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JM Cozzoli

A horror genre fan with a blog. Scary.

Comic Book Review:
The Zombie: Simon Garth 1, 2, 3, 4

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TheZombie Issue One Zombos Says: Very Good

The Zombie (Simon William Garth) is a fictional supernatural character in the Marvel Comics Universe, who starred in the black-and-white horror-comic magazine series Tales of the Zombie (1973-1975), in stories mostly by Steve Gerber and Pablo Marcus. The character had originated 20 years earlier in the standalone story "Zombie" by Stan Lee and Bill Everett, published in the horror-anthology comic book Menace #5 (July 1953)  (from Marvel forerunner Atlas Comics. — Wikipedia)

The Zombie: Simon Garth, four issue series published under Marvel's MAX brand: Kyle Hotz, author and artist; Eric Powell, dialog assists; Dan Brown, colors; Warren Simons, editor. 

Issue One: Wrecks

Yes, it was a good thing they got him to the emergency room right away…No, I didn't know a cue ball could fit up there either.

The action begins immediately. One army chopper down in the woods and a car wreck on a quiet road send people on a collision course with mayhem. Cherry, a survivor of the car wreck, wakes up in the opening panels, calling for Liz. Cherry runs into the woods nearby looking for Liz, but finds two backwoods oafs with ill intent on their minds. She puts up a fight, but they knock her unconscious. Simon Garth enters the scene in a beautifully "lit" quarter-panel-plus that highlights his zombie-ness–rather majestically–as the plaid-dressed duo of Dumb and Dumber, obscured in shadow, are startled by his entrance. He tosses them around, picks up Cherry, and continues on his wandering way.

Cut to the crashed army chopper, one nonplussed scientist (we know he's a scientist because he's wearing his white lab coat) complaining on his cell phone that he's lost someone–namely Simon Garth, the carrier for the super secret zombie virus that everyone is now going to know about–and, oh look, one of the dead crash victims found the important blood sample-filled syringe sticking in his neck. No sooner than you can say "It's Zombie Time!" reanimated dead people start popping up. Both art and story work very well together, but army-sponsored zombie viruses, scientists who wear their white lab coats all the time on secret missions outside the lab, and mega-dangerous blood samples stored haphazardly in sharp syringes is simplistic scripting, abeit Hotz could be parodying the usual cinematic horror approach here. Whichever it may be, the flow of action moving around Simon Garth, as it escalates through dire events, is breezily paced. Enhanced by the black-inked lines and coloring highlights reflecting the emotions in the faces of the people he (and we) meet in this first issue, the story keeps you interested and in expectation for what happens next.

Sheriff Matt Haupt, sent to investigate the car wreck, finds the crashed helicopter. He doesn't know what he's stepped into, but he senses it's going to be messy. I bet Cherry will be surprised when she wakes up in the arms of Simon Garth.

…

Comic Book Review:
The Zombie: Simon Garth 1, 2, 3, 4Read More »

The Mummy (1932)
Part 1

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The_mummy_1932 THE MUMMY was another awful make-up job. For the sequence where the dead mummy comes to life, it was between eight and nine hours to get ready for it. You really had to get to the studio the day before. Thank God that sequence only took about a week to shoot! –Cinefantastique: quoting from a Canadian radio interview with Boris Karloff

Zombos Says: Classic

Can you smell it? Fresh pumpkin innards, candy corn, Ben Cooper Mummy costume rustling as you free it from its cardboard box. October air gliding furtively above pavement and walkway, baring boughs, making wooden porch steps creak, kicking empty porch swings back and forth to rattle their chains, suddenly jumping deeply into russet leaves piled high, scattering them like sands swirling around the charnel tombs of Egypt. Its time has come.

Of all the classic Universal Monsters immortalized in Halloween’s polyester and plastic, the least colorful one, the Mummy, remains a top favorite of fright. Perhaps it is the way he walks–certainly not how he talks–or perhaps it is the range, from easy to hard, through which you can become the Mummy, wrapping yourself in either toilet tissue or ACE bandages. Whichever it may be, it all started with Karl Freund’s The Mummy, brought to vivid life by Boris Karloff, the only actor who could portray the buried-alive-for-love Im-ho-tep, painstakingly mummified by monster maker Jack Pierce in a long process few would care to endure.

…

The Mummy (1932)
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You Have Now Entered the Bookstore Zone

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Bookstorezone Another Sunday; another day in another week. Only this time a crack appears in the fabric of one hour. A hole, if you will, that suddenly swallows the mundane minutes, the usual seconds, twisting them into threads so unusual they border on the bizarrely out-of-time. A happy trip that quickly turns to consternation, makes a brief stop at disbelief, then hightails it full throttle to a place most experienced readers fear to go…next stop, the Bookstore Zone…

I visit my local Barnes & Noble, all two floors of it with Starbucks nestled in one corner by the magazine racks. It has been a while. I like B&N's magazine racks; they are better stocked than Borders. I find Gorezone and Screem issues and nod with satisfaction. I poke and prod a little more among the magazines then take the up escalator in the middle of the floor. My mission is simple: page through any books I can find on The Prisoner television series and check out the Horror Section for any interesting titles to browse. 

I circle the second floor. There's Mystery, Science Fiction, Fantasy, but no shelves marked Horror. I am confused. It gets worse when I see a small book rack set aside for Television. I start thinking my browsing experience is not going to be a good one. I'm sure of it when I can't find any books on The Prisoner.

I give up trying to find the Horror Section by sight alone and search using the nearest computer. Within two minutes an employee comes rushing over to berate me for using it. She tells me it is not for customer use. I think about pointing out how it is on, there is no sign saying I cannot use it, and how I can easily use any of the computers at Borders to search for books, but I decide against mentioning it. Over her continued petulance with my audacity, I ask where the Horror Section is. She looks at me with consternation, thinks about it some more. "Horror?" she asks. "Yes," I tell her. "Authors like Lovecraft, King, Ramsey Campbell, you know, Horror." She looks behind her, though I am not sure why,  then says, "Those books are in Fiction or Science-Fiction."

