From Zombos' Closet

Book Review: The Rough Guide to Horror Movies

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

"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)

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

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)

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

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)

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.

Interview: Monarch Model Kits

A new monster model kit maker is prowling the block!

Picking up the legendary Aurora styrene kit-making torch, Monarch Models plans on bringing horror nostalgia and classic monsters back to rampage among the boring shelves of snap-together car, plane, and Star Wars vehicle kits.

Monsterkids rejoice!

Their first offering will be Nosferatu, a one-eight scale kit, packaged in the beautiful box-art and wrapping that Aurora fans know so well. I can smell that glue now!

Scott Mckillop of London, Ontario, the founding father of Monarch Models, dropped by for a brief chat.

What is Monarch's mission?

To give modelers like myself a choice beyond the ordinary cars and armour.

What makes you want to rekindle the legendary Aurora model kit mystique?

Aurora made modeling fun for me as a kid, and I miss that in the hobby today. Polar Lights did a great thing when they were here but with their disappearance, we are back to square one.

The design of your website is very retro. Who came up with the concept?

That's all me.

Your logo follows the original striking image of Aurora, but how did the Monarch butterfly image come about?

Ahh, sort of by serendipity. It was a nice tie in to the Monarch name (Monarch Butterfly) and to lend a continuity to the Playing Mantis praying mantis mascot. Mostly I liked the whole innocent presentation of the icon for a toy industry. I plain ol' like the look.

Who are the creative people behind Monarch?

Me, Gary Makatura, Jeff Yagher.

That Nosferatu box cover art has old Aurora fans drooling. It's very reminiscent of James Bama's work. What other model kits are you planning? Come on, spill the beans!

Well the next couple of kits are public domain. And that's fine with me because for one, it's free, and two, my favorite kits were always the public domain stuff like the Forgotten Prisoner, Dinosaurs, the Witch.

But we are in the process of creating the next two kits and until the tooling is ready to go, I have to play it close to the vest. I will say this; the next kit is monster related to fit in nicely with the original aurora monsters. And the third kit is for the Sci-Fi figure guys.

Both releases will occur simultaneously and in the next 8 months. These will be all new original kits, never seen in styrene before and likely never again because like all things we do at Monarch, these are limited runs. Licensed properties are next but probably not until 2008. Maybe sooner, it's hard to know with these things.

Where can we find Monarch model kits? And when will you launch the first one, Nosferatu?

So far Stevens International has stepped up to the plate as the largest world wide distributor, and they reach pretty much everyone. But no dealer will go away empty handed. But they still need to contact me; the crystal ball cracked a few years ago. I am planning on world wide distribution through the help of Stevens International beginning in June.

What's the Monarch Fan Club all about?

Free stuff! Well...for the nominal fee of two sawbucks! But believe me, this is a non profit club. It's just my way of rewarding the loyal model builders with cool gratis promo booty. Clubs were always the fun part of models and toys in the 60's and 70's. Think of the GI Joe club from way back when. Great stuff!

 

Interview: Dead Lantern Speaks

Writer and director of The Grand Horror, Mat Kister, steps into the closet to chat about his effective cross-genre first film, a three-hundred dollar budgeter that has stressed-out people desperately trying to not get eaten by a horde of zombies outside while desperately trying to not get killed by a homicidal ghost inside. And you thought you had it bad.

What's a nice guy like you doing in the horror business?

Just trying to make movies. The horror genre has always fascinated me from an early age and it’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do.

How did The Grand Horror come about?

We conceptualized it and then began the first day of shooting in less than a month. My friends and I had always had ideas for movies and had flirted with the idea of doing one, but they never seemed to get past the treatment phase. My friend Braden and I were in a band at the time and we were playing a show at the Theatre. Braden’s uncle was one of the board members and took us on a tour through the basements and corridors and the various secret areas that the audience never gets to see.

The theatre itself was just magnificent and so damn creepy that we decided on a whim “We gotta make a movie here!” I went home and hammered out the storyline, conned a few friends into helping out, and off we were, on an adventure no one was quite sure how it would end.

What did it take to bring the concept from idea to finished film?

