zc

Movies (Horror)

Undergods (2020)
Gothic Sci Fi Horror for the Arthouse Crowd

Undergods_FinalArtwork[1]Zombos Says: Good for film students, arthouse audiences, and anyone looking to think about and question an intentionally deep and confusing movie.

IMDb lists Undergods by Chino Moya as a thriller and fantasy. That is misleading. Perhaps a clue to what Moya intended is found in the glimpse of a book by E.T.A Hoffman, being read by one of the characters. The movie's use of colors, pacing, and decay across the stories in this anthology also point to a tone and mood that leans to the gothic and horror. There is also the sci fi element that directs Moya's odd editing and intentional obfuscation as he bounces us back and forth in time between post-apocalypse and pre-apocalypse. This movie is not one you would normally want to watch but it is worth watching.

There is a lot buried in the stories here but this is not a mainstream film. I would expect it to be a cult favorite in due time, good for midnight viewings with more action-packed fare or a go-to film for student studies. Oh, and the thriller part of it is completely wrong: Undergods is neither thrilling or suspenseful; it merely lays out a narrative that could use some time-trimming from its 90 or so minutes run-time. You will probably lose attention at the 68 minute mark or thereabout, but stick with it. The direction and editing keep actions muted but the actors intense. Either Moya knows how to direct actors or knows how to stay out of their way, but the acting takes the foreground in every scene, usually overwhelming the dystopian facades it takes place in.  

 

"Wait a moment," said Zombos. I looked up from my review-writing.

"You are getting a bit long winded here with academic back alleys," he said.

This is why I hate writing movie reviews when he's around. He's a critic of the critic type of person. That can be very annoying.

I stood my ground. "I'm simply outlining my impressions of the movie. I had to sleep on this, you know, to figure out how to approach it when it uses final poster art that's not even about the movie. That girl standing in the decaying ruins of a post-apocalypse while a truck drives toward her is way off the mark. At least I think it is. Now you've got me all mixed up thinking about it. Can you let me get back to my review please?" 

Zombos sipped his Aberlour and squinted his eyes at me. I got the feeling he was mentally holding two fingers up in front of his eyes and squeezing my head between them. I shook that feeling aside and continued my review. Come to think of it, the male characters in Undergods were all being squeezed. I wonder if that was intentional too.

 

Undergods 0059750The time-shifting begins with two buddies (Johann Myers and Geza Rohrig) driving a grimy truck through an urban wasteland of decaying buildings and rotting bodies. They collect the bodies but why? Who is paying them? They also drink gasoline (unleaded I hope), so their mental acuity is questionable. With a lot of time on their hands, they chat, tell stories, share dreams. Cue the first story and time shift to, I'm guessing here, the recent past, to an apartment complex that's empty except for an older couple in one apartment and one tenant locked out of his apartment. Or so he said. Ned Dennehy (he played Scrooge in Dickensian 2015) is the locked out tenant. They invite him in. I would not invite him in. Dennehy has a look that is not inviting. As it turns out, not a good look for the tenants either. An elevator provides the transition to… 

…the next story, which involves a rich man (Eric Godon) who wants to become richer, a daughter (Tanya Reynolds) he adores, and a creepy genius (Jan Bivjoet) who wants to sell his architectural plans. Strangely, this story is told by a father telling his daughter a bedtime story, which is even more strangely being told by one of the questionable sanitation guys picking up bodies and drinking gasoline.  Again, I'm guessing here, but it would fit the fantasy element as Moya kicks around the point of view for us like an empty can. He definitely wants to play with us here, with timeframes, with the people in those timeframes, and the social malaise those people are swimming in. Is he saying these characters are why the apocalypse happened, in general? A society in decline? Or are we still inside the heads of those two buddies as they shoot the breeze? 

Undergods 0106607A door forced open later leads to a loopy time wrap from past to present to past, making for a very jarring entrance into those two buddies' world consisting of an endless and mostly dead cityscape of ruins. From there, the final story embraces a more colorful world but one of emotional emptiness for the people living in it. A perplexing return of a formerly "dead" husband (Sam Louwyck) makes it a problem for the current one (Adrian Rawlins). There's well-placed dark humor here, especially with the letters the disconnected and disaffected son puts on his bedroom wall, as if he had to be reminded of what those letters spell out. A karaoke rendition makes for a very uncomfortable scene and is the only heated one allowed in the movie. A deeply disturbing but telling (and darkly funny) visit to a social worker makes this story the most perplexing but inherently understandable one of the bunch.

And so the two buddies continue driving for bodies and fresh meat. I'll leave the fresh meat part of it up to you to discover. We may all fall into that category soon enough, but soylent green it ain't.

 

Zombos took the last sip of his Aberlour, looked down at my review, sighed, and left the room. A reaction, I'm sure, most viewers will have after this movie. But it is one hell of a ride, with emphasis on the hell. Oh, and the techno soundtrack is awesome.

Undergods 0121592

Havenhurst (2016)
Movie Review

Havenhurst 2016Zombos Says: Good (But an extreme gore effect is jarringly unexpected)

Movies about dwelling places holding dark secrets, hidden passageways, and maniacal intentions are the no-brainers of the horror genre. Just think of Crawlspace (1986), or The People Under the Stairs (1991), or Thir13en Ghosts (2001). Such places take on an horrific character all their own, and a good movie or book presents that character foremost in as many scenes or chapters as possible.

Of course, visually speaking, for a movie it's relatively easy. Just spend as much time as you can in the endless hallways, the old apartments, and that stifling basement you don't want to find yourself in. That will do the trick. Havenhurst has all of that, and old fixtures, the quiet rooms, the spooky closets, and the permanent and transitory residents one would need for the terrors to begin. And a very, very, slow elevator when your dying for speediness. And a dungeon-like basement waiting for you if you misbehave.

Jackie (Julie Benz) takes up residence at the stuffy and musty Havenhurst apartment building after her rehabilitation from her addiction to alcohol. She has been a neglectful and self-destructive mother (we learn that from her fitful nightmares), but she is aiming for a fresh start with the help of her detective friend, Tim (Josh Stamberg), and her counselor who referred her to Havenhurst (wink, wink; hard to say if he is on the up and up here, but I sense a sequel may address that).

Havenhurst BasementShe takes up residence in her missing friend's spacious, but oddly suffocatingly close, apartment. Her friend, Danielle (Danielle Harris in a brief appearance before she disappears), has left all her photographs and antique cameras behind. Jackie suspects foul play. Jackie soon realizes Havenhurst is full of foul play. Cue the terror. Director and writer Andrew C. Erin, along with Daniel Farrands co-writing, are not too sure in how they play that foul terror, though. Not so much a mystery, not so much a slasher, not so much a gorehound delight, but a little bit of each moves the story along. Some of the movie posters show Jed (Douglas Tait), a mushroomy-skinned denizen of the hidden passageways, trapdoors, and sudden long drops to the basement, so not much mystery there. Hint! He is dressed a bit like a Hostel hosing-it-down man doing superintendent work in his spare time. So we know Jed's role in all of this right off the bat.

