torment most of us can only imagine.

I hadn't known The Entity was such a hot commodity before I hit it up, with new discs on Amazon beginning at $110 as of this posting. I tracked my copy through the library, so unless you have a chum who's up on his '80s horror collection or a dusty VHS of your own laying somewhere, chances are you've seen the last of this ditty for some time. In any case, I'm dying for a current viewer's take on The Entity -- after so many films have instructed us when to be scared like good little puppies, I'd like to see how they do with something that actually has a reason.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #5: "Dying Breed"

2010-10-05T20:44:00.004-05:00

If Dying Breed is to be believed, Australia in the early 1800s resembled a primeval version of Escape from New York. Once a penal colony housing England's undesirable, the most notorious of them all was the Pieman, a criminal who fed on human flesh to survive. Centuries after his death, the Pieman's legend lives on in a remote area of Tasmania, where a group of pals have come to in search of a rare tiger. What they instead run into is the set of The Aussie Chainsaw Massacre and a village that swears by the Pieman's cannibalistic cookbook. The locals take to hunting down the tourists in short order, but having reached the bottom of the gene pool some time ago, the residents plan to replenish their bloodline before the feast truly begins.

Few horror movies concern themselves with surprising viewers anymore. We know what to expect, as do they, so nine times out of ten, it's a matter of the inevitable being delayed. But how a flick passes that time before the foregone conclusion is what separates a fan's ecstatic elation from their profanity-laden dismay. I'm not so disappointed that Dying Breed falls into this line so easily (which I am, but that's another story) as I am in it providing nothing to really watch in the meantime. It's a film that lays down all its cards from the word go, foreshadows everything you could possibly expect from a premise like this, and still expects you to be gobsmacked when its world turns exactly as planned. What was I supposed to carry away from this? That cannibalism is icky? Thanks, movie, I never would've guessed. Excuse me while I fill in the cast of Alive.

Dying Breed isn't big on creating tension, sustaining it as the narrative progresses, and upping the suspense ante when necessary -- it's all about characters learning things the audience figured out twenty minutes in, until the movie feels like stopping. The mood is dour enough (as cannibal stories that don't involve dudes named Raoul tend to be), so waiting for Dying Breed to finish having its way with you makes you more hostage than paying customer. Adding further drudgery to the proceedings are characters who go endure routines their respective archetypes have dictated they go through since the dawn of time. But Nathan Phillips as the king of the douchebags aside, the lead performers, which include Saw screenwriter Leigh Whannell, do turn out fairly appealing performances. Plus, as dark as the overall tone gets, the few hints of self-aware exploitation help it feel less bleak and hopeless than fellow Aussie fright flick Wolf Creek.

Would I go so far as to call Dying Breed stupid? Well, it's not good at all, but it's less constructive with its time than it is outright idiotic. It has the makings of a taut survival thriller, one that could make good use out of Australia's urban legends. But just as the film's characters have consigned themselves to biting the dust by the final reel, viewers can anticipate an abysmal ride out of Dying Breed before the Pieman's first big bite.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #4: "Cold Prey"

2010-10-04T23:06:00.004-05:00

In the terrifying tradition of Extreme Ops and Ski Patrol, Cold Prey takes place during a wintry jaunt gone decidedly awry. Norway's picturesque mountains are the order of the day, and despite a small whiff of sexual tension in the group, five farm-fresh stereotypes are prepared to party themselves purple. But the good times are cut short when the token nerd (Rolf Kristian Larsen) takes a dive a busts up his leg somethin' awful. The gang finds shelter in an abandoned ski lodge, where they discover that their ordeal is just beginning. Someone's been watching these kids ever since they took to the slopes, and while they wait out the bad weather before searching for help, this cunning killer plans on serving as their own personal tour guide to hell and back.

Cold Prey's back cover comes adorned with promises of intelligence, intensity, and other terms that are hard to come by in the horror genre. Lord knows how many mainstream movies get the hell hyped out of them just for not sucking, so imagine what happens when horror fans wheel out the pedestal. But since Cold Prey is particularly ballsy and insistent that it's not typical slasher fodder, the fact that it totally freaking is comes as even less of a shock. I've previously mentioned how I always assume that other countries know better and avoid the mistakes America's movies are built on making. But with some Japanese ghost movies tailored to fit our perceptions of the genre, I guess it's no surprise that Cold Prey is extra careful that it never develop something as silly as an actual identity.

That's not to say there's no audience for Cold Prey, as its accolades and two follow-up features have demonstrated there is. But even Prom Night made a profit, and while Cold Prey is cut from less neutered, intelligence-insulting cloth, there's almost zero entertainment value here. The film is minimalist to a fault and cuts corners wherever possible, be they in the location or dialogue departments. Characters milling around is mistaken for tension, grumbled rants about one's love life is what passes for character development, and a half-assed wraparound twist is meant to leave us with one last surprise (which it might have, were it relevant to the story in any shape or form). There's just nothing here that other, superior horror movies haven't executed with more style, imagination, and energy. This doesn't even have the self-referential edge of a Dead Snow (which was shallow, yes, but it was there).

I'm not mad that Cold Prey didn't live up to Ain't It Cool News' claims of perfection; I'm mad that it didn't even try. Sure, the self-promotion didn't help, but the lack of a drive to do anything except C+ its way through Slashers 101 did even more damage. Like the countless other thrillers that shooting dark hallways is a one-way ticket to suspense, Cold Prey is dull, derivative, and, worst of all, sorely mistaken.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #3: "The Boogie Man Will Get You"

2010-10-03T09:48:00.004-05:00

When Winnie Slade (Miss Jeff Donnell) bought a dusty old country house, she thought a few creaky floorboards were the worst she'd have to deal with. Sure, the farmhands are a bit nutty, and weird Professor Billings (Boris Karloff) carries on some funny business in the basement, but they're just some harmless eccentrics. But little does Winnie know that the professor's experiments in turning men into super-powered beings have left her with a few well-preserved corpses tucked in the cellar. Not only that, but some shady houseguests check in, there's a mad bomber on the loose, and a killer has taken to stalking the premises. The Slade estate is getting screwier by the minute, and Winnie's ex-husband Bill (Larry Parks) is the only one sane enough to try and figure out what's going on.

Anyone who says that old movies are boring can put The Boogie Man Will Get You in their pipe and smoke it. A surplus of subplots is tough for any movie to handle, but this one clocks in at 66 minutes and still whips itself into entertaining shape. But it should be said that this isn't a true horror movie. There's no ordained "Boogie Man" to speak of, and that Mothman guy on the poster is nowhere to be seen either (what, did the artist think the flick wasn't busy enough?). We have Peter Lorre gussied up like the Reverend Harry Powell, but even he gets in on the goofiness pretty quickly. Nah, Boogie Man isn't an official fright film but rather a farce with a cheerfully diabolical sense of humor. In tone, it's closer to Arsenic and Old Lace than Frankenstein, with Karloff's nutty professor humorously lamenting many a human guinea pig lost in the name of science.

Still, the light approach works best for Boogie Man; with a workload like the one it takes on, truly sinister overtones would've killed its charm. As it, the movie has some trouble keeping up with itself, occasionally dishing out gags and side bits for the sake of having something to do. But with its short running time, Boogie Man wraps up long before it has the chance to really wear out its welcome. It's too cheery to hate, especially when you see the actors having just as much fun. Karloff has a blast defying God's will any chance he gets, but I was even more impressed with Lorre's performance. To be honest, I'm not as up on my Lorre as I should be, but he was wry comic gold here, playing the town jack-of-all-trades who joins up with Billings to make a few quick bucks. Donnell and Parks are just fine as the prototypical bickering lovers, and Maxie Rosenbloom enjoys some good-natured goofs as a particularly dimwitted shuckster.

The Boogie Man Will Get You comes packaged with Boris Karloff's Icons of Horror set, where it's easily the least frightening of the bunch. It's not the first time this has happened, but it's of more respectable quality than Karloff's lighter material tends to be. Sunny and amusing over campy and intolerable, The Boogie Man Will Get You is the very picture of macabre hilarity.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #2: "The Addiction"

2010-10-02T22:27:00.002-05:00

Kathleen Conklin (Lili Taylor) just doesn't understand evil. On the eve of completing her dissertation, she struggles to comprehend how mankind's cruelty towards itself has lasted so long. But a brisk evening walk in the Big Apple brings our girl face to face with her innermost demons. An encounter with a seductive vampiress (Annabella Sciorra) results in Kathleen's own transformation into a creature of the night, and it ain't a pretty sight. Along with her growing thirst for blood, Kathleen's moral outlook begins to warp, as she blames her victims for being at the business end of a set of fangs. Night by night, the addiction claims what's left of Kathleen's soul, leaving a seasoned bloodsucker (Christopher Walken) to set her on the path to salvation before it's too late.

Boy, does it stink being a vampire. But you knew that, unless a certain pop culture behemoth has you convinced that vampires are the worst Marvel characters Stan Lee never created. Compared to the genre's most fantastic examples, The Addiction is as grounded as vampire lore has ever been explored onscreen. It's as far removed from glamor as possible, with director Abel Ferrara (Body Snatchers) chronicling Kathleen's story as he would a junkie's. But while her ethical breakdown is coolly tragic initially, The Addiction loses its punch pretty fast. This is mostly due to Kathleen, who we really don't know much about when the bite is put on her, and after she turns, she just spouts off angsty rants best suited for someone who must own a lot of Jack Skellington merchandise.

The Addiction is the sort of movie that thinks knowing who Sartre and Kierkegaard equates to understanding their teachings. Ferrara has a philosophy in mind that's not altogether bad, but it's a matter of viewers just not caring rather than it being too cerebral. "Free will" (or the lack thereof) is the flick's favorite buzzword, with much made about Kathleen passing the buck to her victims while her condition reflects her own dark soul. But again, we don't know nearly enough about Kathleen to make any real judgements about her personality -- for all we know, she's just some grad student who went full emo when the Jungle Fever gal started feeling peckish. Taylor's a treasure of an actress, but not even she can breathe life into her morose monologues or help her supporting cast do anything but add to the body count. But leave it to the man, the myth, the Walken to steal all ten minutes he's onscreen, exhibiting equal parts authority and WTF-ery as a longtime vamp who's curbed his hunger.

For however short they last, The Addiction has moments that work, and I can see why it's earned the cult crowd it commands. Shot in smooth black-and-white and set amidst New York's meanest streets, Ferrara's story embraces a style that few other vampire flicks (if any) have taken to heart. The Addiction gets an A for carving out its own identity, but it script and soul are as transparent as Kathleen's reflection.

The Red Eye Report's 2010 October Horrorthon #1: "7 Mummies"

2010-10-01T12:18:00.012-05:00

En route to the stony lonesome, a prison transport van crashes in the middle of the desert. Taking a female guard (Cerina Vincent) with them, the surviving cons flee into the wasteland, where an old Apache (Danny Trejo) grabs their attention with a mighty tall tale. Legend tells of Spanish gold in the area, buried beneath an Old West town and guarded by seven Jesuit priests sworn to fend off would-be thieves. Sure enough, the criminals find the town, but come sundown, the residents (all apparently members of the High Plains Drifter Re-enactment Guild) transform into bloodthirsty ghouls who set to make meals out of the cons. With some searching for the gold and some searching for a way out, the crooks only have hours before they too join the ranks of this real-life ghost town.