Now it's my turn to show consternation. "But Lovecraft is not science-fiction or simply fiction, he's Horror." I am adamant on this point.

…

You Have Now Entered the Bookstore ZoneRead More »

Scott Essman Remembers Uncle Forry

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Forrestj-ackerman

Scott Essman remembers the Man of a Thousand Famous Monsters…

 

If there were any movie monsters on the radar of young boys from the Baby Boomers to Generations X and Y, it was surely due to the influence of Forrest J. Ackerman, who died today at age 92. From 1958 through the early 1980s, Ackerman edited over 200 issues of the fanzine "Famous Monsters of Filmland," a monthly magazine that is more responsible for the proliferation of genre fans treasuring their knowledge of science fiction, horror, and fantasy facts and personalities than any other publication like it – and very few were or have been since.

"Forry" as his fans knew him (also Count Alucard – Dracula backwards) was more than a publisher, collector of memorabilia, and ultimate fan, of which he was probably the greatest at each endeavor as far as his chosen genre; he was the spiritual father of all things monsters and space adventure. He was the ultimate champion of the marginalized B pictures that burst onto the scene in the early silents and became a mainstay of youthful picture-going. He was a figurehead who represented the wealth of pure joy that fans feel for their favorite films and heroes – and often villains – from those tomes. He was all of those things, but even more than that, director and Ackerman friend John Landis once called him "generous to a fault" when asked to describe his mentor – who he often put in his films in cameo appearances. Ackerman was renowned to give free tours of his Hollywood Hills "Ackermansion" a house where he kept numerous props, books, and other items from his favorite projects of the past.

Famous Monsters of Filmland When Famous Monsters debuted in 1958, traditional science fiction and movie monsters had given way to atomic-age grand-scale epics and low-budget monster quickies.  But Ackerman, through his own personal interest, appealed to the 12-year-old boy that he eternally became by running photos and stories of bygone horrors such as the Universal Monster classics, and exalting the triumphs of their creators, such as Frankenstein director James Whale and monster makeup guru Jack Pierce, while giving due credit to the Boris Karloffs, Bela Lugosis, Lon Chaney and Chaney, Jrs. and their ilk. Also easy to forget is that in 1958, no publication existed as "seriously" dedicated to the study of movie "sci-fi" – a term that Ackerman coined – and the behind-the-scenes aspects of movie ghouls and gremlins. In fact, the explosion of genre movie magazines in the wake of Famous Monsters is undoubtedly due to Ackerman's genuine passion for the field, a dedication that he imparted to his legion of readers, many of whom number the top makeup artists and directors of the past thirty years.

As is often told in fan conventions and festivals, the generations of Boomers and Xers who first read Famous Monsters often had to sneak out to the newsstand to get the latest copy behind their parents' backs, then read it in their closets with flashlights on after bedtime. In the end, now that his original audience has had children and a new group of Gen Y and millennials have come around to discover old issues of FM via eBay, Ackerman's pursuits as editor of Famous Monsters and a noted Hollywood personality probably had an impact on more people than he could possibly know. As was carefully documented in Paul Davids' documentary "The Sci-Fi Boys," Ackerman, along with his close friends and peers, including author Ray Bradbury, and stop-motion animator Ray Harryhausen, created a whole world of fans who went onto become creators themselves.

Sci_fi_boys Evidently, from the films of Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, to the stories of Stephen King, to the homages in the films of Peter Jackson and Guillermo del Toro, Ackerman spawned not only a vast fan base but an equally large and committed group of aspiring artists. And as any who knew him could attest to, he did so with graciousness and an abundance of love for not only the films themselves, but also the people involved – in both the making of the movies and the sheer numbers of fans who celebrated them. In the realm of science fiction, fantasy, and horror, that makes Ackerman a wholly unique individual whose kind will not likely ever be seen again.

Comic Book Review:
Vincent Price Presents 1, 2, 3

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Vincent Price Presents Using the persona of famed horror actor Vincent Price to host a series of illustrated terror tales is a demanding challenge. While Price is noted for his appearances in movies that run the gamut of genre tastes, he never faltered in delivering a performance that was always interesting and entertaining. Even if the movie was not all that good, you could always count on Price to have fun with it, thereby making it fun for horror fans. But can his unique personality and image remain true when conjured up for Blue Water Comics' Vincent Price Presents? Or will we get a manga-ized, perhaps washed-out looking Price who chuckles over his ill-fitting lines of dialog, and squints his inky eyes across tedious panels of trite and recycled scare stories? Let's find out in our one-two punch review.

Issue 1: Welcome to the Family of the Night

Zombos Says: Good

 

Now, little boy. There's a vampire waiting especially for you. And he's very large. And he's very very hungry. First, he'll feed, and then he'll bottle what's left for cocktails.

Chad Helder, author; Ray Armenteros, story artist; Joel Robinson, framing artist; Malachi Sharlow, letterer; Darren G. Davis, editor.

Robinson's photo-realistic framing art is excellent for capturing the facial nuances of Price as he introduces, and gives parting commentary for, the story of a vampire utopia where humans, especially children, are a controlled food supply. We follow one child named R, who is unfortunate enough to be "adopted" by Mr. and Mrs. Clive, two vampires with a big appetite. Armenteros's story art splashes paint-like strokes between darkness and bold colors across panels of varying shapes and sizes. His facial close-ups of the Clives staring down at R as they put him to bed, and R staring up at them before they put the bite on him for a nightcap, are chilling. Helder's narrative is a sci-horror blend of vampiric blood-sucking terror and android saviors, generating a palpable fear of R's predicament of being trapped in a deadly situation with vampire "parents" bleeding him dry every night until he dies. This first issue is a good beginning for the series.

