Thursday Guilty Pleasure: Week Four

We're back again with our penultimate edition of Thursday Guilty Pleasure. Yes, I know we missed Tuesday Too Scared to Watch it Twice this week, but October was a mondo busy month here in the Vault, what can I say? Anyway, just sit back, relax and enjoy the douche chills that are sure to ensue as you read all about some crummy movies that we really love. And incidentally, I'd like to go on the record as saying that not only do I enjoy both films selected this week, but I would go even further to say that House of 1,000 Corpses is a damn fine horror movie, so nuts to anyone who makes Missy feel bad for enjoying it.

TerrorVision (1986)

OK, If you really want to talk schlock--I mean, outright, absolute unapologetic crap that you can't help but love--then you can do no better than that mid 1980s gem which haunted the HBO airwaves during my youth. That's right, it's TerrorVision.

I cannot possibly describe how bizarre my love affair with this film is. The amount of affection I have for it is pretty much inversely proportional to how much it deserves that affection. Simply put, this is a really bad movie. And I've adored it for a quarter of a century.

Think E.T., only as a horrendous, campy horror comedy in which E.T. eats people. The special effects are at about the level of Hardware Wars, the comedic level of the acting is broader than the side of a barn, and then there's that theme song that bores its way into your brain stem and doesn't let go. "Terr-or-Vision!!"

I distinctly remember enjoying this movie so much, I would watch it each time HBO would air it, if I happened to be home. And once its cable TV run ended, I moved on to the neighborhood video store, so I could rent and enjoy it some more. And of course, back then, as with most horror comedies, I completely missed all the humor and irony, and found myself terrified of this ridiculous-looking creature swallowing people left and right.

The concept of a carnivorous alien pest transported to Earth via satellite TV is really one that needed exploration, so thank God that TerrorVision came along to fulfill that role. The level of absurdity is utterly infectious, and I make no excuses for loving this film the way I do. It's pure garbage. I'll take a nice, steaming, stinky helping, please. Thank you.



And now, on to Missy's infatuation with Rob Zombie's first foray into the horror biz...

House of 1,000 Corpses (2003)

This week is the first time in the series that I have actually been ashamed of my film choice. I mean, isn’t there some alliance among horror fans to universally hate Rob Zombie? Weren’t we planning to tar and feather him next weekend?

But here I sit before you about to tell you that I have a weird and totally incomprehensible affection for his first film, House of 1000 Corpses. Yes, I know it makes no sense. Yes, I know it is the most derivative film ever made. Yes, I know it is criminally awful. And yes, I am very irritated by the fact that there are not 1000 corpses in the movie, but I just can’t help it. Whenever I sit down to watch it, damned if I don’t have one good ole time.

As I said, the movie makes no effing sense. And I don’t mean that in that glorious Fulci way. I mean, from start to finish, there is just no logic to the movie. Besides, everyone knows that The Devil’s Rejects is the superior film—what with that “Tooty Fucking Fruity” scene and all. But every time I put the DVD in, and I see Karen Black, I just get all schoolgirl giddy. There is nothing that makes me happier on a rainy day than watching that woman’s eyes roll about in her head. And inevitably, I am drawn to watch Burnt Offerings by the time it’s over.

While it might be an unpopular opinion, I have also grown to like Sheri Moon Zombie. Whatever you might say about her, she commits to each project. And she really knows how to irritate the shit out of you. And when she teams up with Karen Black, the two manage to take the exceedingly dreadful material and make it surprisingly funny. There is nothing like watching a duo of dynamic women take an atrociously bad script and turn into something worth watching.

Say what you will about the plot, but visually, the film is impressive. It’s the pastiche-ness of the whole affair that makes it unbearable, and while I can understand that most viewers would not be able to look past that, I have spent my life wading through all the feces the horror genre has to offer, and this one just barely manages to save itself from the scrap heap by going almost Argento in its color scheme.

Zombie has… oh, I am loathe to use this word… crafted a film that combines its senselessness with its gorgeous colors and becomes somehow magical. It’s one of those experiences that only fits on a turn-your-brain-off Saturday. We all know we have that desire to watch a film that is for nothing more than downing popcorn and dozing off before the end credits. For me, House of 1000 Corpses fits the bill perfectly.

Retro Review: The Cat and the Canary (1927)

I recently had the opportunity to truly step back in time and take in a piece of horror history--even film history, for that matter. Universal's The Cat and the Canary is truly an underrated marvel, and an influential piece of work that you owe it to yourself to see, if you haven't. Especially if you're someone who enjoys films like Nosferatu, Lon Chaney's The Phantom of the Opera, and Barrymore's Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde (and really, if you're not, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be surfing Texts from Last Night or something?)

It gives one pause to think that not a single member of the cast and credited crew of The Cat and the Canary is still alive. This contributes to giving the film the feel of a genuine relic of a bygone age. This is a motion picture made literally a lifetime ago, and this only adds to the rich, thick atmosphere already layered upon it by the deft direction of the German-born Paul Leni (who would do The Man Who Laughs for Universal the following year), and especially the camera work of cinematographer Gilbert Warrenton.

I say "especially", because one of the things that most recommends The Cat and the Canary is the endlessly fascinating cinematography. During a time when film-makers were still discovering their art, and learning how to use the new medium to its fullest advantage, The Cat and the Canary emerges as a lot more than simply a filmed play--which technically it was, since it was based on the very successful early 1920s stage production by John Willard. The movement of the camera is brilliant, vibrant and only further enhanced by the expert use of tinted color film stock.

In fact, in order to fully appreciate the film with the colors in place, I'd recommend the excellent Kino DVD edition of the film, since many public domain prints of silent movies don't include them. The Kino edition also replicates the original score, as composed by Hugo Reisenfeld. Yes, for those who don't know, many silent films had specifically composed scores, written to be played lived when the film was shown.

While the epitome of the classic "old, dark house" horror movie trope, The Cat and the Canary also typifies the manner in which American horror cinema was not yet ready to embrace the supernatural--that would come just a couple years later with Tod Browning's Dracula. This is more of a murder mystery than anything else, but it is so stylized and has such delicious ambiance, that it crosses confidently over into terror territory.