His brother, Ezra (Matt Lasky) is the building's handyman. He is good at cleaning up Jed's bloody messes. Both of them are dutiful sons to Eleanor (Fionnula Flannagan). She runs the building and decides who stays or gets evicted. After Jackie takes a drink too many, there is an understated scene where Eleanor goes to a large antique cabinet, opens it to reveal dozens of pegged apartment keys, and reverses the one to Jackie's apartment. That's when you notice a few other keys had already been flipped over, just like Jackie's. Needless to say, you don't want to be like Jackie, and those others, and have your key reversed in that big old cabinet.

Havenhurst Lobby

A hidden door in the laundry room (yes, me too! I hate creepy laundry rooms with hidden doors.) is revealed, as are the surprisingly versatile hallways and walls, in the photographs Danielle had left behind. Jackie investigates, get's her detective friend involved, and befriend's Sarah (Belle Shouse), a foster child who has her own secret room to hide from her foster parents. Sarah's parents eventually get evicted too, and that's where the gore kicks in. It seems out of place in this Gothic chiller and the camera stays too long admiring it. But soon the running away from Jed begins and the family that slays together is revealed, giving explanation to the building's unique luxury-to-die-for features.

Havenhurst Secret Room
The ending is a bummer as it clearly is done to set up the franchise for Jed and the building's future apartment dwellers. But there is more to tell about Havenhurst, so hopefully we will see the sequel soon. That deadly family tradition needs further exploration and I'm very curious to know what Jed does in his spare time. When he's not butchering tenants.

A courtesy screening link was provided for this review.

The Boy (2016) Movie Review

The boy movie

Zombos Says: Good

Beautifully filmed and with a brooding country mansion harboring dark secrets, The Boy doesn't pack an emotional wallop from intense scares or mind-numbing body counts, but what you will find in this gentle-gothic, that borrows much from other horror movies, is a simple treat of creepiness and mystery.

Lauren Cohan plays an American, Greta Evans, traveling to the Heelshire's family estate in the United Kingdom. It's an old, large, stuffy, and filled with hunting tweediness and wood trimmings kind of mansion, forgotten deep in the surrounding woods. Mom and Dad Heelshire need a nanny to take care of their son as they go on a much needed vacation away from–their son. They introduce 8 year old Brahms to her, but he's a life-sized porcelain doll, neatly dressed and somewhat melancholy in expression.

She laughs. They look appalled. She realizes they are serious. She settles in. Greta needed to get away so she has little choice. The grocery man, Malcolm (Rupert Evans), warms up to her and explains the background of Brahms and his parents. He gives Greta the pub gossip version and the regular gentrified version, and both tend toward providing just enough information for us to know there's something odd going on with the Heelshire's and their very odd son: the porcelain one and the real one.

The Heelshire's (Jim Norton and Diana Hardcastle) look tired, on edge, and desperate to leave the mansion. Mrs. Heelshire apologizes to Greta for leaving her alone with Brahms. A hint that maybe the other nannies they hired had their hands full and then some. The list of to do items, left behind, directs Greta to play music, make sure the boy is fed, dress him for bed with a goodnight kiss, read aloud to him, and do all the things you would normally do if he were a living boy.

But he's a porcelain doll so of course Greta gives up the listed duties a short time after the Heelshires have left. That's when strange things begin to happen. As Stacy Menear (writer) and William Brent Bell (director) mix in the hoary horror elements amid the splendidly brooding images of the mansion's animal carvings, hallway windings, and cloistered presence in the forest, away from neighbors and town life. Greta begins to suspect that the porcelain Brahms is alive. 

As her suspicion grows, her seclusion and avoidance of Malcolm's interest in her grows, too. She becomes more protective, more mothering, and starts adhering to that list of duties with unwavering determination. But then her reason for leaving the States catches up with her, forcing Brahms and his mysterious story into a new direction. 

While Menear's story resorts to too many overly seen tricks of the horror trade, without twisting them in non-traditional or quirky new ways, she does provide a kick in your seat moment as Brahms and Greta's pasts knock into each other. You will either like it or hate it, but it provides a direction that's not expected. For fans of, and those not familiar with, Lauren Cohan, she's very good at making the story work beyond the simple premise of "our son, the life-sized porcelain doll" and keeps to the fine line between histrionics, vulnerability, and assuredness.

Not so welcomed is the sequelantic ending tacked on beyond the perfectly good one. It's the kind that screams "not dead yet!" while ruining the natural denouement. I will say that there's a lot of backstory here that's left to imagination or future sequels, but I would have preferred a less blatantly commercial ending here. The story's mysteries are sufficient enough to spark a revisit, should the movie's box office mojo allow.

WFA 2015 Horror Nominees
The Short of It

Thanks to a nudge from author James Chambers (he's also head honcho for the New York Chapter of the Horror Writers Association), I had the opportunity to watch the horror entries for the Winter Film Awards 2015 (http://winterfilmawards.com/) in preparation for judging, and I must say almost every entry is fresh and engaging in direction and storyline. Here's the kit and kaboodle in one take.

Tokyo-halloween-nightMy favorite is the 23 minute Tokyo Halloween Night by Mari Okada (http://www.momomatsuri.com/2013/tokyohalloweennight.html). A delightful, and cheeky, fantasy that brings together a very unhappy scarecrow and a very lonely zombie for one Halloween night, it's playful with its visual and narrative texts, in both style and scripting. With her balance between horror elements and whimsy, Okada brings a fun film that's part storybook, part social commentary, and all horror comedy. I can easily see this short being developed into a full-length movie. (See Mari Okada here: http://vimeo.com/user16899819)

At 82 minutes running time, The Redwood Massacre gore-mess by director Redwood-massacreDavid Ryan Keith, is the longest entry in the WFA 2015 horror nominee pool. It's also the least satisfying. Unstoppable serial-killing machine (been there), heads sawed open with rusty blades (okay, that's really disturbing!), sharp weapons wielded with aplomb (no one ever ducks anymore?), and the mostly comatose-minded victims meandering into the killer's warren, leave this movie a slowly paced, albeit energetically gory, slice of the same-old, same-old. Faster pacing, inspired scripting, and a focal point extending beyond the bloody closeups would have benefitted this one and us.

The 3 minute Institutionalized, by director Roy Schweiger, is a strange, evocative, and bewildering 19 still image conversion into Institutionalizedmoving frames. A fashion statement, a mind-blown statement, and a statement I can't quite put my finger on, there's a weirdness filtering throughout. His Milan-based beauty and fashion photography background is brought foreground here, creating a short entry into the disturbing for you. (http://vimeo.com/92082037).

