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The Video Dead (1987)
It’s A Crime!

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

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

"Paul Hollstenwall," I corrected him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Flesh-eating zombies?" asked Detective Web.

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

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

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

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

"No. Why do you ask?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Creepy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And strangles her.

And continues to strangle her for some time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I kid you not.

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

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

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

Or try to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A deep groan followed Jeff's slapstick death.

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

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

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

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

Another groan sounded from in back of her.

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

Zombos stood up, cradling his head in his hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You read that right: dinner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yo."

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

"For what?"

"Impersonating a director and screenwriter."

Killer Klowns From Outer Space (1988)

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Killer Klowns From Outer Space

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

She quickly returned with a poor choice.

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

She turned around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interview: David Wellington
Night of the Sugar Eating Fiends

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Monster_nation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

Interview: David Wellington
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Interview With Vince Liaguno
Unspeakable Horror

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

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

 

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

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

…

Interview With Vince Liaguno
Unspeakable HorrorRead More »

Interview: Victoria Blake of Underland Press

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


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

What creative urge inspired you to start Underland Press?

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

…

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LOTT D Roundtable: Halloween Memories

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

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

…

LOTT D Roundtable: Halloween MemoriesRead More »

Trailer Park of Terror (2008)
Beef Jerky Horror Overdone

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

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

 

I remember it all quite well.

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

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

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

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

I entered the room.

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

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

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

Chalmers appeared. “Your drink is ready.”

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quarantine (2008)

/ Movies (Horror) / 4 Comments

Quarantine

Zombos Says: Excellent

Television reporter Angela Vidal’s assignment, to tag along with the night shift of a Los Angeles fire station, starts out as fluff. Firefighters Jake and Fletcher kid around as Angela’s cameraman, Scott, films the banter through his lens. We get a tour of the station house, the locker room, the mess hall, and an explanation for why Dalmatians and firefighters go together like smoke and fire. We even get to see Angela slide down the firepole.

In fact, everything we see and hear is through Scott’s camera, making Quarantine another horror movie not for the faint of eyesight. Although more Diary of the Dead steady and less shaky-waky than Cloverfield, there are times when our view is intentionally obstructed, or pointed toward the floor, or plunged in darkness, which will either frustrate you or leave you with badly-chewed fingernails.

When the emergency medical call comes in (we are told firefighters handle more medical calls than fires), Angela, Scott, and the firefighters rush to an apartment building where a woman’s screams have rattled the tenant’s nerves. The building is filled with dark interiors and concerned tenants. Entering her apartment, our view is blocked until Scott can get his camera in front of the police officers and the firefighters. What confronts them is Mrs. Espinoza, foaming at the mouth, incoherent, and much to their dismay, a lot stronger than she should be. She also has a hearty appetite, which in this case is not a good thing for everyone else. Here is where the carefully built-up fluff gives way to terror with a series of escalating events pushing the tension level up while pulling everyone’s chances for survival down.

In this English version of the Spanish movie [Rec], Angela (Jennifer Carpenter) and Scott (Steve Harris) keep recording events as their light-hearted time-filler turns from feature to hard news, until the struggle to stay alive takes precedence. In desperation, Scott uses the camera as a weapon, giving us a head-bludgeoning eyeful filled with bloody spatters on the lens.He wipes the lens clean, but you can see his nerves are raw.

When the Center for Disease Control (CDC) seals up the building good and tight, and military sharpshooters aim for anything that tries to leave through windows or doors, the apartment house becomes a dark warren of fear. Cell phone communication is blocked, and even cable is cut off. It is that bad.

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Edges of Darkness (2008)
Zombies, Vampires, and Saviours

/ Movies (Indie) / Leave a Comment

Edges of Darkness Zombos Says: Fair

Jason Horton and Blaine Cade’s Edges of Darkness is the kind of low-budget arthouse film that, given its uneven acting and shoe-string budget production values, is still important to watch for those flashes of good writing and good direction that shine through. In three separate stories following people dealing with a zombie apocalypse in their own ways, God and Devil, vampires, and organic computing provide the unusual themes wrapped around this flesh-eating grue.

While the stories do not intertwine, they are intercut, which at times jostles the pacing and dramatic continuity. Tying them together is the gated community locale, an unrelenting threat from zombies lumbering just outside, and the need for satisfying hungers that go beyond flesh-munching closeups and dripping gristle.

Edges_of_darkness Even in the least engrossing story there is a wonderful and unexpected flash of macabre poetry shown when Dana (Alisha Gaddis) dreams she is dancing with a roomful of zombies. It is compelling, like the dance of the dead in Carnival of Souls and the dancing dead in Robert Aickman’s short story, Ringing the Changes, because it plays with our sense of propriety. It is unsettling enough that the only person who listens to her is Morris (Wayne Baldwin) the zombie–out of reach, of course–outside her bedroom window, while her husband writes endlessly on his computer. Has he gone mad from the stress? Who does he think will read his story? We never find out, and instead watch as he eagerly plugs in the weird computer chip from DHell. When the lights go out, it starts searching for an alternate power source, sending out wires (tentacles) that first power-up from a house plant, then a mouse, and eventually you know what.

