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Re-Animator (1985)

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Zombos Says: Excellent

 

Re-Animator with Jeffrey Combs–one of my favorite horror and sci-fi actors–is an outrageous onscreen realization of H.P. Lovecraft’s Herbert West: Reanimator series of short stories.

Stuart Gordon directs this gory-to-absurdity film with one body part humor and multiple body parts ‘Theater of the Grotesque.’ Comb’s exuberance and intensity as Herbert West is a perfect melding of histrionics and gleeful, devil may care, hubris. Add Richard Band’s driving, Bernard Herrmanesque score with its incessant and forceful strings and sardonically playful cat and mouse orchestrations, and what you have is a treat that most any horrorhead would die for, along with the organic, freshly-popped popcorn drowning in real butter and salt.

The film wastes no time in establishing its gory, black comedy tone as it opens in Switzerland, with West kneeling over the just revived body of his teacher, Dr. Gruber. Unfortunately, as with all of his reanimations, Dr. Gruber does not take well to the revivification and experiences an eye-popping side effect; literally, that is, as both pop. As the law moves in, West moves out to Miskatonic University Medical School. West, who has an incredible knack for getting out of tight spots he continuously puts himself into, is introduced as a promising medical student. He is intense, arrogant, and just itching to inject his mysteriously glowing solution into anything remotely dead. Rooming with a fellow medical student, Dan Cain (Bruce Abbott), West quickly takes over the basement for his bizarre experiments.

As I watched the film and munched on my popcorn, one thing that struck me about most horror films from the 70’s and 80’s is they usually have a well-written script, crisp dialog, and a solid plot logic that seems to elude most horror films done today. While current films may be more sophisticated in artistic and special effects designs, many seem to lack the simple ability to tell a coherent story with memorable dialog. But I digress.

Once in class, West, in a humorous scene, starts loudly breaking pencils during Hill’s pompous lecture–one snap for every comment he passionately disagrees with. West accuses Hill of being a hack who’s stolen Dr. Gruber’s work. Both inevitably lock horns and Hill strongly recommends that West switch to using a pen. Their antagonism and professional rivalry soon leads to a Grand Guignol showdown of oneupmanship that still stands out as one of the most gorily entertaining showdowns in horror cinema.

It all starts getting out of hand with Rufus the cat. In a scene both funny and chilling at the same time, West reanimates Cain’s pet after Cain and his girl friend Meg, Dean Halsey’s daughter, find Rufus in West’s fridge next to the Coke (things do go better with Coke). Faster than you can say weird-product-placement, West revives the dead Rufus in the basement with the usual side-effects.

All hell breaks loose as West and Cain fend off the furry fiend’s attack with anything at hand. The lone hanging light that illuminates the room is knocked back and forth, alternately casting the basement and the action in light and darkness. One lucky swing of the bat and the cat is now juicy minced-brain pie sliding down the wall.

Cain, not believing his own eyes, watches as West once again injects the now mashed-up feline. “Don’t expect it to tango,” West quips as he injects the serum. “It has a broken back.” While the cat doesn’t tango, it does, once again, come back to screeching life. Now convinced that West’s serum can reanimate the dead, Cain joins him in finding fresher subjects to experiment on. They go to the morgue to find a fresh cadaver, and settle on one fellow who died from unknown circumstances. West injects the serum, they wait, and he impatiently injects a greater dose.

–At this point the film suddenly stopped! Our theater screen went black! While theater personnel rushed to fix the problem, someone in the audience came up with an apropos game: who would you reanimate if you could? The audience joined in and one very bright fellow said, “Vincent Price!” That’s the kind of answer I like to hear–

In a very short time we were back with Herbert West, Dan Cain, and the cadaver. It comes to life, and once again all hell breaks loose as the newly reanimated body wreaks havoc and mayhem.

Dean Halsey unfortunately manages to walk into the bloody havoc and mayhem and gets some fingers bitten off as he defends himself. In an orgy of gory, West brings down the reanimated cadaver with a whirring skull-saw through the chest move, but not before Dean Halsey is much the worse for wear and quite dead.

Did somebody say dead? Dean Halsey is quickly injected with the serum as West pluckily seizes the opportunity for another test. You really must admire his intrepid spirit. Meg walks into the gruesome scene just as her dad is reanimated with less than stellar results. West reassures her: “He’s not insane: he’s dead.” She, of course, is noticeably upset and confused by the whole mess.

Later, while examining the zombie-like Dean Halsey, Hill realizes he’s as dead as a doornail and goes after West for the serum. While Hill gloats over his superiority, West takes the flat end of a shovel to his head, sending it flying through the air. Trying to prop up the not so good doctor’s head in a pan, West eventually gives up and grabs a paper spike and impales the head on it. He injects the head with his serum, then decides to inject the headless body too, quipping, “I’ve never done parts.” Sure, why not? He’s been so successful already.

Doing parts, however, turns out to be a bad idea. Hill controls his clumsy, headless body to whack West unconscious. Taking his head with him, he heads back to his office, and the now bipartisan doctor uses his head (in a manner of speaking) to command Dean Halsey to do his bidding, like some dead but reanimated Renfield.

Hill’s head (stay with me on this) heads to the morgue while Dean Halsey heads to get his daughter, who Hill has a fancy for. The unconscious Meg is brought back to the morgue where Hill has her stripped au naturale, and proceeds to give her head with his head, aided by his headless body. West walks in on them, chides Dr. Hill for not using his head purely for science, and soon discovers that the cadavers in the room are under Hill’s control, too. All bloody hell once again breaks loose as cadavers, in various states of leaking morbidity, attack West and Cain.

Dean Halsey, vaguely realizing his daughter is in danger, goes after Hill and grabs his head between his hands (that’s Dr. Hill’s head between Dean Halsey’s hands), and squeezes it like a really big zit.  West, fighting  the cadavers, heads over to Hill’s headless body and injects it with two syringes full of reanimation serum.

Faster than you can say hellz-a-poppin, Hill’s body explodes in a geyser of entrails and organs. An eerie white light blasts forth from the now exploded chest cavity, and a very large, large intestine snakes out and around West, pinning him to the floor in a Lovecraftianesque tour de force.

Cain and Meg manage to escape the room, leaving West to his fate of Re-Animator sequels, but Meg is soon killed by a relentless cadaver as she runs for the elevator.

Can you guess where this is going? Right! Cain rushes Meg to the emergency room, but when all else fails he injects her with the reanimation serum. Tsk, tsk, they never learn, do they? Lucky for us.

Re-Animator is definitely one of the top fright flicks of all time. It’s gory fun, witty, and horrifying with a capital H.

Vacancy 2007
Horrible Room Service

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Zombos Says: Very Good

Norman Bates’ mom would have approved of the Pinewood Motel. Nestled off the Interstate—way off—it’s the ideal place to get away from it all, and have it all put you away: permanently. The noisy late night room service and decrepit amenities are simply to die for, too.

Vacancy is a refreshingly gory-free excursion into terror with classy, mood-setting Bernard Herrmanesque music, a stylish opening credit sequence, and Hitchcockian tension-building suspense with ordinary people caught in extraordinary circumstances, and incompetent police not prepared for what actually goes on at the quiet motel.

Amy and David are the two ordinary people whose failing relationship is in need of some serious bonding. There’s nothing like a bunch of psychos trying to kill you to work out the kinks in a rocky marriage and bring you closer together; at least if you can’t live together, you might as well die together.

The barbs start flying when Amy wakes up to find they’re lost on an empty, winding road; David’s shortcut to nowhere. Empty except for that cute little raccoon in the middle of it—hey Dave, watch out! The car skids off the road and breaks something in the process, forcing them to stop at the creepy, desolate, gas-station-stuck-in-time that appears in many horror movies these days.

The attendant pops up, all smiles and giggles—at two in the morning—and gladly helps them out as he pops the hood, does something, then sends them on their merry way with confusing directions to get back on the Interstate and a lit sparkler. Now maybe I’m just naturally paranoid, but I would never trust any overly nice gas station attendant who refuses to be paid and insists on giving you a lit sparkler near flammable gas tanks at two in the morning.

No sooner do they get going when the car breaks down again, forcing them back to the gas station. The attendant is gone now, but say, there’s that nice Bates, oops, sorry—Pinewood Motel over yonder. Better rent a room for the night and worry about the car in the morning after a good night’s sleep, right?

The screaming and crying they hear when they enter the registration office should have clued them in right away, but David, intent on hitting that annoying bell on the desk, isn’t swayed. Mason, the motel manager, pops his head out to see who it is. He quips about boring nights when they mention the ominous sounds, and he goes back into the office to turn whatever he’s watching off.