Yet there's also comedy, and plenty of it. The whodunit-style cast is populated by actors and actresses who defy the very unfair stereotype of the silent film actor, emoting both broadly when needed, and subtlely when the moment calls for it. The intoxicating ingenue Laura La Plante is our put-upon protagonist Annabelle West; Creighton Hale nearly steals the proceedings as her cousin Paul, bringing an irresistible pathos and comic presence to the role; Flora Finch is the stuffy Aunt Susan; Martha Mattox plays the inappropriately named Mammy Pleasant. It's an ensemble cast that comes alive on screen in a way that may surprise those not so well acquainted with silent cinema.

Yes, the storyline, with all its twists and turns, is the stuff of genre cliche. But the thing to note here, is that these devices were already cliche in 1927. The fun of the movie is the way it plays with them, the way it takes all the ingredients we're familiar with, and can still dazzle us with something unique. It's a visually beautiful film, which is only enriched by the intervening 83 years, allowing it to be further appreciated as a snapshot of a time and place in genre film history.

The Cat and the Canary is an important film. I'm extremely glad I stumbled across it and gave it a chance. And I strongly encourage you to do the same.

Retro Review: City of the Living Dead (1980)

Allow me to make something perfectly clear: I have a soft spot in my heart a mile wide for the work of Lucio Fulci. Especially Zombi 2 and his unofficial "Gates of Hell trilogy". So when Stacie Ponder of Final Girl announced that the next edition of her ever-popular Final Girl Film Club would be setting its sights on Fulci's City of the Living Dead, there was no way I wasn't going to be a part of it. Hell, I'll take any excuse to immerse myself in the bizarre, bleak, gauche and gore-drenched ouvre of Fulci.

This particular one, I have a long history with. Well, this one and Zombi 2, actually. See folks, I'm a child of the video store era, and I came to love horror movies thanks to browsing the racks at the local mom-and-pop rental store. For years, Fulci was the forbidden fruit for me. There were certain horror movies I was allowed to rent, and his most certainly were not among them.

But there were those massive VHS boxes, beckoning to me. The Zombi 2 box with the infamous tagline "We Are Going to Eat You!" and that worm-filled, buck-toothed face of the conquistador zombie. And then, of course there was City of the Living Dead--or as I knew it back then, The Gates of Hell. I will never forget the ghastly image of that green, one-eyed zombie face hovering above that city skyline. Add to that the ostentatious warning on the front about the film's extreme content, and the sordid plot synopsis on the back about suicidal priests and roving undead, and it was pretty much a total package that a 12-year-old video store browser is not likely to forget.

It would be years before I finally had the opportunity to actually get my hands on the thing and watch it. City of the Living Dead would be the last of the pseudo-trilogy that I would get to see, having already seen The Beyond and House by the Cemetery, both of which actually came out after CLD. And even though House by the Cemetery is my favorite, CLD is one hell of a horrific experience as well, and was worth those years of waiting to come of age.

The Lovecraftian plot is a bit pedestrian, maybe even hackneyed: A priest commits suicide, opening the doorway to Hell in the process and unleashing an undead uprising in the New England town of Dunwich (yes, Dunwich). A newspaper reporter (Christopher George) and a woman somehow psychically linked to the events (Catriona MacColl) must find a way to close the opening to Hell before the living dead take over the earth. As flimsy as the plot may be, I give credit to Fulci and his collaborator Dardano Sacchetti for diving into Lovecraft with such relish. Who knew Italian filmmakers would take such passionate interest in the works of everyone's favorite morbid Rhode Islander?

It's always tough to judge the acting in Fulci's films due to the Italian practice of dubbing everyone's lines in later--some actors are speaking English, others Italian, and some are even dubbed with other voices. MacColl is terrific as always, bringing an air of classic horror class to the seedy proceedings. The rest of the gang is spotty at best--although I have to give props to the one and only Giovanni Radice as the town scapegoat. The dude has presence, although unlike in House by the Edge of the Park, in which he shows off his dancing skills, here he mainly shows off his ability to take a drill to the brain, in what still may be the most disturbingly explicit and realistic murder ever staged for film.

As for the rest of the cast, we can't really blame them with the lines they're given to recite. I've only seen it dubbed in English, but I can't imagine the original Italian is much better. I particularly can't help but chuckle at the adorable attempt to reproduce "tough New Yorker dialect"--when's the last time you heard an NYC cop ask, "What the dickens is this??"

Nevertheless, Fulci's films work for me for other reasons, and City of the Living Dead is a shining example of what I'm talking about. I'm far from the first to say it, but Fulci at his best draws us into a surreal world that's best described as a fever dream--linear plot and character development are far less important than atmosphere and tension. If you don't ask too many logical questions--and really, why the hell would you?--then you'll better be able to appreciate the film for the visceral nightmare that it is.

Sergio Salvati's gritty cinematography is the veritable distillation of all that I love about 1970s grindhouse horror, with its murky lighting, prodigious use of fog and gratuitous zoom shots. The master of funky Italian horror synth scores, Fabio Frizzi does the honors here with a typically off-beat and unsettling score that complements Fulci's work even better than it does in The Beyond, though not quite as well as in Zombi 2. I'm always amazed by how Frizzi's material works despite the fact that on the surface, the style of music would seem to incongruous with the subject matter. Yet somehow, the score melds inextricably with the rest of the film, to the point that the Fulci style and the Frizzi sound are virtually inseparable in the minds of so many horror fans.

Of course, it wouldn't be a Fulci flick without copious amounts of nasty, grim, depression-inducing grue, now would it? In addition to the aforementioned Radice braining, we get maggot-ridden corpses, skulls crushed by hand, and in what may be the most notorious Fulci moment of them all, poor Daniela Doria literally vomiting her guts out. This was the scene that everybody always talked about, and was a main selling point in getting people interested to see it (we horror fans are an unusual lot, aren't we?) And the way it's played out is classic Fulci, and a prime example of the nightmarish quality of this film. Everything about it feels very much like some kind of awful, terrifying dream.