The actual shoot itself went fairly smoothly in that we had the typical problems associated with a no-budget picture (camera and sound malfunctions, a lack of any real knowledge in how to make a movie, etc.), but after a couple weekends we more or less had all the kinks worked out. Then, it was just a matter of finishing the shoot. There were multiple times when it looked like we would be shooting forever and everyone got a little, shall we say, grumpy. Originally, I was like “We’ll have this thing shot in 3 weekends”, which is all that the actors originally agreed upon. The shoot went on for nine weekends. But we all got through it

The editing process was a nightmare. We never differentiated between different takes and didn’t label the tapes in any discernible, logical way. Essentially, we had just hit “record” on the camera and kept shooting until tapes ran out. Since we didn’t shoot the scenes in order, when we started loading all of the footage and takes onto our computers, we saw right away that we were in for a stressful time.

Try going through 30 full mini-DV tapes with no guide! It was horrible! To compound how awful it was, the whole film ended up being ad-lib, which meant that even though we finally put all the footage into rough scenes, every single take had a different piece of dialogue! Trying to sync the characters dialogue was probably the worst thing I’ve ever gone through in my life. It took nearly a year for me to get through it and looking back on it, I’m surprised we were even able to garble a storyline out of it.

There are shoestring budgets, and there are no-shoes budgets: how did you get it done with so little money?

The actors and crew worked for free and the location was free. We didn’t have any major special FX work, so all we bought was some Wal-Mart brand corn syrup (Karo was too expensive for us!) and food coloring, and a white shirt with a pair of black pants. All the different ghosts in the film are wearing the exact same outfit! We just threw some blood on it to make it look gross. You’d be surprised how far fake blood can go.

Rhyann’s death, for example, is nothing more than dumping a gallon or so of fake blood all over, covering her face in it, and then adding sound FX to “show” what we couldn’t visually: namely a graphic head smash on the counter. Deejay Scharton did all of the sound FX and music in one 24 hour cram session on my mom’s living room floor, and I give a lot of credit to him for enhancing the atmosphere of the film. Without his sound work, The Grand Horror would have suffered quite a bit. And he was free, too. He is a musician and had a portable studio for recording bands and so we got all the music free and were lucky enough to have access to a talented musician.

The one thing about all of us is that we each bring a different talent and strength to the project, whether it be Deejay’s music, Steve’s enthusiasm and ideas, Braden’s wisdom and glue to keep it all together, or the rest of the cast’s dedication to see it through, we all contributed a piece of what makes us unique in order to see the project finished and I think that is what makes it most rewarding.

How did you assemble the cast? Friends of friends, family?

I just asked them. Rhyann was the only member of the cast that didn’t live in Nebraska at the time. She was a theatre actress in California and we’d been friends for a number of years and she agreed to fly out and be in the movie. That was cool because then we’d jokingly tell everyone “Yeah, we have an actress flying in from California to be in our film!”

Pam is my step-sister and Robert is my uncle and they were actually the only people in the cast who actually memorized lines and tried to create unique characters. I give them a lot of credit for that. I told everyone else to “just be yourselves”. But yeah, everyone in the film was either a friend of mine or family member with the exception of a couple people like John Evans who was a volunteer who helped out at the Grand. He was the “Cannibal Ghost” and was really enthusiastic about it, which I think shows during his scene.

Did you encounter any rough spots along the way? How did you overcome them?

The only real "rough spot” was the editing process which was akin to having hot pokers stuck into every orifice of my body. Other than that, we had to deal with losing our external mic set up which forced us to use the audio from the camera itself, which kinda sucked.

Something went frizzy with Deejay’s portable studio, not that it would have mattered since his car broke down and he couldn’t make it to the shoot after the second weekend (he was driving from Colorado to Nebraska every weekend). Since the shoot went 6 weeks longer than I had envisioned, Rhyann had to go back to California, which was a problem…until she got engaged to Jeremy (who she met on set) and stayed put.

Everyone was injured in some way while shooting. T.J. kicked a grate open during the scene when he and Steve saves Pam, but his foot got caught between the bars and when they kicked the gate open, it twisted his foot around. I have some funny footage of that. After working so many hours, the cast had the tendency to hit up the local bar that was right around the corner, so you have a lot of the scenes in the film where the actors are noticeably drunk, which I thought was funny since they “acted” better drunk than sober. But for what it was, I think we handled the problems quite well.

