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What I’d Like To See In 2010 Horror Movies

3d audience I've been thinking about what I'd like to see happen in this brand new year. A few hopes really, not much, but enough to look forward to.

I'd like to see more supernatural horror in the movie theater. Stories like Paranormal Activity and Drag Me to Hell were a welcome sight in 2009; especially after too many Torture Horror entries were given screen time. I want to see more variety in horror for this year. I also want to see movies like Trick 'r Treat on the big screen and not dumped to DVD because wimpy bean counters held back the distribution it deserved.

And speaking of wimpy distribution, I want to see more foreign-made horror on the big screen, subtitles and all. Either do it as a package deal or special event showing; if Fathom Events can bring the Metropolitan Opera live to local theaters, we should be able to get foreign horror movies into the theaters, too. Toss in a few Three Stooges and Our Gang shorts and I'll be in heaven.

I'd like to see horror blogs taken seriously in 2010. Horror bloggers are a diverse group of professionals and amateurs, and their passion, as well as their critically crawling eyes, do more to keep the genre properly in the spotlight than most mainstream commercialized sites. When insipid awards like Total Film's Best Horror Blog come around, with a paltry five nominees comprised of four amalgamated websites and only one blog, it is obvious they do not take horror blogging seriously or even grasp the shallowness of their award. The peer awards awarded by horror bloggers to horror bloggers are more sincere and more important and more personally gratifying than whatever outcome Total Film thinks it will achieve.

In general, I'd like to see less crap foisted onto horror fans this year. I'm speaking mostly in regard to straight-to-DVD, but some theater releases fall into this category. I'm tired of being treated like a movie-viewing dolt by directors, writers, and producers (both professionals and amateurs) who think they can slap the word horror on anything that screams and call it a movie. I want to see solid production values no matter the budget, sincere acting no matter the part, and superb writing that stretches my senses and my fears, and makes me care about the characters before they're racked, tacked, and sacked.

And last but not least, I'd like to see more 3-D horror like, but better than, My Bloody Valentine, and more sour-sweet animation like Coraline.

Ghost In the House of Frankenstein Part 4
The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942)

Ghost_of_frankenstein
Zombos Says: Very Good

The Ghost of Frankenstein is in many ways the last of the vintage horror movies. Val Lewton, The Uninvited, and Dead of Night were about to bring a new sophistication and literacy to the genre. If the Ghost is already an assembly line job, it’s a good, thoroughly professional, and entertaining one, an honorable close to a solid decade of first rate chillers. (William K. Everson, Classics of the Horror Movie)

Although The Ghost of Frankenstein may be a shade more pale compared to the first three movies in Universal Studios’ Frankenstein series, I disagree with calling it “artless” (Tom Weaver, Michael Brunas and John Brunas, Universal Horrors: The Studio’s Classic Movies 1931-1946, 2ed). Slick, yes; budget assembly line production, yes; but artless? No. Even with Universal’s shift of the series from A to B movie status, Erle C. Kenton’s no-frills direction and Jack Otterson’s art direction still manage to spark a little magic between those electrodes one more time.

Scott Darling, needing more room to meander the Frankenstein Monster’s misadventures further, introduces the second son of Frankenstein, the more sedate Ludwig (Cedric Hardwicke). Ludwig Frankenstein (neither a ‘Baron’ nor a ‘Von’ in his name like his brother in Son of Frankenstein) is a doctor. He’s mastered the science of moving brains in-between craniums. Ludwig practices his brain surgery and psychiatry in the small and happy town of Vasaria. Oddly, Vasaria’s townsfolk do not know anything about his unfortunate family tree, or the problems his deific-prone father and brother have made for that other small and unhappy town within walking distance. But soon those problems will become Vasaria’s when Ygor and the Monster pay a visit after being thrown out of Castle Frankenstein by torch-wielding, grudge-bearing villagers (although they were giddy with happiness at the end of Son of Frankenstein).

The ghost of Dwight Frye puts in an all too brief appearance as one of the despondent villagers. After a Town Hall meeting (note the Americanization) where they pin everything from unhappy babies to bad crops on the ‘Frankenstein Curse,’ the mayor (another Americanization) gives them carte blanche to blow up the castle and pesky Ygor along with it.

