From Zombos' Closet

Movie Review: Jigoku (1960) A Hell of a Movie

Zombos Says: Very Good

Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place; poor theology student Shiro (Shigeru Amachi) can’t seem to keep from going to hell and taking everyone else with him. The Criterion Collection brings Nobuo Nakagawa's 1960 surrealistic terror and damnation cult classic, Jigoku, to DVD.

Like a nightmare, the film takes twists and turns that defy visual logic and story sense, plunging you—along with Shiro—into an absurdest world with no possible exit. Before you watch the film, I strongly recommend reading the essay by Chuck Stephens in the included booklet and watch the documentary Building the Inferno on the DVD.

Jigoku is not a film to see on an empty mind.

Perhaps it’s Shiro's indecisiveness hastening his descent. The poor man is not a happy camper and, as he broods, his fiance, family members, and acquaintances suffer the consequences of his brooding. Then there is Tamura, Shiro's evil friend. With friends like him, as the saying goes, you are sure to wind up in hell before breakfast. Tamura has an eerie way of popping up unexpectedly, and knowing all the dirt on everyone. Who, or what, is he?

But which hell are we talking about here? Every religion has its own claim to the greener pastures and turgid rivers of bubbling corruption. For Shiro, hell is a tenth-century Buddhist's depiction of nastiness, complete with images from thirteenth-century Japanese Hell scroll paintings—with multiple levels of torture.

Bargain Basement, all out for dismemberment, disembowelment, and peeling-you-like-a-grape forever and ever; next stop, eye-gouging and tickling your feet until you up-chuck.

I never knew Buddhists had it in them. We need one to make a horror movie.

Shiro's journey to torment begins with his insistence that Tamura drive down a bad road. Their car hits a gangster. Shiro implores Tamura to stop, but he speeds away, telling Shiro no one saw the accident, so why stop? But the gangster's mom saw it all, and notes the license plate. She tells his gun moll she saw who did it and soon the two are planning to kill the killers.

Shiro, guilt-ridden, tells his fiance, Yukiko (Utako Mitsuya), that he killed a man. He blames himself for the accident even though Tamura was driving the car. He insists they go to the police station and he insists they take a taxi, though his fiance would much rather walk. The taxi driver promptly steers the car into an unyielding tree and his fiance promptly dies calling his name.

Shiro now has more guilt to weigh on him. He suffers from lots of guilt, but we never know why. Just because he feels guilty most of the time, that's no reason to send him to hell, is it?

Love-making out of wedlock is a hellish offense, perhaps, and his fiance was pregnant.

As Shiro's guilt-ridden brooding consumes him, he receives word that his mother is dying. He visits his family home outside Tokyo. We meet the odd inhabitants of the old-age home run by his unscrupulous father. His father is also riding his mistress to exhaustion as his wife lies quietly dying in the next room. Hell for sure, that one, guaranteed; and a hell-way ticket for everyone Shiro meets, including the unethical doctor, corrupt cop, and daughter of the drunken painter who paints scenes of hell in his spare time. Adding to Shiro's angst is how the painter's daughter looks exactly like Yukiko.

The gangster's mom and moll find him. The gun moll confronts him on a wooden suspension bridge hanging high above a rocky chasm.

Any self-respecting horrorhead knows where this is going.

In an almost comical scene, the moll trips over her own high-heeled feet just as she is about to shoot Shiro. Down she goes, and goes and goes, until she smacks into the rocks below. Creepy Tamura shows up to gloat over the incident and heap more guilt on to Shiro's back. He and Shiro get into a tussle and down Tamura goes, and goes, and goes.

Smell that brimstone charcoal firing up for Shiro?

Up until now, Nakagawa filmed his characters together in twos or threes, with tight, sparsely decorated sets. He now opens up to show the evening party revelry at the old-age home, shifting between the carousing residents and a small party of shady characters, including his father, who served the home's residents with tainted fish, his mistress, the immoral doctor, corrupt cop, Shiro, Yukiko look-alike, and—hey, wait a minute, what's that gangster's mom doing here? And what's that she's carrying? Looks like a big jug of—DEATH!

No, don't drink it you fools!

Too late.

Suddenly, creepy—looking kind of dead—Tamura shows up again, but he isn't gloating this time. He does manage to shoot Yukiko-look-alike to death. While Shiro strangles Tamura for that the gangster's mom strangles Shiro.

With it looking like a Three Stooges skit, everyone winds up in hell.

And what a hell it is for a 1960's film.

Nakagawa is called the founding father of Japanese Horror for his visual extremes of torment. Poised on the bank of the river Sanzu, Shiro and all those that fit into that hand-basket with him must now unpack and settle into their uncomfortable eternal accommodations.

No crowding please, there's plenty of torment and pain for everyone.

With annoying demons sticking a pitchfork up your butt, or lopping off hands here and there—and let's not forget the boiling and bubbling hot-tubs of blood (my favorite!)—this is Club Dread for the damned dead.

