From Zombos' Closet

Movie Review: The Mummy (1932) It Comes to Life! Part 3

Read Part 2

Considering how early it came in the horror cycle, it is surprising how restrained and unsensational The Mummy is. On the other hand it is that very restraint that helps to make it a classic. If one accepts The Bride of Frankenstein for its theatre and The Body Snatcher for its literacy, then one must regard The Mummy as the closest that Hollywood ever came to creating a poem out of horror. -- William K. Everson, Classics of the Horror Film

 

When Helen arrives at the closed museum, both Frank and his father, Sir Joseph, are about to drive off.They watch her as she tries to open the front door, and Frank is soon within arm's reach when she swoons. He sweeps her up in his arms and they take her to their apartment, where Dr. Muller arrives moments later. As Sir Joseph and Dr. Muller discuss the matter, Ardath Bey, still at the museum intoning his spell, is interrupted by a guard and extinguishes the small oil lamp he used to read the scroll. A circle of light from the guard's flashlight searches the room and finds Bey crouching in a corner. The guard turns on the lights and starts yelling at Bey, who, with complete calm, walks away. Chasing after him, both the guard and Bey go off screen. The guard's voice drops to a stifled gurgle as he's murdered, although no sign of harm can be found on his body later. In the tussle, Bey drops the scroll. Leaving Helen and Frank at the apartment, Sir Joseph and Dr. Muller go to the museum after they receive a phone call alerting them to the murder, and discover that the scroll, lost then years ago, is now in their hands. They return to the apartment with it, and, along with Frank, retreat to Sir Joseph's study to discuss what it all means.

Once Again, The Apocalypse (but now due 2012)

Nice to see the apocalypse has been rescheduled. Like one of those near endless Friday the 13th sequels, you just can't keep a good hoax down. But now the date is 2012, so I hope you can wait. I know the suspense is simply killing me.

Fueled by a crop of books, Web sites with countdown clocks, and claims about ancient timekeepers, interest is growing in what some see as the dawn of a new era, and others as an expiration date for Earth: December 21, 2012.

Read all about it before it's too late: Apocalypse in 2012? Date Spawns Theories, Films...

An Interesting Email

At around two this morning I read a most entertaining and interesting email. Detesting my lack of understanding, as shown in my review for The Sick House, the writer went on to identify me as an expletive, expletive, expletive fag.

First, I am actually quite happy that someone was so emotionally involved with one of my reviews that he took the time to convey his feelings to me, graphic though they may be. Second, I admit I'm a bit confused by the use of the word fag. Did the writer mean I'm an expletive, expletive, expletive bundle of wood, or cigarette (I'm British in spirit, but don't smoke), or small breaded piece of fish or meat (doesn't describe me at all)? Or perhaps he meant it as a disparaging term for supposed homosexual tendencies (I'm heterosexual in practice, although I've suspected I'm bisexual in spirit--at least in my fantasies).

So, while I'm ecstatic to have fan email, this one has left me elated but disappointed that I don't quite get the writer's intended message.

As for my review of The Sick House, to paraphrase the words of Roger Ebert--when he summed up his expert opinion on Deuce Bigelow: European Gigolo--the movie sucks. At least that I'm certain of.

Movie Review: Monster House in 3D (2006)

Zombos Says: Fair

Monster House is a disappointment.

It seems like a natural Halloween treat; take the decrepit old "haunted" house every small town has, toss in the decrepit, loony old hermit--that every small town has--to live in the house, then play on all our childhood fears by making the house a monster that eats people, gobbles them up when they step on the lawn or get too close. But this almost goody-bag treat quickly turns into an out-of-candy trick itching for a few eggs tossed its way. The animation lacks whimsy, charm, and style in its characters as directed by Gil Kenan. From the too-realistic, nasty Goth baby-sitter with the dull-witted, drugged-out boyfriend, Bones, to the fat kid sidekick, Chowder, the tone of the story is humorless and the dialog lacks wit. Instead of naive, carefree chat between friends, we listen to recycled potty jokes, the highlight of which is pee in soda pop bottles. The writers apparently forgot their own childhoods when bringing Chowder, DJ and Jenny to life.

I-CON 2006 and Me

"It looks like you are suffering from being back-blogged," said Dr. Dippel. His slightly hunched-back assistant nodded in agreement.

I shook my head in disbelief. "It can't be. I must have a bad head cold, nothing more."