When you finally get a good look at Mason, you realize he’s stuck in time, too. Seventies, I’d say. He’s an oily type of creepy, and there’s something sinister behind those beady little eyes of his and that snake-like tilt of the head. He insists on giving them the guest suite that has hot and cold running cockroaches, stiff bed linen that could fold itself, and a wonderful mix of banged up video tapes filled with lots of screaming, pleading people being horribly killed by Michael Myers wannabes. This is some guest suite.

With nothing playing on the TV, David shuffles through those videos and pops one into the player. As Amy tells him to tune it down, he slowly recognizes the “set” in the tape looks awfully like their guest suite. Bingo! Vacancy now shifts into gear and the hairs stand on the back of your neck just as his do.

The fight to stay alive begins, and while Vacancy is not a blockbuster, it does have its share of shocks and nerve-wracking mayhem to make it all worthwhile. No wimpy victim-fodder here, either. Even as Amy and David panic and bicker and scramble to find a way out of their dire situation, they suck it up and work on staying alive. Horror film victims that actually don’t want to be victims is another refreshing change of pace from the usual hurry up and slowly die fare inundating us these days, don’t you think?

Ironically, as they struggle to find a way out of their terminal accommodations, they invariably find themselves scrambling back into them, again and again. They can’t run and they really can’t hide for long. Will they survive? And who can they trust? Who is involved in the deadly room service that goes on at the Pinewood Motel?

An interesting twist has David and Amy alternately take the lead in saving their necks, and director Nimrod Antal goes against horror movie type by playing with our expectations toward the end as the small body count goes higher.

Vacancy is an entertaining homicidal psycho-buddies along the “road less traveled by” scenario often used in horror. What helps it stand out are the performances by, Frank Whaley, Luke Wilson and Kate Beckinsale, that provide tense moments of terror, anguish and momentary triumph in a straigtforward and suspenseful mix of classic horror elements.

And I like rooting for the would-be victims: payback can be such an entertaining b*tch after all.

Alone with Her (2006)

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Meet Doug. Full-time profession: stalker.

In Alone with Her, a film by Eric Nicholas, we get to know just about everything there is to know about Doug. It isn’t pretty, but we do get to realize that Doug is a loser; a loser in relationships, a loser in his approach to life, a loser that, simply put, has nothing better to do than to keep trying at creating artificial relationships with women to boost his superficial ego.

That’s where Amy comes in. She’s just coming off a failed relationship so she’s vulnerable. Just the kind of woman Doug likes: someone he can fabricate a fantasy world of ‘Doug the Magnificent’ around. Maybe shes the one who will buy his fantasy world of perfection, maybe not, but in Alone with Her, we get to watch every sordid detail of Doug’s relentless infatuation with Amy, and how he manipulates her to believe he’s a nice guy; a guy that has lots in common with her. But that’s only because he’s bugged her home and her life, and he’s there every single minute, watching and listening.

We first see Doug as he truly is: a camera stuck surreptitiously in a black bag. He doesn’t go anywhere without it. He sees through it, feels through it, even hunts vulnerable and lonely woman through it. In fact, his whole point of view is always through the camera’s lens, and Nicholas films most of the story that way. We watch Doug through a camera lens as he watches Amy through his camera lens.

He first glimpses Amy in the park as she’s watching lovers get it on. She starts crying. One failed relationship worn on a sleeve to go, please, and that’s the hook for Doug. He’s a sucker for stuff like that. A brief trip to the electronic surveillance store and Doug’s next stop is Amy’s apartment. He rigs it with cameras and microphones to pick up every conversation, every bathroom break, and every personal nuance of Amy’s lonely life.

Through his camera and intrusion into Amy’s life, we’re forced to see and hear Amy as he does. But there’s no voyeuristic pleasure in this because Nicholas also forces us to see and hear Doug as he contrives ‘chance’ meetings with her at the local coffee or spends alone time with her in her bedroom—through a small monitor that he watches constantly. In one chilling moment, Doug puts his head down to sleep as Amy, on the monitor, puts her head down on her pillow to sleep; an indication that he has no life without play-acting himself into believing she matters to him. And when she pleasures herself with the handle of a hairbrush, he’s there pleasuring himself, too, but through the monitor: the epitome of safe sex.

We begin to see the breakable side of Doug when Amy gets a phone call from Matt. Doug hates competition, and anything or anyone that would get in the way of his twisted, fabricated relationship with Amy. More and more, Doug ingratiates himself into Amy’s life. She’s an art student, so he plays that up and helps her with her website. She likes this music or that movie, and amazingly, he likes this music or that movie, too. “Funny how much we have in common,” they say, but it’s not funny at all.

But Doug’s emotional instability can’t stand Matt’s attentions for Amy, so Doug swabs her bed linen with something nasty. One itchy night later, her skin is covered with red blotches, and she tells Matt to cool his heels while she recovers. At this point you also realize that he’s an old pro at this sort of thing. The hairs on the back of your neck should be standing up by now.

Then there’s Amy’s friend Jen, who starts upsetting the delicate balance of Doug’s plans when she becomes suspicious of him. Guys too good to be true usually aren’t that good. During a get-together with Amy, Jen and Doug, he just can’t deal with not having Amy all to himself and begins losing his superficial composure. He breaks down in the bathroom and fakes a phone call to get him out of the apartment.

Doug begins to resort to more interventions to bring him and Amy closer together. He gets her paintings sold, but we aren’t quite sure who actually bought them. He rushes to her side when she steps on broken glass in the dark. He neatly takes care of Jen when she begins to confront him about his past.

Doug the social-nebbish, the electronic felon, the camera creep who needs to fabricate his whole life around a fictitious relationship, is really a monster in disguise. This monster-side of him begins to show itself more and more, and roars to life just when he has the chance at a real emotional connection with Amy instead of one of his contrived events.

Nicholas, who directed and wrote the story, moves his camera, and Doug’s, in a straightforward manner. Occasionally resorting to monochrome tints as Doug’s point of view surveillance shows Amy or Doug himself, Nicholas eschews the sensational and directs the unsettling events in the story with pragmatism. Colin Hanks plays Doug in a low-key, fatalistic way, presenting a depressingly realistic portrayal of this human monster who can’t handle uncertainty or spontaneity in his life.

This low-budget thriller is low-key, but that makes it all the more realistic; and truly horrifying because of it.

Tap Dancing to Hell and a Pot o’Gold Part 3
The Ghosts You Know
The Haunting (1963)

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Haunting
Tap Dancing to Hell and a Pot o’Gold Part 3 (Part 2)

Zombos Says: Classic

“Do you see him?” asked Curly Joe.

“No.” I shone my flashlight down the long tunnel. “This is just great.”

The tunnel we were standing in was long, narrow, and filled with doors; ominous, gray, metal-clad doors that practically screamed “Stay Out!” They were the types of doors you see in movies like Hostel. I hate doors like that.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“‘Help Zombos Go Home,’” I read out loud, in the dim light of my flashlight. The large letters were written in script across the brick wall, with a kid’s pink chalk stick by the look of it.

“Who the hell’l want ta write in pink chalk down here?”

“No, not chalk,” I said, touching it with my fingertip and tasting it. “Like chalk, I’d say.”

“I should’a listened ta the other plumbers ‘bout this place. Now I’m playin’ in Zork-land.” He sat on his rump and put his head in his hands. “Ya realize yer gonna get one hell of a bill, don’t ya?”

Zombos pays the bills so I ignored him. “You know, this writing reminds me of that scary Shirley Jackson ghost story directed by Robert Wise, The Haunting.”

Curly Joe perked up. “Say, I remember dat movie; pretty scary, even though ya never see any ghosts.”

 

Perhaps this is the best way to describe The Haunting: a frightening ghost story because it doesn’t show any ghosts. Unlike today’s vivid use of Japanese Onryô apparitions—in need of a shampoo and cut—vindictively mauling everyone onscreen, Wise only suggests ghosts, creating one of the scariest movies by sound and implication.

Taken from Jackson’s novel, The Haunting of Hill House, Nelson Gidding’s psychological screenplay uses her ambiguous supernatural inferences occurring within the house and leaves out those happening outside (such as the unsettling phantom picnic); keeping the tension-building squarely in the house as Dr. Markway’s (Richard Johnson) skittish paranormal investigators experience the teasingly malevolent manifestations of Hill House’s former tenants.

In the foreboding opening montage, Dr. Markway relates the sordid history of Hill House, from the tragic death of Hugh Crain’s first wife before she actually sees the morose mansion, to the mysterious death of his second wife down a long flight of, and finally the suicide of Abigail’s nurse-companion. Abigail was Hugh Crain’s repressed daughter. The companion, who inherited the estate because there was no one else to give it to after Abigail died a lonely death, hung herself from the wrought-iron spiral staircase in the sunless library; perhaps because she was never really left alone in the sprawling, gloomy house.