Director Marc Martínez Jordán's Timothy,(https://www.facebook.com/pages/Timothy-the-shortfilm/584999148225915), is a 10 minute horror short about a boy, his bossy sitter, and a kids show the boy likes to watch, with a cartoon-voiced, and really big bunny named Timothy (if you're okay with a person dressed up as a funny fuzzy bunny, that is) as its host. All three meld together in one evening of mayhem. I would point you to a Goosebumps episode where the kids show host pops out of the TV for an idea of what's happening, but then I'd be a bit wrong because..well, I'll leave that up to you to Timothy find out. A good short, not entirely original or fresh, but the direction, production values, and atmosphere are executed as well as the victim. What's very interesting here is how Jordan takes a Japanese horror trope–the creepazoid person-animal-thing–and makes it his own. I can see why this entry is in the Winter Film Awards for 2015.

Cynthia, by Christopher Wells, is 11 minutes of hell. It's who's hell I'll leave for you to figure out. Of course the main character is the prime suspect, and there's the devil to pay (actually, he is waiting for payment, apparently), and a woman who is hanging around (double meaning alert!), with a computer as the main complaint, or instigator, or excuse. I get the feeling Wells is drawing on personal experience here. Brisk editing, short sour moments, and key visuals to fill in just enough of the backstory, make this a traditional horror themed play on guilt, condemnation, and no reconciliation possible. It plays like a Reefer Madness for computer-addicted users. I feel so guilty after watching it. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aei_tOBPsWI)

Sweet-sixteenYung-Jen Yang's Sweet Sixteen is 9 minutes of birthday party and dreadful circumstance. But some of it seems to have been lost in translation. There's Haley, an adopted Chinese girl, who wants to know who her biological mother is. Simple. Or not. There's a little vengeance spirit holding a grudge angle here, so we know there's a sinister secret waiting to be discovered. Or not. There's a flashback, or flash ahead, and a sharp cake knife handled in the wrong way. Or not. More here is needed to understand, but these 9 minutes aren't quite enough to flesh out the picture Yang is drawing for us. So count this one interesting but incomplete. Of all the nominees, this one needed another minute or two of backstory, or future story, to help it sink into our psyche. (http://sweet16yang.wix.com/yungjenyang#!sweet-sixteen/c1amd)

I can try and explain The Jelly Wrestler but you wouldn't believe me. I can say, though, that, working in a bar in Brooklyn (well back when), I can understand, even accept, the premise, the angst, and the The-jelly-wrestlersticky squish. I'm not even sure if this is an official entry, but it appears on the nominees page, just only it looks like an afterthought, or maybe a late addition, so it's fair game. The horror comes in at the end, or maybe it's there all the time. I'll let you decide. It's directed by Rebecca Thomson and written by Claire D'Este, and there's something a little delirious, something a lot serious about this 14 minute story of Eileen, a former Queen of the Gelatine, barmaid who's getting too old, too bitter, and too brushed-aside. She's also a very sore loser. (http://www.rebeccathomson.com.au/#!the-jelly-wrestler/cj7j). Don't miss this one. I can't say why you shouldn't (still wondering myself), but just don't miss it.

Movie Review: House of Dark Shadows (1970)
A Story of Blood Relations

House_of_dark_shadows_poster
Walk with me, won’t you?

My mom and I are heading to the Benson Theater on 86th Street. We are in Bensonhurst Brooklyn, in New York. The year is 1970, or so, and the day’s light is waning as the evening presses down. The walk is not too far to the Benson and the best thing is that across the street is the Loew’s Oriental Theater, so we always have a choice of movies to see. The Benson isn't ornate like the Loew’s though, just your screen and seats basics, but we do catch a lot of wonderful horror movies there.

I’ll never forget when we saw Vincent Price in The Abominable Doctor Phibes because the theater’s air-conditioning wasn't working that particular summer’s night. It was hot sitting there in the dark. They even kept the front doors open to help cool down the place but that made it noisy every time the elevated train that ran along 86th street screeched past.

But I digress. Memories can do that to you, you know.

We have our tickets! With our popcorn and Cokes we sit in the middle row, about center to the screen. We aren't sitting in the balcony this time around. Man, I love sitting in the balcony; any theater’s balcony for that matter. Tonight we are seeing House of Dark Shadows, the only soap opera my mom and I love watching. Shh! What a pleasure it is not seeing screen messages to turn off cell phones, don't text during the movie, don't read your tweets, don't talk with your mouth full, and–but this is 1970, or so, and…

 

…Like countless other kids of my generation, I ran home after school, every day, to watch a soap opera that even I could love, Dark Shadows, on television. Now it was a movie! Jonathan Frid’s Barnabas Collins would bare his fangs on the big screen, more blood would flow from his attacks, vividly red blood to boot, and the story’s episodic arc of vengeful curse, supernatural circumstance, and the narrow halls of Collinwood, filled with the dark shadows of Collins Family history, would be hammered into a running time of ninety-seven minutes. Not constrained by television’s censorship, the vampire attacks would be more horrific and the scenes more expansive and atmospheric. I was ecstatic with anticipation.

At first, Dan Curtis, the creator of the series and now director of the movie, envisioned editing “already existing television video material into a full-length feature, as had been previously done with the Man From Uncle, but the complexities of the Dark Shadows storyline would not permit an easy edit for the screen.” (The Dark Shadows Companion). Nor would the video quality variations and continuity problems make it an easy or convincing fit with newly filmed material anyway. Then, finding backers for the movie proved a hard sell. ABC refused to back their own show, even though they were loving the television series audience of 15,000,000 viewers. One misguided producer even recommended recasting the television series stars with other stars, even though David Selby (who played Quentin Collins, another cursed soul in the series) could “draw a million kids to shopping centers.” He played a werewolf, that's why. After Curtis spent two years of shopping the movie around Hollywood, the newly-installed president of MGM, James Aubrey, said “Let’s go,–what the devil are we waiting for?” (TDSC)

Filming the movie over 5 weeks while the television series continued to air was a challenge. On television, the alternate universe storyline, Parallel Time, introduced new characters and provided various plot devices that covered the necessary absence of actors appearing in House. Barnabas was chained in a coffin on television while he roamed free in his cinematic incarnation. That incarnation would be more evil and less sympathetic than the soap opera one, taking its cue from the early days of Barnabas’s entry into the television series to spark flagging ratings. Then, and for the movie, he was “a darker, more Hammeresque vampire Barnabas with no mitigating providence to steer him from his eventual end.” (TDSC) Perhaps this is why ratings for the series dropped a short time after the very successful movie painted a more brutal and evil antagonistic vampire than what viewers of the television show were happier with? Or perhaps because Curtis killed off just about everybody in the movie? Awkward.