Need a beautifying skin peel? No problem, they'll remove it all and leave chunky bloody bits for added zest. Need a pedicure? Easy, just go for a walk in a field of razor sharp needles growing like blades of grass. A field of feet sticking up out of the ground, while running hordes of annoying commuters not knowing which stop is theirs, embellish the toxic landscape. Nakagawa, and Kurosawa the production designer, stretch their minimal budget to its limits and create a horrific inferno comprised of jarring images, colors, and torments.

As each person is condemned to damnation for their sins and tortured in gory close-ups unusual for 1960s Japanese horror cinema, Nakagawa presents a nonsensical and almost non-linear montage of the netherworld. Is he winking at us? Perhaps he is telling us that religions telling people they must suffer eternal, barbaric tortures for daring to disobey religious edicts are ludicrous and cannot be taken seriously?

Shiro is told he must rescue his unborn daughter as she floats down the river of blood. Along the way, he meets both Yukiko and Yukiko look-alike, and Tamura.

Is Tamura a demon? Or Shiro's doppelganger? Or just some really evil person?

Nakagawa mixes it so you never really know. He also ends with lotus blossoms floating through the air, a discordant image given their symbolic meaning of purification and rebirth. He leaves Shiro hanging, literally, as he tries to save his unborn daughter, now caught in the netherworld. Yukiko and Yukiko look-alike swirl parasols and smile as lotus blossoms float all around them.

Nakagawa's film is both art-house and nonsense at the same time. He sends everybody to hell and has a rousing good time doing it in this Manga-stylized film.

 

Book Review: Pretend We're Dead Capitalist Monsters In American Pop Culture

Zombos Says: Excellent

If you can read only one non-fiction horror genre book this year, first I strongly suggest you reexamine your priorities, then second, I highly recommend you pick up Annalee Newitz' Pretend We're Dead: Capitalist Monsters in American Pop Culture. Now I warn you, you will need to really think while reading this book, which is one of the necessities for discovering fresh insights into the inner workings of what makes horror go bump in the night.

Now mind you, I didn't say you will need to agree with everything Annalee Newitz posits in this encompassing examination of sociological and economic forces pushing on our cinematic realizations of the undead (zombies), the indifferent (serial killers), and the insane (mad doctors); but if you disagree, you better be prepared to argue why as well as she does.

 "I'm a zombie, you're a zombie, we're all zombies too". Repeat these words over and over again to the tune of Dr. Pepper playing in your head. Now you're ready.

If you work in a sterile corporate office you will embrace Newitz' ideas: if you work in a dull gray cubicle world for a pittance allotted by CEOs who walk away with unjustified millions, you will understand her reasoning; if you've gone through the demeaning and demoralizing experience ironically called 'the performance review,' given by the-company-is-my-life, alienated and mostly clueless manager who (only funny in The Office) will quickly sell you out to sell themselves up that dubious corporate ladder, you will nod your head in agreement with her arguments.

For that dog biscuit reward most of us roll over and play dead for everyday, we do it in order to survive the dullness, the inanity, and the inherent humiliation of our daily work life. So is it any wonder the monsters we see on the golden screen are the products of our collective economic misery and aspirations? Or why they pursue their psychotic and body count careers with such workmanlike aplomb and enthusiasm?

Universal Monsters 75th Anniversary at SDCC 2006

You'ld never know it is the 75th Anniversary of the Dracula and Frankenstein films with how Universal Studios is "promoting" this milestone, but at the San Diego Comic Con, they remembered and celebrated with Forry and a panel of fans. Go to Jennifer M. Contino's detailed post to relive the excitement. Wish I had attended it myself.

And another thing...

I wonder why Universal Studios has not capitalized on their wealth of classic horror monsters in their theme park.

When will Universal Studios wake up and smell the freshly turned earth? Being home to a bunch of classically scary icons like Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, the Wolfman and the Creature, you would think they should have come up with haunted house and scarefest attractions by now that would make an awesome bunch of monster house rides.

Hell, imagine a Creature from the Black Lagoon attraction similar to Disney’s Jungle Cruise, or walking through the streets of an old Transylvanian village, ala Disney’s Fantasy Land. Every so often you could have actors running through the streets with flaming torches (or safer reasonable facsimiles) chasing after Frankenstein’s Monster.

Imagine a ride built around the movie Them!, where you fight giant ants, or a frightening tour of Dracula’s castle (Todd Browning version, of course). I love the Mummy ride, but there are more monsters, you know. Perhaps, with the new Creature and Wolfman remakes on the way, more classic monster attractions will become a reality.

Then again, they did do Van Helsing…

Movie Review: The Maid (2005) Those Damned Domestics

Zombos Says: Very Good

I always make the mistake of picking up the phone. If I would just let it ring and ring, and let voicemail kick in, I’d be fine. I had a lapse in judgement, what else can I say?