Clearly, Hill House has issues, and that’s what draws the attention of Dr. Markway: he’s looking for “the key to another world,” and believes Hill House will provide it. And boy does it do so with relish. As he assembles his team from the dwindling group of people that still dare to enter Hill House after they learn about its unsavory past, he chooses Eleanor (Julie Harris), a fragile woman with no life of her own. She’s a walking, living, ghost herself, and after spending the last eleven years taking care of her invalid mother, has nothing to call her own: not a relationship, not a career, not a hobby, not even her own place to live. She sees Dr. Markway’s invitation as her great escape, her final chance to spread her wings and breathe freedom. This makes her dangerously vulnerable to the influences of Hill House. And Abigail, whose declining years were spent isolated, with only her companion to provide company.

Another member of Dr. Markway’s team is Theo, a psychic sponge who knows everyone intimately on first meeting. She’s hip, she’s smart, and she takes a fancy to Eleanor, but Eleanor’s fancy is tickled more by Dr. Markway, which leads to earthly tension in a house where Hugh Crane derided earthly pleasures. Just look at the ugly bible illustrations of damnation for the wicked he foisted on poor little Abigail: it’s the proverbial bible for horror movie victimology 101: enjoy thyself and die, oh wicked one!

Luke (Russ Tamblyn) is the skeptic. Not part of Dr. Markway’s team, he’s there because he’s inheriting the house and wants to look after his future interests. He doesn’t believe in spirits unless they’re bottled. Tamblyn’s Luke is armed with quick-with-a-quip resolve. He jokes to dispel the awkward feeling the unknown gives him when explanations are needy.

Julie Harris, Wise’s choice for the role of Eleanor, or Nell as Theo calls her, is the character everyone and everything in the house becomes enamored with. Her clumsy shyness hides her need to desperately belong somewhere, anywhere, even if it is here; and Claire Bloom’s alluring but predatory “nature’s mistake” Theo resents the house’s need for Nell as much as she resents her own need for Nell. Both women alternately bond, break apart, and bond again,
trading biting insults as their relationship becomes as difficult to navigate as the house’s hallways.

The outside shots of Hill House—in actuality the Ettington Park Hotel in England—are made even more ominously brooding by Wise’s shrewd use of infra-red movie to sharpen and darken the arched, neo-gothic windows and towering brick facade to the point of austerity. His technique of darkening the mansion under angry clouds, when a supernatural event is about to happen, cues the chills for us even more. Choosing the naturally more gritty and spooky quality of black and white movie stock over color also intensifies the brooding interplay of stark shadows and lightness in the interiors of the mansion, emphasizing the not-quite-right nature of the house that Hugh Crain built, where doors shut themselves, walls meet at odd angles, and “nothing seems to move until you look away.”

Looking for ways to enhance the foreboding atmosphere of his movie, Wise jumped at the chance to use a newly available prototype 35mm lens that presented a slight distortion for his Panavision landscape, increasing the unnaturalness of the mansion’s rooms and exteriors in a subtle way. He had to sign a waiver releasing the manufacturer from any liability before he could acquire it (Bryan Senn, Cinematic Hauntings).

Wise’s unique visual styling of the movie aside, it’s his minimalist depiction of terrifying events assailing Nell and Theo that turn The Haunting into a classic, adult tale of suspenseful frights. The violent nighttime encounter with something conspicuously making its way through the halls to find them in their bedroom, the intense pounding on the door, the scuffling, and the heart-stopping turning doorknob as it seeks to get in is a nerve-tingling blend of spiraling camera work, fearful reactions as Nell and Theo look to each other for support, and loud, disorientating banging following by silence. This impression of what may be
trying to get in generates genuine scares. I dare you to watch this late at night and alone.

Wise builds friction between the investigators as Nell begins to lose herself to the intoxicating and liberating influence of Hill House, between alternating bouts of willingness and reluctance. As a kindred spirit—albeit a living one—to Abigail’s companion, it is never made clear who or what exactly is enamored with Nell aside from Theo. Is it Abigail, seeking a companion again, or is it the companion, trapped alone, seeking release from a vengeful Abigail?

‘Help Eleanor Come Home,’ found written in large letters with “something like chalk,” is seen on a hallway wall. Dr. Markway now realizes what we already know: how vulnerable Nell really is to this key to another world. One side of him wants Eleanor to leave for her own safety, but the other realizes she is the lightning rod, the attractor for the haunting. Or is he becoming more amenable to Nell’s obvious infatuation with him, or maybe he’s concerned she has no
other place to go?

When Dr. Markway’s wife (Lois Maxwell), another skeptic, unexpectedly visits, pleading with him to end his ridiculous ghost-hunting nonsense, Nell, in a fit of jealous pique, mentions the nursery when Mrs. Markway asks for the scariest room to sleep in. Although Nell realizes the seriousness of what she said—the nursery is the evil heart of Hill House—Mrs. Markway insists on staying in the room. Although Mrs. Markway refuses to stay with the others, Dr. Markway insists everyone else spend the night together for safety, while he and Luke take turns watching the nursery for any sign of trouble. When Luke sneaks into the parlor for a quick, fortifying drink, the door slams shut with a loud bang, waking the others. Once again, a door becomes the only separation between the living and the unknown, and Luke comes to an abrupt realization that he’ll have a lot of trouble trying to sell Hill House. Wise ups the ante for terror here with a simple, non-CGI, effect that will send chills down your spine.

When whatever is doing the pounding heads upstairs to the nursery, Luke, now a card-carrying believer in the supernatural, fights Dr. Markway to keep the door closed, and Nell, visibly and metaphorically, retreats into the bowels of Hill House. Like Abigail’s companion, she heads to the library where, at the top of the rickety spiral staircase, she contemplates a similar fate.

Will Hill House have what it wants? Will Eleanor? What happens to Mrs. Markway? Will she live long enough to become a believer in the supernatural, too?

The Haunting must be watched at night with the lights off, or in a darkened theater, well into the evening. It is a sophisticated, well-crafted foray into the ghostly realm, and one that will leave you exhilarated and scared and happy such horror movies still may be found.

Do not confuse this movie with its befuddled remake. This one’s the real scary deal.

Part 4

Manga Review:
Hideshi Hino’s Lullabies From Hell

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HideshiHino

Zombos Says: Excellent

Hideshi Hino's Lullabies From Hell is an essential tankōbon in any horrorhead's manga library. Hino is a queer duck, to be sure, and often incorporates much of his personal experience into his bizarre, visually disturbing stories.

According to an interview he gave for The Comics Journal, it was after reading Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man that he felt the need to combine horror with a sense of fairy tale. This led him to mix monstrous birth defects, other-worldly transmogrifications, and hideous characters—inside and out—with Japanese folktales, producing uniquely creepy and culture-transcending stories of terror.

There's a whimsical grotesqueness in Hino's artwork: he fills his panels with people endowed with oversized, misshapen heads staring madly at the reader with bulging, blood-shot eyes filled with large, zigzagging veins. All is definitely not right in his world, as body parts, disgusting creatures, blood and corruption—both physical and psychological—splash all over normal scenes of home, work and play.

In the opening story, A Lullaby from Hell, he introduces himself as a mangaka (manga author), who is obsessed with those terrible, unmentioned things peeking from just below the surface of normalcy. He describes his fascination with horror came at an early age, nurtured by a demented mother who tormented him, a father he rarely saw who worked at the factory right behind his house, and his abusive "horrible Yakusa" brother.

Soon, as things both living and dead bleed into one another in his mind, he begins to collect their parts in big glass jars so he can admire them for hours on end. In his admiration, he dreamed dreams of monsters and demons from hell that would, at his bidding, devour and torture people, especially those that abused him.

After being humiliated and abused once too often, he discovers he has a unique power: the ability to kill people with his drawings. And not just kill them, but mangle them, mash them, and do very nasty things to them. All because he could will it to be so. 

In the next story, Unusual Fetus—My Baby, once again he is dreaming up a nightmare. He imagines his soon-to-be-born son as a "grotesque lizard" thing. Since this is a horror story after all, we get what he dreams up. In this nasty tale of phylogeny recapitulates ontogeny gone haywire, his son is born a lizard-like thing with an unusual appetite that is not satisfied with baby formula. For a while, our horror writer uses this unfortunate event to his advantage, and successfully sells his impossible story. But fate always intervenes, and soon what is abnormal for him is normal for all.

In another story, Train of Terror begins with three children happily returning from a day trip to visit relatives. Soon their laughter turns to cries of terror as they meet the boogeyman (in this case, a demonic mountain goblin perhaps?) as their train enters a dark tunnel. Exiting the tunnel on the other side, only they remain unchanged. Their fellow passengers now have dark, mask-like expressions and pupil-less eyes!