The Lyndhurst Estate in Tarrytown, New York, would become the new Collinwood. Curtis, his production team, and the actors had to film around the regularly scheduled tours of visitors to the mansion (a National Historic Trust site), but its period rooms made it worth doing so. Money was saved on props and decor because the mansion was already furnished with priceless antiques, rich furniture, evocative paintings, and enough dark shadows of its own to give House an elegance well beyond its small budget. An hour’s drive from Manhattan also made it an easy location to get to for the actors.

Shooting began on March 23, 1970, at the Sleepy Hollow cemetery a few miles away, where an existing mausoleum was dressed over with the Collins Family name. Shooting Carolyn’s funeral there proved a bit more of a challenge than anticipated. A grave diggers strike had caused bodies to be piled into a building needed for shooting. Non-union workers were hired to tackle the growing piles of corpses, but their constant interruptions to carry the corpses out of the building prompted Curtis to finally plead “Can you do that later, please, it’s not like they’re going anywhere.” (The Dark Shadows Movie Book) Additional sets were fashioned out of Lyndhurst’s rooms. The kitchen became Dr. Julia Hoffman’s  laboratory (how can you forget staccato-voiced Grayson Hall?), where she worked at finding a cure for Barnabas’s vampirism (it was a virus! Like the one in House of Dracula. I wonder if she was related to Dr. Edelmann?). The basement became the wardrobe department, and the souvenir shop was taken over by the make-up team. (TDSMB)

The interior crypt scene where Willie Loomis (John Karlen) goes to find treasure, but finds Barnabas’s hand suddenly around his startled throat instead, was shot in an exterior building on the Lyndhurst grounds. Curtis shot 9 hours a day, barring interruptions from the weather, which proved colder and wetter than they expected, and shot day-for-night for the night scenes. While the resulting look on film is obvious, shooting that way did save time and money as night-time shooting requires more set up and lighting considerations. Kathryn Leigh Scott, in her Maggie’s House of Dark Shadows Diary, gives a little insight into Curtis’s directing style: “During the break, I overhear the camera crew talking. One of them says Dan has a great way of bringing unity to the set—everyone hates him. And this is the first day?” (TDSMB) John Karlen had kinder words for Curtis, calling him a good actors director.

The Old House, where Barnabas takes up residence, forcing Willie to restore it to its former glory, was a location at the Schoales Estate in Connecticut. It is here that Carolyn, in a fit of jealousy, invokes Barnabas’s anger and vampiric fury as Willie helplessly looks on. Her subsequent rise as vampire leads to one of the movie’s highlights in its staging and execution, bringing to mind a hint of the Hammer aesthetic. She is eventually cornered by police officers brandishing crosses, overpowered, and held down as Professor Stokes (Thayer David) hammers a stake through her heart. Watch this scene closely; you will notice Curtis cuts away just before Stokes brings the hammer down on the stake, then cuts to the stake in her chest, with suitably bloody results. Thayer David would not hit the stake hard enough, so after numerous takes Curtis gave up pleading with him to hit the bloody thing harder and decided to get the best take he had and fudge it with editing. Lost in the editing, also, was why the police suddenly become believers in vampires.

Perhaps more noticeable than it should be is Curtis’s approach to editing, with additional help from film editor Arline Garson (although her only editing credit on IMDb is for The Beatles at Shea Stadium (1966). An odd thing happens as you watch the story unfold past the first 21 minutes. Scenes are cut so that they don’t quite match in spacial and time relationships, appearing too brief in some cases. It’s as if Curtis decided to trim seconds here and there, but instead of tightening the pacing and reinforcing the structural logic of events, he causes a hiccup effect, making his match cuts almost appear to be jump cuts. Dark Shadows fans could easily fill in the fractional timing gaps with their memories of the television series. New viewers may find the editing a bit disconcerting. Overall, it creates a rushed story that could have used a few more minutes to flesh out events more clearly. The studio didn't pressure him to shrink the movie's running time, that would come later with Night of Dark Shadows. Perhaps Curtis, coming from television, subconsciously worried about bridging through non-existent commercials?

One cannot mention the Dark Shadows movie without bringing up Dick Smith’s wonderful makeup effect for the aging Barnabas (a favorite scene for monster magazines of the day). After Julia becomes miffed at his preferring Maggie over her, she slips a mickey into his hypodermic needle used to deliver his anti-vampire dose. This causes Barnabas to age to his true life span of 200 years in a few seconds. Of course, he still has enough energy to throttle Julia to death with his withered hands in his rage. To accomplish the extreme aging for Jonathan Frid, Smith used the bald cap he designed for Dustin Hoffman in Little Big Man, then, under Curtis’s suggestions, added a stronger veiny and mottled look to Frid’s facial features; more effort was put into this effect than was done in the series episode that showed the same plot twist. The transformation effect is startling. Combined with Robert Colbert’s signature music for the series, with additional scoring taken from his The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Hyde (1968), it works perfectly. Curtis insisted Colbert, who wanted to do original music for the movie, use his previous work instead. Curtis even went so far as to edit to the pre-scored music, which may account for the jarring match cuts.

 

“At a boy, Willie!” yells my mom to the theater screen as we watch House of Dark Shadows. Willie is doing his best at being Willie (helpless and frantic) and she enjoys watching him sweat. But Willie redeems himself at the end, driving a really big arrow bolt into Barnabas’s back and up through his chest. The scene unfolds in slow motion, the music is poured on, and soon the credits roll. Hey, what’s that bat doing flying out of the spot where Barnabas collapsed? Does that mean a sequel! Sadly, the planned sequel wound up like so many ideas in Hollywood: somewhere between the bedroom and the driveway, and a different story took over the next Dark Shadows movie.

We leave the theater, fully satisfied, and looking forward to the next horror movie to play at the Benson. Well, okay, maybe not Frankenstein Meets the Spacemonster, but sure, any other horror movie. What? You need to head back ? Okay. Thanks for joining us.

Let’s get together again real soon.

The following essential books were quoted from and used as reference in writing this article: The Dark Shadows Companion: 25th Anniversary Collection, edited by Kathryn Leigh Scott; and the Dark Shadows Movie Book, edited by Kathryn Leigh Scott and Jim Pierson. I highly recommend. 

DVD Review: Annabelle (2014)

Annabelle-dvdZombos Says: Good

"Well, it is about time," said Zombos.

He had been away on vacation, some sort of trip around the world as he termed it. For me it was a blissful vacation not having him underfoot. But now he was back. Nothing truly good and enjoyable ever lasts, does it?

"Time for what? I countered. I was a bit rusty with him being away for so long, but my mental machinery was slowly beginning to hiss as it built up steam.

"Why, time you got back to writing my boy. What is all this nonsense with posting scans of this and that? You have grown lazy while I have been away. Time for some meaty review or insightful observation, or perhaps even a rant or two, instead of another lobby card or magazine or movie pressbook or–."