"Tsk, tsk," said Dr. Dippel. "You do nothing else but stay up all night reading questionable literature and writing that silly blog of yours. As if anyone reads it." I could have sworn his assistant snickered.

I looked at them. They whispered to each other, then smiled at me. I hate when doctors and assistants do that. "You must remain in bed all day, and especially, no blogging for a week," he said. His assistant nodded in agreement. I could have sworn he wagged his finger at me, too.

"But doctor," I protested, "I am so behind in my blogging I cannot quit, not even for a moment. And then there's I-CON! I must go, I must keep searching for all that is horrorful and wonderful to blog about."

"Tsk, tsk." They threw up their hands, scolded me, then started to leave my bedroom. Dr. Dippel turned and said "If blog you must, then I suggest you take some NyQuil and dress warmly."

"And write shorter blogs!" said his assistant. There, he did it again, he wagged his finger at me.

I was left in silence. How could I stop blogging when so much still needed to be said? If only I could find more hours in the day and night. There is so much to do. How will I ever catch up? And write shorter blogs!? Such effrontery to literary etiquette must not be allowed to happen, even if the average attention span of a blog reader is measured in milliseconds and page blips. How will I ever make do? Such are the eternal questions we face when blogging. I put them aside for the moment and got out of bed, dressed, and headed to I-CON 25 at Stony Brook University. I would not let little things like a painfully throbbing headache, stuffy nose, and mucous-filled membranes stop me. No way, no how.

Interview: Brian Corder Talks Carnies

Director Brian Corder was kind enough to chat about his  film Carnies, which follows the denizens of the Knuckles Brothers Show and their travails as a sinister force stalks the midway, leaving a bloody trail of "crumpled, torn, soulless bodies in its wake." With a talented cast that includes Reggie Bannister, Doug Jones, and Denise Gossett in a setting that automatically screams 'creepy'.

Carnies is set in the 1930s. What challenges have you experienced in directing the action and characters for a film set in this time period?

Thanks to my wonderfully talented cast, I don't recall a problem with direction when it came to it being a period piece. There is certain Carny terminology, like the words Rangy and Grouch Bag that had to be worked out in prior to the shooting, but it really wasn't any problem.

ZC Note: A grouch bag (circa 1908) was a hidden purse used by a performer to carry money, and was usually strung around the performer's neck. It is reputed that Julius 'Groucho' Marx got his nickname from using one to carry his poker money. BC Note: Rangy or wrangy (rhymes with "tangy") — Worked up, usually in a vulgar sense (possibly a variant of 'randy'). A show could be rangy ( a really 'strong' kootch show), or the patrons might be in a rangy mood (a very hot Saturdaynight, or being able to afford too much beer 'cause it's payday) or a patron may be rangy or ranged up (drunken, disorderly, disruptive, spoiling for a fight). "He's wrangin' the joint" would mean the customer is giving the jointee a very hard time. May also apply to an aggressive animal. From what I understand, the word 'rangy' is derived from the word 'orangutang'.

Movie Review: My Bloody Valentine 3D

Zombos Says: Very Good

Cinema in three dimensions does for the slasher movie what black and white does for film noir; it provides the best atmosphere and in your face vantage point to see all the gore,  join  in the  screaming mayhem, and easily count the number of mangled bodies piling up.

Three 3D-enhanced images stay with me after watching My Bloody Valentine 3D: the sickening way one victim's shovel-sliced head, bisected at the mouth, slowly slides down the sharp blade toward the audience;  the stark beam of the headlight darting about in the gloom of the movie theater as the gas masked, pickaxe-wielding, miner stalks his next victim; and the vivid Utz Potato Chip bags displayed prominently on an endcap behind Sarah and Megan as they run their hearts out--to keep them beating in their chests--down a grocery aisle. I could, of course, mention other images that come to mind, like gaping chest cavities, a blood-dripping, lifeless hand so close you can almost touch it, and one eye-popping surprise--courtesy of, once again, that über-utilitarian, death-dealing pickaxe, but it is a slasher film after all. So much carnage from such a simple tool is quite surprising; of course, clothes dryers can also be useful as vividly shown in this movie.