In the tradition of Invaders from Mars and Invasion of the Body Snatchers, the hapless children are alienated and hunted, with no one believing their strange accusations. One boy even suspects his parents of being different and wonders what the thing in the large sack they are burying late one night is. He is soon on the run, evading hordes of dark, pupil-less classmates, and adults that want to cause him serious bodily harm. In a unique twist, we are left with a happy ending, but not for long?

Now picture if you will, Morticia Addams sitting by a nice cozy fire, cups of hot and frothy, mashed eye-of-yak spiked cocoa steaming away, and Wednesday and Pugsley curled up around her like some lamenting felines as she reads the fairytale, Zoroku's Strange Disease. Never has a children's story conveyed such purulent corruption in its narrative and textured artwork. How wonderful!

Zoroku, the titular hero of the story, yearns to draw colorful pictures, but the evil villagers make fun of him and his condition. It seems that a little rash has turned to a boil, and a boil to many, and many to something much, much worse.

Poor Zoroku becomes covered with a "colorful purulence," and the villagers and their children drive him away to solitude, deep into the forest by a strange lake. Unfortunately for him, the purulence gives off an odor that would curl paint, and his boils ooze so badly, maggots infest them in the hundreds. My, what a quaint Brothers Grimm fairytale kind of picture, don't you think? But there is a happy ending. Well, happy for a horror story kind of fairytale, that is. 

Hideshi Hino blends his real and imagined selves into his fancifully grotesque stories too easily, revealing his fears and doubts with society and culture, making it a crapshoot as to where the real Hideshi Hino truly lives.

Book Review: The Rough Guide
to Horror Movies

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Rough guide

Zombos Says: Excellent

The Rough Guide to Horror Movies, by Alan Jones, is a richly informative and broad discussion of American and British horror films, including coverage of horror’s important international kith and kin. The format makes it easy to read and refer back to. The book is broken into sections providing a chronological look at the horror genre and a browse-friendly, enjoy it here and there, read.

Beginning with a brief overview of the literary and celluloid origins of horror, Jones introduces his essential 50 seminal horror films that stimulated the genre to new heights. This is a section to be revisited again and again. While some of his inclusions may be open to debate, the entries provide much to think about and discuss. This list provides the budding horrorhead with the movies he or she simply must not miss.

The remaining chapters include the icons of horror, the global picture of horror films around the world, and a section devoted to film festivals, conventions, books, magazines, and websites. The chapter is not exhaustive, but it is a great starting point.

You will also find a who's-who of notable directors, actors and monsters that have shaped the genre in the Icons chapter, along with the quintessential reasons for why they have had such a strong and memorable hold on the medium. This chapter provides an excellent introduction to those “faces of horror” that have provided endless hours of chills and scares  to audiences everywhere.

It is in the concise chapter on global horror cinema that the book becomes an essential guide to the various influences each culture brings to the genre. If a director is a product of his cultural upbringing, then his singular experience within (and perhaps struggling against) his culture must be understood and contrasted against his cinematic creations; add to this each culture's unique superstitions and mythologies, social mores and taboos—and musical and dancing interludes—and you will begin to appreciate how they influence the depiction of horror and terror onscreen.

From Hong Kong’s “flying ghosts, hopping vampires…killer tongues and other possessed body parts” to Mexico’s “macabre folklore,” and Italy’s giallo, horror on film is a rich tapestry where American and British influences interweave with the many globally shared themes of personal, social and religious ideations; pushing many hapless victims out of the commonplace and into the stygian realms of the cinema-horrific, screaming and dying all the way.

Book Review: Dying to Live
Life Among the Undead

/ Books (Fiction) / 2 Comments

Dyingtolive “Dr. Paffenroth? Kim Paffenroth?”

“Here.”

“Follow me please.”

The administrative assistant led Paffenroth into a large office with no walls. A large scaffold stood on one side of the room, stretching up to a breath-taking ceiling high above him. The ceiling was filled with paintings of ecclesiastical wonder illustrated in colors that would shame a rainbow.

Sitting behind the desk was a clean-shaven, white-haired man, flipping through the pages of, Dying to Live: A Novel of Life Among the Undead. He closed the book and put it down on his desk, then folded his hands on top of it. He smiled at Paffenroth. “Hi, Kim. Please have a seat.”

Paffenroth sunk into one of the stuffed leather chairs. “My word,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” said the man behind the desk. “Heavenly, aren’t they? I’ve ordered a set of ottomans to go with them, but I’m afraid I may have guests falling asleep the minute they sit down,” he chuckled. “Kim–or would you rather I called you Dr. Paffenroth?”

Paffenroth waved his hand.

“Kim, we need to talk about this novel of yours. I’m not sure if—”

He was interrupted by singing. It drifted down from the top of the scaffold. “Hey, Michaelangelo!” he called. “Why don’t you take a lunch break? I’ve got to talk with my guest in private.”

A head peered out from the scaffold. “Bene.” To Paffenroth’s surprise, the individual stepped off the scaffold. Two large white wings unfolded as the man fell and they began flapping the air, quickly stopping his descent. He flew off into the distance still singing.

“Now Kim,” said the man behind the desk, picking up where he left off, “I love the book. It has all the right beats, and builds on each beat, making you really care about the people surrounded by that universe in chaos. Sort of reminds me of those first seven days, you know. I just don’t know if people are ready, though, for a thought-provoking religious approach to zombie horror. I mean—”

He noticed that Paffenroth’s attention was focused on the desk. “Like it?”

Paffenroth nodded. “It’s unbelievable. Does it ever end?” he asked, looking off to the horizon, first left, then right.

“Da Vinci did it,” said the man behind the desk. “Looked great on paper. Hell, everything he draws looks great on paper. But the downside is it takes an eternity to find anything in it’s draws.”

Paffenroth laughed. “That’s funny.”

“What?”

“Can God make a desk so big that even he…”

“Oh, you’re right! I hadn’t thought of that.” They both chuckled.

The door to the office opened and a wizened, long-bearded man poked his head in. “I’m heading to Starbucks, any takers?”

“Kim?” asked the man behind the desk. Paffenroth nodded no. “We’re good, thanks for asking, Methuselah.”

“Okie dokie,” said Methuselah, and closed the door.

“Great guy; been with us for ages. Now, getting back to your book. I’m certainly not one to interfere, but I do have some concerns about where this might go. I just want to—”

The door to the office flew open. A man dressed in a gray pin-stripe suit and carrying a briefcase sprinted in, followed on his heels by the administrative assistant.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I couldn’t stop him,” said the assistant, apparently at her wit’s end.

“That’s all right, Ruth. I’ll take care of it.”

“Dr. Paffenroth, don’t say another word. Permuted Press sent me to handle everything.” He put his briefcase down and handed out his business card.

“You’re a lawyer, Mr. Christian?” asked the man behind the desk. “This really isn’t necessary. I just wanted to chat with Kim about the philosophical implications of his wonderful book.”

“Yes,” said Paffenroth, “I don’t think we need to—”

“Tut, tut,” said Mr. Christian. “Permuted Press just wants to make sure that everything is fairly weighed in the balance and nothing is found wanting.”

“Alright then, have a seat.”

“I rather stand, if you don’t mind. These chairs look too comfortable,” said Mr. Christian, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Fine. I was just telling Kim how much I like his novel. His choice to use the first person narrative is well-chosen, as it’s really the only way to get inside Jonah’s head to understand where he’s coming from, and learn his thoughts about the other people he meets who are also surviving by the skin of their teeth.” The man behind the desk picked up the book, thought a moment, and continued.

“Through Jonah’s eyes, you can also experience the pain of separation, of a house divided on a global scale. Believe me, that is something I can fully appreciate. Metaphorically speaking, the situation of utter despair these survivors find themselves in can also be viewed in the light of many current events. Their questioning of their faith, and the ultimate reason for it all is a universal constant we all share.”

“I’m glad you like it,” said Mr. Christian, “but why, then, are we here?

“Well, it’s the questioning part that concerns me,” said the man behind the desk. I am, after all, the prime mover—it wasn’t easy—even though it was a labor of love. But it’s this constant blame game that’s driving me nuts.”

“What blame game?” asked Mr. Christian.

“This blaming me for everything new or old under the sun, whether good or bad. Simply put, I’m not my children’s keeper. They’re a will and a law unto themselves, and anything bad or good that happens from their actions is their responsibility and their reward alone. I have enough trouble making the little green apples grow. I’ll probably be blamed for global warming next. This “it is or it isn’t God’s will” has simply got to stop. And your characters, from Jonah to Tanya to Jack wonder where I fit into all of it.”

“But that’s like saying don’t fight the good faith,” said Mr. Christian. “How else can a person give meaning to their actions, their existence, if they feel there is none at the end of the day? No trip to Atlantic City when you retire, no winning Lotto ticket even if you pray and pray for one. Hey, you started all this. Now you want to leave everyone high and dry?”