"Those scans of this and that, as you so blithely put it, are our history old chap. Mine, yours, ours. Monsterkid history. From the vaults of memory history. You know, the stuff fond memories are made of. Otherwise known as nostalgia for older horror fans, and maybe an introduction to such wonders for those who grew up much later."

He opened his mouth to respond. Chef Machiavelli interrupted with a tray full of pistachio cannolis and a pot of his angelic espresso (you know, one cup of it and you're in heaven). We quickly both agreed to disagree between bites and sips.

"And I haven't been all that unmindful. Here's my review of Annabelle," I said. 

"Splendid." He settled into his wingback armchair. His long, thin arms came to rest in their comfortable positions across its armrests. I jotted a mental note to have the chair reupholstered; its armrests, now threadbare and shiny in spots, needed attention.

"Let me hear all about it," he said, as he took another sip from his cup.

 

I didnt' see Annabelle in a theater. 2014 seemed to be pretty dry in creativity for widely released horror movies and I decided to simply wait and catch it on DVD. Warner Bros. Home Entertainment graciously offered their DVD+Blu-ray discs for review. I said yes. Of course.

You'll want to pop in the Blu-ray disc, it has all the featurettes, although I found each one of them too short in running time for my inquisitive and seasoned (okay, jaded) mind; but sure, they still are pertinent and worth watching. Especially the deleted scenes from the movie and the descriptions of the makeup work on the demon. A funny moment pops up while the effects team discusses the preparation of Annabelle's dolly companions for their full-blown demonic hazing. Other deleted scenes show how the storyline had changed during editing, forcing the deletions.

Looking at the designs for both demon and doll, they show a careful artistic balance between the demon's gargoyle (aka woodcut) looks and the not-quite-sinister-but-damn-she's-a-little-off Annabelle that you can appreciate. Both look ghastly when you take a long hard look, and the movie's terror easily flows from their visual and narrative suspense. Having the Annabelle doll become the conduit for the demon's evil makes it a terrible plaything in more ways than just looks. I still can't believe anyone in their right mind would go near a doll that looked like Annabelle unless they had a few stiff drinks beforehand. And were nearsighted. And probably didn't like the person they were giving the doll to.

But I'm referring to the reel doll, not the real one (see the picture), of course. As the movie progresses, Annabelle's porcelain face turns darker and her lighting and coloration more ominous as she gets her sinister on, while her already alarming smirk, grows smirkier by the minute, or seems to, making you wait for her to say something you really don't want to hear. Thank god she doesn't have a pull-string. I'm not sure who's scariest among cinema's terrible dolls such as the Saw and Dead Silence Billies, or Chucky and Tiffany, or Talky Tina, to name some of them, but that unblinking stare of Annabelle is probably the most deftly executed compression of horrifying countenance hidden in an almost pretty face; and she has Hell on her side, so there's your win-win for mayhem and scares.

Annabelle-then-and-now

And that's when you realize, and a pleasant surprise it is, that director John R. Leonetti does more with less, greatly increasing the movie's impact. Easy jump scares are replaced by a more studied atmosphere of growing doom and gloom (like the one you find in the original Omen), and he even dares to do a long take that makes the origin of the doll's cursed existence a stylish treat as much as it is a brisk-paced blood-letting (without egregious gore). Lingering closeups of Annabelle's eyes makes you wonder when they will move, and seeing Annabelle sitting in a rocking chair, or on the shelf, makes you watchful for any sudden movement. Of course she doesn't wink, blink, or deliver epigrammatic barbs like Freddy, or even move a ponytail; except for one scene where she does move, but it's what's behind her that's more scary.

The deleted scenes show what didn't make it to the final cut. One can understand why the building's creepy handyman character was removed (pointless for the narrative), and why two incidents involving the baby were also left out. The first, which includes many cats, is visually arresting, but off premise with the rest of the storyline (it happens, it's weird, so what?), but the second generates some real goosebumps. It involves baby's bath time and danger. I'm sorry it didn't make the final cut: it's that strong. But keeping it in would have probably upset a lot of audience members, and undermine the demon's purpose (a soul to need, to a demon will feed kind of purpose).

The demonic and satanic cult aspects of the movie are framed by a surfeit of Catholic faith, which almost becomes cloying and preaching when Father Perez (Tony Amendola) ponders the glory of motherhood as worried mom, Mia (Annabelle Wallis), listens distractedly. Scripter Gary Dauberman's ponderously preachy dialog takes on a pandering-weight, and Leonetti dwells on it in one or two scenes, forcing his actors to the speaking cadence you see in those corporate training shorts many employees have suffered to watch with a game face.

There's the "problematic racial function" provided by Ruby (Alfre Woodard), the bookstore owner, as described by Inkoo Kang, in her review of Annabelle for The Wrap, that warrants further academic exploration. Later. I'm not sure why Dauberman resorts to it, but it is noticeable. Like all those red shirted, landing party, classic Star Trek personnel going to their doom, we know what's coming. But then he uses a more carefully crafted approach by injecting those 1960s notions of womanhood, realized through Mia's husband (Ward Horton): Mia is imagining things because she's going through postpartum depression. A few drugs and seeing a shrink, in between watching soap operas on television, should cure her.

Lucky for us Father Perez believes in evil. And demons.

As Above, So Below (2014)

As_Above,_So_Below_PosterZombos Says: Very Good

Before you see this refreshingly artful exercise in claustrophobic mayhem–the accurately but poorly titled As Above, So Below–brush up on your Nicolas Flamel and alchemy history beforehand. And you may want to take some headache-relief in advance, since the enthusiastic point-of-views and shaky-camera in this mockumentary horror may give you a beaut.

The story is seen through the de rigueur determined camera operator who keeps filming no matter what happens, (Edwin Hodge fills that role as Benji), and his pinhole cameras, worn near the headlamps of archaeological adventurers Scarlett (Perdita Weeks) and George (Ben Feldman) as they dare the Paris Catacombs’ unexplored regions. So expect much close proximity blurring and corner of the camera eye terror-flashes, as well as a modicum of incoherence in the audio and the action as per this now overused and unnecessary, but versatile, cost-cutting conceit. (Relatively speaking, of course: but its $5,000,000 budget has grossed $13,000,000 so far.)

I also recommend you ignore Metacritics and Rotten Tomatoes: their movie ratings are irrelevant and off the mark as usual. I don’t understand why anyone with a mind of his or her own would even bother with these useless vestigial websites unless the interest is one more of socializing with the herd than reading actual film analysis and earnest reviews. Yes, the usual illogically better-than-to-be-expected cinematography ensues from the use of a limited handheld camera and those micro ones, but this is, after all, a horror movie and you’re watching it to be scared. More importantly, keep in mind this is not a found-footage movie. I keep seeing this mentioned in various reviews and it’s incorrect. I realized it wasn’t found-footage two-thirds into the deepening pile of bones and unexplored passageways our catacomb explorers were getting themselves more deeply lost in. In no credible way would their cameras ever be found to make this a found-footage movie; a realization that adds a little more intrigue and alters expectations for the better.