So ignore the minutiae of the story, and for God's sake, don't try to make too much sense of it. Don't ask why, in the late 20th century, a woman would be buried without being embalmed. Don't ask why there would appear to be bodies buried for decades under about three inches of dead leaves in the Dunwich cemetery. And most of all, don't ever dare ask what the hell the ending means--I'm not even sure Fulci would've been able to say. This film is all about setting a mood, and what a bleak one it is!

There's a purity to Fulci's brand of horror that I find irresistible. It's all about delivering a harrowing emotional experience, weaving a tapestry of relentless dread and foreboding, and overwhelming the senses with truly shocking imagery. It would be hard to call City of the Living Dead a great film in the conventional sense. But a great horror movie? Hell yes.

I'm glad I discovered City of the Living Dead on the video shelf all those years ago, and that it stuck with me long enough for me to seek it out when I got old enough to see it. And I'm glad it was selected for the Final Girl Film Club--always a pleasure to share the love of a movie with others. Keep an eye on the blogosphere in the weeks to come for other participating blog posts on Lucio Fulci's gory gem...

Retro Review: Frankenstein Conquers the World (1965)

This here is the kind of a movie that is going to help determine if you are a tried-and-true kaiju fanatic, or just someone who enjoyed watching a couple of Godzilla movies on syndicated TV when you were a kid. Simply put, Frankenstein Conquers the World is not for everyone. But if you love this sort of thing--Japanese giant monster movies--then it's a veritable treasure trove of rubber-suited goodness.

Who knew the mythos created by Mary Shelley and reinterpreted by Universal would come so far, and be taken to such a nearly unrecognizable point? Toho co-opts the classic Euro-American pop culture figure with an enthusiasm that's just tough to knock. Sure, they seem to have no grasp of what the source material is really all about--but it just seems mean to trash a movie in which the Frankenstein monster grows to gigantic size and fights a classic Japanese kaiju. This is the kind of a movie where you know what you're getting into. Either it's exactly what you're looking for, or it's nothing you'd ever go near. And you can count me firmly amongst the former.

The story begins in Germany at the end of World War II. Nazis raid what appears to be Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory (in 1945? and was it in Germany to begin with??) and seize the heart of the monster--which is inexplicably the only part left of him. The scene in which they steal the heart is quite bizarre, as it is done completely in mime, almost as if the screenwriters couldn't be bothered to write German dialogue. It's weird and goofy, and pretty much sets the tone for the entire flick.

The Gerries hand the heart over to their allies in Japan, just as everything is going to hell in Europe. It's interesting, by the way, to notice how in Takeshi Kimura's script, the Japanese distance themselves from their former wartime buddies--they seem to regard the Nazis as pathetic and desperate losers that they can't wait to see crash and burn.

Anyway, just as scientists in Hiroshima are studying the heart in order to breed a race of super soldiers (what else?), the city is hit by the big one. Well, there goes that experiment. Ah...but you forget, this is a Japanese monster movie, which means that the Frankenstein heart, irradiated from the atom bomb, mutates into a sort of bizarro clone of the original creature.

Fast forward 15 years later, and the young monster is discovered by yet more scientists--who, it's interesting to note, insist on pointing out that the creature is Caucasian, when actor Koji Furuhata clearly is not. And thanks to the dose of radiation, he's growing way beyond the bounds of his platform shoe-wearing predecessor In fact, he grows big enough to be able to take on the mighty Baragon, who for no reason at all shows up out of nowhere to wreak some havoc. Frankenstein (as he's referred to throughout the movie) escapes the lab, and fights Baragon, followed by....a giant octopus! Why? Not a clue. But I loved every minute of it.

The 1960s is often looked at as a golden age by fans of this sort of stuff, and Frankenstein Conquers the World (which he doesn't even come close to doing, by the way), is an excellent example of how much fun these movies were. Ishiro Honda, the director of the original Gojira, takes the reigns, accompanied by his ace special effects man Eiji Tsuburaya, and musical composer Akira Ifikube. Together, this trio delivers a balls-to-the-wall mega kaiju extravaganza which will either have you jumping up and down on your couch with glee, or scratching your head quizzically for 90 minutes. This movie will definitely determine what kind of genre fan you are!

The effects in Toho films take a lot of flak, and much of it is deserved, but a lot of it is also ignorant. Yes, the effects suffered a decline in the 1970s, but during the mid-'60s they were pretty slick for the time. Here in America, the completely different, stop-motion approach of the Ray Harryhausen school may have tended to bias some fans (the constant maligning in the pages of Famous Monsters of Filmland didn't help, either), but there's definitely something to be said for Tsuburaya's work in this film, and others like it. There's some very cool composite work to be found, for example.

Yes, the whole thing builds to what amounts to a guy with fake teeth, a flattop wig and a furry loincloth wrestling with another guy in a rubber lizard suit, but hey, what were you expecting, Wuthering Heights?

Ifikube contributes some of his best film music, and that's saying a lot. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that the score helps save the movie in parts, adding much-needed atmosphere at times. Actually, since with Frankenstein in the title, one would think this movie was vaguely connected to horror, it should be pointed out that Ifikube's music really helps to convey a sense of dread and mystery in places. I was surprised to find that there are several moments in the film, mostly involving the monster, that are actually pretty creepy.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the one and only Nick Adams, the poor man's James Dean, in the role of American doctor James Bowen. This was Adams' first kaiji film, followed soon after by Godzilla vs. Monster Zero. Unfortunately, unlike that film, the version of Frankenstein Conquers the World currently on DVD is subtitled rather than dubbed, which means you don't get to hear Adams own voice speaking English in that woefully out-of-place Bowery boys accent.

The beautiful Kumi Mizuno appears as Bowen's love interest, Sueko. She and Adams would be reunited immediately after for Monster Zero, and in fact Mizuno even appeared in the last (to date) G-flick, Godzilla: Final Wars. Adams' partner, Dr. Kawaji, is played by Toho favorite Tadao Takashima, who had already appeared in King Kong vs. Godzilla and Atragon, and would later turn up in Son of Godzilla.