While Dana yearns for romance, her husband Dean yearns for backup power. Uneven acting almost cripples the pent-up tension and despair here.The climax is predictable, but the relationship between Dana and Dean (Jay Costelo) provides a refreshing psychological perspective seldom seen in more mainstream fare. We need to explore more atypical relationships like this one in the cinema of the undead, and devote time to the frustrated, freaked-out, living, coping with the voracious dead, instead of the over-used gut-churning closeups of zombies feasting.

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Edges of Darkness (2008)
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Book Review: Sundays With Vlad

/ Books (Non-fiction) / 1 Comment

Zombos Says: ExcellentSundays with Vlad Interview

I became the odd little kid who’s in love with monsters. There’s one in every neighborhood. My favorite book was The Three Little Pigs because of that wolf peeking from just outside the window of the brick house. I loaded up on books about vampires and werewolves at the school library. The grisly woodcuts of creatures loping through the medieval fields and lunching on peasants would keep me awake all night. In the morning, I’d take the books back, promise myself I would never read them again, and check them back out the very next week.
(Paul Bibeau, Sundays with Vlad: From Pennsylvania to Transylvania, One Man’s Quest to Live in the World of the Undead)

 

“Please take your seats everyone, this meeting of Goths Anonymous is about to start,” said a frail-looking individual in front of the room. He fidgeted with the lace on his shirt cuffs when no one paid attention to him. “We can’t get started until everyone takes a seat,” he implored.

“Will you please sit down,” I told Zombos. He looked at me with a questioning glance as he pulled out an iPod earbud from one ear. “I said you really need to sit down. The meeting is about to start.”

Zombos shut off his iPod. “I really do not know why you dragged me to this so-called meeting. I see nothing wrong with listening to Midnight Syndicate.”

“You’ve been listening to them non-stop.” I said. “And even when you aren’t listening to them, you’re humming Cemetery Gates or Mansion in the Mist ad nauseam. In sum, you’re driving me, Zimba, your son, and Chef Machiavelli bonkers. Oh, lord, is that Paul Bibeau?”

Zombos turned around to look. “Why yes, I think it is. He is wearing that same black ensemble he used to prowl the Renfield Country club circuit for his book. My word, how does he manage to walk in those tight pants. I bet his voice has gone up a pitch or two since he put those things on. Paul! Paul! Over here!,” waved Zombos.

“No! Don’t call him over! I haven’t reviewed his book, Sundays With Vlad: From Pennsylvania to Transylvania, One Man’s Quest to Live in the World of the Undead yet. He’ll be asking me about it and I won’t know what to say,” I pleaded, but it was too late. Paul saw Zombos and headed over to us.

“You have not reviewed his book yet? What in Hades are you waiting for, man, it has been over a year,” said Zombos, folding his arms. I hate when he folds his arms like that.

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Igor (2008)
Where’s Dwight Frye When You Need Him?

/ Art/Animation / Leave a Comment

Igor Zombos Says: Fair

The most clever artifice in Igor is the name of the country the title character lives and works in—Malaria. That is as clever as it gets in Anthony Leondis’s animated movie about a mad scientist’s assistant who wants more out of life; to create it, mostly, like any self-respecting mad scientist craves to do.

Missing from this fairy tale of endlessly dark and stormy days, laboratories in high towers crackling with electricity and maniacal laughter, and evil scientists churning out evil devices, is the defining touches that Dwight Frye brought to the role of Fritz–not Igor–the hunched back assistant in Frankenstein. Absent, too, are the refining touches that Bela Lugosi brought to Ygor–pronounced E-gor–the hunched back, broken neck lunatic and part-time assistant in Son of Frankenstein. Not even a hint of Marty Feldman’s hilarious Igor–pronounced Eye-gore–another energetic, rather persnickety laboratory assistant in Young Frankenstein sparks life into this surprisingly lifeless nuts and bolts story by Chris McKenna.

Surprising because given the rich cinematic history of monsters and madmen this film should have drawn upon, we are instead given yet another reworking of what has become a clichéd theme in animated movies geared toward the younger set: disillusioned male yearns to break the mold and become something he is told he cannot be. Toss in misfit–but funny–sidekicks, add a dramatic failure or two, then end with boy making everyone see the life-altering truth he triumphantly uncovers as he achieves his dream. Along the way, make sure to depict female characters in conniving, devious, helpless, clueless, romantic, or otherwise secondary roles. Unless, of course, this is a Walt Disney movie; then just switch male and female roles: everything else still holds (at least before Pixar, anyway).

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Igor (2008)
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