"Look," my editor told me over the phone," you're seriously behind in your reviews. I've got DVDs coming out of my—oh, good god!" I heard him gasp.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"It's the ghost of Mae Nak, she's pissed you haven't reviewed her movie yet. Wow, you've got quite a hole in the head there,"

"What? Me?"

"Not you, the ghost. She's got this J-Horror thing going on, and a gaping hole right in the middle of her head."

"Fine," I said. "Tell her I’ll get to the review as soon as I can. Not like I’m getting paid for this, you know."

"She's not buying it. She hissed you still get free DVDs so stop the crap. Hey, cut that out! Look, I'm just the editor, Zoc’s the one you should—ouch, stop!" he yelled.

I had to hold the cell phone away from my ear as things were getting a bit loud. There was a scream or two, then silence.

"Hello? Hello? Are you still there?" I asked. A loud hissing sound, followed by a crash of glass and some foul-sounding foreign language sputtered from the phone, then it went dead. Oh, well, I thought, that’s that. I was wrong.

I turned around and found the ghost of Mae Nak floating a few feet in the air from me. She definitely was not a happy camper. I can't remember any Asian ghosts that ever were, come to think of it. They are always out for revenge, or retribution, or something else equally nasty. Not seeing a good ending to all this, I started to think faster than Bugs Bunny.

"That's a nasty hole in her head, isn't it," I said.

Mae Nak wailed a frightful one. Banshees had nothing over her in that department.

"Okay, look. I can get to the review today. I'll even toss in a review of The Maid for good measure. Just stop pestering me so I can get back to work.

Mae Nak nodded, floated over to my office attic’s door, and then through it, as easily as a hot knife cuts through butter.

I picked up the phone to see if my editor was still alive.

I could hear a whimpering sound, followed by labored breathing, punctuated by "oh, sh*t, oh, sh*t" over and over again.

"Good, you're still there," I said. "I’ll send you the review for The Maid before Mae Nak comes back. What? Broken? Well then, use your good hand, then."

I hung up and quickly finished the review.

 

An effective ghost story should have an air of mystery to it: why is there a ghost? What purpose does the ghost have in haunting a particular place or person? A modicum of pathos is also important for a truly emotional turn of the screw, as a ghost cannot only be vindictive or vengeful, but must have sadness about it; something that we can empathize that will make the haunting all the more tragic, as well as spooky.

Gore also must be kept to a minimum as an effective ghost story relies on creating and sustaining a balanced mood of tension. Too much gore and the balance shifts into rapid moments of revulsion and anxiety, whereas a good ghost story relies on impression and subtlety, implying more than is actually shown.

The mystery in The Maid builds slowly and inexorably toward a climax that brings us from where we thought we were to an unexpected place that surprises us. Director and writer Kelvin Tong, while using the now standard shock cuts of ghosts sitting, floating and crawling, keeps the gore factor down and raises and twists Rosa's (Alessandra de Rossi) impressions of what's happening in this first significant horror movie from Singapore.

Rosa is a young Philippine maid who travels to Singapore to work for the Teo family. While traveling as a stranger in a strange land is stressful enough, her trip is made more vexing by the timing of it. She arrives at the Teo residence during Hungry Ghost Month, a time when the gates of hell unlock and all those annoying relatives you really didn't want to see anymore return.

Of course, there are ways to appease the ghosts, and Rosa, not at all familiar with the rituals that the community follows during this preternatural month, sweeps up ashes that were better left alone. No sooner than you can say boo! she's seeing dead people, or sitting in their reserved chairs for the opera, or hearing strange sounds and watching doors fly open as they pull their usual scare tactics. Let's face it, if you're dead, scaring the living can be lots of fun. What else can you do?

As she becomes more and more unnerved by all this, she notices a neighbor that runs away from her, and the Teo family begins to act a little odd. Which is quite a change from her initial entry into the musically-inclined family; who, with their co-workers in the opera, broke into song upon her arrival. But now the Teo family is becoming distant, and more controlling.

And then there is Ah Soon (Benny Soh), the little-boy that can't grow up with his body, the Teo's son. He develops an infatuation with Rosa, and Rosa plays along with his childish behavior. Which isn’t a good thing to do.

Through the increasing ghostly activity, Rosa realizes one ghost in particular is trying to get her attention. But why? Like any well-crafted mystery there are clues along the way, but of course you never notice them until the summary flashbacks at the end, then you kick yourself for not realizing what's happening

Okay, I kickmyself for not realizing what's happening.

In too many American horror movies, it's the undead or loony-toon psycho, and the soon-to-be-dead that are prominent in the story, along with a modicum of T&A and flashy gore for good measure. The Maid eschews all that and focuses on the relationships between the living and the dead, and Rosa, who doesn't disrobe at any point in this movie (take note of my disappointment here), or curse using soap-worthy words, or act in any way like "I'm just here to be killed" kind of fashion. Instead, Tong builds his story on the traditions and eeriness inherent in Hungry Ghost Month, and provides quiet moments of uncertainty at first, then less quiet moments as Rosa realizes the supernatural world is real and uncomfortably close.