Issue 2: Orok the Neanderthal

Zombos Says: Fair

My brother you have come to join me.
I have been so lonely. Every day is an eternity.
Every night is a feast.

Chad Helder, author; Giovanni Timpano, story artist; Joel Robinson, framing artist; Malachi Sharlow, letterer; Jesse Heagy, colors.

Alas, poor Yorick, the momentum begun in issue one is not sustained in this story of lycanthropy and cavemen. The more photo-realistic looking Price, pondering homo sapiens while looking at a skull, introduces Helder's tale of primitive evil and early man's fight against it. There is very little dialog here–okay, they are cavemen–but the oversized panels broadcast the action with little subtlety. Timpano's artwork is adequate, but has no flair. It adds no emotional depth to Orok's personal loss, or the ferocity of his opponent, or the duality of good and evil in man's nature. Helder's lack of narrative description in these panels, combined with the little dialog there is, leaves us looking at them at face value, with no mythic insight, no clarity of the story's intent, and, more seriously, no tension to emotionally involve us.The B-movie twist-ending does not add to the story; instead, it serves to diffuse whatever mythological significance it may have contained. This second issue is not a good way to sustain the series.

Vincent Price Presents 3 Issue 3: A Whistle to Open Worlds

Zombos Says: Good

Beware, you are about to witness an All-American nightmare. Many readers will recognize the setting for this horror tale. It is called the microcosm, the world in miniature.

Chad Helder, author; Ray Armenteros, story artist; Joel Robinson, framing artist; Malachi Sharlow, letterer; Darren G. Davis, editor.

With editor Davis's return, this weird story of quantum-induced nightmare by Helder moves the series firmly back on track. Once again, Armenteros splashes his bold strokes across each page, barely keeping within the boundaries of his own panels. Creating a Van Gogh Starry Nightmare against a snowbound backdrop with his primitive swirlings, his visual momentum energizes Helder's bizarre predicament for African-American physicist Andrew Routledge. Tension and a building puzzle keep the reader involved until the last page, where the surprise explanation(?) awaits. Price's beginning and ending commentary is more playful and more important here, helping to explain the main narrative.

But exactly what is Helder getting at? That's the tough question, and one that elevates this issue to metaphorical implications beyond face value. Just what–or who–is the Shadow Man, and why does he cause the people in this Currier and Ives town to change into pop-eyed monsters that look vaguely familiar. Is Routledge trapped within his own reality or someone else's? And who is the man with the big smile who gave him the whistle to blow when the time was right? What the hell is going on? The folk-art styled illustration is a clue as both Helder and Armenteros work together to make this unique third issue more than frightfully good.

The Video Dead (1987)
It’s A Crime!

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VideoDead_BoxArt

Zombos Says: Poor, Stupid, Lot's of Fun

"Slow down a minute and let me get this straight," said Detective Web. He paged through his notebook. "You say this Paul Hasselhoff—"

"Paul Hollstenwall," I corrected him.

"You say this Paul Hollstenwall is to blame for Zombos's death?"

"Yes. It's all his fault. He insisted we watch another one of his inane travesties of straight to video horror called The Video Dead. Zombos keeled over dead away toward the end. It was horrible."

I held back the tears. Glenor Glenda, our housekeeper, stood in shock over his body. Thank God Zimba and Zombos Junior were at the theater to see the livelier Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa.

"I told him, I did," said Glenor, between blowing her nose and dabbing her wet eyes. "I told him to go with his son and get away from all this nasty horror. Oh, how will we explain this to his son? The missus will be so upset!"

"Hey, has this been dusted for prints yet?" asked Detective Web as he reached for The Video Dead VHS tape.

"Yeah, done," said a voice from the other side of the room.

"Haven't seen one of these in a while," he said, picking it up. "So tell me about this movie. I find it hard to believe the guy croaked just from watching it."

"I…I don't know where to begin," I said.

"Start with the facts. Just the facts. That will do fine."

"Let me think. Okay. It's about a TV set that looks like it came from the house in Night of the Living Dead. The TV is delivered, by mistake, to a writer who is promptly killed by the zombies who enter our world through it."

"Flesh-eating zombies?" asked Detective Web.

"Well, not quite. They strangle people, mostly, then toss them into washing machines and start the spin cycle."

"I thought you said this television set came from the house in Night of the Living Dead. Didn't those zombies eat people?"

"Yes. I mean no. I mean I didn't say the set came from the house in Night of the Living Dead, it just looks like it did. Now, one neighbor does get eaten, sure, but that happens later in the movie, and we don't see it happen, just the messy aftermath. The rest of the time the zombies giggle a lot…and want to go dancing, too. And there's this Garbage Man fellow that appears briefly in the TV, but we never find out why, or what he's actually doing in there, or even how he got there in the first place. Then again, I'm not sure how the zombies got into the television set, either."

"So…this is a Japanese horror movie?" asked Detective Web.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you said they come out of the TV. I remember seeing that ragu movie—"

"Oh, you mean Ringu, or The Ring as the Americanized version is called," I said.

"Yeah, right, that's the movie."

"No, this movie is from 1987. Ringu came later.

I looked up at Detective Web. He scratched behind his ear with the pencil in his hand, closed his notepad, and thought for a moment.

"Maybe we should view the evidence to get a better idea of what this is all about," he suggested.

I reluctantly took the tape from him and put it into our old VHS player. We pulled our chairs close to the screen as The Video Dead started playing; after I fast-forwarded through the trailers and such of course.

It starts off innocently enough. The Hi-Lite delivery service delivers an unmarked crate to an unsuspecting writer. We know he is a writer because he is sleeping the day away, he’s impatient, and he says he does not have time to watch television. He must be a blogger, too.