What advice can you give to other independent filmmakers who want to get that first film in the can?

Just go out and shoot one. Gather your close friends and family, people you know who will be willing to run the gauntlet for you, and start shooting. Come up with a basic story and let your creativity run wild. The Grand Horror is nothing more than ghosts killing people. It’s important to know that just because you think you have the greatest story ever and you want to tell it, that doesn’t mean you have to do it the first time out. Start slowly, get your feet wet, and most importantly, just worry about getting something done. Your film doesn’t need to be sold or accepted at Sundance to be successful.

I think we’ve shown that, if nothing else, you CAN make a movie for $300 and a cheap camera (ours was a Panasonic that had been bought at a retail store). The quality may not get you the Academy Award for Best Editing, but that doesn’t really matter as much as the experience you had making it. It’s something you’ll remember forever, just don’t worry about making something perfect your first time out.

What's the one question you would love to be asked, and what's the answer?

Q: “What is the greatest movie ever made?”

A: Big Trouble in Little China

So what's next?

A couple things: first is a web-only horror series for Deadlantern.com that will take place within the universe/mythology of The Grand Horror. We’re going to explain a lot of things with these 5-7 minute films that will be released every couple of months, including the back story that was only hinted at in The Grand Horror; that is, what the “darkness” is, why these supernatural things are occurring, etc.

The big thing I’m excited about is that we are going to make these short films so that they have direct viewer participation. I don’t want to give too much away right now, but the viewers will have a direct impact on how the story goes. I think a lot of people will find it neat. We’re filming the first episode in May and hopefully it will go online in June.

The second thing is a feature length slasher film dealing with the issue of abortion. It’s way too complicated to try and explain here, but we’re definitely NOT going the exploitation route. We’re trying to make a new kind of slasher film that makes you think and is a sort of “cinematic debate” about the abortion issue. I hope we can pull it off.

Movie Review: Matango (1963) Attack of the Mushroom People

Zombos Says: Very Good 

Have an insatiable appetite for radiation-laced mushrooms and 1960s Japanese horror-fantasy? Why not invite everyone over for a Matango Mushroom Party! It's fun and nutritious! Just get out the Fondue pot, light up some Tiki torches, and follow the instructions below for a groovy party your friends will never forget.

INGREDIENTS:

1 lightly greased DVD-player

1 fresh copy of Matango: Attack of the Mushroom People

1 Fondue pot

3 cups Velveeta cheese

2 cups Tenshi cheese, cut into small cubes

Enough Shiitaki mushrooms to feed 10 to 15 horrorheads

Enough beer, wine and Saki to inebriate 10 to 15 horrorheads

 

DIRECTIONS:

While the cheese is melting in the Fondue pot, put on Matango: Attack of the Mushroom People. Make sure everyone has their beverage of choice and is comfortably seated. Get the Shiitaki mushrooms ready while they enjoy this cinematic delight. Whenever any of the characters onscreen munch on a mushroom, have everybody yell "Matango!" and dip their mushrooms into the melted cheese. Yummy. You'll have more fun than mimes at a karaoke party!

Inspired by William Hope Hodgson’s short story, A Voice in the Night, a crew of seven soon-to-be castaways are enjoying a nice sunny day aboard a wealthy man's yacht. There's the professor, the professor's demure girlfriend, an alluring actress in a big hat, a mystery writer, a disgruntled skipper, some tough guy who never takes off his sunglasses—must be a gangster—and Gilligan

Just kidding about Gilligan.

Before the bikini-clad, ukulele-strumming actress can launch into her next song, with more lyrics like "lalala" dubbed over and over again with “lalala,” a storm (thank god for us and the other listeners) suddenly whips up. As the sea starts getting rough, their tiny ship is tossed and the skipper yells for everyone to come on deck and lend a hand. Everyone, that is, except the two women aboard. Apparently 1960s women were pretty helpless when it came to helping out during crisis situations at sea.

The writer gets tangled up in the rigging and things go from bad to really bad. The not so brave and sure skipper yells for everyone to go back down below deck since they're fairly poor deckhands.

Apparently 1960s men were pretty helpless, too.