7 Mummies is a more curious case than I expected. Of course, I didn't expect much, if anything at all, but from that cover art, who would? It looks like any other straight-to-DVD venture that wrangled its quota of recognizable faces to dine on the horror leftovers their careers have unceremoniously led them to. Well, it pretty much is just that, though instead of the battle of attrition I dreaded, 7 Mummies offers enough cheesiness to let it go down smoothly. Essentially, it's a take-off on From Dusk Till Dawn, with prisoners on the run making their way to a desert bar, where they proceed to get more than a little red on them. That's all well and good, but here's where you start to wonder just what the filmmakers were thinking. These are modern-day convicts we're dealing with, but once they wander into Hill Valley circa 1885, no one bats an eye; it's not until some vampire hookers help dwindle their numbers that they suspect, hey, something's not quite right here.

You also come to question why 7 Mummies even included the cons to begin with. It has the costumes and rootin' tootin' stunt show set, so why not ditch the stereotypical thugs and make a name for itself in the Old West horror subgenre alongside Dead Birds or The Burrowers? But that would take a certain degree of ambition, and with dialogue consisting mostly of f-bomb variations, moxie is something 7 Mummies is fresh out of. I even had the sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't even make good on its titular promise -- sure enough, it's not until 11 minutes before the credits that you see hide or hair of a wrapped one. I'm still not sure I even saw seven to begin with, but when they turn out to be kung-fu mummy priests, it all seems to be strangely worth the wait.

Yeah, 7 Mummies is crap -- flatly-directed, badly-acted, lazily-written crap. But it's not a washout of any proportions worth getting riled up about. At not even 80 minutes, the pain doesn't last long, and while the flick as a whole can drag like the dickens, there's enough hilarity to have you chuckling your way through the really dull patches. This isn't a recommendation by any means, but should an inebriated pal haul this home from the video store, save your punishment for the guy who brings back a Dark Harvest sequel.

Red Eye -- Round Two

2010-10-01T01:20:00.002-05:00

Greetings, salutations, and multiple apologies, Red Eye Report fans! After months of unfulfilled promises and false starts, I'm ready to get back into gear by kicking off the second year of my October Horrorthon! Once again, I'll be watching and reviewing a horror flick I'll be seeing for the first time every single day throughout October. But this year, I'm adding a little twist to the movie madness -- for the first 27 days, I'll be taking them on in alphabetical order. That's right, from 7 Mummies to (hopefully) Zombi 2, expect a new horror review of every letter, with a special Asian horror week for letters I through O. The four after that will be a random mix of whatever I can get my hands on, save for the 31st, on which I'll review a genre classic I have actually yet to see (and I'm embarrassed I haven't).

Swing by later today for a write-up on the first Horrorthon selection, 7 Mummies. Until then, stay scared! Red Eye rules!

-A.J.

Red Dead Revival

2009-12-17T03:18:00.002-06:00

Wow, has it been almost a month? Jesus, I'm a slacker.

So yeah, sorry for the lack of updates, folks. General tiredness and other matters got in the way, but as the new year approaches, I plan on posting more consistent updates. And speaking of which, let's get on with the review rundown:

Over at ReelTalk Movie Reviews, I took on the emo-tastic juggernaut that is New Moon, though I cleansed my conscience by taking on the Spanish version of 1931's Dracula. For Review Express, I gave the rundown on the DVD releases of Sam Raimi's Drag Me to Hell and cult classic Army of Darkness. And at Terror Tube, Destroy All Monsters continues my rundown of the entire Godzilla legacy.

More review links will follow, as well as capsule updates on general horror viewings. I'm back for real this time, ladies and jellyspoons. Thanks for reading!

Axe to Grind

2009-11-19T17:25:00.003-06:00

Howdy-ho, horror hounds. All's been quiet on the genre front recently (I caught two flicks, Dead Air and The Echo, both of which can be encapsulated with a simple "meh"), though there are some new links to share. First, reviews of two recent releases, The Fourth Kind and The Box:

The Box -- http://reeltalkreviews.com/browse/viewitem.asp?type=review&id=3179
The Fourth Kind -- http://reeltalkreviews.com/browse/viewitem.asp?type=review&id=3178

On Classic Movie Guide, I wrote up a condensed critique of 1931's Dracula. It was meant to be a comparison review with the Spanish version filmed at the same time, but my copy started skipping (once I receive a replacement, expect a review on the Spanish version here). But I'm still pleased with how it turned out:

Dracula (1931) -- http://classicmovieguide.com/content/view/528/70

And last, but not least, I can finally unveil the first edition of my new Terror Tube column, "Axe to Grind." I'll be taking on all sorts of horror-related topics, the first of which is why I watch horror when so much of it sucks:

http://terrortube.com/html/Axe-to-Grind-1.html

Look forward to more articles in the future; pending subjects include Universal monster movies and when faith and horror mingle.

That's all for now, but stay tuned for more updates!

The Foreign Hustle

2009-11-05T23:53:00.003-06:00

As my profile states, I write for multiple sites, among them Passport Cinema (http://passportcinema.com), for which my colleague Chris Luedtke and I review solely foreign films. Both of us have reviewed our fair share of foreign releases, and throughout October, we reviewed an assortment of zombie flicks. Some of mine made their way into edited versions during the Horror-thon, but here were my selections:

Dead Snow -- http://passportcinema.com/?p=513
Evil (2005) -- http://passportcinema.com/?p=507
Night of the Living Dorks -- http://passportcinema.com/?p=530
Onechanbara: Bikini Samurai Squad -- http://passportcinema.com/?p=493

Mini-reviews of the first three can be found in the Horror-thon archives, whereas Onechanbara was written for the site in advance.

And on the subject, I also just posted longer versions of two more Horror-thon veterans:

Fear(s) of the Dark -- http://passportcinema.com/?p=542
Tomie -- http://passportcinema.com/?p=545

At least one more straggler will be posted in the coming weeks, but I'll still be tackling horror for Passport Cinema, in which case you can find links here when posted!

The Red Eye Returns

2009-11-05T00:16:00.003-06:00

Well, as you can tell, October has ended and with it the Red Eye Report's first Horror-thon. I want to thank everyone who visited the site and sent me feedback on what they thought.

But now that I've had a little breather after my mainly Rockstar-fueled blog orgy, I'm soon going to set out on what I meant the Red Eye Report to be: a hub for all things horror for yours truly. In the next few days, I'll be posting links to various horror-related articles I've written for other sites, as well as posting the occasional review straight here. I thought I'd get the party started with two "best of" lists I wrote for ReelTalk Reviews and Classic Movie Guide in October:

"Flicks with Bite" - The 5 Best Vampire Movies You've Never Seen...Maybe -- http://reeltalkreviews.com/browse/viewitem.asp?type=feature&id=555

"A.J.'s Top Ten Horror Classics" -- http://classicmovieguide.com/content/view/521/69

Also, I wanted to thank my good friend Dom Coccaro for coming up with a rather kickass logo, which you can see for yourself at the top of the page. And be sure to peruse Dom's chuckle-inducing thoughts at his own blog, "Random Reviews":

http://rrincorporated.blogspot.com/

More reviews will follow in the next couple of days, so stay tuned, and thanks for reading!

October Horror-thon #31: "Stephen King's It" (1990)

2009-10-31T22:39:00.003-05:00

"Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it." Next to the "great power and responsibility" chestnut, this is one of cinema's favorite cliches, not to mention the central theme behind Stephen King's It. The reason why most people are afraid of clowns these days, It focuses on a group of seven friends who, as children, teamed-up to stop a child-murdering demon. They thought the beast was gone for good, until a new wave of killings begins in their old hometown. The now adult chums are forced to head back and face the monster once again, but fighting it will be a challenge. What they're up against is quite literally the sum of all fears, as the more it toys and scares its potential victims, the more unstoppable a force it evolves into.

I've found Stephen King's works easier to adapt than those of Clive Barker. The latter's scope is more often than not limited by budgetary constraints; King can get a little grandiose, but humanity remains the key to his tales. It is just such an example, coming dangerously close to living up to the man's macabre vision. The first part is told mostly through flashback, as the seven friends reflect on their first encounter with the demon as they're each summoned for round two. Through its grim depiction of childhood memories, it gives the notion of nostalgia a good kick in the pants, suggesting that not everything's as rosy as our minds like to tell us. Scariest of all, though, is the demon's most prominent visage, a clown named Pennywise played by Tim Curry. His every appearance is an excuse to hike up the covers, and Curry plays him with a precise balance of menace and dark comedy.

But as it progresses, it gets harder and harder for It to cross the finish line in one piece. This is partially due to the old issue of too much material and not enough time to cover it in. Even at a little over three hours, It just can't seem to touch upon everything it wants to. You always feel like you should've read the book, as numerous subplots and concepts are somewhat addressed then abandoned faster than a Pauly Shore retrospective. These barely mask how little of a main story there actually is; once the characters conquer the demon as kids, they pretty much just go at it again as adults, the interim populated with constant flashbacks that get old fast. It also doesn't help that the acting can get hilariously awful. The grown-ups fare alright, with good turns from Tim Reid and Harry Anderson, but It features some atrocious child acting, lending the project more of a comedic bent than it likely intended.

It revolves around childhood fears come to life, and in doing so, both kids and adults will be equally effected. I recall catching an unsettling image or two before flipping the station as a young one, and now that I'm older, I can appreciate the flick's more mature overtones. But It has a reputation that it just didn't live up to in my book. Freaky? Yes, and often so, but the repetitive plot and some gut-busting performances undermine what I actually hope someone will one day remake into the truly haunting masterpiece this story deserves to be.

October Horror-thon #30: "Paranormal Activity" (2009)

2009-10-30T23:15:00.003-05:00

Paranormal Activity's bare-bones story centers on a twentysomething couple, Micah (Micah Sloat) and Katie (Katie Featherston). As a young girl, Katie claims to have been haunted by a supernatural force that's apparently followd her to San Diego. Micah uses this revelation as an excuse to stock up on camera equipment and play ghost hunter, but it's serious business for his significant other. As recording begins, the amount of unexplained phenomena steadily increases. Objects move of their own volition, the lights are suspiciously wonky, and disturbing sounds erupt out of nowhere. After consulting an expert (Mark Fredrichs), the young lovers deduce that a demon has targeted Katie and will stop at nothing until its campaign of terror has driven her to insanity.

In 1925, folks fainted upon seeing Lon Chaney as the Phantom of the Opera. Nowadays, it's like you need two swimming pools of blood and a visit to Clive Barker's nightmares to keep viewers awake. This is why my hat goes off to Paranormal Activity, current darling of the horror scene, for doing what it does well and with little hoopla to speak of. It has but a few creaky doors and flickering lights to its name, though in the hands of director Oren Peli, these bumps in the night are more than enough to cast a disquieting spell over moviegoers. But when I speak of squeaks, grunts, and groans, that's really all you get; the movie leaves your mind to fill in the gaps, which I admired but will leave other thrill seekers dissatisfied. It's a slow burn, with a lot of set-up and only a few spurts of payoff, though the constant presence of dread works better than any jump scares could.