Over his protests they leave the crate in his living room. He manages to pry the it open, takes out the old, battered, rotary channel dial, black and white television set, and plugs it in. Remember, it is 1987. He checks to see if it works, but only one show comes in clearly no matter which channel he turns to. The show is Zombie Blood Nightmare and not much happens in it except for zombies continuously staggering around in the woods. He turns off the television, but it keeps turning on. He unplugs it and goes back to bed. The set turns on even when unplugged.

Creepy.

In a rare moment of directorial acumen, one rancid zombie notices he's "on" TV and presses up against the inside of the cathode ray tube. In a flash, and lots of smoke, he is poking his head out of the set. Remember, this is 1987.

When the Hi-Lite boys sheepishly return later, realizing they made a mistake—the television was actually supposed to go to an occult institute, sure, why not?—they find one dead writer, conveniently propped up by the front door to save them time going through the house to find his body.

 "Boy, those are lousy zombies. That '80s makeup isn't bad, but they didn't even eat the guy," observed Detective Web.

"The zombie look does manage to capture a bit of the EC Comics style, but it suffers from that '80s rubbery mask technology. Wait, it gets worse," I assured him, "those delivery guys were the best actors in the bunch."

"It's criminal." Detective Web shook his head in disbelief.

 A few months later the house is sold while the zombies are still out and about in the woods nearby waiting for the housewarming party. The new owners are sister and brother, Zoe (Roxanna Augesen) and Jeff (Rocky Duvall), and their parents due to arrive from overseas. April (Victoria Bastel), a neighbor, welcomes Jeff to the neighborhood. Her skunk-chasing poodle, Chocolate, runs off into the woods, encounters a zombie and dies from fright.

"Do the zombies chew anything besides the scenery?" asked Detective Web, growing impatient.

"Eventually. All I'll say is her name sounds "like the smell they put on Kleenex" and she's heading to the pet store in the morning.

That night, Jeff finds the old television set in the attic with a little enticement from Jennifer Miro of the The Nuns band who pops up in his room. Jeff carries the TV back to his room and plugs it in, forgetting the dire warning from the loud Texan (Sam David McClelland), who showed up earlier that day demanding to know where the television set was. The encounter with the overacting Texan, calling the underacting Jeff a "damn fool," was forgettable even for me, so maybe Jeff's memory is not so bad after all.

After taking a few medicinal tokes on his weed, Miro pops up again on a TV channel, then suddenly in his lap. Before he can decide whether it’s the weed or fortune that’s placed a naked woman in his bedroom, she pops back into the TV; just in time to have her throat cut by the Garbageman, who warns Jeff she was a zombie playing with his head.

"Hey, was that meant as a double entendre?" asked Detective Web.

"I doubt it," I said. "Nothing in this script indicates the author is that clever."

This is the first and last time we meet the Garbageman. He scares Jeff into following his directions to put the TV set in the basement and tie a mirror across the screen. But the other zombies are still out and about, and after three solid months of staggering aimlessly in the woods they decide to have some fun with the neighbors.

Entering April's house, one undead couple have a hearty giggle at the buzz from a blender—they must have been dead for a long time—while another zombie strangles April's mom.

And strangles her.

And continues to strangle her for some time.

"This is a first. Usually zombies bite your throat, not strangle it," said Detective Web. "He's also got to be the weakest walking stiff I've ever seen."

Finally, even after April's mom plunges an iron into the zombie's head, he manages to strangle her completely. The iron remains in his head for the rest of the movie. Being dead, it is not much of a bother for him. I'm sure there is a witty remark one can make about a zombie with an iron stuck in his head, but I'll take the high road on this one and stay mum.

 "Wait a minute." Detective Web pulled at his earlobe. "How does the Garbageman manage to kill a zombie by cutting its throat…while an iron plunged deeply into this one's noggin' has no effect at all?

"I'm sorry, but if you are looking for any logic or rational thought here, there isn't any. Just go with it. It's another senseless cinematic crime like so many others."

"And I thought I'd seen it all," he said.

"Mr. Zoc, I've made some lovely tea for you and…?" said Glenor Glenda, putting the tray beside us.

"Jack," answered Detective Web. "That's very gracious of you."

I paused the movie while Glenor served our tea. Ever the flirt, she gave Detective Web extra sugar. He noticed. With our cups of tea in hand, I started the movie again.

After murdering—not eating—April's parents, the zombies go next door. The Bride zombie, another flirt, pops out of a washing machine to kill one surprised housewife by strangling her. The housewife is then loaded head first into the washer and put on a spin and rinse cycle. More giggling ensues.

I kid you not.

The Texan returns to save the day. He tells April, Jeff, and Zoe that the zombies can be killed! All you need to do is shoot them so THEY THINK they're dying, then chop them into pieces.

While they discuss this diversion from standard in zombie lore, April is captured by Jimmy D. (Patrick Treadway) a greaser zombie who likes blonds. Not in a rush to save April, the Texan and Jeff get a good night's sleep before heading into the woods to track down the undead, fun-loving killers. Not being an NRA kind of kid, Jeff heads out with a bow and arrow. The Texan wisely chooses to bring along a big gun and a chainsaw.

In the woods, Jeff shoots a zombie full of arrows, and relishes acting like Leatherface in Texas Chainsaw Massacre, his favorite movie, as he slices the zombie into pieces. To entice more zombies to come and get it, the Texan hangs Jeff—who apparently hasn't watched many horror movies beyond Texas Chainsaw Massacre—from a tree; high enough so his feet don't touch the ground, but low enough so the zombies can grab at him to build suspense for us.

Or try to.

At this point we also learn that zombies, when approaching, make bells ring. Fans of Hammer’s Captain Kronos will recall how he hunted vampires with bells and croaking frogs. No croaking frogs were used in this movie, however, just bells. One final tidbit of zombie lore, mentioned by the Texan, mentions they also go crazy when locked up and start eating each other. So the plan is to either trap them or chainsaw them into itsy-bitsy pieces. More zombie lore I didn’t know. Did you?

