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

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 #17: "Pumpkinhead II: Blood Wings"

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 #14: "Monster X Strikes Back: Attack the G8 Summit"

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.

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

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 #24: "Mothra" (1961)

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 #8: "Dead Space: Downfall" (2008)

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.