Ygor conveniently survived his ‘mortal’ gun wounds received in Son of Frankenstein to continue his chief-instigator role here. He also seems to have scrounged up enough money for much needed dental work and grooming aids. Seeing Lugosi reprise his best role since Dracula and Murder Legendre in White Zombie is more than satisfying, and keeps the action moving briskly. More briskly than Lon Chaney Jr’s portrayal of the Monster—under Kenton’s direction, at least—can muster alone.

Tossing dynamite sticks up at the castle while Ygor drops broken stone battlements from above, the villagers manage to topple one of the castle’s massive towers, revealing—

Look! The sulphur pit’s all dried and hardened since the last movie! And there’s the Monster nestled in it like a bug in a rug! Wait a minute. Wasn’t the pit in the laboratory and both lying adjacent to the castle in Son of Frankenstein? How did the pit and the Monster wind up under one of the castle’s towers for this movie?

—his only friend pickled in the now dried sulfur. Or so surmises Ygor, who is delighted to see the Monster still kicking. He pulls him out of the pit and both make a hasty exit while the villagers blow up the rest of the castle to their heart’s content and much needed venting.

The village mob hysterics may be patent Universal artistry, now economically packaged for filming—I can’t fathom why Universal’s theme parks haven’t picked up on such a great role-playing idea—but Kenton’s artistic flair still comes through and is first seen when a lightning storm erupts and Ygor, trying to persuade the Monster to seek shelter, is pushed aside as Frankenstein’s creation reaches toward the heavens. A bolt of electricity strikes the Monster’s outstretched arms and he welcomes it. Still covered in dried sulfur and surrounded by the desolate nightscape and gnarled trees, he looks like a ghost defiantly rising from his grave.

“The lightning. It is good for you! Your father was Frankenstein, but your mother was the lightning!” says Ygor, who decides to seek out Ludwig, residing in the nearby town of Vasaria, for help.

More becoming to his familiar costume, along the way to Vasaria the Monster loses his Go Go-styled fuzzy vest worn in Son of Frankenstein and dons a dark jacket. When the overly cricked neck Ygor and his overly tall friend walk into town—yes, they simply stroll into town in broad daylight—Ygor stops to chat with a girl to ask directions.

As Ygor talks with the girl, the Monster wanders off when he sees a little girl (Janet Ann Gallow) being bullied by the little boys. He helps her retrieve her ball, which the boys had tossed onto a nearby roof. In the process he manages to panic Vasaria’s townspeople and break enough bones to quickly make Vasaria as unhappy a town as the one he recently left. Low angles with the camera looking up at the towering Monster—showing the little girl’s point of view—increase his menacing presence.

From this movie onward the Frankenstein Monster becomes a scene prop of immense proportions. By the time Glenn Strange takes over the role in House of Frankenstein and Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, the Monster is relegated to being a creepy, big, dummy-like figure; usually strapped to an operating table, around which, indirectly, much of the action occurs. It is this mute, inert body, with arms outstretched in front of him when he does occasionally walk (attributed to Lugosi’s blind Monster performance in Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man) that gives us the iconic image of Frankenstein’s Monster prevalent in the 1960s up to today.

The plot device of restoring the ailing Monster’s vitality by electrically recharging him, introduced in Son of Frankenstein, now goes one step further here, where it becomes a matter of recharging him before exchanging his abnormal brain with a normal one. Re-energizing and brain-swapping will continue as the main modus operandi for the Monster in Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, House of Frankenstein, House of Dracula, and Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, as well as the du jour blueprint for countless future spookshow skits involving mad scientists and Frankenstein Monsters—or plain old gorillas. (For a deliciously goofy example of the gorilla variety see the Three Stooges 3D short, Spooks!)

This shift from Boris Karloff’s misunderstood Monster yearning for acceptance and companionship to Lon Chaney Jr’s mute, lumbering Monster, now weak and semi-conscious, lessens the complexity of the storyline for easier reuse and allows any actor of the right size to mimic the role since it has few emotive requirements, with both conditions important for keeping the budget low and the production simple.

 

The brain-swapping routine is a hangover from Curt Siodmak’s Black Friday script, facilitating a startlingly gruesome moment when Bohmer wheels a bottled brain directly into the camera lens. (Jonathan Rigby, American Gothic: Sixty Years of Horror Cinema)

 

There is also a more important thematic shift in the Monster’s relationship with his world. This theme, begun in Son of Frankenstein and developed further here, either accidentally or subconsciously, as a result of Universal moving the series to B production status, contains layers of meaning not usually discussed when The Ghost of Frankenstein and House of Frankenstein are mentioned.