"Finally, we'll get to see them eat something," commented Detective Web, taking a sip from his tea. Glenor handed another pastry to him. "These are wonderful, thank you."

Finding the shack, and a partially eaten April inside, the Texan promptly falls asleep while Jeff is left hanging outside. The bells they had spread around start tinkling. Jeff, getting poked by the long sticks the zombies wield with vigor, yells for help, but the Texan apparently did not sleep enough the night before.

I bet you didn’t know zombies like to use long sticks to poke their potential dinner, right?

Right on cue, Jeff drops the only weapon he has, the chainsaw, and the Bride zombie picks it up. Jeff, now with a more urgent reason to yell louder, finally rouses the Texan, who shoots the zombies "to death." The Bride zombie escapes, but the other zombies are down for the count. He lets Jeff down from the tree and both go after her, who, in one of those ironic twists of fate so prevalent in horror movies, goes after them instead.

Unfortunately for Jeff, the she must have been a fan of Texas Chainsaw Massacre, too, because she throttle’s the chainsaw with relish. Jeff, in true horror victim duplicity, runs directly into it as he swings a machete, lopping off her head. Both Jeff and the Texan wind up deader than the zombies through their ineptitude.

A deep groan followed Jeff's slapstick death.

"Yes, that was a groaner, wasn't it?" We both said at once.

Detective Web looked at me. "I thought you groaned.”

I looked at him. "No, I thought you groaned.”

We looked at Glenor. "It wasn't me."

Another groan sounded from in back of her.

"Will you look at that? Hey Jack, we got a live one," said the forensic photographer.

Zombos stood up, cradling his head in his hands.

"Lord love a duck. That is the last triple hot toddy I have on an empty stomach. Glenor, fetch me a bromo-seltzer please. What is everyone looking at?"

Glenor clapped her hands with delight. "You're alive, you're alive!" She ran to fetch the bromo-seltzer.

"Aw, crap, you mean I had to sit through this movie for nothing?" said Detective Web.

"Well, it's almost over. We might as well finish it," I said. 

"What is all this?" asked Zombos, as he pulled a chair over and sat down. "Where is Paul?"

"Long story," I said to Zombos. "I'll fill you in after we finish watching The Video Dead. Glad you could make it."

The Bride zombie, also cradling her head in her hands, joins up with the other zombies, who realize they were not "killed" after all. They all go after Zoe. Left alone to overact, Zoe melodramatically widens her eyes and cries as the zombies lurch outside, stopped only by the mirrors hanging on the doors. Recalling the Texan mentioned the zombies only kill people who show them fear, she decides to invite them in for dinner.

You read that right: dinner.

The zombies don’t know what to make of Zoe's sudden heart-warming attitude, but they go with it.

With everyone sitting around the kitchen table, she serves dinner. Then it is off to the living room for cordials. Two zombies, paging through a magazine, see a couple dancing. Zoe, ever the good host, directs them to the basement, where she pulls out the phonograph. On the pretense of looking for a suitable record, she runs up the basement steps, falls down long enough to build suspense, then locks them in. They quickly go mad and start eating each other. Unfortunately, as you may recall, the TV set is in the basement, too. No sooner than you can say jumpin' jack flash, the zombies are back on TV in reruns.

Zoe, understandably, winds up in a mental institution. Her parents visit, bringing along the TV set, hoping it will perk up her spirits. Zoe's spirits are indeed perked up as she receives unexpected company looking to finish their dance of death.

I turned off the video tape player. Zombos drank his bromo-seltzer as we sat in silence.

The forensic photographer handed me his business card. "I do weddings, bar-mitzvahs, and socials, too."

“Thank you.” I put the business card in my pocket.

"Well, with you alive, we don't need to bring in Hollstenwall. Russo?" said Detective Web, looking around the room.

"Yo."

"Cancel that APB on Paul Hollstenwall. Put one out on Robert Scott. He's the real criminal."

"For what?"

"Impersonating a director and screenwriter."

Killer Klowns From Outer Space (1988)

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Killer Klowns From Outer Space

“Mr. Zoc! Mr. Zoc!” cried Glenor Glenda the maid, running down the hall from the pantry.

“I’m rather busy blogging,” I told her.

“But you must come at once! Mr. Zombos is taken ill.”

“Where’s Chef Machiavelli?” I yelled back.

“I don’t know.”

Great, I thought, definitely a takeout night. Must I do everything around here? I am, after all, only the valet. I pushed aside my laptop. Killer Klowns From Outer Space would have to wait until I attended to Zombos. Again.

I found him stretched out cold on the floor. A black DVD case was clutched in his right hand. A post-it note read ‘You’ll love this one. Paul H.’

“Oh, lord,” I mumbled, “when will you ever learn?” Zombos always reacted badly to any of Paul’s you’ll love this one DVDs.

“Fetch some Scotch whiskey, if you please,” I told Glenor. “And make it snappy.”

She quickly returned with a poor choice.

“Have you no sense of decency, woman? Not the vatted malt! We need something stronger. Bring back the Royal Brackla. The man’s unconscious for god’s sakes. I mean really.”

She turned around.

“Wait! Here, let me have that.” She handed me the shot glass, spilling a little of the liquor, then hurried on her way. I gulped it down. Not bad, actually.

She returned with the Royal Brackla. I poured some into the shot glass and took a gulp. Perfect. It was going to be a long night.

I then poured another glassful and lifted Zombos’ head to pour a bit of the liquid through his lips. He awoke with a cough and a request for more. Good
man.

“It was horrible,” he said, in-between sips. ”

“Well, I can only hope you’ve learned your lesson.” I said. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a review to write. Glenor, see to it he’s comfortable. And
after he’s comfortable, stoke up the fireplace, make a nice cheery fire, and toss that DVD from Paul Hollstenwall into it before anyone else in this
household is tempted to trod where no sane movie fan should.

