Seth Gordon, "The King of Kong" (2007). Juan Antonio Bayona, "El Orfanato" (2007).

Every once in awhile it's good to change things up a bit. So last Friday night when a few friends and I decided to stay in and watch movies, I was open to new suggestions. Since I was visiting someone else's house, I quickly assented to seeing two films I had no part in picking out. Our host had gotten them through Netflix, and he wanted to screen them so that he could exchange them for new ones. I had selected the pool to choose from the two previous times that we got together, and I supposed it was only fair to let someone else set the tone for the evening. It's quite honestly a bit of a novelty for me to have my viewing experience dictated externally, but the situation wasn't as bad as it might have been.

The two flicks on our schedule were both titles I had considered buying pre-viewed. I figured that it was a boon to have the opportunity to save the money and discover their value without having to track them down myself. Whereas I might have put up a fight if the offerings were ones I had no interest in, it was easy for me to sit back and relax with what was on hand. We agreed to start with The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters (2007). Directed by relative newcomer Seth Gordon, the documentary traces the world of competitive classic video gamers. Like virtually any other marginal amusement activity in America, there is an entire subculture built up around 1980's-era stand-up games like Donkey Kong, Centipede and Q-bert.

You can probably imagine what these folks are like- they are nerdy, pasty and socially awkward. Yet they take their hobby very, very seriously. One player (a suburban everyman named Steve Wiebe) is so caught up in chasing the record score on DK that he regularly sheds tears when he is bested. The man usually delivering the smack-downs is "celebrity" player Billy Mitchell. In the world of the video arcade, this guy is the smoothest of the geeks. Gordon sets up an epic battle, pitching Mitchell as the dark knight going up against the clean-cut sincerity of Wiebe. There are plenty of laughs to be had along the way, but we couldn't help thinking the entire milieu was a bit pathetic. By the end we were all hoping for the very real tragedy of suicide.

After the comic pathos of The King of Kong, we were ready for some unadulterated bleakness. Our follow-up was El Orfanato (2007, US title- The Orphanage). Produced by Guillermo del Toro (Pan's Labyrinth, Cronos, Hellboy) and directed by first-timer Juan Antonio Bayona, it tells the story of a couple that has decided to open up a school for "special children" along an isolated stretch of the Spanish coastline. It just so happens that Laura (Belén Rueda) was once housed at this location as an orphaned child herself. Perhaps that is why she adopted Simón (Roger Príncep), a young boy with HIV. Laura and Carlos (Fernando Cayo) have not told their child that he is afflicted with the deadly disease, nor that he is not their natural child.

Despite the family secrets, young Simón knows the deal. He's being advised by what his parents believe are his "imaginary friends". While Laura at first believes that these consorts are simply the product of a kid's fanciful imagination, she soon suspects that her new living environs harbor some eerie forces. When Simón disappears without a trace, his mother dedicates herself to unlocking the mysteries of the house and its storied history. There are certainly some deftly horrific shots and sequences in El Orfanato. A particular highlight is a creepy costume party that Laura hosts for the arrival of her new wards. However, the narrative is encumbered by a score weighed down by cliché and an ending that is just too sentimentalized for its own good. It's an interesting diversion, but not necessary for your collection.

Matt Reeves, "Cloverfield" (2008).

For the last year or so I've been pining for the release of an intelligent and atmospheric horror movie. That type of product is rarely forthcoming from the American film industry. Hollywood producers seem mostly concerned with establishing a commercially successful franchise that they can ride for several films, building on name recognition and familiarity. Alternatively their product is so chock-full of big budget special effects that there is very little room left for compelling characters or an interesting storyline. Much has been made out of the supposed return to the 70's approach to horror filmmaking. I simply don't see it. Hungry viewers still need to look abroad for quality movies in this genre.

Of course one can always hope. I still scan the Onion A/V Club and Amazon for the latest releases in the theater and on DVD. I'll still pick up a title that shows promise, especially if I need one last movie to get that special deal on previewed discs at Blockbuster or Hollywood Video. I try to pay special attention to what appear to be "indie-films", although marketers have gotten better at exploiting the promise of a "diamond-in-the-rough". Flicks like The Blair Witch Project and Session 9 seemed to pop up out of nowhere, and it seems inevitable that a similar work of art will eventually be made. Generally the less hype associated with a film, the more likely I am to consider watching it. I have high standards.

When Cloverfield was released earlier this year, my interest was piqued. It got a fair amount of positive reviews from the sources I trust. It had a no-name cast and was created by a first-time feature director. Somehow (either because it genuinely was "below-the-radar" or due to the fact that I'm not tuned in to mainstream media) I really didn't know what Cloverfield was supposed to be about. Truthfully, that contributed to my enjoyment of the film. If you haven't yet seen it and think that you might- perhaps you should stop reading now. While the mystery is revealed early enough, it does add something to the experience and the anticipation helps you get through the rather annoying party scenes at the beginning.

Part of the difficulty with a story revolving around the unexplained appearance of a horrendous monster is the distraction that the thing entails. If some monumental creature is attacking NYC, it's going to be awfully difficult for the characters to compete with it. So it's a bit naïve of the director to truly believe he can make the audience care about the players. Still he gamely attempts to bring their personalities and relationships into focus. It's too bad really, because by the time that Reeves introduces his elements of destruction, I'd already come to hate most of the actors. The interactions between them is just too pro forma. This is not a film that works at the level of the individual.

Having said that, Cloverfield does have its entertaining moments. It's main asset is its setting. Manhattan does a yeoman's job of engaging the audience. Obviously the filmmakers have exploited the feelings and memories arising from "the day everything changed". I don't know how 9-11 survivors have reacted to the doomsday scenario of this flick, but I was captivated by the mayhem caused by the monster. It's pretty easy to relate to the panic that ensues when people start feeling trapped on the island. And Cloverfield is kept to a very reasonable 84 minutes (with more than ten of those devoted to the credits). That left its creators free from the onerous tasks of explaining how and why everything happened the way it did. Many thanks are due the editors.

Val Lewton's "Ghost Ship" (1943, d. Mark Robson)

After watching 8/9ths of the Val Lewton box set, I am struck by the realization that the famous producer was making films that went far beyond the ordinary scope of the horror genre. Bedlam was a slice of history, Isle of the Dead had more to do with politics, and his other works all have strains of social commentary interweaving through their plots. Certainly there are elements of suspense and frightful situations in all of Lewton's productions, but the extent to which they are resistant to categorization is striking. There are even some observers who have likened Lewton's style to classic noir, although this is more likely attributable to budget constraints and photographic techniques than anything else.

The Ghost Ship (directed by Lewton favorite, Mark Robson) is an oddity among a string of exceptions that the noted producer delivered to the under-financed RKO studios. It concerns a developing conflict between an experienced ship captain (Richard Dix) and his novice third officer (Russell Wade) while on an overseas commercial voyage. The initial meeting between the seamen is propitious, and it appears that Will Stone (Dix) and Tom Merriam (Wade) are going to get along famously. The eager protege is anxious to profit from the experience and wisdom of his seemingly distinguished elder. Stone tells his young charge that they will have plenty of time to speak with each other during the long journey ahead.

It only takes a few days on board for questions to arise about the management style of Captain Stone. When things go wrong with an unsecured piece of hardware, and lives are unnecessarily put at risk, Officer Merriam begins to question his superior's judgment. He tentatively approaches the Captain, and is convinced that the incident was engineered in order to transmit an important lesson. Having worked his way through the initial doubt, Merriam's respect for Stone is redoubled. He resolves to observe the actions of the Captain closely, with the hopes that he will learn more than he would by merely reacting to events as they occur. Unfortunately, his mind is further troubled by what appears to be the intentional killing of a crew member.