Lack of courage and seamanship from the not so fearless crew lands them on the shores of a mysterious island covered in dense, swirling fog. Uppermost in everyone's mind is the need for food, so they start foraging. They continue to move deeper into the island to find water and come across another, much larger, ship run aground.

Obviously a romance novelist, the writer stays with the girls while the others board the mysterious ship to investigate. A greenish, reddish fungus is everywhere, and the sure-footed skipper slips on the slimy stairs landing on his poop-deck.

"It's weird," says one of them. 

Yes, it is.

They soon discover it's an atomic energy research vessel. There are Geiger counters and mutated specimens in jars, so they assume the missing crew was doing radiation research of some kind. They find a big crate labeled "Matango," pry it open, and find a giant mushroom inside. The crew is nowhere to be seen.

I’d like to see what Iron Chef would do with that fungi!

Bored with waiting, the girls board the ship. Naturally, they're the first ones to notice all the mirrors in the staterooms are missing. In the captain's quarters, a red, powdery, fungus is piled deep across the entire room. Before anyone can sneeze, the professor covers his mouth and nose and grabs the logbook. More searching yields few canned goods.

The once cheery group of seafaring friends is now surly and hungry. They need food badly so they start assigning hunting and gathering tasks. The wealthy guy slacks off while the others go about their business. The writer builds a signal fire and starts daydreaming a nightclub flashback, a nifty gimmick to get more scantily-clad singing girls into the movie and pad the running time.

Pop Quiz! Name one other Japanese radiation-themed movie with a lengthy nightclub dance scene. (See answer at the end of this review.)

Two others go hunting with a rifle and come across the broken mirrors, piled neatly, in the forest, creeping them out. As they watch, a bird does a sudden one-eighty and flies away.

"Even the birds don't want to hang around here," quips one of them.

Walking a little farther, they come across mushrooms. The logbook was pretty explicit about not eating any mushrooms on the island, so they just look longingly at them. A shadowy figure ahead of them causes momentary panic, but they gather their wits and head back to the research ship empty-handed.

After cleaning down a stateroom or two with the carbolic acid they found on the ship, they bed down for the night. Outside, the incessant rain dampens more than just their spirits. The action kicks in when one of them sneaks off to horde some of the canned food, only to run into a very knobby-looking, potato-headed individual. As the hoarder runs, falls, and screams (I thought only women did that in horror movies), the others race to see—gasp!—Mr. Potato Head.

Discretion being the better part of valor, they all run the other way and lock themselves in their sleeping quarters. Finally a woman screams as we get another glimpse of Starchy, the spud-looking guy (although he’s supposed to really be Mr. Mushroom guy.) Come morning they all think it was just a hallucination brought on by their hunger and dire predicament. The continued bleakness of the fog, the rain, and the lack of food starts to bring tempers to flash point, and their once friendly relationships deteriorate into everyone for him or herself. The writer drinks some courage and heads off with a rifle to find Mr. Potato Head. He doesn't find him, but he does find lots of tasty, juicy mushrooms. Will he eat them?

Yes!

Matango! Don't forget to dip.

When he returns, they have to lock him up because he wants to shoot everybody. Making matters worse, the skipper takes off in the repaired S.S. Minnow (my rough translation of the boat’s name) with the remaining canned goods. As the others continue to fight among themselves, the actress lets the writer out of confinement. Once again, he goes for the gun and they have to wrestle it away from him. Having no other recourse, they banish writer and actress from the tribe and send them into the jungle.

More rain, more fog, more bleakness, and more mushrooms, growing larger by the minute due to the hot, wet climate. The wealthy guy just about had it when the alluring actress shows up as pretty as ever. "I haven't been hungry since I left," she coyly says. He eagerly follows her to the mushrooms. He sees the writer is already chowing down, and starting to turn lumpy, but he gives in to his hunger and starts munching.

Matango! And dip, everyone!

"Oh, by the way," she tells him, "you'll become a mushroom, too." But he doesn't care because, as he eats the mushroom, a wave of euphoria comes over him, leading to even more flashbacks of scantily-clad women dancing in a nightclub.