But is she in danger from the ghosts or from the Teo family? Or both?

Her struggle to find out makes Tong's story a suspenseful, slightly scary, and very entertaining traditional ghost story to watch.

 

Biology of B-Movie Monsters

Michael C. LaBarbera looks at genre classics including The Incredible Shrinking Man, Dr. Cyclops, King Kong and Rachel Welch--sorry, I meant to say Fantastic Voyage--and shows how the science of biology and geometry in the movies is often skewed as size goes up or down.

Go to Fathom Archive now! and become the life of any party!

Movie Review: Trilogy of Terror (1975)

Zombos Says: Very Good

The year 1975 was a banner year for horrorheads. Stephen King's Salem's Lot was chewing up the bookstalls, a hungry and demonic shark was chewing up anything that moved in Jaws, and the gender-bender Rocky Horror Picture Show, with Meat Loaf, was chewing on some tasty morsels of iconic horror like a bat out of rock and roll hell.

And on television, horror and terror were being introduced to a new generation of viewers by producer and director Dan Curtis. In 1967 he thought long and hard on his failing soap opera, Dark Shadows, and out of desperation tossed in a vampire to shake things up.

Sure, when all else fails, call in the monsters. It worked.

Dark Shadows, with the help of passionate and pathetic vampire, Barnabas Collins, grabbed the ratings like a banshee screaming in the wind. Like many boys in 1975, I became hooked with the goings-on at the decaying Collinwood Mansion, and I hurried home from school to watch each episode. I even took Barnabas as my Confirmation name. And while the priests thought I took the name of Saint Barnabas, one of the first prophets and teachers of the church at Antioch, I knew the truth.

Dan Curtis' horror express sped into high gear after that, and the stops along the way produced some of the best terrorific television series and movies the genre has seen, heavily inspiring future fright-meisters and their cinematic and literary creations.

He also had the good sense to work with one of the best writers in the field, Richard Matheson. Together they brought Trilogy of Terror to the small screens of millions of viewers in 1975, and created a diminutive image of horror that still brings chills and thrills today.

Originally conceived as a pilot for a television series, Trilogy of Terror takes three of Matheson's stories, adds the talented Karen Black in numerous roles, and for an extra dollop of terror, peppers in a little Zuni Fetish Warrior doll with a hideous grimace of pointy teeth and a penchant for bloody mayhem. Throughout the three stories there is also the quintessential Robert Cobert music, so much associated with Dan Curtis' gloomy cinematography.

While the first two stories, adapted by William F. Nolan, may seem cliche today, they were highly original back in1975. In the first, Julie, Karen Black plays a reserved, plain-looking English professor who unwillingly becomes embroiled in a sexual tango with one of her students. Or so it seems. In the second story, Millicent and Therese, Ms. Black plays two sisters at polar opposites in their personalities, and heading for a violent confrontation because of it.

Richard Matheson wrote the screenplay for Amelia, the third episode which is based on his short story Prey. And it is this story that stands out as an important and memorable entry in cinematic horror. Indeed, in the audio commentary provided by Nolan and Black, Nolan jokes how he was always congratulated for the Amelia episode—the one he didn't write—when approached by fans. He eventually stopped telling fans he didn't write it and just accepted their appreciation.

The story is that good.

Take a lone woman, psychologically battered by her mother, add a little present wrapped in a curiously odd-looking box for her anthropology boyfriend, and toss in a warning not to remove the little chain that holds the savage warrior’s spirit at bay, and you have a simple recipe for…disaster!

As the chain falls from the little, and hideously looking, doll, you know what's coming. Curtis builds it slowly, with a little foreshadowing as Amelia cuts her finger on the very sharp spear the doll carries. After her bath, Amelia, dressed only in a bathrobe, notices the doll is no longer on the table. Curtis also changes the camera angle, and moves it lower to the floor, heightening our fears of what is to come. As Amelia reaches under the couch she again gets cut, and reaching further, pulls out the spear. Even with the lights on, her apartment is dark—Dan Curtis dark—and Cobert's music hits its ominously strident tones.

Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow scampers across the floor. She begins to suspect something crazy is going on, and just before you can say ‘Zuni Fetish Warrior Is Alive!’ the lights go out, and the bolt on her front door is reshaped into a metal pretzel, trapping her in the apartment.

The first frenetic attack is sudden, loud, and brings her down to floor level as the little savage uses a knife swiped from the kitchen counter to stab her feet and ankles again and again. The rushing of the little doll, screaming as it relentlessly attacks her, is still amazingly effective and scary. Locking herself in the bathroom does no good, as the little monster is very resourceful. She tries to drown it in the bathtub, but that also fails. The scene, as it climbs out of the tub with the big knife firmly gripped in its mouth, borders on almost funny, but Curtis' direction keeps this story deadly serious.