Though it's cruel to write off Paranormal Activity as a Blair Witch clone, there are similarities that can't be ignored. The scares are one thing, though foremost is the cinematography. The events are depicted entirely through Micah's omnipresent camera, in an example of the first-person perspective actually working well when applied to horror. Seeing the couple's plight unfold is freaky, though just as effective is how Peli uses this approach to include the human element. Much focus is put on the growing strain between Micah, who outrightly taunts his unseen aggressor, and Katie, a true believer in the otherworldly driven to tears more than once. There is some daffy behavior exhibited (after all, what's a horror movie about a bad decision or two), but it's to be expected. These are regular people with regular flaws, a refreshing alternative to characters who exist solely as walking scream factories.

Paramount's hype machine is working overtime promoting Paranormal Activity, though it is best seen with a crowd. Feeding off of others' reactions is half the fun, and don't be surprised to find yourself addressing the slightest noise with the utmost suspicion when you get home. A classic it is not, but Paranormal Activity still represents how creepy horror can be at its most direct.

October Horror-thon #29: "Fear(s) of the Dark" (2007)

2009-10-29T22:37:00.002-05:00

Fear(s) of the Dark tasks a cabal of today's brightest graphic artist with creating a series of short animated pieces that put the "cartoons are for kids" philosophy to bed. French artist Blutch unleashes a pack of rabid dogs and their sadistic master, who wander in search of victims to ravage. America's Charles Burns tells a tale of love, obsession, and bugs when a young man falls for an emotionally needy woman. A Japanese girl confronts her inner rage in Marie Caillou's vignette. Italian illustrator Lorenzo Mattotti's story involves a man remembering a childhood spent in fear of a great best terrorizing his village. The film ends on a particularly creepy note, thanks to Richard McGuire's example of what happens when you combine an old, dark house and one man's overactive imagination.

At once imperviously artistic and ingeniously simple, Fear(s) of the Dark takes the notion of being scared to one of its most profound dimensions yet. Movies like Them and The Strangers claim they're getting back to horror's basics, but it's really a "get out of criticism free" card to excuse an absence of action. They are onto something, though; we tend to forget that films are art and can perform without convoluted stories. Fear(s) of the Dark is sweet on symbolism, but anyone can identify with the emotions buried beneath. Its images touch on what puts you at unease, both figuratively (through most of the shorts) and literally (via Pierre Di Sciullo's interludes). It's not the mere sight of grody bug monsters or those savage hounds that's most frightening but rather the subtext they entail.

Some segments do their jobs better than others, but you can't fault a one for lack of ambition. Even if a vignette's themes leave you hollow, there's always some unique animation as a consolation prize. Casual film fans will likely respond most to the Charles Burns tale. It's the closest in style to "Tales from the Crypt" as the movie gets, though it still leads viewers down a deeper path than they'd expect. The last story (and the one that dominates the poster) is a diabolical masterwork with a hundred little jolts, and Blutch's stark renderings are among the film's most brutal. Caillou's yarn was the only one that sort of faltered; while its bizarre creatures are impressionable, the premise never really goes anywhere. The Mattotti piece has great atmosphere, but its ultimate message ends up a tad muddled.

Fear(s) of the Dark is a creepshow unto its own, a grab bag of surreal goodies worth snatching up just because of how unique it is. Some may designate is esoteric twaddle fit only for the art snob crowd, but trust me when I say the film provides plenty of reason for everyone to leave the comfort of the light and embrace the unknown.

October Horror-thon #28: "Night of the Living Dorks" (2004)

2009-10-28T18:23:00.004-05:00

Night of the Living Dorks delivers on its title by starring the most socially-awkward geeks you've ever seen. Philip (Tino Mewes) is the bashful nice guy with a thing for the resident hottie. Konrad (Thomas Schmieder) is the know-it-all who literally keeps every time he's been beaten up on record. Weener (Manuel Cortez) is the pothead who's too stoned to feel insulted. All live perfectly average high school lives, until a voodoo ritual turns out three zeroes into zombies. Upon this realization, the guys use their newfound abilities to get back at campus bullies and win over the student body. But the need to feed soon comes calling, leaving the trio mere hours to reverse their curse before their humanity is lost for good.

The vampire has been romanticized for so long, it's about time another movie monster got its turn. The zombie may not be a likely candidate (what with eating brains and the whole rigor mortis thing), but being undead has its perks. You never need to sleep, you can take a lot of punishment, and you can ingest all the booze you want, all sure-fire ways to wow your friends. Germany's Night of the Living Dorks plays this premise for laughs, sending up sexploitation cinema by way of George Romero. It's a big goof being made at horror's expense, yet it remains more respectful than Twilight and its many unintentional titters. While there's some reliance on reference jokes and riffs on zombie lore, it's never overdone. Similarly, there's not a teen stereotype the script doesn't address, but it's all done in the good name of satire.

But with so much sustained lunacy taking place, viewers might end up feeling like the walking dead themselves. After its off-the-wall introduction, Night of the Living Dorks started buying into all those conventions it was just giving atomic wedgies to five scenes prior. All its good will and offbeat charm vanish under a glut of derivative gags. Sure, it's funny when the guys start shedding appendages at inopportune times, but rehash the bit twenty times over, and you'll beg the film to make with the credits already. Though the three leads perform just fine (with support from Collien Fernandes as a cutie pie Goth girl), the constant potty humor makes it hard to accept their characters with even a fraction of the seriousnessness the story requests.

Night of the Living Dorks will do the trick for an evening with (preferably) inebriated amigos (switch over to the dubbed version for maximum laughter). But its effect stops there, for if you set the film in front of seasoned horror buffs, you'll get more complacent shrugs than guffaws.

October Horror-thon #27: "The Burrowers" (2008)

2009-10-27T23:54:00.003-05:00

The Dakota Territories, 1879. 'Tis the perfect setting for a Louis L'Amour saga, though The Burrowers proceeds to spin a more terrifying tome. Irish immigrant Coffey (Karl Geary) has come to his sweetheart's home to propose marriage, only to find the place ransacked and his beloved missing. Assuming that she and her family were taken hostage by Indians, Coffey joins a rescue party in hopes of seeing her home safely. But the further the hunt continues, the more some of the men start believing that the true culprits aren't all that human. Right they are, for what Coffey and company are dealing with is a far more ancient menace, one driven underground by Manifest Destiny and forced to turn towards man to sate its hunger.

Director J.T. Petty is a master at taking cool concepts for low-budget thrillers and stamping out any signs of life. First came Soft for Digging, a dull dalliance into David Lynch's table scraps. Next came Mimic 3, a sequel with a clever bent undone by the script's sheer inanity. Now we have The Burrowers, a step up from the former two in how one hammer to the groin is preferable to two. Again, Petty presents an alluring premise: pretty much do what Predator did, but in the Old West. Sounds ridiculous enough to have fun with, except Petty leaves out a key ingredient: fun. So preoccupied is the film with keeping up appearances, of suckering viewers with the promise of a traditional Western, it sort of forgets about the Civil War-era C.H.U.D.s running amok.

The more serious tone is a nice thought, but it wears thin when maintained for so long by a script that's nowhere near up to the task. The acting is alright enough (any film starring Clancy "Mr. Krabs" Brown as a gunslinger gets an instant gold star), but the story assigns most characters a single emotion and puts it on a 90-minute loop. No real insight is gained beyond Coffey wanting to see his girlfriend or some kid trying to prove his manhood, et cetera. Plus, the pacing is so downbeat that when the title creatures are revealed, you really could care less. Besides, the effects are incredibly wonky, so all the build-up for what ends up resembling H.R. Giger's fingerpaints really isn't up to snuff.

With its languid pacing and adherence to cliche, The Burrowers is as lethargic as horror flicks get. It's less of a film and more of a test, prodding you with patches of inactivity and tangential subplots to see how long your investment in the story will last before you retreat into the sunset.

October Horror-thon #26: "Dead Snow" (2009)

2009-10-26T23:33:00.001-05:00

As countless clodhoppers have before them, the youthful stars of Dead Snow embark on an innocent holiday that gets really ugly, really fast. Some randy lads and their fetching dates head to a cozy mountain getaway for some drinking, snowmobiling, and anything else they can think of to pad out the running time. The kids run into a passing stranger, whose ramblings of a great evil in the area they attribute to Crazy Ralph Syndrome. But are they in for a surprise when none other than Nazi zombies rise from the snow and commence a blitzkrieg of the dead. With little else to fight back with, the group must use knowledge gleaned from a lifetime of watching horror movies in order to survive a predicament torn from the pages of a Troma script.

I hate spending half of my horror reviews denouncing the genre for being gimmicky. It's great when any film, not just horror, embraces something special to flag down potential viewers, but not when its core remains resolutely tame. Dead Snow was obviously made by people who grew up watching scary movies and meant this as a means of tribute. But despite an increase in technical competence, there's not enough ingenuity to help them surpass the very flicks they're riffing. Is the idea of teens doing battle with undead SS officers unique? You bet your exposed innards it is, though what's the use when it's just another zombie flick underneath?

Brains splatter, limbs are severed, and corpses get blown asunder, all of which could have been encompassed by a knowing satire. Yet director Tommy Wirkola insists that much of the film be taken at face value; films about flesh-eating Gestapo are many things, but "serious" should not be at the top of the list. There are some terrific examples of dark comedy, as when one kid hangs precariously off a cliff by a Nazi's unraveled intestines. It's hard not to chuckle at moments like these, but it is easy to lament how infrequently they appear. That Wirkola pulls off some great photography and impressive special effects on a budget less than Megan Fox's monthly Ego Cream order is beside the point. It's all still sub-par zombietainment, with a few token references a la Scream and enough energy to summon one stereotype (the movie geek) before flat-out giving up.

Dead Snow has been hanging ten on a wave of hype for some time now, but I just don't get it. Perhaps I'm horror's version of some old geezer who listens to Gershwin albums whenever I'm not requesting those damn kids vacate my lawn. But a missed opportunity is a missed opportunity, and for Dead Snow to render Nazi zombies boring is to fail in a way only future historians will be able to understand.

October Horror-thon #25: "Night Monster" (1942)

2009-10-25T22:39:00.008-05:00

Welcome to Ingston Towers, home of the looniest tunes to ever grace a Universal production. Patriarch Kurt (Ralph Morgan) is confined to a wheelchair, his sister (Fay Helm) thinks she's going insane, and a would-be swami (Nils Asther) has made himself at home. It's to this funny farm that Kurt summons a trio of doctors he plans to astound with a medical breakthrough. Our friend the yogist has apparently taught him how to repair human organs and tissue using nothing but his mind. But while the doctors dispute this fantastic claim, something strange has taken to prowling the Ingston estate at night, an evil force introducing those who cross its path to an early grave.