Only two are left now, the professor and Maryann—sorry, I mean to say the professor’s girlfriend. He sees the boat the skipper sailed off in bobbing up and down offshore. He swims to it and finds a message written by the skipper: "I died at sea." Wondering if the skipper wrote that before or after he kicked the chum-bucket, the professor heads back to the research vessel. More potato heads show up, and as he tears off one fungus-filled arm in his desperate struggle against them, they carry off his girlfriend to the magical mystery mushroom forest. He races to save her, but it's too late; she’s already munching on a mushroom.

Matango! Dip and munch!

She smiles at him. He tries to drag her away from the really big mushrooms with arms and legs surrounding them, but to no avail. Eventually, he flees alone, back to the boat, and away from that hellish island. While there may be layers of metaphor and allegory lacing this story, I haven't a clue as to what those might be. On the other hand, the weird color-spectrum of lighting, the mysterious and moody sets and ever-present fungus, and the surreal surrender to a mushroomy fate (rice pastry is used for the edible ones), all blend into an effectively off-beat and unsettling entry in the horror-fantasy genre that's pure Lovecraftian in tone and mood.

So start heating up that Fondue pot now and grab a copy of Matango! You and your friends will be glad you did.

 

*Pop Quiz Answer: The H-Man (1958). 

 

Young Kids and Horror Movies Don't Mix

When I recently attended a very late showing of Dead Silence, I was amazed, appalled, and annoyed that a couple had brought in their baby. A baby. I wasn't annoyed that the baby cried now and then, I was annoyed that they thought it's okay to bring a baby to a horror movie.

It's not. Even if a baby isn't fully conscious of the action on screen, he or she can still hear it. And many horror movies, especially R-rated ones, are very loud and filled with unsettling music and noise that's simply not healthy for a baby or young child to experience.

Dumb and dumber doesn't even cover the mindlessness of parents taking babies and very young children to horror movies, let alone R-rated ones.

When I read this Arizona Daily Star article on the subject, I couldn't help but think how scared that 4-year old boy was, and probably will be for a long time. It's judgment-impaired parents like these that give horror movies a bad reputation.

Movie Review: The Flesh Eaters (1964) The First Gore Film?

Zombos Says: Good (but just barely)

Back in 1964, The Evil of Frankenstein, 2000 Maniacs, and Black Sabbath flickered across theater screens, as well as other notable horror movies. Then there's The Flesh Eaters; a B-Movie that, while not very good, is not all that bad. Written by Arnold Drake and directed by Jack Curtis , it combines pulp-dialog with a minuscule budget confining action to a small tent, a Long Island beach, and a few over the top characters.

With its neo-Nazi marine biologist, Professor Bartell, played with malicious glee by Martin Kosleck (I doubt he could play any other type of role), an All-American pilot named Grant Murdoch (Byron Sanders) who keeps taking his shirt off, Omar the beatnik (Ray Tudor), and glowing parasitic flesh-eating nasties stripping flesh from bone faster than you can yell “that's gonna hurt!” the movie is a fast and fairly fun 87 minutes. It's also touted as being the first gore movie by some reviewers, though that's debatable.

It opens with two frolicsome young people going for a dip, only the dip goes for them and they wind up picked clean down to the bone. Cut to the big city and Laura Winters (Rita Morley), movie starlet and lush, who, along with her comely assistant Jan (Barbara Wilson), needs a quick flight to Provincetown for one of her few acting gigs.

Enter Grant Murdoch with his square jaw, v-shaped torso, and cocky attitude. He piles the dames into his sea-plane and off they go, right into a bad storm, with a frozen gas line, too. He needs to land the plane fast and any island will do. He picks the one with the anti-social marine biologist and his parasitic pets. Murdoch moors the tipsy Ms. Winters on the beach first, then moors the plane. Bartel pops out of the water wearing his wet suit and frightens the melodramatic actress. Then she finds finds one frolicsome young person's skeleton on the beach, reigniting her melodramatics. Murdoch becomes suspicious of Bartell after the professor blames it on sharks.

They need to secure the tent against the coming storm. A few stock footage shots of crashing ocean waves later, Murdoch and Jan go for the luggage as the storm lightens up. Murdoch, in-between putting the moves on the curvaceous Jan, notices Bartel going the long way for supplies that were supposed to be just in back of the tent.