Following a brief period of troubled introspection, Merriam decides to report his concerns to the ultimate authority- a senior agent of the shipping company that he works for. To his chagrin, he discovers that the agent and his Captain are old friends. He then makes the hard choice to quit his position altogether. Still it proves impossible for Merriam to fully extricate himself from the situation, as unlikely circumstances intercede to reverse his escape. Once again on board the ship, he is assured by Captain Stone that the earlier events will not be held against him. Of course this promise is later proven false. Things escalate quickly, and Merriam finds himself completely alone without friends, and stuck on the high seas with a man who clearly wants to exact his revenge.

The conversations between Stone and Merriam throughout The Ghost Ship illuminate two very different understandings of what it means to be an "authority". The Captain clearly believes that his relationship to his crew is that of an absolutely powerful patriarch. Since he is responsible for their lives, he feels the right to dictate the terms of their existences- even to the extent of willful termination. He is immovable in his faith that they will always act upon his orders without questioning him. It's clear that his mental heath has become imperiled during his long career at sea. So he involves Merriam in an experiment that will test the validity of his beliefs. It's clear that the filmmakers are making a crucial point involving both individuality and power. In this respect, The Ghost Ship is as message-oriented as any other Lewton movie. But it still retains enough mystery to qualify as riveting entertainment.

Val Lewton's "Bedlam" (d. Mark Robson-1946)

I'm slowly working my way through the Val Lewton box set I bought in December. Of course nowadays it's become a lot more difficult to get through a feature length movie. Baby E. is still completely unpredictable in his sleeping patterns. But once in awhile I can outlast him, and reclaim my lair downstairs when he goes up to bed. Last night I decided to watch Bedlam (1946), which was directed by Mark Robson and starred Boris Karloff, Anna Lee, and Billy House. It's a period piece about the infamous British insane asylum, set in 1761. Perhaps you have seen William Hogarth's etchings of interior scenes taken straight from the historical Bedlam? From all accounts it seems like it was an extremely horrific place.

Technically the madhouse was named the Bethlem Royal Hospital, and was built in London in 1247 to be used as a priory. It became a hospital in 1330, but it wasn't until 1403 that it first admitted mentally ill patients. Conditions inside were notoriously poor. Although there were less than 30 sick inhabitants at any one time (for the first few hundred years), it was said that simply visiting the place could drive one insane. Even before it was expanded and relocated outside of the city (in 1675), it was known for the excessively cruel treatments keepers inflicted upon the unfortunates who were kept there. In the 18th Century, people were encouraged to go to Bedlam to see the "freaks". This was a popular amusement and visitors actually prodded the "patients" with sticks, inciting them to further paroxysms of madness. On the first Tuesday of every month, admission was free.

The prevailing notion of insanity in those days was that it was caused by "moral weakness". This was ironic given that sightseers were attracted to the spectacle of inmates having sex and engaging in other ferocious physical encounters. Eventually more compassionate minds concerned themselves with improving the plight of the mentally ill, and reforms were put into place to protect their rights. In 1815 Bedlam was moved to Lambeth, where conditions were said to be much improved. There was a great ballroom, a library, and a chapel for patients to enjoy. Those who were lucky enough to be released from the asylum were believed to be licensed as street beggars, although there were many more who claimed this distinction than were actually ever in residence at Bedlam.

Lewton's Bedlam is presided over by Karloff, who represents the type of externally-fawning and internally-raging administrator that must have been particularly hellish for those stuck with him. Ann Lee serves in the court of a nobleman who comes to see a theatrical production starring the patients. Their exploitation is meant for the amusement of the wealthy, and it is clear that the spectators view the performers as little more than animals. Lee finds herself commiserating with the exploited, and seeks a way to help them. She tries to talk her lord (Billy House) into ponying up some money for improvements, but Karloff resists her efforts and eventually finds a way to incarcerate her in Bedlam as a 'patient'. While in this dire predicament, Lee undergoes a radical personality transformation and works to alter the lives of her fellow prisoners.

The setting inside the asylum is shot with dismal lighting, and exudes a filthy menace that is made especially effective through the black-and-white film stock. The roles are all portrayed with competent professionalism, as one might expect in a Lewton film. There are a range of strange and eccentric bit players, and they add to the general atmosphere of the tale and its times. There is a strident message of anti-violence running throughout the movie, embodied in the character of a conscientious Quaker stone mason. It's an interesting story, made especially intriguing by the social commentary at its core. Society was still struggling to provide humane treatments for the mentally ill in 1946. The perspective at the core of Bedlam is that bringing normalization into the lives of those suffering from psychological disorders is the most effective way to stimulate a possible recovery.

Juan Carlos Fresnadillo, "28 Weeks Later" (2007).

I wonder why people watch zombie movies. What is it that attracts people to stories of the walking dead? It's true that I make a point of including them in my broad exploration of the horror genre, but I was never really drawn to them in the first place. Yet they seem somehow indispensable once you have made you way through the haunted houses, ghosts, demonic possessions, slashers, witchcraft, monsters, and mental asylums of the classics. I must admit that since I started watching them, I have identified a select few as worthy recommendations. My favorite zombie movie of all time is Messiah of Evil. It's a lesser known gem with style to spare... call it the art-house zombie flick. I've also been moved by the new wave of fast-moving zombies depicted in the releases of the last few years. While it could arguably be defined as a "plague" or natural disaster film, I was particularly impressed by 28 Days Later.

Directed by Danny Boyle and written by Alex Garland, 28 Days Later (2002) concerned an imaginary "Rage virus" that swept through England, turning ordinary citizens into crazed killers. A small band of survivors attempts to find sanctuary against overwhelming odds. What impressed me about the film was the cinematography and editing. It's pacing was cringe-inducing and the atmospheric panorama shots of a devastated London added a lot to the overall sense of dread. The "zombies" themselves were terrifying, as they appeared to be almost superhuman with reserves of adrenaline that never seemed to be exhausted. They passed on their sickness by overtaking their prey and spewing bodily fluids into any open orifice. Their vacant madness was portrayed so effectively that infection was immediately apparent.

As one might expect, the military eventually gets summoned to deal with the spreading contagion. A lot of difficult choices need to be made concerning who (and when) to kill. Scientists would like to have the opportunity to study a living victim, but having one in the midst of the uninfected is an extremely perilous proposition. By the end of the film, the disease has mostly taken its course, and we have confidence that it has been contained on the island of Great Britain. The methods employed to deal with the social unrest caused by the Rage plague added additional layers of social commentary to the story, and anyone fascinated by governmental responses to crises should be well satisfied by 28 Days later. I have no doubt that people will be watching it decades from now (if they are watching anything at all).

When I heard that there was a sequel in the works, I was immediately skeptical. These follow-ups are generally bleak affairs that merely capitalize on the popularity of their predecessors and introduce very little uniquely compelling material. I had even less interest when I heard that Boyle wouldn't be involved with the film. But then I read that Juan Carlos Fresnadillo (who had directed the promising-but-ultimately-flawed Intacto) was slated to take the helm. This was a good sign. In addition, I read several positive reviews (including one from the Onion A/V Club) that suggested it was worth watching. So I made a point of picking it up and sharing it with a friend who I knew would be interested in seeing it.