It's safe to say that Universal had its fair share of corny fright flicks. They can't all be classics, so it's only natural that the occasional oddity turn up. But none have been as downright puzzling as Night Monster, an unassuming mystery that plays like The Old Dark House by way of David Lynch. Disorientation is key, as viewers are launched into what feels like a story already in progress; you'll swear there's 20 extra minutes floating around somewhere. The film also has a habit of jumping from character to character, each one loopy enough to star in their own B-vehicle. Eventually, Night Monster settles down a bit and adopts a traditional whodunit format, though once the initial, "What the hell?" shock has passed, it turns out to be a pretty by-the-books picture.

For one, Night Monster sure makes the story a breeze to figure out. Without giving too much away, there's one moment fairly early on where if it seems like the movie's telling you exactly what's going to happen, it is. Plus, this "revelation" really does test one's commitment to the fantastic. We've come to accept the walking dead and all sorts of supernatural boogeymen over the years, but Night Monster doesn't play its cards well enough for audiences to buy into its baloney. Other than that, it's a decent enough spook show, with an entertaining turn from Morgan as the crippled Mr. Ingston. Even Bela Lugosi puts in an appearance as the obligatory butler, a glorified cameo that nevertheless highlights one of the more lucid moments of his career.

Night Monster may bat for Universal's bush leagues (outdone even by obscure fare like Captive Wild Woman), but it makes for an all-around quirky watch. As fleetingly unconventional as it is, such nuttiness does stir things up and add a little flavor to this silly cinematic stew.

October Horror-thon #24: "Mothra" (1961)

2009-10-24T23:11:00.007-05:00

Our story begins with a familiar kaiju scenario: a ship amidst troubled waters. All hands are feared lost, until survivors are discovered on an island deemed uninhabitable due to radiation. Naturally, an expedition is in order, but no one could have imagined they'd find a pair of fairies (Emi and Yumi Ito) who don't take too kindly to invaders. Unfortunately, the miniscule beauties are a prime target for Nelson (Jerry Ito), a scheming fortune hunter hoping to hawk the girls as a singing act. But it helps to have a monster on your side, which the twins possess in the form of the mighty Mothra. She may not seem like much in larval form, but when she blooms into a winged beast, there's no stopping her from rescuing her friends and leaving a trail of destruction in the process.

Though she's best known as one of Godzilla's silliest but most spirited opponents, Mothra didn't always pally up with the great green one. She actually flew solo in her eponymous 1961 debut, helmed by monster maestro Ishiro Honda. What sets Mothra apart from other kaiju epics of the time is that she was designed for the role of hero. Godzilla got there eventually, but Mothra was a good guy from the start; the only reason she turns Japan upside down is because some licentious lech is holding her pals hostage. I appreciated how Honda established her bottom line from the start and didn't play hot potato with her morals, but, perhaps as a result, Mothra finds itself lacking in thrills to an almost suspect degree.

When Godzilla made Tokyo into his own private rumpus room, each demolished bridge and toppled skyscraper felt like a little event onto itself. When Mothra (as both worm and butterfly on a creatine binge) steps up to bat, the results are really boring. It's not that she can't function without Godzilla to tag team with, but events take forever to unfold and are rarely worth the wait. The experience is much like that of Rodan; though not as godawfully dull, but you do spend a lot of time watching someone in a suit crushing stuff you have no personal investment in. Perhaps things could have been saved if the story were worked into a reputable shape. As is, it sort of feels like a retooled King Kong, only with Jerry Ito as a villain so one-dimensionally evil, he tries stealing an old guy's cane at one point for no discernable reason. He's just evil, dammit.

Masses need not cower in fear of Mothra; it's too easygoing an adventure to deliver the thrills monster fans will be craving. I suppose it's worth watching to see where Mothra got started, but believe me when I say that there are greener pastures than this that she's moved on to.

October Horror-thon #23: "Saw VI" (2009)

2009-10-23T23:12:00.004-05:00

When viewers last gazed upon the dingy, dirt-encrusted visage of the Saw franchise, Detective Hoffman (Costas Mandylor) secured his status as heir to the late John Kramer (Tobin Bell), alias Jigsaw. After dispatching the final witness to his madness, Hoffman is free to continue Jigsaw's legacy with the most devious and personal game yet. The key figure this time is William (Peter Outerbridge), a health care rep notorious for intensely scrutinizing claims. But after years of indirectly choosing who dies and who lives, William is about to taste his own medicine via a series of gruesome trials, a la Jigsaw. However, Hoffman isn't out of the woods yet, for the authorities are onto his deadly double life, forcing him to cover his tracks long enough to see the latest game through.

Saw VI is the latest chapter in a story that should have ended three movies in. The series began with a brain, but that made it hurt double so as it descended into redundancy. But in its defense, Saw VI has more in mind than existing for its own sake. In connecting its central themes to the hot-button issue of health care, the film brings more relevance to the franchise than it's seen in ages. The undertones are a thin beef, a rejiggered take on the standard Jigsaw philosophy, but just enough is tinkered with so as to perk things up for those who've followed the madman's tangled web since day one. It's interesting to see William, someone who decides the fates of others for a living, endure the traps, which often have him faced with being able to spare only one's life over another, laying the groundwork for a wry nugget of commentary.

But most won't some to see Saw VI whip out ye olde soapbox, which is why it comes with plenty of grue to spare. The change in villain comes with even more twisted logic; it's not so much a matter of if someone dies but who, as someone's guaranteed to bite the big one no matter what. It's not as suspenseful, sure, but the film makes up for it with traps that earn their shocks without being needlessly complex (including one meant to leave its victims breathless in more ways than one). Tobin Bell keeps the Jigsaw mystique alive even in flashbacks, providing a bit of insight into how he became one of horror's heaviest hitters. I dare not spoil other figures who drift in and out of the picture, but I will say that there's enough commitment to story and character so as not to feel self-indulgent (or not as much compared to the last two films).

Do I miss the modesty of the first Saw movies? As ironic as the notion sounds, I do. I miss the rush I felt seeing the original for the first time, as I now dread how the series will try to extend its expiration date. It's a hesitant recommendation , but I must say that Saw VI was a fulfilling enough excursion back to the franchise's roots, one that, as brief as it was, gave me hope that Jigsaw would soon receive a long-overdue burial.

(Full review coming soon!)

October Horror-thon #22: "Tower of London" (1939)

2009-10-22T19:22:00.004-05:00

It's the 15th century in jolly ol' England, and the air is thick with royal hullabaloo. King Edward IV (Ian Hunter) has snatched the throne away from the delusional Henry VI (Miles Mander), but further treachery still brews behind the scenes. Richard, Duke of Gloucester (Basil Rathbone), has his eyes on the kingdom and will resort to the most lowdown methods possible to seize control. With the assistance of sadistic executioner Mord (Boris Karloff), Richard has gruesome fates in store for those next in line, including his own brother, the Duke of Clarence (Vincent Price). But as Richard moves closer to the crown, an exiled subject (John Sutton) plots in secret to end the tyrant's reign before it begins.

Right about now, you're probably interested in where the whole horror aspect figures into Tower of London. Truth be told, I'm still trying to figure that out, too. All things considered, it's a solid film, but it doesn't quite fit into Universal's thriller pantheon. I'm guessing Karloff's presence played a big part in its categorization, not to mention his character's knack for enjoying his job a little too much. Plus, Rathbone's Richard is one ruthless mofo, knocking off potential successors by way of everything from stabbing to drowning in a vat of mine. But Universal played up the historical horror angle more so in films like The Black Castle and The Strange Door. Tower of London has nary a hint of exploitation to its name, although the story's constant backstabbing and shifting alliances do allow for ample intrigue.

In any case, pound for pound, Tower of London has one of the best casts in any Universal chiller. Of course, there's Karloff, suitably menacing as club-footed madman Mord, but other familiar faces put in an equally good show. Rathbone appeared in just a few horror flicks (spending most of his Universal tenure as Sherlock Holmes), but he turns in a pitch-perfect performance here. He plays Richard as a perfect schemer, a man charismatic enough to mask how he's practically snarling beneath the surface. The film's meat stems from just how low he'll go to claim the throne, reaching a fever pitch when he targets his young nephews for assassination. No stranger to horror himself, Price also shows up in a role that's brief but impressionable, thanks to a memorable scene in which he engages in a deadly drinking game with Richard. The remainder of the cast is fine enough, though their basic medieval material is greatly overshadowed by Richard's homicidal goings-on.

Tower of London suffers a few kinks in the armor (some rushed editing, battle sequences on par with Ren Faire re-enactments, etc.), but it holds its own rather well. Though I wouldn't call it straight-out horror by a longshot, it does work such elements into the plot's costume drama structure with relative ease. Besides, any film that gets you to fear some of classic horror's most famous icons without pounds of make-up involved is aces in my book.

October Horror-thon #21: "Abbott and Costello Meet Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" (1953)

2009-10-21T13:27:00.005-05:00

In turn of the century England, Dr. Henry Jekyll (Boris Karloff) hopes to curb mankind's murderous instincts by way of medical experimentation. Unfortunately, in the process, he unleashes Mr. Hyde, a ghastly alter ego who's embarked on a citywide killing spree. But who better to take down one of literature's most terrifying characters than Bud Abbott and Lou Costello? Well, a lot of people are more qualified, but that doesn't stop the dynamic duo, as a pair of bumbling American cops, from setting out to nab Hyde themselves. But with a lab full of diabolical potions and a hulking assistant at his disposal, Jekyll has more than enough firepower to stop the boys in blue from ruining his plans to woo his young ward (Helen Westcott).

Universal Studios had a huge horror roster to its name, but the one property it never staked was Robert Louis Stevenson's "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." That is, unless you count this pow-wow with the masters of schlock treatment themselves, Abbott and Costello. This picture came after the guys already tangled with the Frankenstein monster and before their rendezvous with the Mummy. It also arrived near the end of their cinematic career, which is all too evident from how often the script's joke well runs dry. Abbott and Costello were corny from the start, but they're just scraping the bottom of the barrel here. This was a chance for Universal to have fun at its own expense, and it wastes its time having Lou trip his way from set to set, while Bud shakes his head in shame.

Granted, the humor is innocent enough and nowhere near as campy as other Universal thrillers that tried being serious. But the schtick does get old fast, and you wonder why they didn't just make a straightforward horror flick instead. It already has a solid production design, boasting sets and atmosphere that'd be right at home in a traditional tale of terror. But it all goes to pot when you first glimpse at the absolutely unacceptable make-up effects. Hyde is bad enough, looking much like a melted caveman, but there's a curious mouse transformation about halfway through that's a few steps below just buying a Halloween mask from the drug store. I really expected more from Bud Westmore, who helped design the Black Lagoon's Gill Man but whose work here is reminiscent of a five-year-old's first day at make-up school.