All in all, Frankenstein Conquers the World delivers on everything one would expect from a movie called Frankenstein Conquers the World. It's boatloads of fun, and just plain cool to see a classic Western monster interpreted in such a foreign milieu. It might not be everyone's cup of tea, but for lovers of Japanese giant monster fare and general Cold War-era cheese, it's a relative rarity that yields some wonderful, oddball things.

Retro Review: Prom Night (1980)

The second of Jamie Lee Curtis' trio of 1980 follow-ups designed to cash in on her scream queen breakthrough two years prior in Halloween, Prom Night is a decent, enjoyable little slasher romp. Certainly not the groundbreaker and earthshaker that John Carpenter's aforementioned classic is, but really, that's a very unfair comparison for just about any slasher flick. Unfortunately, Prom Night suffers a bit for following in the footsteps of Halloween, but if you enjoy vintage slashers, then it delivers the goods.

Jamie Lee is dependable as always in the role of Kim, one of a group of high schoolers who must live with the accidental death of one of their pals (and Kim's sister) some six years previously. However, there's a ski-masked, glass-shard wielding lunatic on the loose with some horrible telephone etiquette, and he/she doesn't seem anywhere near as willing to let it go.

Surprisingly, the acting for most of the "teenage" characters is probably a cut above what you'll find in Halloween. I've often remarked about the Debbie Does Dallas-level performances of the pseudo-adolescents in Carpenter's film (Ms. Curtis excepted, of course), and in this one area I will declare that Prom Night has it over its generally superior inspiration film. As for the usual gang of bumbling incompetent grown-ups one finds in a movie like this, what can I say? It's certainly always a hoot to watch a pre-Naked Gun Leslie Nielsen play it straight, that's for sure.

There are red herrings galore--almost to a fault--but the central plot thread of the movie does deliver some chills, even if it takes a bit to get going. The killer is quite creepy, although the big identity reveal at the end always has me asking, "OK, and...?"

Even more so than Halloween or Friday the 13th, Prom Night is very much of its time. I find you have to put yourself in the mindset of the era, when a steady stream of slasher and exploitation sleaze was being fed to local cinemas like a pipeline of awesomeness. There's a certain hazy, hyper-real quality to the way it's all shot, as if someone toweled their forehead, wiped it off on the camera lens, and left it that way for the duration of the movie.

And just in case you didn't realize when this movie was made, there's the infamous disco prom scene. Perhaps it makes me a smarmy post-modern ironist, but I absolutely love the fact that the entire film stops dead so that Jamie Lee and company can engage in a slick, choreographed disco number, compete with Martin Scorsese rotating camera. You can keep the throat ripping, this is by far my favorite moment in Prom Night.

Yes, it's derivative and follows a certain slasher formula, but so were so many other highly enjoyable films of the era. In fact, many would argue that that's what made them so great, their methodical exploration of a certain expected series of tropes, and the manner in which they added something just a little different or new--a nuance her or there. Yes, the shadow of Halloween hangs over the whole thing, but, for example, I also couldn't help but notice the strong influence of another recent horror hit, Carrie--a film totally outside the slasher tradition. That, in itself, was an interesting twist.

The script, by future soap writer Robert Guza Jr. and William Gray, is certainly a by-the-numbers affair, but it knows how to get the proper reaction, in the proper places. Gray, in particular, had just come off scripting The Changeling, a film whose power hinges on its ability to generate psychological terror.

Liverpudlian director Paul Lynch may not have been at the level of a Carpenter (well, 1980-era Carpenter, at least), but he knows the basics of keeping a viewer engaged, which is all that's required with a potboiler plot such as this. It's not about reinventing the wheel here, and Lynch is up to the task of delivering a solid slasher flick. Fascinating trivia department: Lynch would go to quite the genre TV career, directing episodes of Beauty and the Beast, The Twilight Zone, Ray Bradbury Theater, Dark Shadows, The Outer Limits, Poltergeist: The Legacy, Xena, Sliders, and both Deep Space Nine and Star Trek: The Next Generation.

All in all, Prom Night is undeniably a product of the post-Halloween slasher craze, but certainly one of the better ones. If you're a fan of the subgenre, it's got everything you're looking for, wrapped up in a beautifully garish Carter Era bow.

* Thanks to the ravishing Marilyn Merlot for suggesting this week's Retro Review. If you have a suggestion, drop me a line!

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For those who are oh-so-eagerly waiting to find out the winners for the 2009 Cyber Horror Awards, stay tuned. The next post here on the Vault will be just such an announcement. In the meantime, check out Cinefantastique Online's Wonder Award nominations, announced today. Unlike the CHAs, which focus strictly on horror movies, the Wonders go across-the-board for horror, science fiction and fantasy. It's quite an interesting line-up, and I was honored to be asked to participate.

Retro Review: Dracula (1931)

"There are far worse things awaiting man than death..."

My last post on the most overrated horror movies of all time brought something interesting to my attention. A few people suggested that one of these films should be Tod Browning's original Universal production, Dracula. The reason this is interesting to me is that I both understand where these folks are coming from, yet I also strongly disagree with their assessment.

In my opinion, the 1931 Dracula is very slightly overrated, in that it gets often equated with James Whale's Frankenstein, a film which is superior to it. Nevertheless, I would not in a million years consider it one of the most underrated horror movies of all time, specifically because I think it is excellent. Flawed, but excellent. And it richly deserves to be one of the most famous horror films ever made.

Let's address the 500-pound gorilla first and foremost, and talk about Bela Lugosi. If you were to look up the word "iconic" in the dictionary, you may just see a picture of Lugosi as Dracula. The legendary Hungarian actor so completely merged himself with the role that to this day, we cannot think of the character without thinking of him. Literally. Say what you want about stagey-ness, but that's one seriously effective performance right there.

Lugosi, who had originated the part in the stage production, thoroughly and completely puts his mark on the role, forever transforming it--for good or ill--from Bram Stoker's conception of the Transylvanian count, with the assistance, of course, of Hamilton Deane and John L. Balderston's entrancing script. It is a script which drastically departs from Stoker's novel, taking the story in a sexually charged direction I don't believe was as strongly intended by the book, but which has permanently altered the vampire as perceived in popular culture.