“Wait, I’m not following all this,” said Paffenroth. “My novel is focused on the feelings and dispositions of people in the face of overwhelming circumstances. It’s only natural for them to question why they survived while others don’t, and why—”

“And why I’d let it all happen?” interrupted the man behind the desk. “The minuses and the pluses for it all, and all that spotty divine intervention stuff as your survivors rationalize the random events around them and their existence, and the existence of the zombies? Holy Moses, I can think of—”

The door to the office swung open. “You called, boss?” asked a white-robed man, sticking his head in.

“Oh, no, sorry Moses. My bad.”

“No problemo!” said Moses, and closed the door.

“Alright, alright, we can go around in circles all day arguing,” said Mr. Christian. “How about we focus on the novel and work with some concrete examples?”

“A sensible idea,” said the man behind the desk. He flipped through the book. “Here, right off the bat, you have a line that reads “God’s righteous judgment on a sinful humanity.” I don’t judge. Hell, I have enough trouble keeping my own house in order.”

“But you’re taking that line out of context,” said Paffenroth. “It’s only natural for Jonah, or anyone else for that matter, to wonder if there really is a purpose to all the madness he’s dealing with, all the death. I’m not implying there is, I’m just exploring how any individual in such a situation might think. People—especially people under extraordinary circumstances—question what’s happening around them and to them. It’s as natural as the changing of the seasons.”

“Good point,” said Mr. Christian.

Paffenroth continued. “First we find Jonah alone, his family gone, his life a daily, dismal chore of survival. Literally he’s up a tree, the only safe place to sleep, and he’s honed his skills at killing the zombies: but he still wonders about them. Who they were before they turned. The zombies are people like him, were people like him; that’s what he realizes even when he’s bashing their brains out. His remorse at killing them comes from his realization that, soulless as they may be—at least in their insatiable hunger and mindless purpose—they were like him once. That’s the real horror of it all. That and the fact that he could become like that at any time if he let’s his guard down.”

“And that’s what makes this novel something new under the sun,” added Mr. Christian. “Sure, it’s got well-written, suitably gory action scenes, but each character’s questioning of their own experience gives this story legs. We’re fast to include religious evil whenever horror happens, but I think it’s high time we start including religious good, too. That includes the symbols we associate with them, and the thoughts we share about them. And even with all this philosophical thinking going on, the novel still moves at a brisk pace.”

“Did you have a problem with Milton being considered some sort of zombie messiah?” asked Paffenroth.

“Yeah, what about that?” asked Mr. Christian. “How did your son take that one?”

“Oh, he’s been on tour ever since Mel Gibson’s film made him popular again. But I know he’s good with it. He likes the introspective nature of the character. The realization Milton comes to—how he can best utilize his “gift”, if you will, is wonderful. I am always one for hope, and he provides that with his actions.”

“And isn’t that what it’s all about?” asked Mr. Christian. “Paffenroth’s survivors add meaning to their actions to provide them with hope. Without it, you might just as well be a zombie.”

He continued. “Even the ritual of going into the city to provide some sort of rite of passage for people joining that small community of survivors is important. Jonah questions it’s effectiveness at first, but comes to realize it’s necessary to get people into the proper mindset for survival. When all the usual rituals of everyday life fall by the wayside, it’s important to provide new ones, otherwise people have no anchor to hold them steady.”

“And it sets up the encounter at the hospital,” added Paffenroth. “Without that journey, they would not have stumbled upon Frank and Zoey, a father and his infant daughter.”

“That’s quite a chilling scene, isn’t it?” said Mr. Christian. “I mean, the locked room with all those zombies in it.” He shuddered. “You were too graphic with that one. Like one of Dante’s levels of Hell, a nightmare that never ends.”

“Dante loved it, by the way,” said the man behind the desk. “Wish he had thought of it first.”

“It also foreshadows the events that take place in the prison, toward the end of the novel,” said Paffenroth.

“Yes! That’s quite a horrific little adventure for Jonah, Popcorn and Tanya, isn’t it?” said Mr. Christian. “That prison, like the locked hospital room, is a microcosm of insanity surrounded by the same. Nicely poised philosophical question comes out of that, too. Are the zombies, who mindlessly kill and infect—in nicely gruesome ways—their victims, evil, or are the convicts, who, with malice and aforethought kill and torture their victims for pleasure the real evil ones?”

“That’s it! That’s my point exactly,” said the man behind the desk. “Volition. Those convicts became a law unto themselves, and thereby were lawless—and Godless for that matter. But it still was there choice. Free will; once you have it, it’s all up to you. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Now wait a minute,” said Mr. Christian. “I happen to know you did a little miracle to keep Sanjaya going on American Idol. So don’t give me that free will, no intervention crap.”

“Okay, so I’m a sucker for an underdog,” said the man behind the desk. “But it doesn’t happen often. Besides, Mephistopheles has Simon under contract, so I had to needle him a bit.”

“Look,” said Mr. Christian, “we can argue until Hell freezes over, but I think the point of the novel is that people will always strive to find meaning in what happens around them; even during times of zombie apocalypse. All Paffenroth did was to bring that sense of meaning into his novel. I, for one, think it brings zombie literature to a new level. And even with all that philosophical wondering going on, the story is fast-paced, and his characters make you want to see them survive. Along the way, kicking some zombie butt is also a plus, and he tosses that in with an ease that’s surprising coming from an author with his theological background.”

“True,” said the man behind the desk. “I think I have a better understanding of your motivations.” He handed Paffenroth the book. “Just one last thing: can you do me a big favor and sign it? Make it out to ‘my divine inspiration,’ would you. Thanks.”

“We done?” asked Mr. Christian, grabbing his briefcase.

“We’re done,” said the man behind the desk. “Oh, and Kim, you’ll just wake up and think this was all a dream. I look forward to your next novel. Keep up the good work.”

Movie Review: Pirates of the Caribbean
Dead Man’s Chest (2006)

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Zombos Says: Excellent

Yo ho yo ho, it’s the pirates life for me! Crack open the rum, and butter me bum, this sure is a fine film. Before I drag my dead man’s hairy chest to the office after spending the night watching me boy Jack Sparrow shiver his timbers, I want to put a few comments to digital paper for you landlubbers.

This summer movie sizzles! It has everything a good swashbuckling movie should have. It’s a treasure chest full of pulse-pounding adventure and more; and more includes beautiful bonnie lasses, handsome men, rigorous swordplay, dastardly scoundrels, flogging, a scintillating score, and thar be monsters aplenty. Aye, mateys, monsters! From the legendary Kraken to old squidhead himself, Davy Jones, and his barnacle and mollusk-encrusted crew of the damned, they will take your breadth away through the clever and seamless use of CGI, makeup, and damn fine acting.

And sloshing his way through it all, from ship to island, is rum-soaked Jack Sparrow—oh, sorry, Captain Jack Sparrow. Just as he escapes from a nasty prison that features eye-plucking crows and very uncomfortable accommodations (wonder if they will add that to the Disney ride?), Bootstrap Bill comes calling with an untimely message from Davy Jones. Seems Jack made a bargain with the sea-devil many years ago, and his time’s run through. But always-conniving Jack brokers an interim deal, involving 99 souls, or so it would seem, to take his place aboard the Flying Dutchman, and he soon embroils Will Turner and Elizabeth in his little gambit with his impending eternal date with destiny. But Jack, Will and Elizabeth have their own agendas, and each go their separate ways until their paths cross a wee bit amidships, right about when we find them in Tortuga.

Gore Verbinski starts with a portentous opening scene of unused teacups filling up to overflowing with a torrent of rain water, and from there the story spins deliriously from stem to stern—like a drunken pirate—from ship to ship, island to island, and all of it leading our hapless heroes and heroines always, inexorably, back to the Flying Dutchman.

But before Davy Jones will have his due, Jack and Will, along with the Black Pearl’s motley crew, must escape the clutches of a bunch of very hungry natives. In a volley of hilarious scenes reminiscent of a Bugs Bunny cartoon, Jack fends off the natives with fruit while trussed up like a suckling pig, and his crew rolls—literally—through the jungle in giant cages to escape their captors. And once they are free, it’s time for the Jack to double-cross Will, and for them to meet the damned ship on a stormy night.

The Flying Dutchman and its crew are bleak and imaginatively hideous. Being damned at sea for a hundred years sure takes its toll. As the crew ages in their begrudging servitude to Davy Jones, they change. But not in a good way. They become one with the sea, and the sea and its denizens become one with them. Davy Jones himself sports a new doo of writhing tentacles and a lobster claw in place of one hand, and his crew runs the wondrous but icky gamut of sea life, from fish to crustacean, and any semblance to the humans they once were is purely coincidental.