As we settled in for the duration, we were drawn in by an anxiety-inducing opening that flashed back to a grisly scene during the initial outbreak. That sets the stage for the premise of 28 Weeks Later. We are brought up to speed concerning the elapsed time between the end of the last movie, and the main setting of the new one. American troops have been installed in London to create and maintain order in an operation of repatriation for 15,000 brave citizens. An area of the city has been cordoned off, leaving a small island of civilization surrounded by acres of waste and destruction. Right off the bat there are obvious parallels to the continuing occupation of Iraq. The US military has every intention of creating a viable new society on the brink of complete and utter ruin.

As one might expect, despite the "best of intentions" there is no way to control all variables of a population with its own agenda. Before long we learn that a carrier has survived the first cycle of the Rage plague. When that individual is introduced into the healthy population, there's a whole new phase of horror ready to unfold. What we get as viewers is another dose of paranoid creeping depression, as we consider what it might be like to find ourselves in the midst of such a scenario. There are no overtly "good"or "bad" characters in this drama. Those types of easy categorizations tend to break down along with the normal conventions when conditions of imminent disaster confront us. Ultimately that might be the most compelling feature of zombie films. The threat is a horde of beings no longer able to make moral distinctions. And even the survivors, when faced with such a breakdown, must revisit their own conceptions of "right" and "wrong". The question is not one merely of survival... but also of the quality of life.

Nicolas Gessner, "The Little Girl Who Lived Down the Lane" (1976)

What was it about the 70's that helped produce such a startling quantity of compelling films? Perhaps it had something to do with the social revolutions of the 60's and the cynicism that resulted when the idealism of those times began to seem naive. A lot of people learned the lesson that absolute beliefs and the black-and-white mentality of the preceding decades were insufficient for a real understanding of modern life. There appears to be a greater sense of relativism in the narratives of the stories presented in the 1970's. This meant that there were very few easy answers to be found in the films of those years, and that there was very little subject matter that was off-limits. Looking back today, these qualities make some of the least known films of that era a lot more interesting than the majority of movies released over the last twenty-five years.

So it's really no surprise anymore when I run across a title from the 70's (that no one's ever heard of) and it ends up being both entertaining and thought-provoking. Such was the case with The little Girl Who Lived Down the Lane, starring a 13-year old Jody Foster. It's a twisted little thriller/mystery that presents an unflinching look at a teenager left completely to her own devices. Rynn (Foster) has moved to a quaintly charming New England town with her father, who has distinguished himself as a successful poet. The pair remains a mystery to the rest of the villagers, as they are rarely seen outside of their house. This suits Rynn just fine, as she is a precociously intelligent and cultured girl. Her poise and maturity belie her young age. In fact, it quickly becomes apparent to the viewer that Rynn is given an extraordinary amount of responsibility for herself and the household. She receives all visitors, and explains that her father is not to be disturbed.

Of course her apparent isolation concerns some "good"citizens and draws the attention of other "not-so-good" folks. She is an easy target for both altruism and exploitation, depending upon one's ability to relate to an adolescent who is clearly advanced beyond her years. The owner of the house Rynn lives in senses that something is amiss in the living arrangements, and resolves to discover the truth. This matronly lady immediately clashes with the spirited and willful girl who challenges her ideas of propriety. The landlady's son (played by Martin Sheen) also makes an appearance that presents its own difficulties. This pervert has his own unwholesome designs and a taste for vulnerable adolescence. Meanwhile there is the town cop and his nephew Mario (Scott Jacoby), who could end up being Rynn's only allies.

The viewer is drawn in by the immediate mysteries of Rynn's absentee father and his daughter's secrets. How has she developed her protective instincts and her ability to look after herself? To what extent is she truly self-reliant and independent? The introduction of Mario allows the audience to slowly get to know these answers, as the two kids develop a bond of trust and affection. But given the categorization of this film, it's easy to predict that there will be no idyllic existence for these young friends. The tension builds as the main threat is identified, and Rynn's back story is told. Director Nicolas Gessner doles out his answers gradually, and keeps his audience engaged. The performances are uniformly excellent and the pacing is lively without becoming harried.

Still the ultimate success of The Little Girl Who Lived Down the Lane is wholly dependent on Foster's ability to convincingly portray her character. Had Rynn been portrayed by a less competent child actor, then the movie may have been a complete disaster. Not surprisingly, considering her other barely-pubescent work (most notably Taxi Driver), Foster carries off her role with tremendous assurance and skill. And she is given a substantial assist by the creepily intense Martin Sheen, who (in my opinion) should have never quit playing villains. He is almost disturbingly effective as a nasty child-molester. He even commits atrocities on Rynn's pet hamster.

There are several astonishing moments in this film that I doubt one would see in today's cinema. Internet ramblings suggest that this is among Foster's least favorite celluloid memories. Evidently she was bothered by the notion that people would believe that she had actually appeared naked on-screen. In reality her character was briefly played by her real-life older sister Connie in that scene. However that fleeting image alone (which actually occurs during a scene of sweet innocence) would have been rewarded with a NC-17 rating today.

Cyril Wecht : Modern -Day "Body Snatcher"?

Pittsburgh has had its share of national figure throughout the years. Most of them have been sports figures, but occasionally someone unrelated to athletics will slip through into wider acclaim. Such is the case with Cyril Wecht, the former Allegheny County Coroner. Wecht first gained widespread prominence as a forensic pathologist when he publicly disputed the findings of the Warren Commission in the wake of the John F. Kennedy assassination. Wecht has served on a number of high-profile cases throughout the last few decades, including examinations into the deaths of Robert F. Kennedy, Sharon Tate, Elvis Presley, JonBenet Ramsey, Vincent Foster, Laci Peterson, Ana Nicole Smith and the Branch Davidians at Waco. Because of this high profile work, Wecht has appeared on television on countless occasions.

In fact Wecht seems to be drawn to the media like a moth is attracted to a bug zapper. Ultimately this may prove to be his "tragic flaw". He is so outspoken that he has developed some very high-profile enemies, and they are coming after him with a vengeance. Still, during his initial tenure as County Coroner (from 1970-1980), he was able to weather plenty of controversy. He was first accused of depositing autopsy fees into a private account in 1979. While he beat that charge in criminal court, he ended up responsible for paying the County $200,000 in a civil settlement. In the 80's the pathologist got himself involved in party politics, and experienced new rounds of criticism and failure. Still Wecht was once again able to assume the County Coroner position, and served in that capacity from 1995 until 2006.

Unfortunately for the soon-to-be-former-coroner, a grand jury indicted him on corruption charges in January of 1996. It is alleged that he used office personnel and property for his own personal gain. Specifically he is accused of instructing all Coroner's Office employees to redirect inquiries about personal autopsy services to his private firm. More damning is the suggestion that Wecht traded bodies he acquired through his public office and traded them for the use of resources and facilities at local Carlow College. Apparently he utilized those gains to further his private operations. When these indictments first came down, Wecht resigned from the Coroner's Office, and his long-held position was officially eliminated. He is currently in trial facing these charges.

His notoriety is really nothing new. The ghoulish nature of his job has made his historical counterparts the target of rumor, innuendo and suspicion. In 1827 the Burke and Hare murders in Edinburgh, Scotland stoked the worst fears of the peasantry and cast a pall over medical science. These two individuals had assumed the task of supplying cadavers to the local medical school for studies in anatomy. There was a need for this in the United Kingdom because of a law that stated that only executed criminals could be dissected. Naturally greed is a strong motivating factor, and when the supply of fresh bodies was exhausted at the graveyard- Burke and Hare decided to start producing their own corpses by killing people.