Karen Black, speaking in the Three Colors Black featurette on the DVD, describes the fear of vaginal entry that this episode plays on. She also mentions the humorous troubles the special effects people had in animating the little bugger. In the first attack, where she stumbles to the floor, she describes how they had trouble keeping the limbs on the doll as they rapidly pulled it along the floor. In the scene where it clamps down on her neck, she also describes how she had to hold onto it and act like it was alive and biting her. In the hands of lesser talent, this episode would have become a quirky absurdity; instead, it remains one of the most intense sessions in terror committed to the small screen. Interestingly enough, she explains that the dental work appearing at the end was actually her idea, which Dan Curtis did not agree with at the beginning. But it works well, and provides a lasting image of horror that speaks volumes even to this day.

Additional featurettes on the DVD include Terror Scribe, in which Richard Matheson talks about himself and the film, and the audio commentary by Karen Black and William F. Nolan. Dark Sky Films has done a wonderful job in releasing this horror classic again on DVD.

Neon Maniacs (1986) Trading Card Monsters

Zombos Says: Fair 

We were sitting in Zombos' study. Outside, the Long Island winter winds blew the gray barren tree limbs to and fro. Paul Hollstenwall was visiting and brought along Neon Maniacs. The Hollstenwalls live at 0004 Gravestart Lane, a few minutes’ walk from the mansion. Not far enough, if you ask me.

It’s always a lively and interesting time when Paul visits us.

Wait, that’s a lie. It’s always a dreadful time.

His taste in lame, pointless, movie-making is boundless, and he always manages to find yet another awful movie that’s worse than the previous one he’s subjected us to watching.

I warned Zombos our time would be better spent elsewhere, but he insisted on seeing the movie. He’s always insists. I don’t know why.

I poured the coffee and sambuca, and popped the DVD into the player.

When the world is ruled by violence, and the souls of mankind fades, the children’s path shall be darkened by the souls of the neon maniacs,” intones the narrator as the movie starts.

“What does that mean?” asked Zombos.

Paul and I shrugged our shoulders. Perhaps that art-house blend of words was just too deep for us.

“What are those, trading cards?” asked Zombos leaning closer to get a better look.

“Yeah, cool-looking, aren’t they?” said Paul. “Wouldn’t it be great if they had statistics on the back for each of the neon maniacs?”

“How do monsters from hell that no one knows about get printed trading cards?” asked Zombos. He stared at Paul and took a big gulp of sambuca.

The first scene is an odd one. A fisherman on the Golden Gate Bridge heads home for the night. He passes a big metal door beneath the bridge and finds a bunch of Tarot-like cards lying in a bleached-white cattle skull. Each card depicts a Neon Maniac. Yes, it’s all rather goofy. He stoops to look at them. The massive door behind him opens quietly. An axe wielding and deformed Neon Maniac sneaks up and stands over him while he looks at the axe wielding and deformed Neon Maniac’s trading card.

Cut to the axe going up, coming down, and the fisherman will fish no more.

I reached for the liner notes hoping to find an explanation for the significance of using trading cards.

None.

Perhaps director Joseph Mangine was aiming for a marketing tie-in with Neon Maniac trading cards? See the movie then trade maniacs with your friends! Trading cards were big in the 1980s.

I read more of the sparse liner notes looking for answers.

...it’s the neon maniacs, a group of ruthless, outrageously attired and made-up killers who emerge from beneath the Golden Gate Bridge to wreak havoc on helpless teenagers [and fisherman too, apparently]. Where the Maniacs come from is never explained, nor why they live so close to San Francisco Bay, considering that water…is the only thing that can harm them.

So not only are they hideously deformed and fashion-phobic,they’re stupid. My favorite quote is "and the producer now says, ‘It was a much better script than a movie…’ ”

Great.I turned my attention, reluctantly, back to the movie. The incongruous lounge music didn’t raise my hopes of it getting better.

“My god, they look like the Village People,” said Zombos.

“Yes, they do, don’t they, like in some twisted sense of horror-hell,” replied Paul. “Pretty imaginative, don’t you think?”

I looked at my watch to see how much longer I would have to suffer through this pretty imaginative mess. I tried to excuse myself, but Zombos would have none of that. He likes to see me squirm.

“Where did that midget dinosaur with one eye in the middle of its head come from?” asked Zombos.

Paul and I shrugged our shoulders. Zombos finally stopped asking silly questions and quietly watched this silly movie.

After teenagers are slaughtered in a park, the cops of course do not believe the lone survivor, Natalie (a fairly comatose Leilani Sarelle). She goes home. After watching her friends get beheaded, hung, and mutilated by the village people from hell, she puts on a bathing suit—in the middle of the night and all alone—and goes for a relaxing dip in the backyard pool.

All near-victims in horror movies should have Olympic-sized pools in their backyard so they can relax after their near-death trauma.

Just so we are clear on this, she is alone and it is the middle of the night, and right after her friends having been horribly mutilated and killed by outrageously dressed and deformed monster-freaks appearing out of nowhere. Me, you, and any rational person would think along the lines of ‘if they could appear in the park, they could even appear for a pool party.’ Clearly Natalie is no smarter than these Neon Maniacs.