I returned to my writing the review for Killer Klowns From Outer Space.

 

I am not quite sure what the Chiodo Brothers were thinking when they pitched this idea for a movie, but it does have its charms (for horror fans, anyway). How can you not like a story about aliens that look and dress like grotesque clowns and use Krazy Straws to sip the body fluids of hapless victims they’ve sucked up with a giant vacuum? Just about everyone in the small town of Crescent Cove is turned into a jumbo-sized cotton candy treat with a nice gooey center before you can finish saying “popcorn’s ready.” And I mean the friendly type of popcorn, not the type that eats you they pop up in this movie.

Considering the low budget for the movie, the art direction and production design are fairly imaginative. If only the acting were a bit more top-notch. Anyway, with veteran character actors like Royal Dano and John Vernon, the other so-so actors were buffered a little.

The movie starts with the town’s younger set smooching on Lovers Lane. Ruining their idyllic moment, the Stooge-like Terenzi Brothers (no self-reflection by the Chiodo Brothers I hope) show up in their noisy and tacky ice cream truck, with its huge clown head on the roof, to sell popsicles. The bumbling but industrious duo is rebuffed by the annoyed teens who had different treats in mind. None of these purported teens look young enough to be teens, either, a characteristic horror movies have in common with porno movies (not that I’d know first hand, of course).

Before Mike (Grant Cramer) and Debbie (Suzanne Snyder) can get back to their snuggling, a bright object shoots across the sky and crashes not too far away. In true ’50s horror movie fashion (like in the Blob), they are off to investigate. Given a choice between heavy petting or chasing down mysterious objects crashing in the deserted woods, horror movie “teens” always go for the crashing object.

While they head to the scene of impact, Farmer Green Gene (not Captain Kangaroo’s bud, but Royal Dano), and his dog Pooh (I know your groaning, but I’m not making this up!), also see the crash and head out to investigate. Gene and his dog find a circus tent in the woods, only it’s really the alien spaceship. A funny gag has Royal Dano walking along the colorful side of the tent in tandem with a klown’s shadow tagging along. The circus fun and excitement atmosphere turns to terror for Gene and his dog when they are captured and cotton-candyized.

Mike and Debbie are next to discover the circus tent spaceship and decide to enter it. You’d think your average person would probably find a circus tent plopped down in the middle of an isolated woodland setting crazily suspicious, but then we wouldn’t have much of a horror movie would we if they just did the smart thing and ran away? Being smart in a horror movie doesn’t mix well to produce terror, right? Although it would be a refreshing change of pace.

One interesting flub to watch for has Debbie’s arm briefly disappearing behind the matte painting of the tent spaceship as they get close to it.

Another effective matte shot, which is also a nod to Forbidden Planet, is seen when Mike and Debbie enter a room reminiscent of the Krell’s huge power cell chamber. As they explore the ship and realize it is not part of Cirque du Soleil, the clever use of colorful carnival and clown-like objects—like red rubber balls used for door buttons—extends the limited production budget with style.

Soon they’re running for their lives with two klowns and one sniffing balloon dog hunting them. They escape, but the whole kit and caboodle of killer klowns, armed with a wacky assortment of lethal weapons, heads to town in search of late night snacks.

Mike and Debbie try to convince incredulous police officers Hanson (John Allen Nelson) and Mooney (THE master of the stare down, John Vernon) a bunch of klownish aliens are wreaking havoc in town. A series of bizarre, Looney Tunes-inspired, scenes includes a lethal Punch and Judy, pizza delivery a la killer klowns, clumsy klowns knocking over shelves in a pharmacy, and an ugly mini-klown knocking a biker’s head off with gusto.

Three scenes stand out for true creative goofiness, pushing this movie into more absurdist horrorhead territory.

The first has a nasty-looking killer klown enticing a young girl away from her mom as both sit in the local burger joint. Behind his back he holds a very large, brightly colored mallet. His intentions are clear to us, but not to the innocent, fun-seeking youngster. While this plays on how the appearance of a
clown can automatically trigger expectations of enjoyment, especially for most children, the scene takes this expectation into darker directions, making it comical, ominous, and frightening at the same time, especially if you’re a parent planning a birthday party.

The second scene involves a bus stop, a few tired adults waiting for the late-night bus, and another killer klown who shows up to entertain them with hand-shadows thrown on the side of a building. This stop-motion realized scene (I miss stop motion) is humorous, surreal, and again plays off pleasant expectations subverted into unpleasant terror when the hand shadows make a grab for everyone.

The third scene has one intestinally-gutted and dead-eyed Officer Mooney playing ventriloquist dummy to one particularly tall and mischievous killer klown. Officer Hanson, treated to this bizarre vent act after finding huge klown footprints all over his jail, cracks a brief smile—until he realizes the lethal intent of the big bozo. The squishy-suction sound in this scene is very disgusting. I’ll let you guess what the vent dummy’s strings were made of.

Now, if you were a killer klown, where would you hide? In the amusement park, of course!

So off go our heroes to rescue Debbie, who was captured and trapped inside a really big beach ball. And if you have a bunch of killer klowns with pies in
their hands, who do you think should get hit with them? Why, mouse-dancing Soupy Sales of course! Unfortunately, the small budget did not allow Soupy Sales to be flown in for the shoot. Bummer. (Google Soupy Sales if you don’t know who I mean.)

The zany Terenzi Brothers show up in their ice cream truck and join Mike and Officer Hanson. The Terenzi’s get separated from the others and wind up with a pair of big-ballooned female klowns. As the brothers klown-around with their new dates, Mike and Officer Hanson enter the cotton-candy room where Debbie is imprisoned. They rescue her, but are discovered and a chase ensues through the many weird compartments of the spaceship. After making their way through a doorway with a near limitless amount of doors to open they are trapped and surrounded by the killer klowns.