Val Lewton's film production of the Body Snatcher (1945) examined the phenomena of "resurrectionists" (grave-robbers) and their relation to the medical profession. Robert Wise directed the movie, and its cast included Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi. It's based on the Robert Louis Stevenson book of the same name, and presents a balanced look at the type of gruesome compromises that doctors had to engage in before society realized the value of expanded access to dead people. It's an atmospheric flick with skillful screen-writing, great performances and memorable direction. And of course its extremely timely in conjunction with the Wecht trial. While Wecht is not likely to assume the role of bogeyman to a new generation of children, his purported crimes have resonated with a population understandably wary of folks who play with dead things.

William Friedkin. "Bug" (2006).

It shouldn't come as any surprise that many film critics wrote off the directorial career of William Friedkin in the late 80's. Let's face it- the last movie he made that even attained a measure of cult status was To Live and Die in L.A (1985). This was a long time after he broke out as one among many significant American auteurs, with the undisputed future classics The Exorcist (1973) and The French Connection (1971). Cruising (1980, starring Al Pacino) and Sorcerer (1977, starring Roy Scheider) garnered some interest, but it was pretty clear that Friedkin's star was on the descent. I'm certain that there were a handful of later films that he would now prefer to forget altogether (like Rampage, The Guardian, and Blue Chips). But even if that's not the case, the American public was done with Friedkin long ago.

I imagine that when advanced notice of Bug came out, no one outside of a few friends and relatives of the cast really cared. That's why it is so shocking that Friedkin's latest feature was so distinctive, challenging and polarizing. Who knew that the late-career product of such a has-been would be so effective at generating controversy? Frankly I think a lot of the media and word-of-mouth traction Bug has received was the result of poor marketing. Most people who saw trailers for this film, and noted the cast (including Harry Connick, Jr and Ashley Judd) alongside the title, probably thought they were going to see a modern variation on the classic monster movie genre. That might have been a reasonable expectation, but it was far from the reality.

Bug is based on a successful stage play, and examines the lonely and sordid life of a mother (Judd) who is living in a cheap motel in the middle of nowhere (Oklahoma), after losing her only child. Her only friend RC (a lipstick lesbian, played by the very attractive Lynn Collins) introduces a very strange man into her life when she drops by for a few puffs of some unidentified white-powder-drug. The man (Michael Shannon, who performed the stage role for years) is a soft-spoken enigma, who seems to have gentlemanly manners and a disposition which is simultaneously off-putting and trustworthy. He hasn't had the company of a woman in a long time, but is drawn to something in Ashley Judd's sad little life. Judd has a bit of trouble brewing in the form of her recently released jailbird of an ex-husband (Connick), who she most authoritatively would like to see excised from her life.

So a budding romance begins between two seemingly desperate and pathetic people, and we are happy to see them get one single thing they want out of life. Still, given the disturbing title, we know this isn't a charming love story. It turns out that Shannon has brought something with him, and the questionable discovery of an aphid-like bedbug foreshadows the coming obsessions that will obstruct any potential domestic bliss. What do we actually know about this strange man, who we learn was a gulf war veteran? He's got plenty of exposition for his increasingly odd behavior, and Judd is in no position to get particularly choosy. Like the dream of a train derailment, we feel the force of ill tidings bearing down on the unlikely pair. Naturally things turn out badly, but I'm not going into the details, because that would ruin the fun.

What you should know is that Bug is not a campy popcorn flick (but I wouldn't discount its potential to rightfully assume its place in the "horror" pantheon). It is a serious portrayal of the obsessive paranoia and madness of our times. Friedkin has made such an odd little allegory of the zeitgeist that much of its meaning is going to be completely lost on the audience that ends up viewing it. Alternatively, a group of unconventional film connoisseurs is going to stumble upon it and extol its virtues, giving it an extended life on DVD. Years from now it may even be considered as a representative artifact of the era- much like the Exorcist is now. Regardless, I don't think Friedkin will ever have cause to regret making Bug. Its performances and compelling premise will captivate a select few for a long time.

"Cat People" (1942); "The Curse of the Cat People" (1944)

Several years ago I purchased and watched Paul Schrader's Cat People (1982). The film was a re-make of an earlier classic, and starred Nastassja Kinski and Malcom McDowell. Besides being the daughter of one of the most intense and entertaining actors of all time, there was just something about Kinski that I found titillating. Furthermore I always found watching McDowell compelling as well. Schrader had written what was once my favorite film (Taxi Driver), and the feline themes promised by the title suggested that my enjoyment would be a sure thing. Alas, it didn't meet my expectations. The performances were over-the-top and the writing was sordid and unrealistic. It ended up being little more than an exploitation film. It's visual style aped the times, and the 1980's were notorious for an abundance of cheesy aesthetics. Despite all it had in its favor, the Cat People re-make ended up being a failure.

I didn't know what to expect from the original Cat People (1942). It was made by French director Jacques Tourneur (Night of the Demon, Out of the Past) and produced by Val Lewton. The latter was a writer/producer for RKO studios, and became known and respected for making a series of horror/suspense films that retained a high level of quality, despite being made with very low budgets. Had he not died of a heart attack in his 40's, he may have gone on to widespread acclaim. As it is, many film buffs recognize his place among more conventional film legends. Somehow his movies transcended the naive simplicity of many of the entries in the developing horror genre. I'll reserve my judgment until I get through the entire Lewton box set that I ordered recently, but my initial impression is that his reputation is well-deserved.

Cat People is centered on the burgeoning romantic relationship between a ship designer (Oliver, played by Kent Smith) and a Serbian immigrant (Irena, portrayed by Simone Simon). Oliver quickly overcomes Irena's resistance to forming a romantic attachment, and they get married, but there are stormy times ahead for the couple. It turns out that Irena suffers from some psychological malaise that makes her believe that whenever she is moved by passion, she transforms into a panther. Apparently her superstition (?) involves the folk mythology endemic to the little village where she was born. Despite Oliver's patience with his reticent wife, the obstacle becomes insurmountable when a co-worker (Alice, played by Jane Randolph) expresses her undying love for him. Therein lies the conflict that drives the plot toward its inevitable end.

Lewton (who penned the script) has obviously set up a metaphor for the fear many naive young women had about sex and marriage at a time when these issues weren't openly discussed. Animalistic attraction was seen as potentially destructive, and to be avoided at all costs. Unfortunately for those movie-goers seeking enlightenment regarding this touchy subject, such fears turn out (in this film) to be justified. Despite the presence of a grounding presence in the form of an amorous psychologist, things turn out quite badly for Irena. Meanwhile Ollie and new love interest Alice escape relatively unscathed. Or do they?

Cat People was followed up by The Curse of the Cat People (1944), a film directed ably by Robert Wise. Truthfully, I watched the sequel with apprehension. Was it really necessary to return to the flimsy pretext of the earlier story? It turned out that my reservations were unjustified. The Curse does indeed pick up with Ollie and his (now) suburb-entrenched family, but the "cat people" are really nowhere to be found. The tale here concerns Ollie's daughter Amy (Ann Carter), a dreamy child whose isolation inspires her to create an imaginary friend. Plenty of kids have resorted to this companionship throughout the ages. But Amy's visions bring back the ghost of Irena. This obviously becomes problematic for her father, who we are told has never quite gotten over that tragic business with his ex-wife. Meanwhile there is an unrelated subplot examining the strange relationship between a mother-daughter pair that live down the block.

Despite the return of several central characters, The Curse of the Cat People is thematically quite different from its predecessor. In some ways they are sort of diametrically opposed. For if Irena's obsession with myth keeps her from developing the human contacts that might ultimately save her, Amy's dream-life redeems not only her loneliness- but also her relationship with her dad. In this way the function of fantasy is rehabilitated. It's a strange turn when taken in context with the lessons of Cat People. Perhaps the two films share the message that the supernatural is only disregarded at one's peril. Sometimes our inner lives are overtaken by strange ideas and unlikely beliefs. But no matter how unscientific or irrational they seem to others, these shadowy undercurrents effect us in undeniable ways. They might threaten our existence, but alternatively they might make us whole.