The only thing that Abbott and Costello Meet Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde has going for it is its third-billed star, my boy Boris Karloff. Though Hyde duties were reportedly assumed by a stuntman, it's interesting to see Karloff play Jekyll as equally evil as his other half. It's a unique twist on the character deserving of a much better film, and though it adds a little juice to one of A&C's last screen adventures, it's far from a gut-busting monster mash.

October Horror-thon #20: "Evil" (2005)

2009-10-20T23:51:00.005-05:00

Whilst toiling on a construction site, a trio of workers uncover a mysterious cave deep in the earth. After heading down to explore, the men are attacked by an unseen entity, only to emerge with no memory of the incident. But as they return to their mundane lives, it's clear that something has effected the men for the worse. Almost at once, these guys turn from ordinary citizens into rabid zombies, quickly tearing through innocent bystanders in a frantic urge to feed. Mobs of the infected congregate in no time, leaving a requisite band of survivors to fight back. From a wiseass cab driver (Argiris Thanasoulas) to the token badass (Meletis Georgiadis), the group teams up to find some way out of the city, before the living dead consume them all.

If you're like me, then the closest you'll ever get to Greece's picturesque shores is if you're roped into a Mamma Mia! screening. And if you're like me, you've thought the landscape could do with a few mutilated corpses strewn about. In that case, you're in luck, as Greece has retired from providing wacky families for ethnic comedies to create its first zombie romp, Evil. Unfortunately, this bizarre distinction is the film's sole novelty, one that wears off lickety-split. The set-up is textbook stuff: ragtag troupe of quirky archetypes deal as much damage to the undead as the effects budget will allow. But as derivative as Evil gets, to its credit, there is a sense of fun at work. The opening moments are especially sardonic and silly, as when the aforementioned cabbie mistakes a zombie mob for rowdy sports hooligans.

The zombies themselves are standard issue, though Evil makes up for it with some very ambitious splatter sequences. Bodies are halved, heads explode, and one grisly moment takes the term "gut-wrenching" to a new level. But while the filmmakers have an eye for gore, they're not the sharpest of storytellers. Evil possesses little plot to begin with, but what's left resembles random images whipped into a Romeroesque shape. The cast seems lost when required to act beyond their respective stereotypes, while the editing suffers even worse. The film regurgitates more arbitrary jump cuts and split-screen effects than an epileptic Michael Bay, culminating in an ending so anticlimactic, you'll swear the editor keeled over in post-production.

Evil kills time well enough (though not without a few dull patches encountered), but its commitment to zombie basics is its downfall. Without a couple unique traits, what's there to distinguish your film from those of every budding director nudging their foot into show business the easiest way possible? Evil is serviceable, but there's little meat to be found on this ditty's bones.

October Horror-thon #19: "Grace" (2009)

2009-10-19T22:11:00.006-05:00

The Mathesons, Madeline (Jordan Ladd) and Michael (Stephen Park), are one of many countless couples looking forward to bringing a bundle of joy into the world. But tragedy strikes their fledgling family after a car accident claims Michael's life, as well as her unborn daughter's. Madeline chooses to carry her child to term regardless, whereupon little Grace is found to be alive and well -- at first. After a while, Grace begins adopting some peculiar traits, from losing her hair to attracting an alarming amount of flies. It's not until the wee one starts developing a taste for blood that Madeline realizes she has a little monster on her hands, putting the bonds of parenthood to the ultimate test.

Finally, after years of false starts and broken promises, we have a creepy kid movie worth getting riled up over. It's one thing to have cinematic bad seeds fully away of their homicidal tendencies, but what do you say when one is just doing what comes naturally? Grace poses a much more creepy query than something like The Children because it's dealing with a more profound deck. Of course, it's hard to picture your offspring as evil no matter what their age, but it's during infancy that the premise really strikes a chord. It's here that Grace trades in a B-movie mentality (which Larry Cohen fans will be sad to bid adieu) in favor of thought-provoking themes only a horror film could execute correctly.

I wouldn't go so far as to say the film is realistic (if my tyke started gnawing on flesh, I'd dash to a hospital no matter how committed a new-agey type I was), but Grace does deal with its subject matter in a way both intriguing and very unsettling. It's part character study and part exploitation flick, with the former's commitment to emotions keeping the latter's shocks restrained (and all the more effective). It's also fitting that there's no "good vs. evil" scenario forced into the story; Madeline's controlling mother-in-law (Gabrielle Rose) knows something's amiss with Grace, but she wants the baby for reasons that would be a field day for Freud. There's just one whacked-out situation and how the characters react to it, a match made in hell as disturbing as it is oddly touching.

Rather than try to jolt you with gore-laden shocks alone, Grace is sly enough to work some actual characterizations into the mix. The drama isn't as consistent as it could be, but writer/director Paul Solet's efforts here do show what happens when the genre is elevated beyond mere mindless violence. A sure-fire method of birth control, Grace is the rare sort of horror flick that really hits the heart.

October Horror-thon #18: "Blood: The Last Vampire" (2009)

2009-10-18T12:25:00.006-05:00

Legend tells of demons who've taken on human form to walk among us mortals. As their diet consists primarily of innocent blood, a society has been established to cut these creatures down whenever they get out of order. Saya (Gianna) is among their finest warriors, a girl of supernatural lineage who has a bone to pick with the grand demon poobah. But vengeance shall have to wait, for there are more pressing matters at hand. After a strange string of murders at a U.S. Air Force base in Japan, Saya goes undercover as a student to see what's up. But her first class has hardly ended before Saya ends up playing bodyguard to Alice (Allison Miller), the daughter of a general the demons seem to be gunning for. This gives our heroine her best shot yet at the justice she's been waiting centuries to exact, though doing so just may cost her what's left of her soul.

Japanese animation is something that live-action films can never duplicate in a million years, no matter how many studios think they can. It's to the credit of Blood: The Last Vampire that it doesn't go to the gut-bustingly awful lengths Dragonball Evolution did to ape the anime style. Based on a well-regarded work from earlier in the decade, Blood sets out as its own entity, a glitzy action flick with a little horror and a lot of panache. The trouble is that it's not terribly good at it, resulting in one surprisingly dull film. Just as the Onechanbara movie managed to make a bikini-clad babe killing zombies boring, thusly does Blood render its own premise. Saya trots around in a schoolgirl's outfit most of the time, but without any winks or nudges behind the choice, it gets to be like watching 90 minutes of pure fan service.

Blood certainly leaves itself plenty of opportunities to let loose and see how groovy it can get with the action sequences. But just as the film is trying to draw you into its own private world, something happens that'll have you bolting to reality. The effects are really terrible (with blood geysers that resemble grape jelly), the actors apparently graduated from Lee Strasberg's remedial class, and the plot just seems to be out for lunch. There isn't so much a story as there is an hour or so of seeing the film jump between subplots before abruptly cutting to a climax. Also, this tale's definition of a "vampire" is something I just can't put my finger on. Saya guzzles bottles of blood and is even called a vampire by the freakin' title, yet she turns out to have more in common with the demons than anything else; if reinvention's on your agenda, it helps if people know what in the hell you're reinventing.

Then again, Blood: The Last Vampire is still a more satisfying, vamp-centric experience than Twilight can imagine being. Look past the atrocious CG and ADD-afflicted story, then chances are you'll find a few good thrills here. If anything, Blood has me interested in checking the original anime out, though ultimately, the Internet is awash with even better chances to fulfill one's "kickass Asian heroine" fix.

October Horror-thon #17: "The Butcher" (2009)

2009-10-17T23:26:00.002-05:00

One of South Korea's most grisly exports, The Butcher wastes no time in getting right to the carnage. The picture concerns a quartet of unfortunate souls bound and gagged in an abandoned warehouse. They find themselves unwilling participants in the ultimate horror show, a snuff film starring a chainsaw-wielding psycho wearing a pig's head. After two fellow victims bite the dust, a husband and wife are next led to the slaughter, where the former is forced to choose between saving his spouse or his own skin. In the meantime, the film shifts between different cameras, one handled by a demented director and the other strapped to the husband's head, chronicling every grueling moment for the sake of some sicko's jollies.

I doubt those behind The Butcher knew how prophetic their inaugural image of a guy whizzing on a wall would be. After all, you spend the entire film witnessing what could have been a truly visceral experience letting potential run down its leg. The Butcher is the result of a current movement's efforts to bring horror back to basics, to focus on overall effect rather than heedless frills. It's a good idea on paper, but when director Kim Jin-won abandons all pretenses, he's left with a lot of wailing and bloodletting, with nothing to show for it but some sore throats and stained clothes.

Here is a film that might have been saved were it a satirical Trojan horse, condemning shock cinema by way of a work that appears to celebrate it. But if The Butcher possessed such ulterior motives, they were drowned out by Mr. Motel Hell up there and his peacemaker. I'll concede that the flick was effective at times, especially early on, when viewers have nothing but the distant roar of a chainsaw to base their fears on. The simple approach may be exactly what some fans are looking for, but color me crazy, I wanted more. I need a reason to invest myself in characters who go to hell and back other than them just being in the horrible situation they are. Otherwise, it gets dull watching the flick try to push your buttons and not care how disgusting it becomes in doing so.

Buyer beware, for The Butcher is a very intense flick. Even in the wake of Hostel and the Saw saga, there's some mighty disturbing imagery here. But beyond the nauseating effects work, The Butcher is a journey into boredom, complimented by more gratuitous cursing than a Rob Zombie movie. The flick represents Tartan Films' return to the Asia Extreme scene, but you're likely to find more fulfilling frights elsewhere in their library.

October Horror-thon #16: "Corridors of Blood" (1958)

2009-10-16T15:55:00.006-05:00

Pain and the knife are inseparable...

Such was the attitude of most medical professionals in 1840s England, at least according to Corridors of Blood. It was a time before anesthesia was introduced, when operations had to be performed quickly to avoid prolonging a patient's pain. But this approach doesn't sit well with Dr. Thomas Bolton (Boris Karloff), one of the country's top surgeons. Sickened by the cries of horror he hears on a daily basis, he decides to formulate a gas to numb one's senses. Bolton successfully creates a batch, only to develop an unfortunate addiction to the stuff. His experiments proceed to consume his life and destroy his career, to the point that he pairs up with a cryptic criminal (Christopher Lee) to perfect his concoction.

The way it usually went in cinema's golden age was that if you hit it big in horror, that's where you stayed. It's easier for genre actors to branch out these days, but you need only survey the careers of Karloff or Bela Lugosi to witness the side effects of being typecast. But bless his heart, Karloff made the best of it by delivering performances so uncommonly good, he was almost always the highlight of his vehicles. Corridors of Blood is no different, though it has the added bonus of a sound story to start with. It's more of a historical thriller than a fright fest, its disposition leaning more towards tragedy than delivering shocks. In fact, it's not unlike Karloff's own The Body Snatcher, in which roles are reversed, and Karloff brilliantly played a villain who specializes in conjuring corpses.