And what is this theme, pray tell?

Meet the Horror Bloggers:
Hayes Hudson’s House of Horrors

Zombie hayes Many fans of horror, amateur and professional alike, have devoted themselves to blogging about the thrills, chills, and no-frills side of the genre as seen in cinema and print. In this ongoing series that highlights the writers behind the blogs, we meet the unique personalities and talents that make the online horror scene so engaging. Up close and personal. In this installment, Hayes of Hayes Hudson’s House of Horrors tells us how PG-13 saved his horror life.

 

My passion for horror began back in 1988. I was at my local video store. I was 12 years old. The household rule was when I went to get a movie, I could only get a PG or PG-13 rated movie, no R. I would always go straight to the Horror section to see all the great box art and dream of a day when I could view all these movies.

Then I saw it…..most all the stickers on the plastic slip cases were red with an R on them…but this one stuck out. It was an orange sticker with a PG-13 on it! Could this be? The film was EVIL DEAD 2: DEAD BY DAWN and had obviously been put in the wrong slip case. Probably by some teenager working at the video store who didn’t watch what he was doing…..or just didn’t care!

I had never heard of or saw, of course, the first EVIL DEAD film, but that didn’t matter. I showed my mom the sequel had a PG-13 sticker on it so it was fair game. She rented the film for me and I was never the same. It was unlike any film I had ever seen and remains my favorite Horror film to this day. From then on I was hooked on Horror and remain a loyal fan of the genre.

Earlier in the year, I was watching more and more horror films, but didn’t have anyone to share the joys of these films with. My wife HATES horror movies, and most of my friends really aren’t into them (except a select few), so I decided creating my own horror blog would be a great way to discuss news items and movies I watched…even if it was just to a small group of people. It has been fun to watch the blog steadily grow and I hope it continues to grow and become one of the best horror blogs on the net! I try to update it daily, so there is always a reason to check it often!

I hope you all enjoy it!

Most Regrettable Horror Movies Of 2009

Warningsign While others pound their chests proclaiming the top ten best horror movies of 2009, I thought I would take a different approach. Frankly, top ten lists are a dime a dozen these days. And why only ten? Who do we blame for limiting the best to only ten a year? I love reading these lists, though, but only when my favorites make the list (which I suspect is a habit we all share).

But what about all those regrettable horror movies you and I wasted time and money seeing in 2009? Now we’re talking. Not the worst movies or completely bad movies necessarily, but movies that are most regrettable because they zigged when they should have zagged, leaving me, and possibly you, with a sour taste in our mouths in spite of all the popcorn and soda eaten to make up for the disappointment. In a word, those movies that looked so promising but let us down.

I should say ‘let me down,’ since this is my most regrettable list for 2009. Maybe it will be yours, too.

 

1. The Collector

It came and went without collecting much of an audience. Torture porn horror hit its zenith in this slick nihilistic, but derivative, terrifying vision. In combining Cube-like lethal traps with a hint of Saw-styled ingenuity and malice, and yet another relentless masked-slasher victimizing a family in unsavory, bloodily grisly ways, Marcus Dunstan and Patrick Melton (Feast) do their darnedest to pulverize the audience with fears of helplessness, torture, and death. They almost succeed, but choose to go the usual horror franchise-building byway at the end with a negative payoff.

2. Friday the 13th 

Jared Padalecki (Supernatural) is the only reason I saw this movie. I like him. I like him in this movie. I hate everything else. Remakes can be a dice game to begin with, but trying to remake and re-imagine an icon of horror means you gamble on what stays and what changes. In this case, the gamble didn’t pay off. What changed but shouldn’t have is the mystery and uncertainty about Jason. What should have changed but didn’t are the pick-a-number victims wearing “kill me, I’m stupid” signs on their butts.

3. The Haunting in Connecticut

A haunting without ghosts? How novel. While director Peter Cornwell and writers did manage to startle me twice, this movie has more in common with Tobe Hooper’s energetic spookfest Poltergeist than the lingering, atmospheric scares in Lewis Allen’s The Uninvited or Robert Wise’s The Haunting–but not enough in common to make it as good. A missed opportunity to create real fright instead of resorting to the usual special-effects and grisly spookshow makeup theatrics; less experienced horrorheads will enjoy it. Those with more experience, like me, will nitpick. Such is life.