George Barry, "Death Bed- The Bed That Eats" (1977)

What type of expectations would you have for a movie called Death Bed- The Bed That Eats? That has to be one of the silliest titles in modern cinema. If you do a little surfing, no doubt you can find some other ridiculously-named movies- Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death, Bubba Ho-tep, Coyote Ugly and Braveheart were all actual movie names in the past, and reinforce the point that there's no accounting for personal tastes. The truth of the matter is that while certain words are going to be an instant turn-off for some audiences, they are going to necessarily appeal to another group. I wouldn't see a flick called Attack of the 60 Foot Centerfolds, but (believe me) there is a demographic out there that would trip over their own feet on the way to the theater to see it.

So is it really so surprising that I bought Death Bed? If you know my tastes, you are already aware that they I tend to favor the macabre. Additionally, I am constantly seeking out buried obscure treasures to share with others. This movie is one of the lesser known entries in the horror genre. Its creation was begun by George Barry in 1972, and only finished five years later. Not surprisingly the finished product failed to find a large distribution. The director himself fully expected his work to fade into obscurity, and that's exactly what happened. Barry claims that he even forgot about it until he happened to stumble across mention of it on an internet message board in 1997. Apparently it had been pirated and released in several European countries. Realizing its potential, DVD distributor Cult Epics gave it a long-awaited video release in 2004. Now everyone can revel in its glories.

I really had no idea what to expect from the film. Having come across reviews of it on IMDB, I was intrigued by the possibility that I could be missing out on something good (or at least extremely wierd). What seemed like the equivalent of online whisperings was enough to compel me to seeek it out. In truth Death Bed is a unique work, if largely uneven. How would you present a man-eating bed? Barry seems to have hit on the ingenious idea of a vast pit that swallows the hapless victim, as he/she sinks through the covers and into its stomach. It's not especially clear where this pit exists in time and space, because its full dimensions are not shown and the bed's frame is off the floor. But when a yellow foam starts to appear on the surface of the bedspread, the viewer knows that something is about to get devoured.

The method of killing is not the only offbeat element in this film. From start to finish, we see some absurd and surreal stuff. The demon-bed seems to have been able to imprison an early victim, confining him to a space in the wall behind a crude portrait of itself. This guy constitutes the glue of the story, as he serves as narrator. He watches the proceedings hunched up in his little prison, and recounts the history of mayhem that the bed has unleashed in the past. Whatever exposition Barry has decided to serve up comes from this strange presence. From the beginning, we quickly realize that the thread of the plot is going to be woven very loosely throughout. There are strange sounds and inarticulate exclamations coming from the bed as it is apparently prone to indigestion.

I was impressed by the variety of death scenes presented in Death Bed. You'd think that the possibilities would be very limited (considering the relative lack of dynamism of the monster), but a surplus of dark humor keeps things interesting. The camerawork is uneven, the lighting poor, the editing suspect, the performances barely competent, and the dialogue alternatively pretentious and laughable... yet somehow there is entertainment to be had in watching this odd little film. It's evident that Barry was working with an extremely low budget (which could explain the distracting discontinuity of the settings), but he had no shortage of unaccountable imagination. And it would be unfair to hold this film to the standards of serious criticism.

If you were expecting a film called Death Bed- The Bed That Eats to make sense, then your own rationality should probably be called into question. If anything this is a "How-To" movie- demonstrating how (over time and with the perspective gained from the intervening years) an absolutely retarded premise can be transformed into a cult favorite.

Sidney Furie, "The Entity" (1981).

During the lead-up to Halloween, both M. and I believe it's only appropriate to watch as many "scary movies" as we have time for. Sadly I am quickly running out of quality horror that we haven't already seen. Although it's always an option to choose from among the numerous titles we have previously watched, there is just something special about seeing one for the first time. The fear of the unknown is a dominant factor in the horror genre, and that means that most of these films are going to lose their impact upon repeat viewings. For the last couple of years I've collected anything along these lines that looked decent- most of what is left falls into the "B-movie" or low budget categories. I still have a lot of movies that were bundled into public domain packages, but many of these approach the unwatchable.

We did find The Entity sitting shrink-wrapped upon the shelf. The packaging made M. think that it was going to be especially frightening, so it seemed like the right selection. Sidney Furie has what is probably the best name for a director in this genre. Still I was completely unfamiliar with his work, besides whatever reviews I had previously read for this very film. It got mildly positive notices, so I had some reason to believe we'd enjoy it. With all the lights off and the volume high, we settled in with high hopes. It didn't take long to show its colors. Lead actress Barbara Hershey is quickly assaulted by an unseen presence. What could be ridiculous if accompanied by poor acting and bad effects was remarkably convincing. The brutal violence of the attack set us immediately on edge.

As the story progresses and the attacks continue, Hershey is finally convinced to seek outside help. While she is the only one to witness the activity of "the entity", her friends and family come to the conclusion that she is suffering from mental illness. Her visits to a psychiatrist (Ron Silver) seem to reinforce this viewpoint. Yet she continues to field visitations, and eventually her kids experience the phenomena firsthand. Her willingness to accept that these events are generated inside herself slowly dissipates, and she is forced to seek help from unconventional sources. This sets off a conflict between the establishment (represented by Silver) and the seemingly suspect academic world of parapsychology. Slowly other people in Hershey's life come to accept the truth of her reports. In the face of direct observation, it is hard to deny the reality of the situation.

What makes The Entity seem vaguely ridiculous is the lengths that paranormal researchers go to document the mystery. It's understandable that these folks would want to validate their work, but the extent to which they are allowed to pursue their experiments strains all credibility. It's fairly obvious that they are exploiting Hershey's sufferings, but she is so desperate that she will submit to extreme lengths to regain control over her life. The interactions between her and "the entity" are (after all) marked by sexual violence, and thus constitute a deep threat to her physical and emotional well-being. The various reactions people have to her plight are portrayed convincingly with the help of excellent perfomances all around.

Most intriguing of all is that its filmmakers claim that The Entity is a fictionalized version of actual events. Viewed in that light, it is quite entertaining to try to separate the embellishments from what could be the historical record. Much of the film is wholly unbelievable. But that's not to say that it's a waste of time. The scenes featuring the effects of "the entity" are quite well done and convincing during the first half of the movie. They are accentuated by odd camera angles in the interim. The resulting effect is the production of viewer disorientation and a high level of sustained anxiety. It's only when the cheesy light effects are introduced that it all seems a bit laughable- as if we stumbled into Spencer Gifts at the mall, or a concert featuring a bad 80's hair-band. Had Furie more confidence in his material and the audience- he might have been able to evoke a creepy fascination in this unusual story. As it is, The Entity remains an offbeat curiosity.

Cinematic Trick or Treat- Part 2.

Five more films for October. Continued from Part 1.

6. Suspiria- (1977. dir. Dario Argento) There is just no one in the world that can make a bloody and violent murder into a piece of fine art like Argento. This entire film exudes high style. Enjoy the breath-taking sets, the mad colors of the décor, the architecture and the collection of fascinatingly quirky actresses. Don’t pay too much attention to the plot, but rather let the extraordinarily eerie atmosphere wash over you. The creativity exhibited in some of the death sequences approaches Rube Goldberg-like magic. And the electronic score by Goblin is simply the most effective soundtrack ever paired with horror imagery. Only by watching Suspiria can you possibly understand why Argento is internationally known as a master of the genre.