On screen, Lugosi grasps your attention with a level of completeness that most actors only dream of. He is particularly strong in the first half of the film, during the scenes that take place in his native land, as well as his early encounters with Van Helsing, Mina, Lucy, and the other England-based characters. Stripping away the many decades of familiarity and kitsch that have accumulated around it, it is a performance that still has great things to offer.

And yet, for my money, the film's most powerful and memorable performance isn't even Lugosi--it's the impeccable Dwight Frye as the mad Renfield. Almost as iconic as Dracula himself is Frye's leering performance, complete with that unforgettable, oft-imitated laugh. There's a reason I named the Best Supporting Actor category of the Cyber Horror Awards after this man, and it has to do with performances like this one, in which he takes full advantage of his somewhat limited screen time to leave an impression on the viewer that lasts a lifetime. Every word that leaves his lips, every motion of his body, is perfection.

I will admit to a certain amount of stagey-ness to the overall production from a set design standpoint, even more so than other Universal flicks of the era such as Frankenstein and The Mummy. Dracula is quite literally a filmed play, and it's evident at times. And yet I consider this a forgivable trait of much early '30s cinema, which sees filmmakers still learning how to best make an effective sound picture in a studio. It's part of the experimentalism and maverick mentality that makes me cherish this era so much.

And this stagey-ness of the production certainly does not extend to the brilliant camerawork of Karl Freund, a German expatriate whose innovative talents for camera movement add a tangibly vibrancy and excitement to the film, most notably in the initial reveal of Dracula in his castle very early on. Freund's skills go a long way to counteracting the stagey feel of this adapted Broadway production.

When it comes to the kind of stiffness often referred to, the one actor who does come to mind is Edward Van Sloan in the role of Abraham Van Helsing. An accomplished stage actor who would later improve on what he could do in front of a camera, Van Sloan is indeed somewhat too stagey and deliberate, and a classic example of the bumps in the road that occurred as filmmakers continued to fine-tune the process of adapting to sound films--namely the type of dramatic performances that would work best in the new medium. It wasn't until Peter Cushing in the 1950s that filmgoers would get the definitive Van Helsing.

Dracula kicked off the venerable Universal cycle of monster movies, and while I wouldn't consider it the best of them, or even the second best, I do find it to be extremely effective and enjoyable, and the kind of film that I appreciate more each time I see it. It is hurt somewhat by a noticeably less engaging second half, degenerating just a bit from gothic horror into drawing room melodrama. Nevertheless, through it all, Lugosi and Frye keep us enthralled.

Some of the film's weaknesses have been attributed to director Tod Browning and his notoriously low comfort level with sound productions. An accomplished director of the silent era, he seems to be much more at home directing scenes which require the least dialogue. Some point to the famous wedding banquet scene of another classic of his, Freaks--a scene which could just as effectively played out without any sound, if not moreso. In Dracula, we get amazing, minimally verbal moments such as Renfield's encounter with the Brides, and the Count's subsequent "claiming" of him.

For moments like that, I'm also willing to forgive Browning's dated technique. He was a filmmaker with a flair for the visually stunning, and he puts that flair to great effect in this film.

In short, Dracula remains one of the most important and influential horror films of them all, with a level of quality that may not be at the exact same height as its importance or influence. Yet even if it's only to see Bela Lugosi create the most famous horror movie character in history right before your eyes, this is a film that is the very definition of a "must-see", and rewards the viewer each and every time. It is imperfect, yes, but it is also more powerful than the majority of horror films you will ever see.

Retro Review: Day of the Dead (1985)

In honor of the birthday of the zombie maestro himself, George Romero, this week's Retro Review focuses on the original Day of the Dead--the most troubled and somewhat unfairly maligned of the director's classic Living Dead trilogy.

Day of the Dead was a movie that really tanked when it first came out, even getting beaten out critically and financially by Dan O'Bannon's zombie spoof The Return of the Living Dead (and rightfully so, since it is a superior movie). Yet there was a lot of reconsidering that went on in later years, and I think later generations of horror fans were in part responsible for the film's reputation being raised.

I enjoy it very much, and always have. I don't consider it to be the horror gem that Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead are, but I always found it to be a very strong, disturbing and intelligent horror flick nonetheless. I think a big part of why later fans embraced it, however, is the fact that it has the most vivid, realistic and plentiful gore of any of Romero's films. And while I don't think this should be the end-all and be-all of a horror movie, it should be noted that Tom Savini probably did the best work of his career for this one.

Romero movies have never been acclaimed for their dramatic performances, and Day of the Dead is probably the nadir of that trend. Lori Cardille, Joe Pilato and the rest of the gang stand around screaming obscenities at each other is almost akin to bad drama class exercises. But let's face it--we forgive Romero that. OK, the guy may not be the best dramatic director, or maybe he never had the clout to draw the finest actors. No matter. The film has much more to recommend it.

For one thing, there is the one truly remarkable performance of the picture--the finest in any Romero picture, if you ask me. I'm talking, of course, about Bub. Howard Sherman crafts the single most memorable zombie of all time, and one of the most striking movie monsters ever put to the screen with his powerful, nuanced work in the role of the first zombie who becomes sentient. Every scene he's in is magic, particularly his interactions with Dr. Logan in the lab. Combine that with the single greatest individual makeup Savini ever created, and you have a character worth cherishing.

Pilato, though hammy as all hell, also does a very good job of getting us to hate his guts. And its those same guts which get graphically torn from his body in the film's climactic orgy of cannibalistic violence. Back in those days, Romero was able to totally circumvent the ratings board, and boy does it ever pay off here. As much as I do enjoy his latter-day zombie flicks, I do miss the outrageous eviscerations, I will admit.

Unfortunately, one of the problems with not playing ball is that funding is also hard to come by. For that reason, Romero infamously had to scale back on the ambitious vision he had for Day of the Dead, and the finished product is highly truncated from what the original script called for. It's a claustrophic little flick, that actually has more in common in that regard with Night than it does with its more recent predecessor Dawn. And in this way, it works. Romero manages to deftly spin his tale of the final breakdown of humanity in this little bunker. It really feels like the final progression in the downfall of the human race that has been going on up to this point (although the much later Land of the Dead would somewhat negate that).