4. The Last House On the Left

At least Ingmar Bergman put God squarely in the middle of his story, forcing guilt and shame on the parents who mete out vengeance to their daughter’s killers. You will not find emphasis on a divine presence in this latest incarnation of a story that really did not need to be retold. No guilt or shame, either. There is lots of ungodly loud, screeching music though, like bones dragged across a chalkboard. Unless you are entertained by the  creative ways directors and writers emphasize these thematic elements, there is not much here for you. But if you are, you will especially enjoy the totally gratuitous ending involving a microwave and a deliberately paralyzed sadist. If you’ve seen Gremlins, you know what to expect.

5. Trick ‘r Treat

I regret this movie didn’t make it into the theaters. It should have.

Comic Book Review: The Ghoul 1

The ghoul 1 Zombos Says: Good (But more ‘comic book’ needed)

I’d worked with the Bureau, hell, since its creation in 1908. They found me hiding in the sewers of old underground New York and instead of hunting me or trying to make a show of me like so many others had before, they took me in and offered me a job. (Steve Niles, My Ghoul)

With only 16 pages in this $3.99 comic book devoted to The Ghoul’s illustrated adventure, a 5 page continuing text story, My Ghoul–peppered with three small graphics–and 10 pages devoted to IDW ads and news, it took a lot of effort for me to read this one even if Steve Niles and Bernie Wrightson are the perpetrators, and the gimmick is one very big special agent for the supernatural arm of the FBI.

You know the drill: mysterious big guy with attitude (The Goon, Hellboy, insert your favorite here), who usually works for a ‘secret’ organization and packs muscle–some wit, but better at relying on the muscle–and enjoys kicking monster and freakazoid butts too big for regular folk to handle. Leaves all the thinking to the small guys, who, in this case, would be rolled into one Lieutenant Detective Klimpt. Klimpt does the cerebral work while the Ghoul does the muscle work. Both wear trenchcoats. The Ghoul’s is tailor-made and would probably make a good emergency tent if the situation warranted it.

Okay, so I’m spoiled. I expect a big comic book when I buy one, and I expect big names to deliver big things when charged a big price for the issue. Niles and Wrightson are big names. Only Wrightson fully delivers the goods; he gives the irritating, ill-mannered Ghoul more than just enormous size and a trenchcoat. I won’t say heart (or even gruff charm) because Niles hasn’t written that in yet, but Wrightson’s characters and settings evoke more noir than Niles can muster in his story and dialog. Maybe because Niles is on auto-pilot with this first issue. Maybe he’ll get the gas pumping in issue two.

Okay, I admit this is a pet peeve of mine; comic book format implies an illustrated story between the covers, not ads or text-stories that fill up half the pages. Niles’ My Ghoul story is important to read as it provides much background to the Ghoul’s character; but it should have been illustrated instead: comic book, right? I would rather see and read this background story in comic book format.

As for the current story, Klimpt calls in the extra muscle for a hunch he has on a case–more of a theory as he calls it. While the Ghoul searches for some munchies and mugs a sour demeanor throughout their first meeting, Klimpt fills him in on his theory. It involves the Atwoods and their three generations of “uncanny actresses.” Only the three generations may not have involved so many dames and there may be more than just three generations. That easily tops the ‘uncanny’ part. Tom Smith provides lots of evocative colors, creating ample shadows and light sources for Wrightson’s characters to breath in.

Before Klimpt makes a move to investigate further, the Ghoul needs to take care of business. Seems it’s a special night; the type of night devils and beasties roam the earth unfettered from their tour duty in Hell. The Ghoul needs to do some tour duty of his own. The last panel shows him holding a mother, son, and daughter of a gun even Hellboy would drool over.

Maybe I’ll stick around for issue two. I’m a pushover for big guns, sultry dames, and demonic monsters mixing it up.

Meet the Horror Bloggers:
Scared Silly

Paul Castiglia

Many fans of horror, amateur and professional alike, have devoted themselves to blogging about the thrills, chills, and no-frills side of the genre as seen in cinema and print. In this ongoing series that highlights the writers behind the blogs, we meet the unique personalities and talents that make the online horror scene so engaging. Up close and personal.

In this installment, Paul Castiglia from Scared Silly: Classic Hollywood Horror-Comedies tells us why he finds so much humor in all that horror.

 

The process of me becoming a “monster kid” turned out to be a lifelong affair. There were several factors that led to my love of horror movies in general and horror-comedies in particular, and by the time those influences merged together I became that “monster kid.”