7. Terror Train- (1980. dir. Roger Spottiswood) I had to include this obscure little nasty. This is the one that gave me nightmares for years during my youth. A college fraternity decides to rent a train for an unusual Halloween costume party. But karma is riding along with them, and they face payback for a maliciously cruel hazing incident in the past. The enjoyment comes with trying to guess the identity of the killer, because this train’s not making any stops along the way. What could have been an incredibly cheesy movie is elevated by the professional cast, including Jamie Lee Curtis, Ben Johnson, and David Copperfield (?!). Test your detective skills and try to solve this one… or just go along for an atmospheric ride.

8. The Shining- (1980. dir. Stanley Kubrick) I’m not a fan of Stephen King, but Kubrick’s take on this tale is sublime. There is no comparable examination of one man’s fictional descent into madness to rival The Shining. This was surely the role Jack Nicholson was born to play, and Shelley Duvall’s odd appearance fits perfectly as his significant other. But as in Session 9, the main star here is the building itself- in this case a sprawling resort hotel. In any other location, the events wouldn’t be nearly as scary. Kubrick also make excellent use of flashbacks and visions, especially as witnessed by a frenetic Duvall. Glimpses of blood-dripping fangs, creepy twin girls, and a cascade of blood accentuate the gloom.

9. Race with the Devil- (1975. Jack Starrett) Can the horror genre be scary and fun? I offer this entry for your edification. It’s got everything- incredible death-defying car chases, human sacrifice, motocross bikes, black magick rituals, dog mutilation, and a 70’s style R.V. with all the “modern “ trimmings. And its director went on to make several Dukes of Hazzard episodes. The cast includes Peter Fonda, Warren Oates, Loretta Swit (M.A.S.H.), and Lara Parker (Dark Shadows) and a host of memorably menacing southerners. So what qualifies this as a true horror movie? Imagine getting lost on the way to your vacation only to discover that everyone along the way seems out to get you. Now add snakes.

10. Black Christmas- (1974. dir. Bob Clark) Soon enough the season will turn once again. The snow will fall, and people will dig in for the hibernation of winter. Perhaps you won’t be mollified by the idea of sitting through Scrooge or Rudolph specials this year. Get a head start on the holidays by watching Black Christmas. This gem preceded the slasher glories that would mark the 70’s as a particularly bloody time at the theater. The members of a college sorority are preparing to head home for Xmas vacation, but some of the girls are turning up dead or simply disappearing. Tension and paranoia increase as the leftovers await their appointment with the mystery killer. Performances by Olivia Hussey, Margot Kidder, Keir Dullea and John Saxon make this one not to miss.



I actually had some difficulty narrowing my list down to a mere ten selections. There are many horror films I’ve found worthwhile. If you are looking for more mellow fare, try finding some of the many fine movies made by Hammer Films Studio in England. Or maybe you’d prefer the twisted psychological stuff? In that vein, pretty much anything by David Cronenberg will fit the bill (my favorites are Videodrome (1983), The Brood (1979), Dead Ringers (1988) and Naked Lunch (1991)).

If you’ve seen many of the ones I’ve listed, and want some additional suggestions, try the following… Burnt Offerings (1976), Wendigo (2001), Blair Witch Project (1999), Cube (1997), May (2002), The Descent (2005), Dog Soldiers (2002), Wait Until Dark (1967), Mothman Prophecies (2002), In the Mouth of Madness (1995), When a Stranger Calls (1989), When a Stranger Calls Back (1993), The Vanishing (1988), Carnival of Souls (1962), The Others (2001)...

Cinematic Trick or Treat- Part 1.

October is here, and that means my favorite holiday is quickly approaching. There’s nothing better than to get all nice and cozy in the TV room as the temperatures and leaves fall, and watch some spooky films. Over the years there have been literally thousands of horror films, ranging from Abbot and Costello features to the latest “slasher-doll” direct-to-video monstrosity. With the vast quantity of choices, how does one make a choice? I’ve seen hundreds of these movies and I’ve researched countless more, so indulge me in my efforts to present a short list of recommendations.

1. Session 9 – (2001. dir. Brad Anderson) Before going on to make the higher profile Machinist, the director made this straight-to-video gem starring David Caruso, Steven Gevedon and the very underrated Peter Mullan. It’s the story of a group of asbestos removal contractors who are tasked with cleaning up an old abandoned mental institution. The building itself is a character in the plot, and it is absolutely creepy. This is the type of film that delivers its scares in a subtle way, so that you are not quite sure what you are looking at. The film isn’t jam-packed with gore, but I would keep the younger members of the family away. It’s nightmare-inducing.

2. The Sentinel – (1977. dir. Michael Winner) Something is calling to Alison Parker (Cristina Raines), a fashion model aiming to seize a measure of independence before getting engaged. This flick takes place in NYC, and features some pimped out clothing designs and a jarring film score. There’s a bit of a detective subplot, as the boyfriend (Chris Sarandon) tries to figure out what is wrong with Alison. File this one in with the religious horror genre (Exorcist, Roesemary’s Baby). Look for cameos by Tom Berenger, Christopher Walken, and Jeff Goldblum. But be prepared for a harrowing ending employing some of the most unique faces you’ve ever seen.

3. Messiah of Evil- (1973. dir. Willard Huyck) I’m not usually a fan of zombie films. But there is just so much 70’s-era pimpin’ style floating out of this low budget art flick that I simply can’t resist. Also referred to as Dead People, this was made by the creative team that would contribute their efforts to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and Howard the Duck. You’d never know it by some of the inventive set pieces in this work. I guarantee that certain images will recur in your mind after seeing Messiah of Evil- especially in a grocery store or theater. You’ll probably want to watch this multiple times, in order to properly enjoy all the macabre details that were so lovingly included.

4. The Thing – (1982. dir. John Carpenter) No doubt some purists blanched when they heard the plans Carpenter had for a remake of the 1951-classic, The Thing From Another World. But the young director had already weaved horror gold with Halloween (1978), so those in the know waited with anticipation. They weren’t disappointed when Carpenter’s study of extreme paranoia at the South Pole was released. Amazingly gory animatronics merely accentuated the true genius of the plot. There are only so many men on the isolated base, and someone is making folks dead- who could it be? Kurt Russell and Wilfred Brimley are among the cast, trying to figure it out.

5. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre – (1974. dir. Tobe Hooper) Certainly I’m talking about the original here. There was never any need to remake this masterpiece. It’s an obvious choice for its terrifying mix of threatening backwoods cretins and sheer insanity. From the set-up scene where the kids pick up what turns out to be the most normal member of the family… to the dinner table scene that clearly demonstrates the old adage (the family that plays together, stays together), this film is absolutely relentless. It’s said that the story is based upon the life of notorious killer Ed Gein, and while the resemblance is only minimal- the hint that such a homestead awaits you the next time you get lost in the backcountry is frightening. My personal highlight is a long close-up shot of a victim’s tormented eyes. The abrasive soundtrack deserves accolades as well.

To be continued...

Neil Marshall, "The Descent" (2005).

If you have ever seen Dog Soldiers, the action-horror flick released in 2002, then you know that English director Neil Marshall understands what true terror consists of. In that movie, a squad of national guardsmen encounter strange and violent beasts that hearken back to the tales of medieval werewolves. However, these monsters were created by modern-day man in order to serve as almost indestructible soldiers on the battlefield. Like most weapons devised by warmongers, they present an indiscriminate danger to people regardless of whether their targets are the enemy or merely civilians. The high speed camera work and fast-paced editing made watching Dog Soldiers an incredibly tense experience. There is an increasing audience for such unrelenting cinema among contemporary horror aficionados. For many folks the movie established Marshall as someone to watch.