And just as with The Body Snatcher, Karloff really is the heart of this film. He's a man you can't take your eyes off of, whom you can't help but feel sorry for as good intentions lead him down a dark road (a theme repeated by countless misguided movie scientists of the time). The terrible lengths to which Bolton will go in the name of a noble cause generate more suspense than any traditionally lurid thrills. That said, director Robert Day really nails the film's mood, with just a few simple sets and a colorful population of supporting players. Lee stands out in particular, and it's no wonder why; he was just getting into Hammer's Dracula pictures at the time, and even in his low-key role here, he displays a chilling presence that the man still hasn't been able to shake.

Corridors of Blood does run out of things to do when the third act commences. It would've been better having taken a cue from some of Karloff's Universal outings, which ran a little more than 60 minutes and ended just when the dramatic payoff was at its most ripe. But Corridors of Blood still runs smoothly a great deal of the time, thanks in no small part to Karloff. The film is proof positive that not only was he a great horror actor, he was a terrific performer all-around, possessing the pathos to transform a simple tale of terror into a much more involving picture than it could've been.

October Horror-thon #15: "Pontypool" (2009)

2009-10-15T23:56:00.003-05:00

On the surface, Pontypool looks like your average, unsuspecting Canadian town. It's in this wintry burg that once-mighty shock jock Grant Mazzy (Stephen McHattie) has been condemned to announce school closings and rattle off obituaries. But what begins as a normal day at the office turns terrifying once reports seep in of mobs slowly gathering throughout the town. Information comes through in fragments, but from what Grant and his producer (Lisa Houle) can piece together, Pontypool has come under the grip of some form of hysteria. Respectable citizens have snapped and embarked on killing sprees, rampages that continue to worsen throughout the day. Holed up in his sound booth, Grant can only wait and try to find a way to defeat the madness, unaware of the surprising means through which it's spread.

I know I already dropped a Yahtzee Croshaw reference last week, but while watching Pontypool, my mind kept flashing back to the man's "Left 4 Dead" video. In it, he noted how a true zombie game is one in which you can replace the enemies with pretty much anything, and it'd still feel like a zombie game. Mood and suspense matter most, which is why Pontypool is more than the latest hyped-up horror story. There are indeed men gone mad roaming about (members of the current "zombie" generation), but mostly, Pontypool lets your imagination do the work. Set almost entirely within the confines of Grant's station, the flick gives you a few frantic phone calls and snippets of the news to construct your idea of the apocalypse taking place a few short miles away. It's a device that works incredibly well, ratcheting up the tension by keeping viewers as in the dark as the characters.

Pontypool's other ace is the method by which folks become raving lunatics to begin with. Some will know what it is going in, which doesn't ruin the experience, but I'll keep my lips sealed for the uninitiated. I will say that it's definitely a unique twist, one as perplexing as it is the foundation for some skillfully-executed social commentary. The story takes great pleasure in pitting journalistic integrity and getting one's facts straight against warning people when some serious shit is going down. The resulting fireworks make for quite a show, played out with nimble flair and able to keep the mind occupied when it's reeling from trying to comprehend some of the story's more murky specifics. McHattie (seen previously in Watchmen and the Jesse Stone movies) nails the perfect voice for Grant, a relic of a DJ who's seen better and more excitable days. It was a little hard buying some of his pseudo-spastic behavior as the film progressed, but he proves to be just gruff enough of an anti-hero to rally behind.

You don't often see movies with so little going on visually that feel so damn exciting. Pontypool supplies some blood in the third act, but these theatrics don't hold a candle to what it allows the viewer's mind to whip up on its own. It's a well-balanced and sharp addition to zombie cinema, and considering the fine company this genre's been keeping lately, that's as fine a compliment as I can pay.

October Horror-thon #14: "Tomie" (1999)

2009-10-14T19:31:00.002-05:00

Tsukiko (Mami Nakamura) is a young woman with some issues to work out. Following a traffic accident, our girl finds herself fighting to recover memories that her subconscious has given the heave-ho. But during her hypnotherapy sessions, Tsukiko comes to chant the name "Tomie," that of an old high school classmate. Little does she know that her former pal has returned to start a new life -- literally. A sullen young man discovers Tomie's detached noggin and raises her from scratch, watching her bloom into a beauty (played by Miho Kanno) all over again. But Tomie has unfinished business to square away, and with her ability to whip the men she meets into a violent frenzy, she's bent on righting the dark wrong that Tsukiko's blocked out.

Remember when the arrival of a new Asian horror title was a good thing? When films of atmospheric and thematic merit were released, rather than assembly-line thrillers that got as derivative as the American flicks they were supposed to better? Those were the days, when something like Tomie could come out and still be considered a little original. This hit theaters the same year as Memento Mori, the second and most daring chapter of Korea's Ghost School series. Both are unrelated and were put into production for different reasons, but each has a go at conveying adolescent angst with a supernatural touch. From the flashing lights and eerie synth-pop ballad that accompany the opening credits, you know something's amiss but are never sure of what. Even when some dude starts feeding yogurt to a head in a bag, you're at a loss -- until a cop (Tomorowo Taguchi) saunters in to spill Tomie's beans and obliterates the suspense in a heartbeat.

There's still some mystery surrounding Tomie's grand scheme, but it's not enough to make a full recovery. Tomie is a film plagued by whiny melodrama and sizable chunks of downtime. Too often does the pacing grind to an agonizingly slow crawl, and you can only wait until the movie stops playing "Guiding Light" long enough to let the plot do its thing. Still, where Tomie fails to hook you as a thriller, its commentary offers a little something for the mind to ingest. It's fun watching parallels form between heartless harlot Tomie and sweet little Tsukiko, who has some manipulative tendencies of her own. Both performances are solid, especially Kanno's; her face obscured most of the time, she does an amazing job of creeping you out without ever actually doing anything.

It's odd seeing Tomie defy its cheap exterior at certain moments, only to succumb to it during others. The film really could've used a second draft, one more shot at really doing justice to a rather clever premise. Maybe one of its many sequels remedies these issues, but it is nice knowing that Tomie thought enough to at least set out in the right direction.

October Horror-thon #13: "Autopsy" (2008)

2009-10-13T14:34:00.009-05:00

All Emily (Jessica Lowndes) and her friends wanted to do was party their pants off at Mardi Gras. But plans change after they accidentally run over a man and accompany him to the hospital he came from. While waiting to get bandaged up themselves, however, the pals begin to notice something peculiar about the place. The orderlies are a shifty lot, the head nurse (Jenette Goldstein) demands they all stay put, and the congenial Dr. Benway (Robert Patrick) has a few strange tests he'd like to run. Unless you slept through the last century in horror, you can probably deduce that the hospital's staff has anything but maintaining your health in mind. In fact, the good doctor plans to use the kids in helping a loved one defy death, a fate that Emily and company grow closer to suffering as the night wears on.

Let me tell you about Adam Gierasch, otherwise known as the luckiest bastard in horror. With writing partner Jace Anderson, Gierasch has turned out some of the genre's crummiest scripts, while inexplicably collaborating with its biggest talent (penning one Dario Argento film and three Tobe Hooper projects). But with Autopsy, the time has come for Gierasch to fly solo with his directorial debut. What exactly does he give viewers with his first time at bat? The sort of derivative slasher flick that might as well come in cereal boxes at this point. Seeing as how Autopsy is never outright awful, I was ready to slap it on the wrist and move onto the next movie with equal apathy towards its content.

The more it progressed, though, the more my mind wandered and began pondering why mediocrity like this gets rewarded. Sure, there's plenty of gore (including one whopper of a set piece), but is that the true measure of a horror flick? Shouldn't building up suspense and telling a tight story take precedence over nauseating your audience? Autopsy is a banal stalk-and-slash scenario you've seen countless times (complete with the obligatory set-up for a sequel I really hope never comes), which Gierasch can't even summon enough sense to execute with any style. In fact, with its premise of a mad doctor playing God, this story would've made a great Universal feature back in the day (and with one-eighth of the resources, to boot).

Autopsy gained some exposure as a selection for this year's After Dark Horrofest, but if released on its own, I doubt most folks would give it the time of day. I've seen flicks of a far worse overall quality than this (at least the acting here is somewhat competent) but hardly one that's as flat-out lazy. There's more to horror than just conjuring a batch of red dye and corn syrup, and with all the press he's been getting lately, let's hope Gierasch gets savvy to this pronto.

October Horror-thon #12: "Brutal Massacre: A Comedy" (2007)

2009-10-12T23:28:00.008-05:00

Harry Penderecki (David Naughton) is a warhorse of the horror genre. As the director of such titles as Bowel Movement and People Pesticide, he's established himself as a B-movie maestro, cranking out films on low and often no budgets at all. After a little breather from show business, Harry's ready to get back in the game with his latest picture, Brutal Massacre. As shooting commences, Harry assembles a crew that's stuck by through thick and thin, from his loyal assistant director (Brian O'Halloran) to a cinematographer (Gerry Bednob) with anger issues. But just as Harry's previous movies experienced their share of hiccups, so does Brutal Massacre. From rowdy locals to diminished funds, it seems the movie gods are using everything at their disposal to prevent Harry from finishing his work -- and judging from how the flick's shaping up, that might not be a bad thing.

Brutal Massacre: A Comedy is a movie that really wants to be liked. Made with great affection for horror while wise enough to acknowledge its shortcomings, this mockumentary-style farce (think Christopher Guest with a body count) aims to introduce viewers to independent filmmaking from the point of view of those on the front lines. Writer/director Stevan Mena (himself the director of indie slasher Malevolence) keeps his satire on an even keel, equally poking fun at showbiz blowhards and those filmmakers who take cutting costs a little too far.

But when parody is involved, execution is everything, which is where Brutal Massacre fails to find its footing. I'm not sure whether it was meant to reflect on the inexperienced actors who often find themselves in horror flicks, but much of the humor seems incredibly forced and obvious. But then how do you explain folks like O'Halloran and Evil Dead veteran Ellen Sandweiss, who nail their parts by playing them straight? I admire the intent, but seeing gags that aren't even that inventive telegraphed five scenes in advance wears thin fast. There are moments that indicate what a sharp and even tender ode to horror it could have been, but Mena all too often takes the easy way out and cover his tracks with a cameo.

Contained within Brutal Massacre: A Comedy are the ingredients to not just a great comedy but an all-around great film, too. If the right actors could've stopped mugging and winking at the audience every three seconds, they might have pulled together and brought the story's true potential to light. As it, Brutal Massacre parts with the occasional chuckle and nugget of insight, but the title of horror's version of Spinal Tap remains up for grabs.

October Horror-thon #11: "The Old Dark House" (1932)

2009-10-11T17:56:00.007-05:00

If you're searching for the haunted house formula at its most basic, look no further than The Old Dark House. It's on a particularly stormy evening that the Wavertons (Raymond Massey and Gloria Stuart) and their roguish amigo (Melvyn Douglas) find themselves in dire need of shelter. Luckily, the pals make their way to a foreboding mansion, home to the eccentric Horace Femm (Ernest Thesiger) and his religious fanatic sister Rebecca (Eva Moore). The reception they receive is chilly indeed, one that only grows more arctic after learning about the house's other residents. In addition to the Femms' disfigured butler Morgan (Boris Karloff), there's a brother who may or may not be mad locked up on the top floor. As more wayward travelers stop by, the group can only bide their time before dawn breaks and hope that neither the Femms nor their extended brood do them harm.