Scarlett is searching for the Philosopher’s Stone and Nicolas Flamel (Harry Potter fans will recognize the name) provides the clues to its whereabouts through his tombstone. Like Mikey in the Goonies and Professor Jones in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, she’s determined to let nothing stop her in her life’s goal; not the Paris Catacombs and their mounds of skulls and bones, or the potentially pesky rats scurrying through them, or the stifling, endless creepy corridors she’s warned to stay out of. Inevitably they are herded into one particular dusty, ancient, chamber foreshadowed by its warning “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate” (Abandon all hope, ye who enter here) etched into the narrow entrance. Gulp.

Director John Eric Dowdle (Quarantine) has a knack for enabling goal-driven women in supernatural storylines to reach beyond the typical bosom-bouncing scream queen falderol. Scarlett holds a few PhDs, speaks four languages, and she is so persuasive she even convinces her former boyfriend, George, who’s still smarting from when she abandoned him to incarceration in a Turkish prison, to accompany her. George provides important translations and a calming effect to her rambunctious jump-in-then-look approach to tackling challenges. And, gosh, they still do love each other; once they stop yelling at each other.

The hook comes through what each person encounters in the catacombs and what lies farther below: a hint is that personal inner demons feed everyone’s encounters with the supernatural; an unexpected upright piano with a dead key and a rotary phone appear, though wildly out of place in such morbid surroundings; the movie’s trailer shows a flaming car that spoils a critical moment that’s not fully explained (at least not in one viewing); a hooded figure sitting on a wooden throne in the pitch dark suddenly decides to take a walk; the walls come alive and bite hard. More character insight and a little more time to help us pay attention to it should have been added to the script. Traps, copious blood-letting, face-mashing, a long drop with a sudden stop, and all those character-driven bedevilments pop up with the rapidity of a haunt attraction, leaving us and everyone else breathless. Benji, who clearly needs to lose weight before tackling tight places, wedges tight among the bones. As he panics, so do we. Those little squeaky noises at his butt don’t help lessen his hyperventilation, or ours for that matter.

It’s hard to say if As Above, So Below will boost the Paris Catacombs tourist trade or dampen it, but I hope to see more of Scarlett and George. This may be the start of a beautiful horror franchise.

DVD Review: The Exorcist
40th Anniversary Blu-ray


The-exorcist-dvdZombos Says: Excellent mix of movie versions and features in one set.

Not having watched the extended director's cut or original theatrical version blu-ray editions previously released, this 40th anniversary set from Warners Home Video, adding two new special features on a third disc and a snippet from William Friedkin's book The Friedkin Connection, is a superb way to re-experience the artistry of The Exorcist, one of the top 5 horror movies made.

One of the new additions is Beyond Comprehension: William Peter Blatty's The Exorcist. Blatty, former comedy writer (good luck with that career after this movie hit), now famous horror author and screenwriter, takes us on a tour of old haunts. Our first stop is the guest house he eventually settled into, with mass quantities of coffee and cigarettes, to write his novel. He explains the few false starts that led him there; for instance, his first choice of writing milieu was a beachfront abode, but noisy cresting waves were too distracting for him. Throughout, Blatty keeps a  wowser! how lucky was I attitude that pops up a little too often to remain fresh, especially at times when more revealing exposition on the process of how he got that lucky would have been appreciated (and yes, that's the writer side of me pointing fingers here, of course). One startling revelation: he didn't have an outlined plot and worried he would eventually write himself into a corner. I recall Charles Dicken's never outlined his novels, either. (Lucky bastards, the both of them.)

The impetus for the novel and its memorable terrors was a true-life case of exorcism that ocurred in 1949, which both Friedkin (in his in-depth commentary for the movie and his book) and Blatty refer back to, often. The second new addition is a 20 or so minute chat with Father Eugene Gallagher, who talks about Blatty's time at Georgetown University and that 1949 case, and the exorcism rite itself. This is an informal, filmed in black and white, interview conducted at the time the movie was first scaring audiences, so the set up is minimal, the hair of the interviewer long (radio talk show host Mike Siegel), making it more suited to diehard religious or Exorcist fans with less itchy trigger fingers on their remotes.

The effectively teasing snippet from Friedkin's book, where he relates his experiences with the movie and Blatty, is contained in a hard cover booklet that fits neatly into the cardboard slipcase along with the DVD jacket. It's a revealing nugget of information that compelled me to get Friedkin's book. It also makes you wonder where horror's gotten off to, after such a promising decade in which it received stellar attention from topnotch directors and actors and writers. 

Those of you who have watched the previous blu-ray versions will already know how crisp and vibrant the viewing is, and how rewarding Friedkin's scene by scene commentary can be–I didn't realize until he pointed it out how he used the subtlety of having Father Karras rising (ascending) in his scenes–and how much the documentaries Raising Hell: Filming the Exorcist and The Fear of God: The Making of the Exorcist make you appreciate the nuts and bolts that, finally assembled into the movie, deliver a jolt of character-driven dramatic tension and release you don't often see in today's horror movies.

I can't really say which version I prefer, original or extended cut. The original 1973 showing is the one that made The Exorcist a classic. It's also the one I remember getting the willies from, sitting in a theater in with a whole bunch of other people getting the willies, too. On one hand the original is concisely executed, but on the other the additional 12 minutes have their moments. Some of them include the overly done subliminal flashes of the demon's face, but others reinforce the dual horrors of the medical examinations and the demon's possession , like Regan's jarring crab walk down the stairs. Thank god the technology back then wasn't ready for it: had I seen that in 1973 I don't think I'd have slept a wink for weeks afterwards.

Frankenstein’s Army (2013)
The Dieselpunk Dead Are Alive!

Frankensteins_Army_Theatrical_Poster_HiZombos Says: Good (in spite of the found footage POV inconsistencies and inaccuracies)

I was expecting a larger scale of military engagment from director Richard Raaphorst for Frankenstein’s Army, but he and his scripters (Chris W. Mitchell and Miguel Tejada-Flores) create strong dieselpunk and art house aesthetics with a haunt attraction’s worth of frenzied
creature-fest chills. Madcap amalgams of mech and flesh kill anything and everything within striking distance with their propeller heads, long drill-bit snouts, and skull crushing claws.