Although he has been lumped in with other current directors (Rob Zombie, Alexandre Aja, James Wan, etc.) who have been credited with bringing about a renaissance in horror, Marshall's work doesn't quite have the torture-porn component evident in the films of (what's being referred to) as the "Splat Pack". He certainly knows his way around a bit of gore, but he demonstrates more understanding of the subtleties of film making that can make the elements that are unseen even more frightening than what is thrown in the audience's collective face. Marshall's latest film, The Descent (2005), is a perfect example of what I'm talking about.

The Descent follows a group of adventure-loving women, and their decision to go spelunking in an uncharted cave system. The six young lasses, all of which are very pretty in their own unique physical ways, are connected through their associations to lead characters Juno (Natalie Jackson Mendoza) and Sarah (Shauna Macdonald). The latter has recently lost her husband and child in a gruesome car accident, and she is attempting to use a strenuous outdoor challenge to move on emotionally. Juno is the main instigator of the trip, and presents a fiercely strong-willed and authoritative presence. She also harbors a deep secret that could potentially split the cohesion of the group. Their entrance into the cave itself, along with the subsequent events, demonstrates that Juno's confident presence may mask deeper insecurities and personality flaws not immediately evident.

The psychological undercurrents of the principals aren't particularly unique from those we've seen in other horror films, but they are convincing enough to keep us engaged, and make us empathetic about the characters' fates. Ultimately it's not the depth of characterization that makes a Neil Marshall movie compelling. It's his exceptional skill in creating an atmosphere and mood of extreme anxiety that keeps us interested. The cinematography of The Descent exacerbates the natural feelings of paranoia and claustrophobia that most normal human beings have while crawling through caves on their stomachs. I know these reactions personally because I've been caving. Getting stuck between immovable rocks when you are a mile beneath the earth's surface, and facing the possibility of losing the battery power of whatever illumination device you carried in with you, is frightening in a way very little else could be.

Add a pack of humanoid cave-dwelling mutants to the ordinary terrors of spelunking, and you now have one of the worst nightmares that I can imagine. You have to give credit to Marshall- his monsters are notoriously cringe-inducing, yet have the merest hint of credibility that suggests that you might actually run into them in an oddly parallel universe. He makes great use of the technique of limited exposure to their horror, as the first three quarters of the movie progresses. The protagonists become vaguely aware of their presence- just enough so that they could either be a foreboding reality or just figments of the imagination. And Marshall has the good sense to film these creatures in the darkness, so that you can't get desensitized to them. Even the sequences of extreme violence are shot in an impressionistic manner, so that you aren't quite sure how deadly they might turn out to be. That adds an element of realism to the proceedings because in the flurry of a sudden struggle in the darkness you wouldn't have a clear impression of what was happening to you.

One aspect of The Descent that has been widely commented on is the way it's concluded. Without spoiling the fun, I have to mention that there is just enough ambiguity included to make the viewer second guess his/her perceptions. I think that's perfectly appropriate in a story that concerns itself with an exploration into the deepest parts of its main characters' psyches. The entire setting encapsulates an obvious metaphor that is ignored only at the expense of the viewer's understanding of the events on-screen.

MTV's Fear Series

It's surprising just how far behind I find myself when it comes to popular culture. Not having cable television constitutes a huge handicap, and I often discover things several years after they were first released. I suppose I prefer it that way, because I don't get sucked in by marketers bent on selling products to "my demographic". Instead of being force-fed entertainment, I generally make my own way around the mediasphere. So in some ways, YouTube was designed for me. It's a self-directed portal that accommodates serendipity. Last night I found myself sitting in front of the computer with a snack, aimlessly surfing, and I came across a video titled "Fear- West Virginia Penitentiary (Part 1/7)". Naturally I tuned in and discovered that it was an episode of a strange reality TV/game show that once aired on MTV. I had some vague memory of a friend of mine telling me that he once worked on such a series. Given the setting and the personal connection, I decided to give the show a try.

MTV's Fear series (2000) worked like this- the producers would choose six participants (generally from the X- Generation) and they'd send them to some creepy locale. The contestants would be expected to spend a couple nights at the place, and fulfill a series of challenges. If they stayed the entire time and completed their dares they would be awarded $3000 (a seemingly paltry reward, in retrospect). If, on the other hand, they chickened out- they had to leave with nothing at all for their time and efforts. The show was sold as a cross between an extreme sport and a scientific examination into paranormal activity. These kids would enter the site alone, with (allegedly) no cameramen or crew. They were outfitted with vests that included attached night-vision cameras with spotlights. Both the setting and their reactions to it were recorded.

The premise of the show was immediately appealing to me. Whether or not each (or any) spot lived up to its billing as a "haunted location", the idea of being compelled to stay in such a modern-day ruin does lend itself to chilling and foreboding feelings. Over the years I have sought out these types of settings and have explored them voluntarily, with no hope of recompense other than personal experience. But then again, I like those spooked out feelings. I'm not sure why and I don't feel any pressure to fret about that fact. For some reason I enjoy mysterious and/or scary phenomena. So not only was I a bit envious of the participants getting the opportunity to explore, I was also taking it for granted that watching the show wouldn't have much affect on me. That ended up being a mistake.

You see, I have toured the abandoned prison in Moundsville. I know firsthand just how oppressive its halls and rooms can be. There is certainly something that works on the darker parts of your psyche when you experience such a place. What I felt was obviously ameliorated by both having a guide and taking the tour in the daytime. I can only imagine what I could have projected onto the surroundings had I been alone and in the dark. Some of the tasks the contestants were asked to perform were especially frightening. One young guy had to walk through a series of pitch black chambers, and squeeze down a narrow passage, only to enter a barred room and have to remove a cover from a piece of furniture. Even on my computer monitor the prospect of touching that tarp was daunting. Similarly the fear elicited by having to spend 15 minutes in the deep darkness of a large graffiti-covered basement corridor (that was notorious for violent assaults) was palpable.

Observing these kids with their extreme psychological reactions to this environment actually induced tension. While it may have been easy to believe that I could have handled their challenges with stony composure, I likewise realized that it was easy to cultivate that attitude from the comfort of my own library. I'm not foolish enough to think that I could accurately predict how I would act in their situations. Part of the reason for this is that I have been in similar places, albeit often in the presence of friends who I could count on. Regardless there is not much scarier than the unknown... and if you have the slighest doubt about the existence of malevolent forces that may possess such abandoned and forlorn buildings... then a few hours in the presence of that doubt might prove enlightening.

Lucky McKee, "The Woods" (2006)

Every once in awhile a new American filmmaker hits the scene, and horror fans nationwide proclaim the emergence of a future star. In 2002, California-native Lucky McKee released May- a nasty little flick (with an initially limited theatrical release) that captivated viewers with its low budget creativity. It featured female lead Angela Bettis, who proved more than capable of portraying a socially maladaptive young woman with psychopathic tendencies. The depiction of a budding love affair between an unsuspecting mechanic and a highly disordered victim of childhood abuse struck chords with an audience eager for an obscure cult hit. It gained notoriety following its video and DVD release. While McKee claimed to have been inspired by Martin Scorcese's Taxi Driver and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, May was a breath of fresh air for those left frustrated and numb by Hollywood remakes and sequels. Mckee was heralded for his quirky and original script, as well as his deft touch as director.