I can forgive older horror flicks for many things. The budgets weren't always there, and the acting often skewed overdramatic, but if a film's effect surpassed these hurdles, it made the success all the more savory. But one thing I can't overlook is a poorly-drawn story, in which case I must unfortunately call out The Old Dark House. It kills me to do so, especially as it's regarded as one of the finest early screen chillers. My gripes have nothing to do with the film's atmosphere, which really is spot-on. With darkness inhabiting virtually every frame, it's as if the characters have gone back in time, from modern society into an older world that constantly gazes upon them with judging eyes. Style is not one of the film's shortcomings, especially since director James Whale (Frankenstein) has fun playing with shadows and, consequently, the audience.

But looks are only part of the equation, and here, they can't conceal what proves to be a thematically hollow interior. Plain and simple, The Old Dark House has no story. There's a sizable collection of characters, but their actions qualify as little more than busywork. When asked to cough up something substantial for them to do, the script offers up a nervous shrug before bolting for the door. The story's been hailed for its gallows humor, but if it was there, I sure as hell never chuckled. I ended up watching most of the film through eyes half-closed out of sheer boredom; when it did finally grow a plot, it did so with 15 minutes left to go, hardly enough time to stir viewers from their slumbers. True suspense is already doled out in microscopic increments, but being spread as thinly as they are only dilutes what could've been a creepy masterpiece.

The Old Dark House is must-see viewing for classic horror buffs, if only for the sway it would come to hold over proceeding thrillers with the same idea in mind. But quite like its genre contemporary White Zombie, it's a film best seen muted; visually, it's a stirring piece of work, but try to put together a semblance of a story, you'll find yourself giving up the ghost pretty fast.

October Horror-thon #10: "The Omega Man" (1971)

2009-10-10T23:27:00.003-05:00

It takes a lot to get by as the last man on earth, but Robert Neville (Charlton Heston) is up to the task. Years after biological warfare brought civilization to a standstill, Neville believes himself to be humanity's sole survivor. His only neighbors are the Family, a cult of plague-stricken technophobes led by former newscaster Matthias (Anthony Zerbe), who converge and lay siege to his compound each nightfall. The Family gains the upper hand after capturing Neville one evening, until he's rescued by a band of fellow survivors. Though infected, they're still a long ways from turning, giving Neville hope that his own immune blood can be used to cure them. But Matthias refuses to back down just yet, preparing his minions for one last attack on our lad just as he's discovered the key to saving mankind.

The Omega Man is the second of three cinematic takes on Richard Matheson's novel "I Am Legend," and before the Will Smith version made obscene amounts of moolah, it was the best known. I'd also go so far as to say that it carries the most widespread appeal of the trio. It's no secret that most mainstream audiences prefer action to dawdling around, which makes Heston's gung-ho Neville an ideal hero. Vincent Price already covered the tortured scientist role in The Last Man on Earth, so why not give an ornery bastard of Heston's caliber a more active role in the apocalypse? Heston's macho zeal gives The Omega Man much of its cult appeal, though at the cost of what made the source material an instant classic. The curb-stomping the book's ironic ending receives is one thing, but I was even more surprised at how the film wasn't the least bit frightening. Atmosphere is boiled down to a meager handful of scenes in which Neville roams around abandoned city streets; while creepy, the impression these bits leave doesn't last long. The villains are also given a higher degree of intelligence, which sort of ruins their effectiveness. With Zerbe's Matthias prone to weary monologues about the downfall of man, the only thing you'll find yourself fearing is being talked to death.

I can see why so many dig The Omega Man, which, in its dated but enjoyably chintzy way, is a perfectly serviceable flick. But as someone for whom less usually is more, I have to ally myself with The Last Man on Earth. It made a more memorable and spooky film out of relatively few parts, and while The Omega Man is never overloaded with pyrotechnics, its disposition is too easygoing to tell as scary a story as it should have.

October Horror-thon #9: "Horror Island" (1941)

2009-10-09T23:41:00.004-05:00

Likable cad Bill Martin (Dick Foran) never met a get-rich-quick scheme he didn't like. The latest such plot comes to fruition after a chance encounter with a peg-legged sailor (Leo Carillo). With the seaman's half of a supposedly bogus treasure map, Bill cooks up an expedition on which to haul tourists in search of the booty. But little goes Bill's inaugural group know that real terrors await them at the castle said to be home to the legendary fortune. However, it's not spooks or spirits that await them but a flesh-and-blood menace known as the Phantom. This caped criminal is on the hunt for the treasure himself, and with an entire castle at his command, he's set on scaring the wits out of the competition -- that is, if some of their own don't beat him to the punch.

If false advertising were a crime, then Horror Island would be serving a life sentence. For a film with that title being part of Universal Studios' own horror-themed Classic Movie Archive collection, you'd think scares would be more abundant than they are. Horror Island is about as frightening as a "Scooby-Doo" episode, and it's structured pretty much the same way. For the first half of this hour-long feature, you don't even know you're watching what's supposed to be a thriller; everything's played for laughs, in that old-timey way that straddles the line separating "endearing" and "excrutiatingly campy." It's not until the characters actually reach the castle that any eerie goings-on take place, mostly thanks to our friend the Phantom. The flick's cornball disposition still reigns supreme, though it's a silliness that's easy to sit through and even a little enjoyable. But my biggest issue involves the film playing hot potato with the story for the last 15 minutes. It's nice that the filmmakers wanted to change things up, but it whips through too many subplots at too late a point in the game to amount to anything but confusing.

To its credit, Horror Island is far from a terrible watch, amusing in spurts and looking much better than similarly cheap fright farces of the time. It's also pretty kid-friendly, so before tossing little Junior into Dracula 101, this can serve as a simple intro to Universal's unique horror hovel. Horror Island is hard to hate, but it's easy to be let down by it.

October Horror-thon #8: "Dead Space: Downfall" (2008)

2009-10-08T23:40:00.003-05:00

They say in space, no one can hear you scream, but according to Dead Space: Downfall, there are plenty around to witness you getting ripped limb from limb. This prequel to the popular video game takes place deep in the cosmos, where a strange new discovery has been unearthed. On a barren mining colony, workers have stumbled upon a massive artifact of great significance to a religious order. The good ship Nishimura is summoned to haul the monolith back to earth, but this plan runs into a teensy snag -- and by snag, I mean abject horror. It seems that moving the artifact from its resting place has let loose a swarm of nasty creatures who kill their victims and transform them into monstrous shells of their former selves. The Nishimura is overrun in no time, leaving it up to security honcho Alissa Vincent (voice of Nikki Futterman) and a handful of comrades to quell the threat before it sets its sights on our world.

In the grand scheme of video game-based movies, Dead Space: Downfall seemed like little cause for worry. An animated and modestly-presented lead-in to its source title seemed managable, with few hang-ups to fret over and just enough time to pound out an effective atmosphere. But Dead Space: Downfall proves to be a veritable slave to its own limitations; not only does it give itself relatively little to do, it feels hesitant to make any sort of noticeable impression. The monsters offer some relief, being comprised of ghouls with assorted exposures to the ugly stick, but after a while, even their ghastly appearances wear thin. The main malfunction is that there's no rising tension; once the artifact is dug up, it's pretty much an endless firefight between the creatures and those humans with all their appendages intact. Rarely until its final and admittedly spooky final scene does the film evoke a real sense of fear. A blood bonanza holds court most of the time, giving gorehounds much to gnaw on (including a doomed crewman's memorable "splitting headache") but shortchanging those hoping for more substantial fare.

The question that accompanies every flick drawn from a video game is why pay to see someone else have the sort of fun you could have even more of in the comfort of your own home? Though it's an improved alternative to the Max Paynes and Hitmans of yet, its efforts to build a makeshift mythology for the source material yield lukewarm results at best. To borrow Ben "Yahtzee" Croshaw's own description of the game, Dead Space: Downfall is competent but bland, good for a thrill here and there but nothing consistently engaging.

October Horror-thon #7: "Night of the Living Dead" (1990)

2009-10-07T17:11:00.005-05:00

They're coming to get you, Barbara...

The chilling words that helped usher in Night of the Living Dead are also used to kick off the beginning of its 1990 remake. Ostensibly, the scenario is the same. The aforementioned Barbara (Patricia Tallman) and her obnoxious brother (Bill Moseley, who'd probably deck you for calling him obnoxious) are on their way to pay respects at their mother's gravesite. But when they arrive, they discover that a horror beyond all imagination has taken shape. The dead have begun rising from their graves and attacking the living, their victims themselves resurrecting and joining their numbers. Barbara manages to survive an encouter with one of the zombies, making her way to a farmhouse that a handful of survivors have chosen to take shelter in. But as the undead masses continue to grow outside, tensions rise inside, giving Barbara just as much reason to fear her fellow man along with the gathering ghouls.

As Star Trek did a rollicking job of proving this past summer, sometimes the best way to appreciate something you love is to go back to basics. By the time the '90s Night came along, George Romero's reputation as a maestro of the macabre had been well-established. There was no question as to how he impacted the modern zombie film, but as the Deads Dawn and Day continued to accumulate fans on the cult circuit, a little something was needed to remind Romero fans of their roots. Night of the Living Dead sets out thusly, as it's a very lean and scaled-down affair (a sharp contrast to the crazy-go-nuts free-for-all that is Zombieland). "But," you might ask, "why not just release the original movie instead of wasting peoples' time with an unnecessary remake?" Well, dear readers -- you're absolutely right. This Night of the Living Dead was driven not by the need to tell a story frightening on multiple levels but to exploit name recognition for a few quick bucks. Sure, the plot essentially parrots that of the original, but it only serves to enhance what an overall useless endeavor it is. Gone is the biting social commentary that made the '68 film stand out so much; in its place are screaming matches between increasingly irritating characters you can't wait to become zombie chow. There's no soul to this production, nothing to watch but the filmmakers going through whatever motions some exec beating the Living Dead horse for all its worth condemned them to.

For all this venom, though, there are still some aspects of the film I admired. The ambience is simple yet undeniably unnerving at times, Tony Todd excells as Mark II of the heroic Ben character, and I thanked the heavens that Tallman transformed Barbara from a daft dame into a take-charge heroine Sigourney Weaver would be proud of. All in all, Night of the Living Dead is an okay movie with okay moments, but its hopes of attaining the original's greatness are better left buried six feet under.

October Horror-thon #6: "The Children" (2009)

2009-10-06T23:00:00.004-05:00

It's Christmas time, and teenaged Casey (Hannah Tointon) is none too pleased to be spending the holidays with her family in a secluded country cabin. But while her relatives dote on their rambunctious kids, Casey notices something strange developing amongst the little tykes. A bug one brings with them is quickly passed onto the others, rendering them distant and emotionally irritable. But what begins as a couple of temper tantrums turns deadly in a heartbeat, as the kids become extremely violent and wage a campaign of terror against the adults. Casey knows that the wee ones she once loved are long gone, but the parents aren't so eager to accept that their offspring have morphed into the spawn of Satan.