Some find Romero's social statements to be pretentious or tired, but I say you have to put it in perspective. Yes, it may be a bit tired for Romero to still be hitting same notes some 25 years later, but his messages were bold and much-needed when he first made them in the late '60s to mid '80s. In an era when filmmakers' handcuffs were finally removed completely, he was among the first to use the horror genre to make real statements about our own world and society--something the science fiction genre had been doing for decades.

And with Day of the Dead, he really drives the hopelessness home. This is a far more depressing film than the sometimes tongue-in-cheek Dawn of the Dead. There is very little, if any, black humor here. Humanity has royally screwed itself, and Romero seems to be mourning the end of the race (a far cry from his more cynical opinion of 20 years later, when he seems to make the case that the zombies deserve the Earth more than we do).

In short, I'm glad that Day of the Dead has been reappraised since 1985, but I do think this has caused it to swing a bit too far in the other direction. No matter what the gorehounds say, I will never consider it Romero's best zombie film. It is, however, a damn good zombie movie that should be viewed by anyone who wants to see a passionate, intelligent horror director do his thing. And Bub, the modern-day Frankenstein Monster, will always have a special place in my heart.

Happy Birthday, George!

Retro Review: King Kong (1933)

So there I was, banging my head over how to tie in Thanksgiving somehow here at the Vault, when none other than Mrs. B-Sol pointed out a connection so obvious I'm still kicking myself for missing it. I don't know about you, but when we were kids growing up in the New York area, the airing of King Kong on syndicated television each Thanksgiving was a bona fide holiday tradition. I never quite got the relationship, but you can be damn sure I was glued to the TV every Turkey Day immediately after the big meal to catch this, the granddaddy of all giant monster flicks.

And that is why this week's Retro Review is for Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack's timeless 1933 masterpiece.

It is almost impossible to fully imagine the kind of impact this film must have had for movie audiences at the time. Virtually nothing like this had ever been seen before, and the sheer spectacle of it cannot be overstated. In our own age of overdone CGI effects blockbusters, some may find it quaint--yet for my money, the skill with which this movie is executed, particularly form a technical standpoint, has always been and continues to be breathtaking.

Naturally, the true star here is Willis O'Brien, the genius responsible for pioneering stop-motion animation in film, and the man who brought the Eighth Wonder of the World to life. Kong is a living, breathing character, with pathos and depth of personality. He is brought to life in a way few animated characters ever have been, before or since.

The scenes with the monster are all pure joy to watch. His encounters with other fantastical creatures on Skull Island, in particular, stand out. One can't help but get the impression, watching something like the legendary battle with the T-Rex, that the filmmakers were profoundly confident in their work, and so wanted to showcase it as strongly as possible. The attention to detail is staggering, especially when we consider that the labor involved far exceeds anything undertaken in the field of CGI today. It should also be mentioned that the fine work of Hollywood sound effects man extraordinaire Murray Spivack goes a long way toward bringing these creatures to life as well.

The acting is a bit stilted, even by early 1930s standards (when stage-style delivery was still often the norm), but after all, we're not here to watch the actors. Nevertheless, it needs to be pointed out that Robert Armstrong is magnificent as the master showman/filmmaker/entrepreneur Carl Denham. His awesomeness is only further highlighted in the wake of the catastrophically bad performance of the hideously miscast Jack Black in Peter Jackson's well-intentioned yet disappointing 2005 remake.

And then there's Fay Wray. Although she would never again attain the level of prominence this role gave her, she will forever be etched into the annals of Hollywood immortality as Ann Darrow, the stunning "Beauty" to Kong's "Beast". Her screen presence is truly remarkable, exuding a certain aura that only comes from the demure and ethereal leading ladies of this era. It should also be mentioned that the gal could scream like a champ, and manages to get across an impressive amount of understated sexual charisma during her scenes with her decidedly wooden and uncharismatic leading man, Bruce Cabot.

Max Steiner, the go-to guy for Hollywood film scores during much of the 1930s and 1940s, provides one of his absolute gems for this film. Particularly memorable is the plaintive motif I like to call "Kong's Theme", which Kong fans will instantly recognize when they hear it. A simple melody, it nevertheless puts over the tragedy of the monster so very effectively.

But once again, it's the special effects that are the stars of this film. Decades before Lucas and Speilberg put the concept of special effects movies on the map, here is this 1933 black and white film that still has the power to dazzle with some incredible set pieces. The Stegosaurus; the log scene; the destruction of the native village; the New York rampage; and of course, that iconic Empire State Building battle with the bi-planes.

What a testament it is to the work of Cooper, Schoedsack and O'Brien that we feel so deeply for this creature by the time he's gunned down at the end. Watching him fight off those fighter pilots, who can help rooting for the big guy? And seeing him take bullet after bullet, desperately hanging on all the while as his life slips away, gets me every time. Very rarely has a CGI creation moved me to this degree.

You don't need me to tell you that King Kong is a classic--perhaps the classic of golden age genre cinema--but I can tell you that I definitely rediscovered that fact today, as I showed it to my kids, nieces and nephews on DVD to continue the tradition I myself enjoyed as a child. Long live Kong, the Eighth Wonder of the World.

Retro Review: The Body Snatcher (1945)

Every now and then, the horror gods smile down, the planets come into alignment, and a project like this one comes to be. As horror fans, we are very lucky to have such a remarkable film which, thanks to the miracle of home video, we can see pretty much any time we want.

Let's break it down, shall we? The original story comes from a work by Robert Louis Stevenson, author of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde. Stevenson apparently based it upon true reports of grave robbers on a spree throughout England and Scotland.

Producing the film version is the one and only Val Lewton, the visionary filmmaker responsible for the finest horror highlights of the 1940s. More than any other producer, Lewton is cited as having a tangible, almost directorial influence on his movies. This is simply one of a string of classics Lewton brought to fruition, including I Walked with a Zombie, Cat People, and The Seventh Victim.