Well, to be more precise, that “monster man-boy.” I’ve never completely grown up, and I don’t plan to, either. I have no middle name, but if I did, it might as well be Pan. That’s not the only caveat. When I say “factors” I really mean TV. And when I say TV, I mean movies, TV shows and cartoons in particular.

I was a child in the 1970s, when movies and TV shows from past decades were routinely rerun, especially in the New York tri-state area. I grew up watching the classic comedians on TV, particularly Laurel & Hardy and Abbott & Costello; and I grew up watching a lot of cartoons.

Initially, I was deathly afraid of the monsters. The intro’s to Chiller Theater, Fright Night, and other monster movie broadcasts were avoided like the plague, and if I did happen to see part of one, or a commercial for a first-run horror movie, that was
enough to inspire nightmares through the night for me.

Comic Book Review: Victorian Undead 2

Victorian Undead 2 ZC Rating 4 of 7 (Very Good)

Capital. Simply capital. With issue 2 of Ian Edginton and Davide Fabbri’s story pitting Holmes and Watson against a horde of the undead, the mystery deepens as more threads of this weird skein of malevolence, plotted by a criminal mastermind, are woven.

For Sherlockians, there are a few pleasant surprises in store. A certain relative of Holmes leaves the Diogenes Club to put in a timely appearance, and a certain Colonel of ill-repute (bad heredity according to Holmes) has the Great Detective and his Boswell squarely in his gunsight.

Edginton’s pacing and dialog, while not as flamboyant or outrageous as Robert Downey’s Sherlock Holmes, ratchets up the tense situation methodically, providing a lively encounter with mobile corpses in the London Underground while introducing important new players into this deadly game of hide and go seek; for what reason are the undead being created and stockpiled? (I wonder if Edginton’s influence for this came from reading Jonathan Maberry’s Patient Zero?)

There is a well-toned classic horror movie sensibility to how Edginton and Fabbri lay out their story. I still find Fabbri’s art too clean; his layouts are quite good, but perhaps a touch of  Downey’s Holmes’ flamboyance would sharpen the edginess. There is a bit of that stiff upper lip overdone here. Edginton and Fabbri’s splash-page finale is superbly and quietly melodramatic, showing the Napoleon of Crime at the heart of this undead conspiracy.

Providing much of the atmosphere for this issue is Carrie Strachan’s colors, especially when Holmes, Watson, and zombies meet underground. More attention to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s literary details would be appreciated: Sherlockians may gasp in horror when they see Holmes’ old mouse-colored dressing gown replaced with a bright red and gold-cuffed one.

But this series, so far, is the one I would have liked to see onscreen. Even with Robert Downey. I daresay even Johnny Depp playing Holmes, directed by Tim Burton, mixing it up with zombies, would be exquisite.

Meet the Horror Bloggers:
Dollar Bin Horror

Dollar Bin Horror Many fans of horror, amateur and professional alike, have devoted themselves to blogging about the thrills, chills, and no-frills side of the genre as seen in cinema and print. In this ongoing series that highlights the writers behind the blogs, we meet the unique personalities and talents that make the online horror scene so engaging. Up close and personal.

In this installment, Rhonny from Dollar Bin Horror tells us how her dad’s cable sports package brought the horror along with it, and the treasure found in the dollar bin.

 

The first time I watched anything horror was when I was four. My dad got cable for the sports package, but it also came with HBO. I would be up late watching Tales From the Crypt. No one stopped me, so I kept watching. Since then I always liked scary movies, but it didn’t become an addiction until I was 14. My dad said he got a new movie and wanted me to watch it with him. At first I thought it was another Denzel Washington movie, but thankfully it wasn’t. It was the first Saw film. After googling some information about it, I was enthralled by the fact that two young film students made it. It changed my whole perspective on horror films and my new life goal was to make them myself.

The Grudge 2 (2006)

Grudge 2

Zombos Says: Fair

The vengeful ghost in The Grudge 2 is a yūrei–definitely. Telltale signs are the long black hair that hangs disheveled, and the dangling; you know, the twisting, floating–sort of lopsided walk–most J-Horror apparitions do when staring you down, or just before they ring your neck into a pretzel. And those wide-eyed, gray-skinned ghosts definitely haunt a particular place. No, wait a minute. They do tend to leave the house a lot, even in The Grudge, and in this sequel they’ve hopped all the way over to Chicago. So they are now haunting two places at once. There’s nothing about yūrei haunting two places at once. Damn. And what’s with that little gray boy that meows like a cat, and the cat that doesn’t meow at all?