Which is unfortunate for them; especially the ones pulling deck duty the longest. They eventually wind up as part of the deck itself. In one heart-stopping scene, one of these crewmen pops out from the hull, leaving some important bits of himself still attached, to convey a cryptic message to Jack. The foley team earned their paychecks with these scenes, as they pulled out all the stops with their squishing, shell-clicking sounds that echo from the man-fish crew and Davy’s squiddy, breathing sack of a head. I dare you to eat another clam, oyster, or mussel and not think about this film. Go ahead. I double dare you!

And when the Kraken attacks, all breathing stops. Both in the movie and in the audience. First comes the thud as it bumps the hull of the ship, then the tentacles rise slowly up out of the ocean surrounding it. And then the cracking and crunching starts, like a walnut being slowly crushed, and men go up and away as they are picked like ripe fruit off the vine.

Oh, and yes, there is Davy Jones’ chest, which contains a most important artifact. The island interlude to retrieve the chest and escape Davy Jones’ crew is a highlight in the film. Everyone squares off, and friends soon become enemies as desperation and opportunity set in.

For those not in the know, this is the second film in a trilogy, so the denouement, with Jack caught between a rock and a hard place, will leave you breathlessly waiting for the third film. And you might want to stay a bit after the credits roll: a little ditty of a funny scene back on the island of hungry cannibals is worth a look.

So set your sails for the nearest theater port and hoist a few—bags of hot-buttered popcorn that is. This is the summer movie to see. Or be damned me hearty!

Interview: The Gibbering Horror
of Steve Daniels

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Going out for a brisk bike-ride down a lonely country road? What’s that key lying in the road? What does it open? Say, maybe that run-down house in the woods. I bet the key belongs to it’s owner. But who is the owner? And what are all those cryptic notes that suddenly appear, slipped through a door that cannot be opened? What does it all mean?

To find out, you will have to watch the short horror film, The Gibbering Horror of Howard Ghormley on Fangoria’s Blood Drive II DVD. But be prepared for the unexpected in this creepy journey into the fantastic. To help with your preparation, upcoming horror director, and all-around bon vivant and fellow Stoogologist, Steve Daniels, comes into the closet to chat about Ghormley.

The Gibbering Horror of Howard Ghormley is a very creepy 12 minutes shot on grainy, b&w 8mm. Your use of 8mm film, and diegetic and non-diegetic sound is very unnerving. Can you tell us more about your artistic decisions when choosing and composing these elements for your story?

Thank you. I have been making Super 8mm films since 2000, and I really love the look and feel of the format. I am very thankful that Kodak continues to manufacture and support the film. Super 8, especially when shot at 18 frames per second as Ghormley was, tends to illicit a strong nostalgic vibe with viewers because of it’s use in old home movies. I have always associated things, scary things, to be scarier if they occurred in the past. Although I did not specify a time frame in the film, I imagined Ghormley taking place in the 1930’s or 40’s, so shooting the film in the grainy black and white Super 8 heightened that aged effect.

Because Ghormley was based on a disturbing, recurring dream I had, I wanted the audio from the film to reflect that surreal, dream-limbo quality. The film is “heard” through Ghormley’s head. It’s meta-diegetic sound. Real world sounds are selectively heard, unnaturally amplified or distorted to a very unnatural effect. The music/sound design, masterfully done by Chris Bickel, is both non-diegetic and meta-diegetic, as one could argue, as it both comments and compliments the action on screen, and reflects poor Ghormley’s agitated mental state as the story progresses.

What challenges as the director and writer did you face in transferring your dream to film? Were there any trade-offs between these roles?

At first, it was a challenge to transfer the images of the dream to film, because I had such strong images in my mind to begin with. I had distinct ideas of what everything should look like and how it should behave. Once I let that go, it was easy to use the dream as a foundation and build a more developed idea from that. There were no trade-offs in my two roles as director and writer because the story and the visuals were one in the same. It’s a visually driven and nonverbal film, so the images had to tell the story.

In another interview, you mention the directors that influenced you. You also added The Three Stooges. I’m a big fan of the Stooges, and the directors. Can you elaborate further on how the zany trio and various directors formed your approach to filmmaking? And, most importantly, which stooge is your favorite?

Man, I love The Three Stooges. My brother and I grew up watching them on account of our dad and I’ve remained a fan. I think it’s a dude thing because no woman I know likes the Stooges. It’s that primal intensity of slapstick violence. The kinetic energy of all the slapping and eye poking, and it’s just funny dammit . I guess what I love about them is how the gags come off so smoothly at the same time realizing how much choreography went in to all the clever cause and effect action. You know, Larry lifts the ladder, Curly ducks, the ladder swings and hits Moe in the jaw, Moe drops the paint bucket on Curly’s foot, and Larry get’s his hair pulled out.

Speaking of Larry, I guess he’s my favorite stooge. He’s the glue that keeps the group together, and is like the quiet underdog of the bunch. As I’ve gotten older, I have experienced a type of Stooge-maturity, and I can now proudly say I love Shemp Howard. Like most people, as a kid I would boo the tv screen if a “Shemp” episode would come on instead of a Curly one. As I’ve matured, I’ve grown to appreciate Shemp’s comic prowess. He was a funny dude, and rightfully deserves the respect of all us Stooge fans the world over. Heebeebeebeebee.

The house and surrounding woods used in the film are very effective. Can you tell us more about them?

I grew up exploring old houses, the south is littered with them, so I am always on the look out for an old “house place” to check out. I first discovered the house just as the character Ghormley does in the film. I noticed the chimneys just barely peaking out of a dense outcropping of large trees in a large barren field. It was exhilarating to push through the underbrush to see this massive, abandoned, vine covered farm house looming above me. The film does not come close to doing justice to the size and creepiness of the place. It’s just gigantic. I was lucky to locate the owner of the house and got permission to film there. I learned the house had been built sometime in the mid 1800’s, and it still was structurally in great shape.

Are there any anecdotes you can share with us regarding your filming of Gibbering Horror?

It took a very long time, almost a year in fact, of shooting on weekends and fighting a ton of production woes to finish the film. On top of having broken bicycle chains, a car stuck in the mud, a broken generator, at one point we discovered that almost 90 percent of the film had to be completely re-shot because of a camera malfunction. I soon realized our small crew were living out the plot of the film. Just like Ghormley, we were caught in this cyclic pattern of returning to the house and repeating the same things over and over. It’s a wonder we ever finished it.

Soon after I completed editing the film, I was driving and suddenly my vision began to spin. It was terrifying. I had an infection in my inner ear which caused a vertigo attack, and had to go to the emergency room. The attack was almost identical to the spinning shot that appears near the end of the film. The cyclic theme of Ghormley had permeated my existence.

What other film formats do you work in, or would like to?

I shoot most of my films in Super 8, but I also shoot on video. I’d like to move up to a 16mm or 35mm, or even High Def video at some point.

What’s your next horror film about, and what format will it be shot in? Why use that format?

My next horror film is called Dirt Dauber which is based on a original story of mine that gives a large nod to H.P. Lovecraft’s mythos. It involves a man who discovers an abandoned train tunnel in a mountainous region that was started but never completed during the 1800’s. Foreboding local legends surround the tunnel in the mountain that leads to nowhere. Local legend tells of a giant, unspeakable horror that dwells within. I plan to shoot this tale on both black and white, Super 8 and 24p color video.

You mention H.P. Lovecraft as a pivotal figure in your artistic development. What other writers influence you and why?

Those early pulp writers who made up the “Lovecraft Circle”:  Clark Ashton Smith, Robert E. Howard, Robert Bloch, Frank Belknap Long and others.   My father, James Daniels, who follows in the southern tradition of great story telling recently wrote his first book called Hope. His richly detailed, character-driven story telling abilities have always inspired me. I also greatly admire the work of Richard Matheson and Ambrose Bierce.

As a director, much of what you do is visually composed. What artists (from any graphic genre) influence you and why?

I recently discovered the art of David Hartman  that really excites me. He does great stylized illustrations of “pulpy” monsters. His work is inspiring because it reminds me of pure, unfiltered childhood fears that are so easy lost because of adult rationality. It takes me back to when I was a kid and a Hartman-like toothy, white eyed, swamp ghoul holding a rusty butcher’s cleaver could and DID in fact exist in my parents dark, musty basement. I miss those monsters and Hartman brings them back for me.

Old-time radio was your inspiration for the tone and structure of Gibbering Horror. I love old-time radio shows, too. Can you elaborate on which ones are your favorites, and how they helped you create Gibbering Horror?

My aunt bought me a collection of OTR horror tapes on a road trip when I was young, and when it got dark I listened to the tapes, and they completely freaked me out. I don’t think I knew what was going on story wise, but the rough quality of the sound and a woman screaming on the episode, coupled with my imagination traveling down a dark country Arkansas road, really got under my skin.