In the nick of time, the Terenzi Brothers burst in with their ice cream truck—did I mention it has a big clown’s head on it’s roof?—and use the truck’s
loudspeaker to tell the klowns to bug off. The klowns, mesmerized by this bodiless comrade seemingly speaking to them, do back off, but a giant klown
descends from above and goes after the ice cream truck. I have no idea why a giant klown would hang around the spaceship’s ceiling, but just go with it.

The Terenzi’s refuse to get out of the truck because “it’s rented” as the giant klown picks it up and tosses it. The scene is shot using miniatures and forced perspective (an oldie but goodie technique used extensively in Lord of the Rings).

Will Mike and Debbie and Officer Hanson escape? Will the Terenzi’s live to finally sell their popsicles? Will more pies be thrown? I urge you to see this movie to find out. Killer Klowns From Outer Space is an enjoyably goofy movie, and one that would do well with an effects-loaded remake or sequel.

Quick, how many times did I write Mike and Debbie? I just want to make sure you were paying attention.

Interview: David Wellington
Night of the Sugar Eating Fiends

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Monster_nation

"They're coming! Barricade the door!" I threw the hammer to Zombos and held a plank of wood in place across the doorframe. "The nails, the nails! Who has the nails?" screamed Zombos as the sound of pounding increased.

We turned to Chef Machiavelli. He stood like stone with his hands over his ears. His eyes stared into oblivion. His mind had retreated to a safer place where the Food Channel was running an all-day marathon only he could see.

"Here!" shouted Pretorius, our groundskeeper, over the ever increasing pounding on the front door. He tossed over the box of nails. Both Zombos and I reached for it too soon, jammed our fingers, and sent the box flipping end over end, spilling nails out of reach.

"Oh, Lord. We are toast," sobbed Zombos. But then the pounding stopped. We breathed deeply, waiting for something else to happen. I was shaking, and Zombos showed his age more than usual.

"Who's the damn fool who put those toothbrushes into our trick or treat bags anyway?" asked Pretorius.

Zombos and I looked at each other. At the same time we uttered the same name. "Zimba." Only Zimba, Zombos' wife, would dare to commit such a heinous act on the spookiest night of the year.

"Hell of a damn thing to do," said Pretorius. "You might as well go dancing over graves or give McDonald's McDollars if you want to rile up the little monsters and invite doom."

…

Interview: David Wellington
Night of the Sugar Eating FiendsRead More »

Interview With Vince Liaguno
Unspeakable Horror

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Unspeakable_horror
No place is darker than in the shadows of our closets…
And on each self, and in each corner, rests shoes, and clothes, and unspeakable horrors…

Editors Vince Liaguno and Chad Helder step into Zombos’ closet for a chat about their upcoming horror anthology that dares to open the creaking doors to those most personal, untidy closets we all share, where the light bulb is always dark, and the space is always pressing. And where fear is always piled deep in the farthest, darkest, corner.

 

How did Unspeakable Horror: From the Shadows of the Closet come about?

Chad Helder: In 2006, I started a website called Unspeakable Horror [http://unspeakablehorror.com] that explored the intersections between the horror genre and queer theory. Early on, I heard from Vince who was about to publish his first novel. We quickly became friends. At some point, Vince came up with the idea of publishing an anthology of gay horror stories. As a lover of short fiction, I was really excited about the prospect. That’s how it all began. Vince launched Dark Scribe Press, and the project began.

…

Interview With Vince Liaguno
Unspeakable HorrorRead More »

Interview: Victoria Blake of Underland Press

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Underland Press Victoria Blake is the founder and publisher of Underland Press. She started the company after three years as a prose editor at Dark Horse Comics, in charge of the production of the Aliens, Predator, Hellboy, and Lankhmar novels. She came to book publishing from a career in newspapers, having worked as both a hard news and features reporter. Currently completing an MFA in fiction at the Warren Wilson Program for Writers, she holds a bachelor’s degree from Barnard College at Columbia University.


Publisher Victoria Blake steps into the closet for a chat about her upstart, Underland Press, which dares to make wovel (web novel) a word to remember…

What creative urge inspired you to start Underland Press?

I read Brian Evenson’s amazing novella, “The Brotherhood of Mutilation.” I’d never read anything like that before—the prose was so spare and yet the world he created was so alive. I fell in love. When Brian told me that he was writing a follow-up novella, I knew that if there was any way for me to publish both as one book, that’s what I wanted to do. I had been thinking about leaving Dark Horse—I already had a business plan and I’d gotten my printer bids and I had a rough financial projection. The start of Underland was when Brian said I could have the book as my first title.

…

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LOTT D Roundtable: Halloween Memories

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Halloween-2006At this wonderful time of year for horror fans, our nostalgia for costumed escapades long past, fiends seldom seen, and old scares lightened by candy corn chuckles by the warm glow of the jack o'lantern, renews our spirits at a time of year when we open our doors–of our own free will–to the terrors by night. And laugh.

Join in the memories as the League of Tana Tea Drinkers reminisces on those terrors that come dressed in polyester, gauze, and rubber, brazenly bellowing with all their devilish might, in syllables to chill the night, "Trick or Treat!"

…

LOTT D Roundtable: Halloween MemoriesRead More »

Trailer Park of Terror (2008)
Beef Jerky Horror Overdone

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TrailerparkofterrorZombos Says: Good (but not my cup of tea)

From the case files of the League of Reluctant Reviewers comes this trashy horror, based on the Imperium Comics series, that will make you think twice before eating beef jerky ever again.

 

I remember it all quite well.

It came uninvited in a small brown envelope mixed in with the mail, on a day when the leaves tousled angrily on the limbs of dying trees, fighting against their inevitable descent to lesser heights of vibrancy. An oily, pipe smoke fog, so thick it
choked the throat and chilled the soul, gamboled in the deserted streets, stirred by winds playfully knocking off the hats of the few brave passersby hurrying along the quiet streets.