I wasn’t expecting the gimmicky found footage approach. Even if Raaphorst and cinematographer Bart Beekman know how to exploit it for all it’s worth with clever POV positionings and digitally mottling the “film” to show Frankenstein’s grandson Viktor’s (Karel Roden) sadistic megalomania and perverse family skills with dead body parts (or
living ones). With a Hammer-styled blood infusion of pacing and cinematography
(I’d also add a touch of Amicus) and a Hostel and Saw-liberated gory relish, and even maybe a Fulci’s sensibility for crazy deep-dish body-zombie-horror, the use of a wind up motorized handheld camera interferes as it goes well beyond what would have been possible with such technology available during World War II. Ignore the fancy but impossible use of the camera and you have an artsy-trashy Octoberfest delirium dressed with exposed
brains and sudden deaths that is compellingly and intentionally awful; don’t ignore the found footage inaccuracies and inconsistencies with the then level of technology and you are left with only an artsy-trashy misconception filled with nightmarish haunt-attraction worthy monsters doing serious body damage to anyone unlucky enough to cross paths with them.

The unlucky ones include the Russian soldiers, whose unsavory character traits are given as such to alleviate our concern over their eventual splattery dispatch, or Raaphorst is making a political statement but it’s lost in the helter skelter. In either case, cracking open the skull of one unfortunate individual–which is as upsetting to watch as it is for the poor bastard to experience–to remove a hemisphere’s worth of gray matter from his head, and then chop around the edges to make what remains fit with another person’s other brain half, is effectively over the top (or off the top, to be more precise). Watching this movie is like re-experiencing the tacky excesses of the Video Nasties from another decade, but done here with more verve for shock value to compensate for our jadedness.

And it does work to a good degree.

Horror can be most memorably terrifying and perversely exhilarating when it assaults our sense of propriety or dares to insult our intelligence with clever but contrived artifice. Frankenstein’s Army does both, which makes for great critical analysis on the one hand,
and great criticism on the other. At its center is a highly creative and well executed terror movie for those who like their horror served raw on the plate without garnish. Story elements are minimal, focusing on the Russian soldiers being filmed for propaganda and archival purposes as they travel through enemy territory to find supposed comrades held captive by the Nazis. It’s toward the end of the war and the Nazis are in retreat. Except for Viktor. He’s following Henry Ford’s assembly line process to create undead zombie robot (zombot)
soldiers: Mr. Potato Head assemblages of men, spare body parts, and whatever machinery or tools are at hand. Once assembled they roam around, killing anyone they come across. Whatever Viktor’s purpose was originally, clearly his insanity has reassembled it, too.

Slowly the Russians come across the remains of Viktor’s surgical skills. For a spring powered camera it runs for a noticeably long time without needing rewinding. Held by Dimitri (Alexander Mercury) it never falters to record everything, stretching our credulity as does every POV found footage movie since The Blair Witch Project. A failed zombot hooked up to a generator eviscerates one soldier, signaling the stalk and skewer phase of the story. Another zombot with a crushing propensity leads to a grossly funny helmet removal as more than the helmet is accidentally removed. Each zombot appearance is more outrageous than the other, and the terminal visit to Viktor’s fright-assembly factory reveals more secrets and more horrors.

Given a larger budget, grander scale of Allied military carnage, and a lighter, more mainstreamy tone shot with conventional
camerawork, Frankenstein’s Army could have won over a larger audience. But there is no nostalgia here or matinee popcorn to be served. The Andrews Sisters do not perform their musical interlude of Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy, and no U.S. Commandos come to the rescue.

But the zombots and Viktor’s crazy behavior make up for what’s missing, at least for those horror fans who don’t cover their eyes when it gets messy and who aren’t enamored of subtle terrors and highbrow storylines.

Evil Dead (2013)
Back to the Cabin

Evil dead
Zombos Says: Very Good 

You already made up your mind about this reimagining, didn’t you? If you’re a fan of the original, you’re thinking why bother? Even if you’re not a fan, you’re probably wiped out from all the bad remakes and updated takes on the tried and true, right? So you already have the notion that if Hollywood can’t think of anything new, why bother, right?

It’s easy to say this movie isn’t as good as the original The Evil Dead because it doesn’t have Bruce Campbell, but that’s not entirely true. What’s also missing is Sam Raimi’s hysterical camera that follows the demonic torture so well in the original: it tilts dangerously, it frantically moves around, and it becomes another panic-stricken character desperately trying to survive the night. Fede Alvarez can mimic those camera motions to some extent, but he never reaches the feverish pitch of frenzy in this film that assails Bruce Campbell in the last 15 minutes or so of the original.

But that was 1981. You can be nostalgic all you want for that wonderful decade of horror movies—I do fondly remember it—but this Evil Dead does have its moments, and considerably better practical makeup effects, and even more gore, vomit, and mutilations to shake up the respite in the derelict cabin
in the woods.

This backstory isn’t as much fun, though. How can you top finding a Panasonic reel to reel tape recorder in a deserted cabin’s decrepit basement, and that professor’s unusually calm voice setting events in motion by repeating all those bad words?  And what about that smoky atmosphere of waiting evil, pouncing willy-nilly on each victim, produced with less production gloss and more average-looking victims, making it more effective because watching pretty people get offed isn’t all that thrilling: average people getting killed brings it closer to home for average you and average me.

Comparison nitpicking? Yes.

I even watched the original movie after seeing this one to jog my memory. When you do a remake of a horror classic it’s to be expected you’d want to watch the original to see which one’s better.

Okay, make that the first original movie: the original remake of the original movie, Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn, doesn’t count here. Although it’s called a sequel, it really is a remake, but done as a horror-comedy.

Critics and fans look for differences and similarities and fret over them. But it’s the little things that amount to whether a movie that’s based on another movie will stand or fall. So, yes, everything counts.

Now, of course Alvarez and company take bits and pieces from both the deadly serious Evil Dead and crazy-sh*t Evil Dead II, but I’ll stick to the serious movie for comparison since Fede keeps his movie serious.

For one thing, this updated script is more practical. Instead of college kids on Spring Break heading to the woods for a weekend of fun, a group of friends are set on a noble mission, to rescue the drug-sopped Mia (Jane Levy), whose brother, David (Shiloh Fernandez), has been less rescuer and more absentee, so you know he’s got guilt up the wazoo. Which is why he’s slow to realize Mia’s problem is not the drugs but a demon possession. Even when her voice gets all demon-like and her face turns to demon-veiny-and-puss face, David’s slow on the uptake.

A little too slow to sustain our credulity, but this is a horror movie, and much dramatic tension, or so some directors today believe, is garnered from an audience screaming in their minds how dumb-sh*t stupid YOU ARE DAVID! and when ARE YOU GOING to realize Mia’s not Mia but the Taker of Souls come to make you and your friend’s the devil’s bitches.

Then again, maybe it was just me thinking that.

But after all the juicy face-slicing, gallons of blood-vomit projecting, lots of dead cats hanging in the basement, the finding of an evil looking book wrapped in barbed wire and human skin, and enough demented woodcuts in it showing nasty things happening to anyone stupid enough to read the bloody damned thing, well, my mental scream sparked naturally from my credulity dial getting twirled way past the red zone.