I really enjoy Arch Obler’s Lights Out. Inner Sanctum, Quiet Please, Suspense, Escape, are also some of my favorites.

I wanted Ghormely to look and feel like a old time radio horror show looked in my imagination when I listened to an episode. There is a musty pulpy-ness I wanted to convey. Like in OTR horror shows, the tone of Ghormley can come close to campy pulp but I wanted that impending dread, that dead-cold seriousness that suffocates everything in those stories.

If you were a monster, which one would you be, and why?

When I was young I thought it would be cool to be a werewolf. In fact, when I hit puberty and I got all hairy, I convinced myself for a short time I was a werewolf. I guess now I’d have to be an amorphous, unspeakable Lovecraft horror….Yog Sothoth or a Shoggoth. That way I could morph and form my shape shifting mass to all types of indescribable abominations.

Finally, is there any question you’ve always been dying to answer but no one ever asked? Now’s your chance.

Finally! Here goes: “Steve, have you ever sang and recorded with a well known punk band?” Why yes, indeed I have!  The Queers, a  pop punk band from New Hampshire came through town over 10 years ago to the local recording studio to do a “live studio” album. As a joke, I yelled out a song request from their earlier days, a song called “Love Me”, and they called me up to sing lead vocals. I forgot some of the lyrics and sloppily made up the rest, but to my utter surprise they recorded the song and released it as a rare bonus 7inch single, (the flip side was a cover of Louie Louie). It was included with the equally ultra-rare Shout at the Queers vinyl only LP. It was limited to 666 pressed records. My punk rock claim to fame. Whooo mercy.

Movie Review: The Garden (2005)

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Zombos Says: Fair

I adore Lance Henriksen. Like Jeffrey Combs, he approaches every role with aplomb and skill. Ever since his appearance in Pumpkinhead, I find his characters always rich and emotive. That craggy, lined face and those penetrating eyes speak volumes before he even utters a single word of dialog. And in The Garden, he gets to focus all his demeanor, and that lined face, to portray Lucifer, the big bad fallen angel himself.

In Medieval Christian belief, Lucifer’s pride led him to rebel against God, and thus be cast out of heaven, never to see the face of God again. Times change, of course, and the name Lucifer has assumed different connotations, including merchandising rights to a few notable brands of hot sauce. But for The Garden, Lucifer remains the fallen angel who wants to desperately bring the apocalypse upon the mundane world just so he can once again look on the face of God.

Unlike the coming apocalypse in Night Watch, this one is more subtle. It is similar in that it requires just one person to make the wrong choice, but there are no CGI bells and whistles, nor chaotic scenes of impending destruction. Instead of the modern apartment building that is the center of annihilation in Night Watch, in The Garden it is a tree nestled on a quiet farm.

Not just any tree, mind you, but the Tree of Knowledge . The Tree of Knowledge which bears fruit that Adam and Eve were never meant to eat. Everything was fine until Eve was tempted by the serpent—Lucifer in disguise—and God quickly sent her and Adam packing with all of mankind’s future woes. Many interpretations exist for the tree, and the nature of the fruit it bears, but for The Garden, the interpretation that seems to fit best is the one that sees the tree as a decision tree. And eating any of its fruit means you make a really, really bad decision (as God made man “Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall”).

So the stage is set. Ben (Lance Henriksen) patiently tends to the tree and schemes for a man to take just one bite of its fruit. Once that happens, the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse will ride forth to bring death and destruction to the world of man. Forcing God’s hand to destroy that which he created and open the gates of heaven, Lucifer will then be able to see the face of God again.

As godliness goes, usually the struggle between good and evil requires human players in the battle to make decisions that will either aid or hinder either side’s plans. For what is God without us? And who would Lucifer tempt if not us? Our principle players for this particular battle, which takes place on this quiet farm, are the boy, Sam (Adam Taylor Gordon), and his father (Brian Wimmer).

Sam has nasty visions of a dead tree and people with their mouths sewn shut, and he is prone to cutting himself when agitated. His father is coping as best he can, but he suffers from alcoholism and a failed marriage. With the boy recently released from psychiatric observation, both hope to strengthen their failed relationship. Ah, weakness! Lucifer can smell it a celestial plane or two away. An automobile accident brings father and son to the farm, and into Lucifer’s waiting hands. Let the games begin.

Sam’s dad, easily falling under Ben’s influence, decides to take Ben’s offer to work on the farm for a spell, and Sam, reluctantly, must attend the local school, which is taught by Miss Chapman. As the days progress, Ben persuades Sam’s dad to loosen up a bit, but his charms are lost on Sam, who begins to suspect that something is not quite right about the farm, or Ben. His suspicions are confirmed when he sees Ben murder his visiting psychiatrist (Claudia Christian)
to keep her from taking Sam away. Or are they? Is Sam seeing visions or reality? And just who are those people with their mouths sewn shut that keep sneaking up on him?

The pacing of The Garden is slow, and the drama occurs between the son, the father, and the devil, not through flashy CGI or action sequences. It is structured more like a stage play, and Mr. Henriksen has a field day playing the devilish one with forced whimsy, pathos, and monstrous evil. He helps to make it work, even though the director, Don Michael Paul, in his audio commentary, notes that budgetary and location constraints forced him to compromise his intended vision with the actual filmed one.

As Ben continues to manipulate Sam and his father, Sam Bozzo’s story begins to muddle. While combining religious beliefs into a coherent story is difficult enough, the interplay between characters and their ultimate purpose to the storyline becomes uncertain. Miss Chapman is more than she seems, and though she plays a major role in bringing Armageddon, the reason for why she would want to do such a dastardly deed is never clear. And when Ben finally explains to Sam’s dad his ulterior purpose for him, well, he just believes it all without a knowing wink or shake of the head that this guy is bonkers. The bully from school also gets his comeuppance from Ben, but why? Nothing the bully does has any effect on Ben’s plans.

Story inconsistencies aside, the direction, special effects and acting are fair, and the unusual subject matter worth consideration. Jon Lee’s score is moody and bittersweet, and a perfect companion to Mr. Henriksen’s wonderful performance. The DVD extras are well done, and include audio commentary by the director, biography of Lance Henriksen, a behind the scenes look, and trailer. Commentary by the writer would have been welcomed, if only to clarify some plot points.

For the fan of gory and frenetic horror films, The Garden is not for you. For those who like to take a break now and then, sip a little blood-red wine and press the vinyl with a little Mozart while perusing Milton’s Paradise Lost, this film may be a rewarding experience, mostly due to Henriksen’s presence. Claudia Christian and Sean Young are never hard on the eyes, either.

Movie Review: See No Evil (2006)
The Eyes Have It

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Zombos Says: Good 

I finally made it to a theater to see See No Evil. Unfortunately, this theater was almost as dirty and decrepit as the old Blackwell Hotel in the film. It smelled, and not with that wonderful smell of buttered popcorn. It was a challenge finding a seat that did not look like it was used in one of Hostel’s guest rooms. I hate sitting on stains of unknown origin (hey, what a catchy script title! Stains of Unknown Origin). So much for that special movie-going experience. I was determined to not let my surroundings influence my viewing of the film too much.

It seems ‘dirty’ and ‘decrepit’ in horror movies are becoming dirtier and more decrepit. When the police enter Jacob Goodnight’s (Glenn Jacobs) home it is the typical horror movie home for psycho, axe-wielder types: smoky, dark, and with bloody streaks across the walls. A girl’s screams forces them to move in without backup. They might as well have carried their own body bags to save time. The scene is brutal, gory, and ends badly for them.

A few years later we meet a group of so-old-it’s-new-again-styled delinquents from the County Detention Center; Sal Mineo and James Dean would have been proud. Each tough-to-be-cool kid is introduced with a text description pop-up onscreen describing his or her crime against society, like this was a video game and we were going to choose a character to play. I’ll take the computer hacker delinquent for 500 life-points. I like computers and computer hacker types usually last the longest in body count films like this.

As each body bag delinquent steps on the bus, along with the police officer who had firsthand experience (really, no pun intended here if you see the film) with Goodnight, I imagined them in order of elimination. I am getting rather good at this sort of thing, but I must admit the director Gregory Dark, and writer Dan Madigan, did manage to add a few twists to fool me. The bus stops at the old Blackwell Hotel, which is appropriately horror-movie-dirty-and-decrepit, so much so, I wondered why a handful of young delinquents are brought in for cleaning up what is obviously a professional hazmat team’s cleanup job.