And why the hell are they called “neon’ anyway? They don’t glow. They don’t even disco down!

One of them, the hairy caveman (he reminded me of television's Land of the Lost) lurks in the bushes watching her. He almost busts a move, but it begins to rain so he runs away. End of suspense; a close shave with hairy death to be sure.

“Wait, this is the best part,” said Paul with enthusiasm.

It was the introduction of the stereotypical spoiled and precocious movie adolescent who was also a budding horror director, sticking her nose into the mystery of the missing teenagers because that is what precocious adolescents with cameras do in movies. After Spielberg and Lucas shook things up, rich kids with cinema-blood started popping up all over the screen.

This rich kid, Paula (Donna Locke), is fun to watch as she exudes that I-told-you- so and I- know-better- because-I am-rich-and-can-afford-all-this-camera-equipment style of cocky acting. With her baseball cap daringly tilted to one side and her starry-eyed determinism, I was hoping she would square off against the midget dinosaur and poke its eye out. Or get eaten. I’d settle for either way.

She is also way smarter than the police as precocious adolescents in movies must always be wiser and smarter than their years. She is smart enough to find the obvious green goop trail the maniacs leave behind. Only she is smart enough to follow this plain as daylight muck trail to the big metal doors under the bridge. No trading cards or cattle skull this time, just lots of dead white pigeons in front of the doors.

If any movie ever cried out for expository explanation, THIS is the one.

Mentally putting the green goop and dead white pigeons together, Paula comes back later that night with her really expensive video equipment to shoot night scenes without a light source. She’s that good. She hides behind bushes near the metal doors. Soon the Neon Maniacs leave their hiding place, only to be turned back by the oncoming rain. One of them trips into a puddle of water and starts bubbling, so now she knows their weakness!

She hurries home. A Neon Maniac goes after her while she is sleeping. Being precocious and clever, she’s prepared with a bucket of water and a water pistol.

How the maniac knew where she lived is not explained. The rain had driven them back inside, so none of them could have followed her.

I stared at my watch, willing the minute hand to move faster. It didn't work.

The next day, Paula, Natalie, and the requisite handsome but nerdy boyfriend realize everyone is in danger, especially all teenagers, of course, and they quickly devise a plan to arm all High Schoolers with water pistols at the Sock Hop versus Alice Cooper wannabees band contest taking place later that night. They give everyone a water pistol but forget to tell anyone when to use them. The Neon Maniacs show up on the dance floor to do the mashing-body hustle, panic ensues, and bodies are sliced, diced, and julienned in short order.

After much thought and dismemberment, Paula finally notices the big fire hose hanging on the wall and puts it to good use, dousing the maniacs until they scatter.

That should have ended the movie easily, but since some minutes were left, to fill with incongruous action, Natalie and her boyfriend run up a few flights of stairs to the locked Principal’s Office. Oops. Meanwhile, a graphic grue humor scene with the Neon Maniac surgeon operating on a chloroformed night guard suddenly stands out in this otherwise gore-light movie.

Now back to Natalie and her boyfriend and that locked office problem: no problem, they decide to make out instead.

“Wonderful story logic there,” commented Zombos.

“This is a funny scene,” said Paul. “The kids convince the police to carry squirt guns and go after the monsters.”

The police, in a 1950s Blob-styled these-kids-are-crazy-but-what-the-hell-we've-got-no other-choice frame of mind, along with the fire department, converge in front of the metal doors underneath Golden Gate Bridge. Water pistols and fire-hoses at the ready, they open the doors and search the surprisingly small storage garage the Neon Maniacs hang out in. Nothing is found and the kids are derisively told to get the hell out of there.

They do.

The chubby obtuse detective (obnoxious and obtuse detectives are always overweight in movies and television) in charge heads back into the garage after everyone leaves.

Without his water pistol.

Weird, colorful, lights and odd sounds coming from the derelict ambulance attract his attention.

He opens the ambulance’s doors and pokes his head in.

Bad move.

Neon Maniacs is so clumsily awful it's very enjoyable to watch with friends, a few beers, and low expectations. Sadly, there is no disco dancing or neon lights involved, and a trading card set was never issued.

Movie Review: The Funhouse (1981)

Zombos Says: Very Good

Director Tobe Hooper, who did the unsettling Dance of the Dead episode for Masters of Horror on Showtime, as well as the family classic, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)—insane family, that is—presents a not so pretty picture of carnival life, and a somewhat pathetic, definitely homicidal, disfigured monster with a penchant for temper tantrums.

The opening of the movie is a nod to Halloween and Psycho, and from there builds into a creepy story revolving around teen lust, sleazy carnival characters, and a ‘man-made monster that has needs like everyone else, but simply cannot satisfy them in more socially acceptable ways. A fascinating subtext running through the story is that it is a variation on the tragedy of Dr. Frankenstein and his monster. Here, the monster is one born of genetic mutation, as foreshadowed by the Freak Animals Alive tent exhibit, where the fetal brother of the monster floats in a jar as an abominable attraction for the hoi polloi.