Then David starts pulling out the duct tape to patch up the slicing and dicing and meaty chunk craters of damaged flesh in his friends and I start to wonder if Alvarez is going Three Stooges intent here, but below the radar and without the yucks, which pulls my brain right back into the story.

A gushy and stringy dismemberment or two later and David’s doing a Bruce Campbell with a bit of the chinny-ness to save Mia, creating a memorable
ending that makes this movie stand on its own and looking good for a sequel.

I think Mia’s got even more chin going for her than Campbell.

So, yes, it’s groovy.

Movie Review: The Lords of Salem (2013)
Not So Mighty

The-lords-of-salem

Zombos Says: Typical Rob Zombie Fare

Listen to the Movie Review

The Lords of Salem is a visually complex fever dream (or confused one; I can argue for both) from director Rob Zombie. We know how it will end. We already know how all his movies will end. Zombie's blind spot is being unable to fool us through tension and suspense. Each movie becomes an exercise in the downward descent, the great fall, the whac a mole hit squarely every time. This, of course, kills any hope of seeing anything more than a mono story done in stereo colors.

But what colors!

I do love his use of older black and white movie clips, too. And then there are those large Andy Warhol style black and white pop art prints in various rooms of Heidi's (Sheri Moon Zombie) apartment. He even manages to include a print of Commando Cody, who bleeds profusely on the bathroom wall as Heidi withers away. The movie clips Zombie uses will be familiar to genre fans, but his enthusiastic deployment of them, in-between his deliberately overbearing religious and sexual imagery, errupts everything into a Pop Rocks experience: it loses its novelty and significance with continued use.

With Rob Zombie there's only one ending to all his movies—I mentioned that—but how he gets there is also a familiar trip with familiar characters. The Lords of Salem has a lot of scenery to look at while we make the trip. He takes us through the neighborhoods of pre-1980 Times Square porno, with all the subtlety of a black velvet clown with neon color highlights, and stops to hammer us with cackling old crones reveling giddily in their evil, stepping out of their ancient woodcuts to overboil this pot of nihilistic stew as they spit and gloat and reek of foulness. I can't tell if he's going for femjoy dominance and parody or deep down he secretly fears castration so his witches are really what he thinks of women.

Those crones toil well beyond Shakespeare’s boil and bubble in their roles of the Devil’s desciples. Meg Foster is stunningly unrecognizable as the decrepit and saggy high priestess, Margaret Morgan. After being burned alive and hankering for revenge, she takes aim at the female descendents of the puritans that baked her and her covenors to a crisp.

The bizarre music the witches play winds up on vinyl and is mysteriously delivered to the radio station Heidi and her fellow DJs (Ken Foree and Jeff Daniel Phillips) burn the midnight oil at. The music casts its spell and we watch its effect on Heidi.

And watch.

And watch.

And the one possible tense string brought into play by Bruce Davison’s Matthias, an author who is slowly realizing the witches he declares extinct are actually quite alive and currently in the process of serving him tea, is plucked only once, then abruptly stopped; a wasted note that would have truly surprised me if Zombie stepped out of his limitations and played it for all it was worth.

And we continue to watch.

And watch some more as Heidi misses her radio broadcasts, ignores her friends, forgets to walk the dog, and drags her tiny butt in and out of the nightmares Zombie stitches together for visual impact more than emotional context. Providing intertitles to let us know what day of the week it is, time isn't really important. Everything blurs to an ending that reaches further in its reckless abandon than any of Zombies previous films. I applaud the attempt while lamenting the near-sighted vision.

Whether you view all this as an LSD trip or a redux-psychedelia tab pressed from oils of Rosemary’s Baby, Suspiria,and 1970s trash-art esthetic,or you just want to take Zombie as film auteur reaching out to the rows in back of the theater, his continuing metal-crashing against white-thrashing Christian dogma and precepts is the same bellicose vein throbbing excess seen through each of his films.

After all his movies share the same bleak monotone, you start to feel Rob Zombie hates himself, hates the stain-free life, hates the bad to the bone life, and hates having to make sense of any of it for us, or himself.

And especially hates us for having to pass judgement on it or daring to derive entertainment from it.

That’s refreshing. I admire his zeal even if I think he’s thick as a brick in his approach to horror.

Mama (2013)
The Horror of Motherly Love

Mama
Zombos Says: Very Good

Japanese long-haired vengeance-ghost dynamic meets folkloric tragedy in Andres Muschietti’s Mama when two young sisters, 3-year old Victoria (Megan Charpentier) and 1-year old Lilly (Isabelle Nelisse), are lost in a spooky deserted cabin deep in the woods. Lost with them is a forlorn entity they name Mama, who is trapped between here and ethereal-there, feeding them berries to stay alive and entertaining them as time passes. In the ensuing years, the girls become more feral and forget their parents.

Lucas (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau), the brother of Victoria and Lilly’s dad hasn’t forgotten, and he eventually finds the girls. As they move from the cabin to their new home with him and their new reluctant mother, Annabel (Jessica Chastain), Mama follows; many big moths, miasmic black moldy wall stains that grow, and unsettling creature-induced discomforts ensue. What is it with moths and wall stains in horror movies these days?

At least here they are given plausability: the moths provide a meal for the girls (berries can only go so far), and the wall stains act as portals for Mama to travel through.

What keeps Mama from devolving into the familiar slap-death histrionics of a long-haired, malcontented ghost with demonic powers and anger management issues are the girls’ growing attachment to their new and more tactile mom, Mama’s sad life before and after death, and Annabel’s nurturing instinct slowly kicking in over her need for punking out with her rock band. A sad moment has Mama removing the older Victoria’s new eye-glasses so she can’t see how terrible Mama’s appearance really is; Lilly, of course, being younger, doesn’t remember her life before Mama and bonds strongly with her ghostly mom; being flown around the room for fun helps solidify that bond.

CGI enhancements to Mama and her distorted facial features, combined with bone-cracking contortions only horror movie corpses can do, become more distracting than frightening, but the relationship between mothers and children provides a more thoughtful approach; especially when Lucas is removed from the action early, leaving Annabel to deal with her ambivalent feelings and increasingly dire situation. A clever use of long-hair running around like Cousin Itt provides the best chill-thrill moment.

Eager to learn as much as he can from the children’s 5 year ordeal in the woods is psychiatrist Dr. Dreyfuss (Daniel Kash). A more creative story thread has him shift gears when he realizes Mama is not a figment of the children’s imaginations conjured to help them cope with their isolation. Unfortunately, this thread is clipped too soon, in a blatantly script-convenient way, to bring Lucas back into the finale. Getting everyone back to the cabin in the woods turns almost funny as first Dr. Dreyfuss, then Lucas, then Annabel, and finally Mama and the girls converge for a showdown that will certainly annoy those looking for a happier resolution.

But on the positive side, it doesn’t leave room for a sequel. You’ve got to love any horror movie that dares to do that.