Winters, who desperately needs her ‘glass bottle’ luggage, designed by the Jack Daniel's company, slips into something a little more low-cut. Bartel starts putting the moves on her with a flat real-men-are-neo-nazi-marine-biologists line. She calls him a tin god. At this point, the dialog becomes either what did he say? bad or man, that's so bad it's funny bad.

She runs away from him and heads to the plane to slosh more liquor. More pulp-dialog kicks in again as she goes into a maudlin soliloquy Hamlet would be ashamed of. Finishing the booze she dozes on the beach. Bartel, meanwhile, continues his gloating when he comes across a lot of glowing fish skeletons. He also unties the mooring lines to the plane.

The next morning, Murdoch and Jan find Winters and the fish skeletons, prompting Murdoch to blame the actress for untying the plane in a drunken stupor, and telling Bartel "face facts, professor, we stumbled onto a living horror!" Winters, taking her dramatic cue, runs away in shame and grabs her luggage floating in the water. Murdoch races to stop her. She freezes on top of some rocks jutting out into that parasitic smörgåsbord and can't jump back over to him. Mr. All-American jumps over to her. He picks her up and attempts to jump back over the water-filled gap in the rocks—with her added weight. Bartel comes running over with a knife to slice off the chunk of Murdoch's leg skin which is now smoking and bloody and hurting like hell after he slips into the hungry devils . An unexpected gore effect and effective.

Gilligan—I mean Omar—the kooky beatnik now shows up on his rickety raft.

Is it me or do also think he looks like Tony Timpone from Fangoria magazine?

He sailes right into the flesh-eating parasite-filled water. They go after his beatnik sandals as Murdoch yells at him to "shut that big mouth of yours before you become a skeleton!" He makes it to the beach sans sandals. "Boy, that's one lovin' appetite, man," he remarks. Bartell becomes annoyed by Omar's jive talk.

Don’t we all.

Later, Murdoch and Jan come across a huge solar battery. Murdoch questions Bartel on its use and he tells them it's to power his equipment. Bartel suggests shocking the parasites with it and demonstrates the effect electricity has on them. He knows the effect is only temporary, but with the parasites stunned, he plans to leave the island. Alone.

Huge positive and negative cables are quickly run down to the water in preparation for electrifying the entire ocean with the 10,000 volt battery. While others are running cable to the beach, Bartel gives Omar a parasitic-cocktail. Omar's indigestion soon bubbles out of his gut in a bloody scene, ending his beatnik days for good.

As Bartel rigs up a fake death for Omar to fool the others, Winters discovers the shocked parasites in the tent are very much alive, and growing into something nasty. She knows Bartel knows, but now he knows she knows.

He kills her and buries her in the sand, but she still has one more performance in her.

A sailor approaches the island in a small boat only to get a splash of parasites in his face. Scratch one sailor. Another good gore effect, but randomly inserted into the story.

Murdoch and Jan confront Bartel. He pulls out a German Luger.

It’s at this point in the movie I realized Murdoch doesn't grow facial hair and Jan stays fresh as a daisy.

Bartel, now gloating over his success as an evil Neo-Nazi marine biologist, monologs about the Nazi experiments he researched on behalf of the U.S. government. (Included on the DVD is the cut flashback sequence illustrating those evil experiments with unclothed, nubile young woman, of course.)

Murdoch takes his shirt off again—not sure why—and Jan is sent back to the tent to get the lead containers the professor needs to store parasite samples. She see's the unexpected effect electricity has on the parasites as they: "have mutated into a monster beyond belief. A slimy, bloated thing!" but is too late in warning them not to shock the entire ocean.

In proper horror movie fashion, while impending doom approaches, they fight among themselves. Meanwhile, a way is discovered to kill the creature; Bartel gives some cockamamie pseudo-scientific "nucleus sensitive to hemoglobin" explanation. They create a weapon to deal with the creature soon to appear.

Then they go back to fighting among themselves.

In the kooky climax, Bartel gets his comeuppance, and Murdoch and Jan square off against the much bigger, terrifying-tentacled-ocean-monster. Be prepared to be amazed as you watch Murdoch standing in front of the creature's mouth. Its eye is about three stories above him. How he plunges his little weapon into it must be seen to appreciate fully.

You wouldn't believe me if I told you, anyway.