In the movie’s opening sequence, the Frankenstein Monster is shown, first as a poster showing the Glenn Strange characterization (my favorite!), and then as a Mego doll—oh sorry, action figure—carried by the young Joey, whose sister soon curses him because of his bizarre prank that scares the wits out of her. Joey’s actions are also another subtext running through the movie: he dons a mask to become a monster that frightens his sister, and the actual monster wears a Frankenstein Monster mask to become less frightening to others.

It’s interesting to note that, unlike the current spate of horror movies that feature eye (popping)-candy and little else, in this movie the characters are presented with choices, yet consistently make the wrong ones. And as we all know, in a horror movie when you make the wrong choices someone—or more likely everyone—winds up dead.

Amy, Buzz, Liz, Ritchie, and Joey consistently make the wrong choices, and suffer the dire consequences. In the tale of Dr. Frankenstein and his monstrous creation, wrong choices led to death and disaster; at least here we have the funhouse; iconic abode for numerous urban legends and rustic tales told over and over again around camp fires and sleep-over parties.

The funhouse is surrounded by the carnival, a seedy, grimy affair filled with seedy and grimy denizens. There is a bag lady that looks very much like Grandmama from the Addams Family spouting “god is watching you!;” a homeless man that wanders around like a zombie from Night of the Living Dead; a few bums; the past-her-prime fortuneteller and palm reader (Sylvia Miles); and the not so magnificent Marco the Magician and the carny barkers (three of them played by Kevin Conway as if he were a natural).

Properly toned by John Beal’s score and Andrew Lazlo’s moody cinematography, the loud and brightly lit carnival facade hides a darker, more primitive underbelly of murderous anarchy, repressed emotions, and dark secrets, with the funhouse as its nexus. Hooper’s use of two tracking crane shots, one at the beginning and one at the ending of the mayhem, emphasize this emanation of evil flowing first toward the funhouse, and then outwardly from it.

Our hapless group of victim fodder soon regrets their decision to stay the night in the funhouse, and Joey soon regrets sneaking out from his bedroom—down the trusty-trellis-by-the-window to visit the carnival. We also learn that the father of the monster has regrets about letting it live, in a scene that contains a wealth of hinted at backstory. Because of his decision he must share responsibility for its murderous actions, just like Dr. Frankenstein must share responsibility for his Monster’s subsequent actions.

Priming the coming mayhem, the fun-seeking and frisky teens decide to spend a night in the funhouse after closing time, and after the requisite fun-that-must-be punished-for scenes, they witness a murder, and promptly wind up stepping deeper and deeper into a big pile of no return. One of them makes another spur-of-the-moment bad decision, letting the wrong people learn about their presence in the locked funhouse. Scenes of carnage follow as one by one the teens meet their untimely and grisly death in 1980s horror fashion.

A particularly harrowing moment has our heroine calling to her parents through a large, wildly-spinning exhaust fan, but of course they can’t hear her because she is too far away—in the funhouse, where they specifically told her not to go. But they aren’t there for her; they are looking for their errant son Joey, who also disobeyed them. People who disobey or don’t listen or don’t read signs well in horror movies suffer dire consequences for their actions, and little Joey is no exception. His parents meet the shady and perhaps too-interested carnival handyman that found Joey sneaking around the tents. His actions are never quite clear, and Joey is strangely out of it so we never really know what happened between him and the handyman, but whatever it is it's hinting at unsavory.

The climactic confrontation in the mechanical belly of the funhouse is suitably horrific yet uses little gore, and unlike the requisite sequelization-antics of many fright movies today provides a definitive and satisfying closure.

Unlike the simplistic snuff-horror by the numbers approach in today’s movies, The Funhouse explores dark themes and provides a story depth that is worth experiencing, along with the thrills and chills.

Movie Review: Scarecrows (1988)

Zombos Says: Good

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Scarecrows is one of those horror movies that with better acting and better direction, and a more coherent script, would be quite compelling as a good example of a horror movie. As it is, it’s still creepy with effective makeup and gore effects, and does manage to maintain its mood of unknown evil biding time in the corn fields. A plus here is there are no dumb—but pretty—teenagers getting offed one by one, just very dumb misbehaving adults, so there’s a refreshing change of pace you will enjoy at least.

Similar to the storyline in the movie Dead Birds, there's a precipitating robbery, an abandoned spooky house in the middle of nowhere, and demonic evil happening without explanation, in and around that house. The future victims are shown witless enough to run around aimlessly before getting killed, one by one, in ways that you and I would have easily avoided.