The Grudge 2 is a bit confusing at first. Director Takashi Shimizu weaves his continuing tale of blind rage and death between three plotlines: three school girls in Japan dumb enough to go into that house; Aubrey Davis (Amber Tamblyn) traveling to Japan to find out why her sister (Sarah Michelle Gellar) is accused of murder and arson; and a romantic relationship in Chicago that escalates into darkness, witnessed by a frightened young boy.

The opening breakfast scene jars you to attention, but before you can say “We should have gone to IHOP,” we cut to Japan and three school girls–one Japanese, two American, and all three heading for a major bad hair day. The tall, not-so-hip Allison tags along as they enter the haunted house where it all started. On a dare, she enters the closet. That infamous closet. Shimizu does a good job of building this claustrophobic scene to it’s expected climax with solid scares. Closets can be very scary, whether you are hiding in them or hoping nothing pops out of them. And the way you can never find things in closets–yes, they’re evil, pure and simple.

But this early scene is the only true scare in the entire film. While there are shock-cuts galore, Shimizu dotes on showing us the deadly duo again and again, as they appear under sheets, in windows, in hallways, on desk tops, and in sweatshirts (you will understand that when you see it). The tableaus are visually clever, but swing more toward the manga-style of visual cleverness making it all humorous; and lose their scariness and suspense by doing so. Instead of sustained tension from the unseen, Shimizu has created Hollywoodized slasher-yūrei monsters that rack up the body count in ever clever but not very scary ways. Instead of tight glimpses of that stark, wide-eyed pasty face of evil–covered by severe split ends of hair–we see lingering shots of it appearing out of photographs and mirrors.

This is not to say Shimizu has done a bad job: he’s just Americanized J-Horror to a stage where The Grudge has become a franchise. What was once iconic J-Horror imagery has now been replaced with your typical American horror movie modus operandi–and would you like fries with that?

A journalist researching the murders since the first occurrence joins Aubrey Davis in searching for answers to the mysterious deaths. Finding a journal written by an eight year old girl in the closet, he brings it to a friend who studies Japanese folklore. The journal explains some things, perhaps including why the original evil or rage came into existence, but before Davis and the journalist can head out to see the person who may be responsible for the evil, the yūrei pay a visit in a well-staged, but to be expected, scene involving photographs, photo developing trays, and really bad over-exposure on a negative.

As Aubrey pursues the answers to this mystery, our three daring school girls are not faring so well. The yūrei are working overtime to make sure no one who visits their humble abode goes without a thank you from hell. And Jake, the young frightened boy in Chicago, is also experiencing new tenant issues–only these tenants don’t walk up the stairs, and they make a hell of a lot of noise, too. The neighbors next door, the Flemings, also have a hooded guest who creeps him out. Strange noises and pounding from their apartment eventually force him to find out who the hooded person is, and why dad is going bonkers.

The score is actually quite good, creating more of an ominous mood than most of the movie. The weird gurgling, clicking sound made by the broken-neck yūrei apparition is also used very well here. It provides more chills than most of the closeups. The acting is topnotch, too. But the continual cutting back and forth between the separate plotlines is confusing, and has a dulling effect on what should be mounting tensions leading to a climax.

And what a disappointing climax. As one character notes, “there can be no end to what has started.” I would modify this to “there can be no end to a cash-cow franchise in Hollywood, so what you see is what you get until The Grudge 3. And don’t expect much there, either if we can strudel* the story along to The Grudge 4.”

*strudel: the fine Hollywood art of stretching a concept for all its worth, using as little ‘filling’ as possible to keep you coming back for more.

Meet the Horror Bloggers:
Planet of Terror

planet of terror Many fans of horror, amateur and professional alike, have devoted themselves to blogging about the thrills, chills, and no-frills side of the genre as seen in cinema and print. In this ongoing series that highlights the writers behind the blogs, we meet the unique personalities and talents that make the online horror scene so engaging. Up close and personal.

In this installment, Cortez the Killer and Complaint Dept. from Planet of Terror tag team all the horror and the personal stats for us.

Cortez the Killer Speaks

Cortez the Killer I was born in 1978 in San Diego, CA. Aside from a horror geek, I’m a corporate desk jockey, a rabid fan of heavy metal music, love to cook, and I’m not afraid to admit that my first concert ever was Billy Ray Cyrus. In my defense, I had no say in the matter.