Nevertheless, Lewton did employ a director, and a formidable one, at that. The great Robert Wise cut his teeth as a cinematographer for Orson Welles, but it was Lewton who first gave him a chance to direct--this was the third film Wise helmed for him. Wise, of course, would go on to direct such films as The Day the Earth Stood Still, Somebody Up There Likes Me, West Side Story, The Haunting, The Sound of Music, The Andromeda Strain and Star Trek: The Motion Picture. Not a bad resume, yes?

Taking center stage in this lurid tale of the dark side of the early medical profession is a group of actors whose talents would have been renowned whether or not they had ever chosen to appear in a single horror film. Firstly, it should be pointed out that this movie would mark the final on-screen teaming Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi--although Lugosi, already down on his luck and relegated to low-budget Monogram clunkers, played merely a supporting role while Karloff starred.

Fresh off his sinister turn as Dr. Neimann in his last Universal horror flick, House of Frankenstein, Karloff takes to the role of the titular body snatcher John Gray with particular relish. This would be the first of three consecutive Lewton flicks for Karloff, followed quickly by Isle of the Dead and Bedlam. It's debatable, but this may be the best of the three.

Playing alongside Karloff is one of classic Hollywood's true unsung heroes, Henry Daniell--a stage-trained British actor who might best be known for playing alongside Charles Laughton in the flawless legal dramedy Witness for the Prosecution. Usually relegated to supporting parts, Daniell appeared with Greta Garbo in Camille; with Charles Chaplin in The Great Dictator; with James Stewart, Kate Hepburn and Cary Grant in The Philadelphia Story; with Kirk Douglas and Anthony Quinn in Lust for Life; and with Ava Gardner and Errol Flynn in The Sun Also Rises.

But this time out, Daniell takes the lead, playing the tragic role of Dr. "Toddy" McFarlane, a famous surgeon with a sordid past tied to the insidious grave robber and murderer Gray. The interplay between the two is gripping at all times, and their antagonistic yet strangely symbiotic relationship is at the heart of the picture. And the climax, for those who may not have seen it, is one of the most underrated cinematic triumphs of psychological horror ever. Absolutely chilling, in that Victorian-era-horror-yarn kind of way.

As with all Lewton films, much of the power here is also the result of the tremendously dark and foreboding look and feel. No doubt having an eye for good camera work himself, given his background, Wise uses as his cinematographer the accomplished Robert De Grasse, who had previously done The Leopard Man for Lewton, as well as the gorgeous Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers musical The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle.

And helping create the look of musty crypts, creepy graveyards and creaky 19th century medical laboratories is the amazing art director Albert S. D'Agostino--whose impressive horror credits include the Lewton films of the '40s, '30s Universal flicks like Werewolf of London and Dracula's Daughter, and '50s gem The Thing from Another World. There's a reason I picked his name to affix to the Cyber Horror Award for Best Art Direction!

Put all these ingredients together, and you have what is easily one of the top five horror films of the 1940s. Stevenson. Lewton. Wise. Karloff. Lugosi. D'Agostino. Like I said, an alignment of the horror planets if ever there was one. Highly recommended.

Retro Review: Halloween (1978)

"I met him fifteen years ago. I was told there was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong. I met this six-year-old child, with this blank, pale, emotionless face and, the blackest eyes... the Devil's eyes. I spent eight years trying to reach him, and then another seven trying to keep him locked up, because I realized what was living behind that boy's eyes was purely and simply... evil."

What more appropriate time to take a special look at John Carpenter's masterwork than this week, right? I don't know about you, but around this time of year, I pretty much walk around with that iconic theme music playing constantly in my head. And "The Shape", Michael Myers? A movie monster that can hold his own with the best of 'em.

The original Halloween spawned a huge movement, an explosion of slasher flicks about mindless killers, masked or otherwise--with Friday the 13th being the most obvious copycat of the bunch. Yet just as decades of rock bands have tried in vain to be Led Zeppelin, so does Halloween stand head and shoulders above any of the wannabes that came later (including its own sequels).

Unlike the majority of schlocky slashers, Halloween contains a mind-wrenching level of suspense, and very little gore. It's direct inspiration seems to be Hitchcock more than anything else, as can most obviously be seen thanks to the name of Michael's nemesis, Sam Loomis, a moniker lifted directly from Psycho. We also have, in the lead role of Laurie Strode, one Jamie Lee Curtis, daughter of Psycho's Marion Crane, a.k.a. Janet Leigh.

Along with co-writer and paramour Debra Hill, Carpenter crafted a fine tale whose impact should not be allowed to diminish because of all the inferior stuff that came after it. The Shape is absolutely terrifying by simple virtue of the fact that he is faceless, unknowable evil. This is one of the reasons why Carpenter's original outshines Rob Zombie's competent remake--Michael's utter lack of humanity.

As his counterpoint, we have the intense and commanding Donald Pleasance as the doctor who knows the murderer better than anyone else. The stage-trained British thespian Pleasance brought a respectability and gravitas to the film, and his is far and away the finest dramatic performance in the picture. He almost serves as a Greek chorus, doing nothing more than warning the other characters and the audience of the danger that's in store. In fact, his only action occurs in the climax of the movie.

Jamie Lee Curtis originates the concept of the "final girl" in the role that made her a star--the virginal Laurie. She is the epitome of the scream queen, evincing purity, evoking vulnerability, and putting over the abject terror that surrounds her. Yet in a twist which would forever define this type of role, she finds the strength within herself to face up to the monster. It's powerful stuff to this day.

That said, it needs to be pointed out that the majority of the rest of the acting in this flick is right about at '70s porno levels. I was surprised, in fact, after my recent re-viewing of the original F13, to find that for the most part,the young people in that movie were a cut above, acting-wise. P.J. Soles and rest of Michael's future victims are clumsy and broad in their performances, but we forgive them for it, because the tableau in which Carpenter has placed them is so powerful that it doesn't even matter.

It's all about the technique here. Carpenter and his cinematographer, future Speilberg and Zemeckis favorite Dean Cundey, craft some amazing sequences, most famously the opening POV shot that pulls you in right from the word go and informs you that this is no ordinary teenager slice-and-dice. And in a taut suspense film like this, due credit must also be given to the guys in the cutting room--Carpenter's editors Charles Bornstein and Tommy Lee Wallace (later director of Halloween III) deserve some recognition for this veritable symphony of nail-biting fear.