Darkness had come early this unusual day in October. I twirled my scarf tighter to ward off the dampness. Or was it something else that made me shake uncontrollably as I tapped the brass flamingo knocker against the massive oak door of 999 Transient Street.

“Welcome Mr. Bolton. Good to see you again,” said Chalmers.

He took my raincoat and scarf as we walked toward the Champagne Room, so named because of the pale yellow light that reflected in sparkling shimmers from its large Waterford crystal chandelier. Chalmers reached for the small brown envelope. I instinctively held it tighter, though I was not sure why. He smiled and went to hang up my coat.

I entered the room.

“Punctual as usual,” said the unseen man sitting in the Chippendale wing chair facing
the fireplace. A lively fire blazed on the grate.

“Let me see it,” he said in a soothing voice.

I relaxed my grip on the envelope and dropped it into the starkly white hand that appeared from the left side of the chair. The envelope disappeared from sight for a few seconds. A light chuckle came from the unseen occupant of the chair. “You do bring the most challenging movies.”

Chalmers appeared. “Your drink is ready.”

“Thank you,” I said and followed Chalmers to another, smaller room, where a polished Stiegel glass, filled with lightly chilled sherry, waited for me. The
cheery, paisley-tailed peacocks embroidered into the linen upholstery of the settee I nestled into were very soothing, and the plump cushioned seat, along with the sherry, had my cheeks on both ends glowing with warmth.

I drifted into reverie while the League of Reluctant Reviewers did what few could do or care to; there but for the grace of god and all that as John Bradford would say. Within a short time they would have the review done to a crisp.

Done to a crisp. The very thought made me shudder.

 

Torture horror jars against dark humor in this otherwise well done, to a turn, trashy-bin of 1950s comic-book-zombie spook terror with nods to Two
Thousand Maniacs! and John Waters’ pink flamingoed, filthiest person alive. Director Steven Goldmann and writer Timothy Dolan squander their over-the-top playfulness by turning sadistically nasty in overly long views of depraved victimization. I guarantee you’ll break into a cold sweat whenever you see or hear the words “beef jerky” after watching this movie.

When Norma (Nichole Hiltz) yearns for life away from the grungy trailer park she’s trapped in, she’s spiritually crushed when her new boyfriend is impaled on a fence by her redneck neighbors. She gets even after meeting Old Scratch (Trace Adkins) who gives her a shotgun to blast away her troubles. Where the Devil goes, damnation follows, and both she and Tophet Meadows, the trailer park she can never leave now, wait through the years for stereotypical victims, sent down stormy bad roads by grizzled, rustic strangers you would have to be a fool to listen to.

A van full of dead-teens-walking is provided courtesy of Vertical Ministries youth rescue service. After stopping at the local yokel diner and following the advice of de facto grizzled, rustic stranger (Tracey Walter, no less), Pastor Lewis (Matthew Del Negro) and his misfit flock collide with a derelict truck in front of Tophet Meadows. Being a certified, script-necessary dead zone for cell phones, they can’t call for help, so they head toward the cheerily-lit mobile homes in the trailer park.

Cursed Norma puts on her happy face—she really does need to—and greets them with hard liquor and a hard luck story of how her mother died in front of her.

After sending the kids off to bed and doom, she gives a rousing private sermon for Pastor Lewis. A flashback about her mother puts the brakes on the wicked-fun energy of the story, which comes to a full stop by the time our wanderlust teens are deep-fried, dismembered, and deboned.

Unlike Two Thousand Maniacs!‘s absurd, quickly executed viciousness by somewhat reluctant townsfolk, each scene of depraved cruelty here is overlong and disturbingly, gorily, serious in its attention to misery, easily outdoing scenes fit for an extended version of Hostel, not a satirical take on retro drive-in splatter.

Norma is joined in the mayhem by the same yahoos she shotgunned years before—misery fosters miserable company in horror movies I guess.

They’ve not aged as well as she has: layers of ghoulish EC comics-styled decay makeup indicate their dispositions; one even uses duct tape to hold himself together after being blown up, but this kidding is kicked aside by unpleasant torture horror, ill-timed and  unnecessary exposition,
and a long song sung by a guitar-strumming, pot-smoking cadaver. The acting, aside from the de rigueur stupidity of the victims, sustains a moderate level of terror, or disgust, depending on how you take it.

The beef jerky scene stands out as an example of the most brutally-rendered and disgusting excesses today’s horror movies are prone to, a seriously disturbing gore-fest not for the squeamish. If stark close-ups of slow flesh peeling don’t make you upchuck, by the time you get to the human french fry dunk into a bathtub of boiling oil, you’ll either be gagging or nervously giggling to lighten the heaviness.

The troubled teens—now in trouble with a capital T—pair off with the decaying trailer trash still living in the park’s mobile homes, and are scratched off the hit list, one by one.

Tiffany (Stefanie Black) goes tripping and runs afoul of Roach (Myk Watford), who saws off one of her arms for using his stash. When she comes down from her trip and back to one-armed reality, she runs screaming into the mother of trailer trash monstrosities, the repulsively grotund ‘where’s my meat?’ Larlene (Trisha Rae Stahl). Scratch one ‘needs some salt’ Tiffany off the list.

The only victim to put up a fight is goth-minded Bridget (Jeanette Brox), who finds herself in a demolition derby car crunch when she tries to escape.

I recommend you watch the R-rated version first, sort of like dipping your feet in  the pool before jumping in head first. Then after you warm up a bit you can try the unrated version. Do not plan on eating anything before or after if you do. Better yet, invite a bunch of friends over and hand out beef jerky. Give a prize to the last person who can stomach it: the beef jerky and the movie.