Complaint Dept. and I met while working at the same company and became friends after learning of our mutual love of horror films, heavy metal, and over-the-top soft rock songsters (he, Michael McDonald, and I, Phil ‘The Man’ Collins).

My initial exposure to the world of horror started at a young age when my parents would stay up late until after I had gone to bed and turned on the VCR and popped in a flick. My dad has always loved horror and my mom would go along sparingly with his film selections. The memory of them watching Aliens 2 is still ingrained in my mind. After I was put to bed one night, I went out into the hallway and peered out from the corner, catching a side glimpse of the TV in the living room. The opening scene where Ripley wakes up after dreaming about an alien popping out of her belly immediately elicited a scream from me. My parents lead me back to my room and scolded me as this was something clearly not meant for the eyes of children. This feeling of something ‘for my parents eyes only,’ coupled with that initial scare and burst of fright, is what kept me coming back for more. I liked the element of danger and I kind of liked pissing off my parents.

Comic Book Review: A Very… Zombie Christmas 1

A Very Zombie Christmas Zombos Says: Very Good (especially with hot chocolate)

While I prefer my Christmas toasty warm and eggnoggy smooth, there is something a tad enjoyable to having a little bit of zombie fear in all that holiday cheer. So put on your Snuggie, take a sip of your hot chocolate, and settle down by the fire with Antarctic Press' A Very…Zombie Christmas one shot.

I would have probably missed this issue if Glen, the owner of my local watering hole for comics, Fourth World, hadn't dropped it on my pull pile. He knows I like horror a bit and is always on the lookout for comics and magazines I might miss.

The three stories drawn in black and white are written with an eye toward leaving the reader with a little lump of coal among the candy in his or her stocking: short and sweet with a tart ending. My favorite is The Littlest Zombie Meets Santa by Fred Perry. In a world overrun by zombies, with survivors barely surviving, it's Christmas Eve and there is more than mice stirring around one particular sanctuary. The stylish illustration and story is like a big gingerbread cookie; cute to admire, but ready to bite. 

In Unholy Night, Joseph Wight makes sure to hang the stockings with care and leaves the children wide awake with dread in their beds after Grandpa Foster tells them his wartime experience with the undead on a snowy night. A two-page battle scene and decrepit zombies trampling the snow provide the visual treat as Wight takes full advantage of the black and white medium to convey the carnage.

The last story, David Hutchison's You Better Watch Out…, shows a heist gone bad using an EC-spiced ending to bring the boys together for the holidays. The inking over his pencils is very light, and his panels open up here and there to give his characters room. Some of his character positions reminded me of Steve Ditko's style, especially on the first page. The last panel is a cheery picture of togetherness that brings home the spirit of the holidays; for horror fans, anyway.

A Very…Zombie Christmas left me wishing it t'were twice the number of pages. These stories are well written and drawn. Now just imagine what you could do with a concept like a festival of zombies: eight days of terror…maybe next year, perhaps. Or how about George Bailey finding himself in zombie-town in It's a Terrible Life. Zombies. The possibilities are endless.

Graphic Book Review: Young Howard Lovecraft
and the Frozen Kingdom

Lovecraft and the Frozen Kingdom Zombos Says: Good (but is it Lovecraft?)

Blasphemy? Heresy? Bruce Brown and Renzo Podesta are treading very thin ice by making the anglophilic cosmic horror of Howard Phillips Lovecraft palatable for kids in the graphic novel Howard Lovecraft and the Frozen Kingdom. Or perhaps, by their adolescent-themed story based on Lovecraft's Mythos they may instill a fresh appreciation of those eldritch horrors that have become the first base and potent home run in much of horror fiction? Perhaps. But missing in the atmosphere created by their words and illustrations are the Gothic Noir and Rococo stylings–the stiffly starched shirt, rumpled cuffs verbiage Lovecraft is either praised or damned, but always noted for.

Drawing on Lovecraft's own tragic childhood, young Howard, in the company of his mom, pays a visit to Butler Sanitarium to see his raving mad dad. His father comes out of delirium long enough to implore Howard not to read that book, you know, the quintessential one that keeps getting every acolyte, neophyte, and unfortunate slub stepping into Lovecraft-land into terrible trouble. Here, it is his father's hand-written journal, containing the fruits of his occult explorations. Howard's mom, ironically, dumps that book into his little hands that same night for some bedtime reading enjoyment.