Escaping in a hijacked plane with a reluctant pilot and the pilot's daughter after a lucrative robbery, para-military crooks are double-crossed by one of their own: a very nervous guy named Bert (B.J. Turner). Bert’s first mistake is made when he jumps out of the plane with the big—and very heavy—box that holds all the stolen money, with no plan on how he's going to carry it once he’s on the ground. Being the dumbest of the bunch, he’s murdered first, but not before he finds the Fowler residence, nestled snuggly amid lots of ominous-looking scarecrows perched all around the wooden fence that's covered with barbed-wire and lots of warning signs saying “stay away.” The weird weathervane on the roof, with the pitchfork and pteradactyl, is a clear sign this old homestead is more deadstead than homey. Bert makes his second mistake when he ignores all the warning signs.

Until he's murdered, we hear what he’s thinking through his very unnecessary voiceover as he, way too easily, comes across the key to the decrepit truck in the yard. He hoists the box onto the truck and makes his getaway. Sure, why not? Decrepit trucks lying dormant for years in yards always have lots of gas in them, especially with today's prices, and car batteries last and last, right?

Although he wears night-vision goggles to walk through the foliage and find the house, he TAKES THEM OFF to drive the truck away and TURNS ON the headlights instead to see where he’s going. The rest of the crooks, still circling in the plane, spot the headlights.

Brilliant. He deserves to die he’s so stupid.

I’m not sure why he needed night vision goggles in the first place since every scene is brightly lit, from the interior of the plane to the night-time scenery, even the house. The cinematographer was either myopic or recently graduated movie school, or he had to deal with really cheap moviestock and a skimpy budget.

Bert meets his demise when the truck dies in the middle of nowhere and the scarecrows get him. One nice touch, and there are a few of them, is when he opens the truck's lid after stalling out. I won’t ruin the hair-raising surprise, but any fan of American Pickers on the History Channel will pretty much know what to expect with rusting derelict trucks.

The story-sense, what less cinema-minded people call common sense, falters when dead and stuffed-like-a-flounder-with-straw-and-stolen-loot-Bert returns to the house. The rest of the crooks rough him up, then realize he’s gutted and stuffed like a flounder. Dead Bert manages to put up quite a fight, grabbing one fellow by the mouth and pushing him through a window, causing him to bite off more than he could chew in a gorylicious scene to savor. At this point, faced with an obvious supernatural threat, you’d think the crooks would be racing out of the house and back to the plane pronto. Instead, they stay to look for the rest of the money, even if one of them complains "Bert was walking around dead, for chrissakes!"

The stolen money suddenly appears on the ground outside the house, and the crooks—being greedy and all that—go for the bait without stopping to wonder how it got there. One of them is cornered by the scarecrows, and with a dull handsaw, they make him less handy. Now dead and gutted himself, Jack (Richard Vidan) returns to the house and attacks the remaining crooks.

If you listen closely to Jack's demonic growl you will hear the same monster-growl heard often in the Lost in Space TV episodes.

The last two survivors finally get smart and run like hell back to the plane.

But that doesn’t help.

For a B-movie, Scarecrows is more C than D. Still, the surprising amount of sustained dread and the 1980s evocative eeriness many of the scenes hold to the finish are worth a look-see. Especially on Halloween.

Sin-Jin Smyth's Ethan Dettenmaeir

With a mysterious title like Sin-Jin Smyth, and a talented cast that includes Roddy Piper and Jeff Conaway, this is one horror film high on my must-see list. Here's the synopsis:

Sin-Jin Smyth takes place over Halloween weekend. Two Federal Marshals receive orders to cross the state border to the small town of Shin Bone, Kansas in order to transfer a prisoner during a tornado warning. Nothing is known about the prisoner except his name: Sin-Jin Smyth. The film is based, in part, on an old legend that tells of the Devil appearing simultaneously in the high plains of India and a quiet cemetery in Kansas at midnight on Halloween.

I wanted to find out more about the creative force behind this upcoming horror film slated for October release--writer and director Ethan Dettenmaeir, and here is the interview we recently had. You can also check out Sin-Jin Smyth at Wikipedia.

And So It Begins!

Welcome to Zombos' Closet of Horror, a rather dark and cloying place, filled with untold treasures and just plain lousy stuff that Zombos keeps stuffing into it. I am Iloz Zoc (just IL to my friends), full-time and long suffering valet to Zombos. You remember Zombos, don’t you? A grade B actor in numerous grade C horror films, most of which are forgotten by his few remaining and decaying fans.

He is such an aging dilettante; always looking backward, while reluctantly moving forward into the new age of horror on screen and in print. He pines for the old, less gory days, but secretly enjoys those zombies and slashers, and the occasional science fiction or fantasy tidbit. And I, his patient and understanding servant, am charged with finding more and more room in his immense closet to accommodate his passions of the moment.

And then there is Zimba, Zombos' dark mistress of the sonnets. She hates horror with a passion, and his acquisitions even more. So many nights have I waited until she falls into her undead sleep, to slip into the dark hallways of the mansion on tiptoe, precariously balancing those acquisitions oh so quietly past her door, trying desperately not to wake the unholy beast within. It was bad enough that Zombos had to give up the hearse for a mini-van after they were married, but give up his treasures, never!