The hotel’s rooms and hallways are gloomy and saturated in grimy browns, blacks, and assorted soiled colors. Roaches impudently crawl all around and rats defiantly wiggle their tails underfoot. There is garbage and stains of unknown origin everywhere; on the floors, the walls, the furniture, the bedding. The delinquents make themselves right at home, defiantly romping on those icky bedding and crawling mattresses as if they were fresh linen, and indiscriminately sitting on everything. I shifted uneasily in my seat, wondering what I was sitting on.

The naked-girl-in-shower-scene sets up the terror. The smackdown begins with Goodnight whipping out his old axe and hook. Glenn Jacobs’ performance experience in the WWF pays off well here. There is a nifty effect used when he’s close to attack; flies buzz around his head. Why they do that is eventually revealed. It reminded me of Candyman with his bees.

All through the mayhem, black and white flashbacks show us Goodnight’s unhappy upbringing indicating how his sordid fondness for eye-plucking and eye-pickling became a hobby. I dare you to watch and not involuntarily close your own eyes during these scenes. The slaughter to action pace is hectic and over the top with gory detail. Terminal insult and injury occurs when one unlucky girl pleads with Goodnight to let her go when she’s dangling from a high window. He does. The long fall through a skylight hurts, but it is the hungry homeless dog she petted earlier that bites the hand, and just about everything else.

The dwindling survivors wind up in the typical horror-movie-den-of-slaughter, otherwise known as Goodnight’s apartment, where dead bodies, parts of bodies, and lots of eyes in jars and ichor cry out for maid service. There are more flashbacks as he tries to communicate with his caged victim: his psychotically religious mother kept him in a cage so his communication skills are lacking. The room bells are tied to various beds throughout the hotel, tinkling when anyone gets an inkling, if you catch my drift. He leaves his trapped victim when the tinkling sends him off to find the culprits, and a crashing scene involving a two-way mirror, his ominous silhouette, and lots of broken glass sends everyone running again. The hunt is on and the survivors fight back. A plot twist I didn’t see coming leads to just deserts.

While the film may be a derivative romp in a deserted hotel with a bunch of smart-ass delinquents and a psychotic—get your fingers out of my eyes!—brick wall of a killer, it does have its horrific moments. The acting, including Glenn Jacobs’ turn as the murder machine, is good, and all in all, the film is worth seeing at a cleaner theater or on DVD. Just keep the Handi-Wipes close by.

Movie Review: The Descent (2005)

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Zombos Says: Excellent

“Dude,” said Mr. Blackbird. His illuminated plumage blinded me. It pulsated in kaleidoscopic colors that shot out rays of reds, greens and blues.

“What,” I said. My vision was hazy and my voice sounded dull, like I was talking under water.

“Dude,” he repeated, and said something else, but I couldn’t make it out.

It sounded like tweeting. What a funny blackbird. With red human lips it kept repeating something, but it sounded like tweet, tweet, tweet. His pinky finger—wow, crazy, the bird’s got a little white hand at the tip of his wing—had a little gold ring. What was that he was repeating? Door of indigo and blues across the street, across my way. What was that? You want me to knock a rap in ones, threes and twos, with these knuckles of mine. On that door of indigo and blues?

“DUDE! Wake up!”

I shot awake. “What happened?” I looked up at Pete, my movie-mate. He was bending down looking at me. The last thing I remember was sitting in the theater watching The Descent.

I had asked him to tag along because I hate cave films. I hate caves. I hate tight places that remotely look like caves, and the whole damn idea about squeezing your ass through narrow cracks in rock walls that I couldn’t even fit my wee-willy through is stupid and insane.

“Man, what the hell happened to you?” he said. “You started screaming and jumped out of your seat. You ran to the concession stand screaming “don’t eat the Milk Duds, it’s people! Milk Duds is people!” You scared the crap out of me. Crazy bastard.” Pete looked at his watch. “Great, man. Just ‘effin great. Just when it was gettin’ good, too. Look, the next show is in a half-hour. With you or without you, I’m seeing the ‘effin movie.”

With his help I managed to sit through the entire film. It wasn’t easy. I kept closing my eyes, but what I did see was white knuckle-busting horror that took it’s time to build, then whumps you over the head until you can’t take it anymore. Sam McCurdy’s cinematography is spot-on, and walks a fine line between darkness and light, as electric and flare lights feebly illuminate the glistening cave walls. He tosses in reds and greens, too, to create an alien landscape that heightens the terror and claustrophobic atmosphere.

In 2004’s Creep, Christopher Smith trapped a woman in the London Underground so she could discover, and struggle to escape from, a crazed monstrosity in Creep. In 2005, Neil Marshall trapped six women in a cave so they could discover a lot of crazed monstrosities they needed to escape from.

Neil Marshall’s direction and writing tricks you at first. You don’t think it’s a horror film. Hell, the damn thing starts off like an Ingmar Bergman movie. I kept wondering when Max von Sydow would show up and play chess with dusty Death himself.

It opens on a happy note, suddenly takes that away from you, and never lets up until the end. The music is also more elaborate than your typical horror film, and it wisely stays out of the way in the most important parts. And those parts are killer.

Six highly-testosteroned women love to take chances. Their alpha-leader, Juno, pushes the envelope for them. She’s relentless: a go-getter and athlete to the extreme. Interestingly, Marshall has ironically given her the name of the Roman goddess who is the protector of women and marriage. She fails on both counts, and it’s this failure that provides the impetus for the group’s fracture.

So off they go on another adventure, only this time she thinks they should really tackle something big. She doesn’t bother to let the other five know that they’re going to an unexplored cave, and not the one with that all-important guidebook now left in the SUV. Bingo! The cardinal rule of a good horror film is to have potential victims always muck it up by doing downright dangerously stupid things. That includes exploring an unfamiliar cave, not telling anyone about it, and not bringing Twinkies along.

There’s a J-Horror pacing to the film. Marshall takes his time, dwells on their tenuous relationships, their camaraderie, their different personalities, then shakes them all up once they hit the cave and everything goes wrong. Just how strong are they really? And how much do they really know about each other? This is what’s tested in the cave. The cannibalistic, sub-human troglodytes crawling around the cave’s walls are only part of the horror. Yes, a really big part of it, but the reality of being trapped in a cave, where it’s pitch black, damn tight, with no guide book—and you didn’t pack any Twinkies—well my friend, that’s horror done to a masterful level. Turn it up a notch with shaky, can’t-rely-on-you relationships, and that makes matters much worse.

Don’t let me spoil it for you, but the cave scenes are, like their team spirit, all smoke and mirrors, too. That’s right; miniatures, model sets, and blue and green screens are so skillfully used, you’ll be huffing and puffing and gasping for breath without realizing it. You’ll start to feel the theater walls closing in on you when the women start crawling through too-narrow passageways on their bellies. That’s where I lost it the first time. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place. And when they dangle over a chasm that drops down all the way to China, in the pitch blackness by their fingertips, I’ll bet even money you’ll be kicking the back of someone’s chair and squirming in your theater seat for the tension to end.

But the tension keeps building until they stumble into the cannibalistic crawlers’ equivalent of a McDonald’s. That’s when we find out if they really do know each other or even themselves for that matter. The bloody attack sends them scrambling into different directions in panic.

The struggle for survival is fast and furious, and filled with shocks. In true horror movie fashion, the only well-knit social group turns out to be those disgusting—vegetables? what’s-that?—cave crawlers. The make-up job is horrific and detailed, and the annoying habit they have of slobbering mucousy gobs out of their mouths will—you better hold the buttered popcorn for another movie, that’s all I’m saying. The ticking sound the crawlers use like sonar to find their prey is also unnerving.

In the heat of battle, Juno proves to be the first one to fight back. She’s also the first one to commit another blunder that proves having a lump in your throat is better than a sharp pickax sticking out of it. Her inevitable confrontation with Sarah, amid all this chaos and death, doesn’t improve the situation, either. Why do characters in horror movies always wait until the worst times to picking a fight with each other when the monsters are getting closer?

The filming for The Descent took place in the United Kingdom, with the cave interior scenes filmed on sets built at Pinewood Studios. There are two endings, the UK version or the U.S. Depending on whether you like your horror movies ending on a woo-yay or hell-no, take your pick. Hint: U.S. movie goers apparently like happy endings.

The DVD from Lionsgate Films has lots of extras. There are two audio commentaries, Marshall with the crew and Marshall with the cast, that provide more insight into the making of the film.
Another solo interview with Marshall has him discussing the long and short versions for the ending. He prefers the more downbeat, longer (UK) ending, and goes on to explain why the shorter version is a bit confusing, as it was an editing choice, not an original plot choice. Test-marketing shot up a few more points with the more upbeat shorter ending, so that’s what American audiences saw in the theater.

More extras include a stills gallery, deleted and extended scenes, blooper reel, cast and crew biographies, and a behind the scenes documentary.

The Descent is a scary and shocking horror film that shouldn’t be missed.