My Bloody Valentine 3D does not stop at the dozen or so pickaxe techniques for artfully--if messily--dispatching the careless townsfolk of Harmony, the place where ten years earlier Harry Warden went on a killing spree, in the Hanniger Mining Company's Tunnel No. 5, that puts a Cuisinart's slicing and dicing ability to shame. It heaps on the pounding, relentless music suitable for an unstoppable killer on the loose, who pickaxes hearts out of chests and stuffs them in heart-shaped candy boxes, with love, every Valentine's Day, and unabashedly oggles drop dead gorgeous, screaming in terror, women running naked in stiletto heels. For a remake of a minor Canadian slasher movie from 1981, director Patrick Lussier and writers do their best to bring back the unbridled yet simple construct of the slasher genre: violent graphic death, people running for their lives,  more violent graphic death. They outdid themselves here.

With actors like Jensen Ackles (Supernatural) and veteran Tom Atkins, as well as a talented cast taking it all very seriously, the story is brutally lean and mean. Bridging the 1981 film's comparatively tamer carnage with its more flagrantly bloodier remake, an early scene,  where body parts are liberally distributed in a hospital after Harry Warden wakes up from his coma in a bad mood, transitions neatly into the present, which in this case is ten years later. It is interesting how horror movies often rely on anniversaries and ten years later-styled storylines to pick up the tragic action, isn't it?

Tom Hanniger (Ackles) returns to town after a long absence, to sell the mine where he caused the tragic accident that started Warden on his killing-spree. With his return, the killing begins again, and the victims include those who survived Warden's butchery ten years before.  In due time, secrets are revealed, and Tom and Sheriff Palmer (Kerr Smith) argue over Palmer's wife Sarah (Jaime King), who is showing rekindled ardor for Tom, her former boyfriend. As suspicion grows with the blood flow, Tom, Sarah, and Sheriff Axel return to the mine where it all began. They are not alone.

My Bloody Valentine 3D has the distinction of being the first horror movie to utilize the technique to its fullest; namely by highlighting gore and making sure to stick the audience's face into it, or toss it into the audience's lap as often as possible. Given the highly effective visual intimacy that cinema 3D naturally lends to the horror genre, can 4D be far behind?

And for those parents who brought their young children to watch a movie like this, I ask simply "What the hell were you thinking?" If anyone deserves a pickaxe through their dumb skulls, you certainly do.

Book Review: Dying to Live: Life Sentence Unmutual Fallout

Dem zombies! Dem zombies!"
Dem dry zombies!"
Dem zombies! Dem zombies!"
Dem dry zombies!
Now hear the word of the Lord!

 

"Where am I?"

"In the Universal Village."

"Who are you?"

"The Burgomaster."

"What am I doing here?"

"We need information. You must explain yourself."

"Explain myself? Why? What for?"

"You've been very naughty to the absolute degree. Writing about zombies that think and feel will not do, you know. It goes against the natural expectation and sense of every zombie fan, against the foundations of good, clean, commercial horror itself. It simply won't do, you know. You must cease being different and join us. Embrace us."

"You'll get nothing from me. I've got tenure."

"By hook or by crook, we will. Follow me please."

College professor Kim Paffenroth shrugged his shoulders. He'd been called on the carpet before, and by bigger critics than this Burgomaster. Compared to them this guy was simply a number two; another cog in the great horror machinery waiting to be greased quiet. He followed the Burgomaster through the village square, where someone with a feather in his hat was singing as people danced round and round.

Movie Review: The Mummy (1932) Part 2

Read Part 1

The Mummy was golden at the box office, attracting not only genre fans, spiritualists and believers in reincarnation, but any number of viewers who were drawn both by the grandeur of the love tale and by the novelty of a "horror picture" without explicit violence. -- John T. Soister, Of Gods and Monsters: A Critical Guide to Universal Studios' Science Fiction, Horror and Mystery Films, 1929-1939

With scenes of confrontation between good and evil similar to Dracula, and the romance of undying love and reincarnation gleaned from H. Rider Haggard's She, Balderston crystallized his story of The Mummy. The unsensational and restrained visual tone was added by director Karl Freund, who's moody cinematography captured the supernatural demeanor and timelessness of Bela Lugosi's centuries-old vampire count in Dracula. Although using more camera movement here than in Dracula, Freund deliberately lingers on somber scenes to evoke a mystical aura, tinted with sadness, over the proceedings and Egyptian antiquities. His use of stimmung--a mood-building pause seen in German Expressionist Cinema of the 1920s--especially during Im-ho-tep's resurrection, shows carefully measured glimpses of Jack Pierce's elaborate makeup, leaving us in horror for what is not shown.

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

Zombos Says: Very Good

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

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

Issue One: Wrecks

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

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

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

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

Movie Review: The Mummy (1932) Part 1

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

Zombos Says: Classic

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

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