More than a person, Michael is a force of nature, the embodiment of not so much what I would call "evil" perhaps, as a completely amoral sociopathy. There is no anger or hatred within The Shape (another misstep of Zombie's); he simply exists to end the lives of others. Almost the Grim Reaper himself. The mask, that brilliant touch infamously crafted from one of Captain Kirk, presents us with a truly blank, empty killer. He is an entity, coming and going at will, virtually impervious to physical harm. (I always wondered whether or not it was wise for Carpenter & Hill to have him drive a car, as this implied a certain level of higher reasoning. Still, it does make for a bizarre and unsettling image, doesn't it?)

By synthesizing Hitchcock and crossing him with the '70s grindhouse aesthetic, Carpenter was able to create what might even be called the "purest" horror film of the modern era--which in turn set in motion a wave of influence which we are still feeling. Some would even call it the greatest horror movie of all time, as can be evidenced by its number-one ranking by the "Cyber-Horror Elite". I sincerely hope that reading this has put a lot of you in the mood to relive this immortal classic--hurry up, before the season is passed. Watch it one more time.

Retro Review: House on the Edge of the Park (1980)

I'm always thrilled to come across a '70s/early '80s exploitation horror flick with which I was totally unfamiliar. This was one of them, until it was brought to my attention by the delightful Vault dweller Marilyn Merlot--who, like me, shares an admiration for the work of one David Hess.

My first reaction when reading about the film was, how the heck had I gone so long without ever seeing or hearing of this? That thought was further magnified after actually seeing it. This is a film that is entirely of its time. No film like this could ever be made today, for a variety of reasons. And although I have some issues with it, more thematically than artistically, I can't deny its effectiveness.

There's something about films of this era that will always draw me in. It is my favorite era for motion pictures, horror or otherwise, with the 1930s being a close second. There's a rawness to movies like House by the Edge of the Park that is unmatched in horror of any other era.

So let's talk about this gem of an exploitation picture. This was the film that Ruggero Deodato made right before shooting the infamous Cannibal Holocaust--even though it was officially released in Italy nine months after Cannibal Holocaust. And perhaps it's the close proximity to that quintessentially controversial movie that causes House by the Edge of the Park to get a bit overlooked when it comes to amazingly offensive cinema.

Make no mistake, this is not a movie for everyone. Much like CH, it took a full five years for it to be released in the U.S. Banned in Singapore, Finland, the U.K., Canada and Norway; denied ratings classification in Australia and also released unrated in America. One of Britain's notorious "video nasties". Chock full of rape, torture and sadism.

I cannot deny that this movie enthralled me. I found it distasteful at times, but nevertheless I was fascinated by it, and also cannot deny that it is a fine little piece of filmmaking, for what it is. But there can be no question that it was designed to titillate, and to do so using some very questionable means. More than most of the movies today that get labeled "torture porn", this is a movie I would certainly classify as such.

The main problem I have with it is in the depiction of rape. This is the kind of story in which the rape victims actually start to "enjoy" themselves and give in willingly to their rapists. In other words, at times it feels like some guy's warped sexual fantasy, and I found it pretty damn uncomfortable in parts. There's a certain hypocrisy here, in much the same way that Deodato does it in CH--on the surface he's condemning the callousness of these characters, but truth be told, he wants you to get off on watching what they do.

It walks a dangerous moral line, that's for sure. And yet, I'd rather have a horror flick like this which challenges me and makes me uncomfortable than most of the cookie-cutter, soul-numbing drek we get spoonfed these days.

I'm going on the record that I love David Hess. Loved him in Last House on the Left, and love him here. I'll be honest--there isn't much difference between Krug and his character here. It might as well be the same exact character, in fact. But there's something about Hess' acting style that makes me want to keep my eyes on him any time he's on screen.

It's a broad style of acting, with overdone emotions and histrionics, almost like something out of the hammy method-influenced generation of actors of the 1950s and early '60s. He feels like an anachronism, an actor plucked out of an earlier era, which is ironic given the intense and graphic nature of the material he appears in. He's funny and terrifying at the same time.

The story is a straight-up home invasion nightmare that makes The Strangers look like What About Bob. With a script from Gianfranco Clerici and Vincenzo Mannino--the men responsible for CH, in addition to Lucio Fulci's Don't Torture a Duckling and The New York Ripper--you'd better believe this is some raw and unflinching stuff.

And yet just as with CH, we get a jarringly contrasting score from Riz Ortolani that on the surface feels like it in no way belongs with a film like this, but which actually makes it that much more disturbing. I'm thinking specifically of the sing-songy, nursery rhyme-style "Cindy" theme. It takes a twisted mind to pair up this music with this movie. That said, I could've done without "Much More", Ortolani's cheesy attempt at disco. I mean really, I expect more from the guy who composed the Oscar-nominated standard "More" for Mondo Cane...

While I'm not sure what it says about me, I admittedly eat stuff like this up. Maybe it's because it disturbs me--maybe I find it somehow cathartic to deal with material like this in a relatively safe way. It definitely disturbed the hell out of the Mrs., who, even though she only caught bits and pieces of it, found herself questioning why I would even take an interest in watching. It's the kind of movie that definitely provokes strong emotion.

Stepping back from it, I can certainly see how people would have problems with it. Much of the movie is simply one tense, gut-wrenching rape or near-rape after another. And when you watch a rape scene in which the supposed victim begins to "get into it", there's no denying it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. And yet, I somehow relish the power the movie has to provoke strong emotion, even if that emotion is disgust. Maybe it's the wrestling background in me, but I'm much more impressed by a movie that can stir up strong feelings than one which leaves me completely apathetic.

House by the Edge of the Park is typical of the nihilistic grindhouse cinema of its time, in which brutal violence is met with brutal violence, sex and brutality are merged, and in the end we're just left with an overall sense of hopelessness in humanity. If that's your bag, check it out. But don't say I didn't warn you!