Looking to add some zest to your horror movie? Itching to herd a few more butts into the multiplex? Then make a kid the bad guy. People have been going nuts for evil youngsters from The Bad Seed to as recently as Orphan; it's so irresistible a plot twist that you wonder why Bond hasn't battled a megalomaniacal fifth-grader by now. But the downside with this easy-peasy approach is just that: it's too cheap. Unless you know what you're doing, homicidal children tend to join cults as some of the most arbitrary villains in film history. The Children is content to deem its titular characters demonic and leave it at that; they're just evil, dammit, and you're gonna buy it. The idea is to put viewers in the position of having to fend off your own kin, to see something so innocent as a child transform into a veritable monster. Maybe it's just my inherent hatred of kids, but I despised this troupe of Damiens from the start. There's little to separate their early screeching with their later rampage, save for that there's more weaponry involved in the latter. It helps little that the adults are so incredibly dense; I know it's horrible to be faced with killing a family member, but when Junior's gunning for you with a razor, it's time to swing for the fences.

Needless to say, The Children doesn't measure up to the buzz that it accrued after being released in its native United Kingdom. Its angle will bring in a sizable audience for direct-to-DVD standards, but the turn of events is extremely repetitive, with the erratic editing making certain scenes damn near incomprehensible. Kudos for sporadically effective atmosphere and a very cute lead in Tointon, but the unsavory experience The Children provides is enough evidence to call for an indefinite time-out on the creepy kid genre.

October Horror-thon #5: "The Black Cat" (1941)

2009-10-05T13:23:00.004-05:00

Rich old crone Henrietta Winslow (Cecilia Loftus) is on her deathbed, which means her nearest (and not so dearest) relatives have come out of the woodwork in search of a handout. But while Henrietta already has one foot in the grave, someone wants to ensure she completes the journey. After stipulating that no one will see a cent until she and her many cats have passed on, Henrietta dies in what her money-grubbing kin are glad to accept as an accident. But family friend Gil Smith (Broderick Crawford) deduces foul play, that greed got the best of someone who just couldn't wait. The trouble is that he's the only one who thinks a murderer is among them, forcing him to confront various spooky goings-on to prove his suspicions.

Long before Roger Corman made a mint with The Pit and the Pendulum, Universal Studios padded its own horror library with the works of Edgar Allan Poe. The Black Cat came as the trend was winding down, with more focus set on developing monster properties, and it has even less to do with the Poe story than Universal's other film of the same name from seven years prior. In fact, The Black Cat has a great deal in common with The Cat and the Canary, which the studio itself adapted in the '20s. It's a comedic mystery more than a straight-out chiller, a clever idea until you consider Universal's track record with blending humor and horror. More often than not, you got something like The Invisible Woman, a painfully campy blemish on an almost sterling genre catalogue. The Black Cat never gets that silly, but its jokes aren't always on the ball. Most of the film feels like an aborted Abbott and Costello routine, especially where Hugh Herbert's bumbling antique dealer is concerned. The story also gets lost in the shuffle; by the time the mystery is finally revealed, you're still trying to figure out how the movie made it there.

Still, The Black Cat had its share of endearing charms. Crawford did great work as the scaredy cat hero, there were some choice moments of dark humor, and, as with the best Universal thrillers, the production design was really top-notch. You're more liable to have a freaky good time with the studio's other Black Cat, but this one's worth a glance should it work its way onto Turner Classic Movies.

October Horror-thon #4: "100 Feet" (2009)

2009-10-04T22:38:00.008-05:00

Fresh from a stint in the clink after offing her nogoodnik husband in self defense, Marnie Watson (Famke Janssen) is moving onto a prison of another kind. She's sentenced to a year of house arrest, restricted to a mere 100-foot radius within her own home. But shortly after her term begins, strange events begin taking place at the Watson residence. A bloody stain on the wall has a habit of reappearing, objects seem to move by themselves, and Marnie herself is assaulted by an invisible presence. She quickly deduces that her dearly departed ex is still hanging around, his vengeful spirit determined to make her life a living nightmare. With the cops already working against her, Marnie has no one to depend on but herself as she prepares to rid her house of its ghostly occupant before her own life is lost.

100 Feet marks the first time horror veteran Eric Red has stepped behind the camera in over a decade. His genre efforts have been nothing short of schizophrenic, ranging from the legendary (Near Dark) to the conspicuously awful (Bad Moon). 100 Feet falls squarely in the middle, a mother lode of suspense that unfortunately goes largely untapped. The flick is at its best when you haven't the faintest about what's going on, whether Marnie is cuckoo bananas or if her ex really is back from beyond the grave. But like the ambitious but overblown Martyrs, 100 Feet is a story that plays its hand way too early. All of its secrets are on the table before the first act is finished, leaving the film with nothing to do but show Marnie getting clobbered over and over (set pieces from which she recovers at a rather suspect speed). Janssen's performance is pretty hit-and-miss (wounded and sympathetic one second, shrieking harpy the next), and even with a modest chunk of screen time, I wondered how the story would play out from the point-of-view of Bobby Cannavale's embittered lawman.

With a nifty premise made for the theatre and an overall impressive production design, I wouldn't call 100 Feet a total bust. There were certain scenes and aspects that I really enjoyed, though I wished they were part of a more consistently creepy film. 100 Feet will have its admirers, but a good portion of folks will spend more time staring at their watches than at the screen.

October Horror-thon #3: "Zombieland" (2009)

2009-10-03T23:08:00.009-05:00

The festivities of this latest addition to the "zom-com" market begin as mankind is in the thick of a worldwide zombie epidemic. After a couple months, most of the planet has become devoid of human life, aside from a handful of unlikely survivors. Our hero is Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg), a craven coward who's managed to elude consumption thanks to a strict set of rules. He eventually crosses paths with Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson), whose "take no prisoners" attitude has made him a bona fide zombie exterminator. The reluctant duo hits the road, where they encounter two sisters (Emma Stone and Abigail Breslin) whose chicanery hasn't been hampered by the living dead. Together, the foursome venture out to a fabled amusement park said to be a safe zone for humans, though with a nation full of the undead ahead of them, getting there is easier said than done.

Zombieland is the sort of horror movie that reckons if you can't be scary, you might as well be fun. Save for a few exceptions, the undead haven't inspired much fear since they shuffled en masse in Dawn of the Dead (the '70s version, for you whipper-snappers). So rather than hoist another by-the-numbers chiller upon moviegoers, the gleefully demented crew behind Zombieland have chosen to live it up a little. Vital to the film's success is its abilty to stay on the safe side of self-aware. A few too many winks and nudges to horror fans would've sunk it, but first-time director Ruben Fleischer keeps things afloat with little effort. He's right there joshing along with the audience, displaying a devil-may-care attitude that (thanks to its loads of heavy metal and gore galore) enables him to give viewers pretty much exactly what they want out of a flick like this. The economic characterizations help as well, with good turns from all four leads (who make up about 90% of the non-zombified cast).

Aside from some occasional stop-and-go pacing that gets a little taxing, Zombieland works pretty well. Though not as wry as its spiritual brother Shaun of the Dead, it shares a similar snarkiness that allows it to simultaneously lampoon and celebrate its roots. After a year of enduring bummer after bummer, I'm relieved to say that Zombieland gives those with a hunger for horror a reason to bolt to their nearest multiplex.

(Full review to follow soon!)

October Horror-thon #2: "Creepshow III" (2007)

2009-10-02T14:32:00.007-05:00

Even though George Romero and Stephen King are nowhere in sight, that hasn't stopped the bean counters at Taurus Entertainment from cashing in on their anthology classic Creepshow. The first of this unofficial sequel's vignettes sees a bratty teen swapping families and dimensions when her dad fiddles around with a universal remote. Next up, a security guard falls under the sinister spell of a talking radio snatched up from the street. The proceeding story features a psychopathic hooker having a close encounter of the undead kind when she cozies up to her latest victim. Two guys ponder whether their old professor's new wife is a robot in the penultimate tale, while things wrap up with a surly doctor hounded by the ghost of a bum he helped to the grave.

For all the bellyaching I do about sequels and Hollywood's lack of imagination at large, it must be said that most of them succeed at least in technical competence. Creepshow III doesn't even have that going for it; this is a glaring example of greed at work, as the Taurus folks are clearly banking more on fan familiarity with the Creepshow name than on actually making something good. There's actual potential here, especially with the radio story, which, though a little too long, is actually pretty solid. But nonexistent budget and hilariously awful actors aside, Creepshow III still has no clue what the hell it's doing. It tries to blend horror and gallows humor like the first two movies, but just slapping on a score more suitable for "Home Improvement" doesn't translate to chuckles. What it does result in, though, is as inept a work as has ever been shat into the laps of gorehounds everywhere, thanks also to excrutiating pacing and virtually no impact from the would-be scares.

Creepshow III is what people who've never seen a horror movie think all horror movies are like. It's crude, tactless, and not the slightest bit entertaining, even in an ironic sense. Save for the admirable radio story, not one of these tales is worth being told -- at least not in the oafish way they're conveyed here.

October Horror-thon #1: "Man Made Monster" (1941)

2009-10-01T15:18:00.011-05:00

(This review is the first in a series that will run throughout October. In addition to links to critiques and articles written for other venues, I will post one quick horror review every day for the entire month. Every day will see a new flick put under the microscope, so keep checking back!)

A nasty bus accident claims the lives of all its passengers, save for one: the jovial Dan McCormick (Lon Chaney Jr.). He survived the ordeal thanks to an immunity to electricity he puts to use in various carnival sideshows. The kindly Dr. Lawrence (Samuel S. Hinds) wishes to harness McCormick's gift to cure illnesses, but his associate Dr. Rigas (Lionel Atwill) has more deranged aspirations in mind. Through increased exposure to electricity, Rigas turns McCormick into a regular jolt junkie, a mindless monster dependent on power to live. The mad scientist's evil scheme reaches its apex when McCormick is sent to jail for murder, after which a trip to the chair unleashes the full force of his abilities.

For some, Universal's greatest run of horror began and ended in the 1930s. True, it's hard to top Dracula and Frankenstein, especially with the often ineffective sequels they were followed with. But the following decades weren't without a gem or two, of which Man Made Monster is among the most underrated. The story is basic fodder for the time, your standard cautionary tale about how technology will bite us all in the ass if abused enough. But what makes it all work is the unexpectedly touching performance from Chaney. Keep in mind, this was made before The Wolf Man, and he still had his famous father's reputation to live up to. But Chaney pulls off the sympathetic monster act wonderfully, faring well as both the energetic McCormick and the juiced-up abomination he becomes (even in a suit that has him resembling a rubberized Tin Man).

Once an obscurity only the most die-hard classic horror buffs possessed, Man Made Monster is now widely available in the rather groovy Universal Horror Classic Movie Archive set. While not as foreboding as others of the era, it's thematically sound and, at just an hour's length, a well-paced ride, one that'll do just the trick if you can't get enough Frankensteinian shenanigans.