In fact Lucky McKee was recognized by the horror film cognoscenti, and was rewarded with the opportunity to make an episode of Masters of Horror. While his selection among such genre masters as John Carpenter, Dario Argento , Tobe Hooper and Stuart Gordon stunned some observers, his fans believed that he would inevitably fulfill his great promise. His entry(Sick Girl) is said to be an homage to David Cronenberg, and includes a nasty insectoid monster wreaking gory havoc in an apartment building. I haven't seen it, and I most likely never will. But the ratings were mildly favorable and Mckee's star continued to rise. He went on to star in Roman- a film for which he both wrote the script and played the lead role. For that project he turned the directorial reins over to Angela Bettis.

Despite his growing fame, McKee had not yet released a feature length follow-up to his startling debut. Some now began to suspect that he was a one-hit wonder. But unbeknownst to the masses, the director had already completed The Woods for United Artists. Unfortunately the film was shelved when Metro Goldwyn bought UA, and it sat without an official release date for three whole years. Finally it was put out on DVD and video, and mostly remained unnoticed. I hadn't even realized that it existed until I randomly discovered it on Amazon. The few reviews that were posted seemed intriguing enough for me to pick it up, and I looked forward to finding some time to watch it.

Last night seemed like an appropriate opportunity to watch a spooky horror flick. The temperature had dropped with Autumn's first approach, suggesting an eerie moodiness. M. had no idea what we'd be watching, and from the very first images we knew we were in for a chilling ride. The setting is a girl's boarding school in 1965. The facility was built in the late 1800's, and sits in what should be a pleasantly bucolic wooded setting. But there is something about the atmosphere of the old stone building, and the forest surrpounding it, that unsettles lead character Heather Fasulo (played aptly by Agnes Bruckner). Heather was forced to come to the school by circumstances largely of her own creation, and resents her mother for not allowing her to stay at home. The all-female staff, led by headmistress Ms. Traverse (Patricia Clarkson), works to overcome Heather's resistance through a strategy of stern guidance.

The girls that make up the student body are largely unwelcoming, and Heather casts her lot with another outcast. Even beyond the mundane bullying of snotty blonde Samantha (Rachel Wise), there's obviously something afoot at the school. The girls are warned to stay out of the woods, the staff is adamant that the students drink their milk, and people are disappearing. Of course we are meant to wonder who is responsible for the strange occurrences, and it really isn't that difficult to figure it out. Frankly, the plot is not one of the main assets of The Woods. If you want to enjoy the film, you must suspend your disbelief. And even then you have to be forgiving of some of the cheesier effects that appear repeatedly. Having said that... if you can focus on the performances of the cast and the creepy charms of the setting- you will probably enjoy watching the madness enfold.

While The Woods delivers more charms than you'd expect from the typical straight-to-video thriller, I was struck by how derivative it is. McKee's choice to include Bruce Campbell in a work that blatantly rips off Evil Dead is telling. Additionally, there is no doubt in my mind that McKee is a big fan of genuine "Master of Horror" Dario Argento. This is almost a loose remake of Suspiria. Yet whereas that classic shares a certain shabbiness of plot with The Woods, it more than compensates with its incredible aesthetics, cinematography, set design, score and editing. McKee's film is simply entertaining.

What Can We Learn From Zombies?

When it comes to movies, I've never hidden the fact that I am a horror fan. Throughout my extensive collection of DVD and video, there are many classics within the genre. But until recently I haven't made much of an effort to collect zombie-themed fims. Perhaps that's because I really didn't enjoy George Romero's Night of the Living Dead (1968). For most zombie-lovers, that's a rite of passage. I mostly found the movie boring. The undead generally move so slow that I believe I'd have no problem getting away from them. I didn't care about any of the characters and most of the film was contained to one or two sets. Maybe if I went back and watched it again, I could appreciate whatever others see in it. In the meantime I've started given other entries in this sub-genre a chance.

As soon as I saw the trailer for 28 Days Later (2002), I knew I'd see it someday. Director Danny Boyle had made Trainspotting, so I expected his journey into more classical horror would be stylish and compelling. For some purists 28 Days Later wasn't even a zombie film. Technically it is more accurately characterized as an infectious disease film. Despite the source of the demented mob's behavior, the affected folks sure acted like traditonal zombies. There was (of course) one notable exception- they moved super-fast. Indeed it was their improved locomotor abilities that made the plight of the protagonists almost unbearably horrific. However you characterized those crazed and rampaging hordes, there's no doubt that other filmmakers took note of them. Last year I had a look at the remake of the Dawn of the Dead (2004). Lo and behold, Zack Snyder made one huge deviation from the Romero version... he made the zombies fast.

Regardless of how a particular creator conceives of the physical aspects of monsters, I'm usually more fascinated by other aspects of the stories they inhabit. I suspect that many folks are looking specifically at the special effects, the gore and/or the make-up. For me, there are two aspects of filmmaking that I am particularly interested in when I watch horror films. It's important that the settings are suitably creepy and creatively shot, and there needs to be an intriguing story beneath the spectacle of the horror. Messiah of Evil (1973) is a good example of a film that excels at the first, and adequately meets the second requirement (have a look at a previous blog post wherein I described the film). This is the one that made me reconsider my rejection of the entire subgenre. It is one of those obscure gems that forces you to share it with your friends.

In fact there are many zombie films that people commonly point to when it comes to the evocation of mood. Obviously Romero's works are often cited. But each individual fan will be able to name a few of their lesser-known favorites. Dead and Buried, Dead Alive, Re-Animator, The Blind Dead Trilogy, and Shockwaves are all among the many films regularly argued to be among the best of the category. Yet I find that the most fascinating component of the subgenre is the various devices by which people transform into the walking dead in each of these films. Is it the result of an ancient curse, a sinister plot, an aforementioned virus, weather conditions, or planetary alignment? The filmmakers themselves express a lot about their perceptions and values by the methods by which they turn their hapless performers into zombies.

Last night M. and I watched Jorge Grau's Let the Sleeping Corpses Lie (1975). Grau was obviously concerned with ecological issues long before "going green" became a fashion trend. In his tale of re-animation, a piece of agricultural machinery is to blame. Somewhere in the pastoral English countryside, a farmer has agreed to test a new technology. Radioactive waves are being emitted to tweak the nervous systems of insect pests, so that they attack and kill each other. Unfortunately the wide-ranging effects of the equipment have been underestimated. Beneath the shock and violence of the film, Grau is asking if humanity isn't constantly creating new problems for itself. If the end of the movie is any indicator, the director is pessimistic about our chances of recovery and/or restraint.

Wolf Rilla, "Village of the Damned" (1960)

Something strange is about to happen in a sleepy little town of Midwich, which is located in the English countyryside. People will begin abruptly to faint and collapse to the ground. It doesn't matter who they are, or what they are doing. In a matter of seconds there won't be a single conscious inhabitant of the town. It won't take too long before an outsider initiates an investigation of the situation. The only problem will be that anyone who steps into the village in search of an answer is destined to become an instant victim. Quite predictably the military will be summoned to deal with the problem.

This is how the 1960 film "Village of the Damned" starts. But the horror of the story lies not in the initial collapse of all the townspeople- but rather what apparently happened to them as they rested in repose. Because they did inevitably wake up again, feeling a bit cold but otherwise fine. However mysterious their separation from the rest of the world was, they didn't seem the worse for wear. Perhaps it was all just an anomaly that they could put to permanent rest? Unfortunately it didn't turn out that way. After a month or so had passed since the incident, the women of the village became pregnant. This in itself would cause no wonder if certain of these ladies didn't claim to have their viginity intact. Meanwhile some of the village husbands eyed their wives with suspicion. What exactly is the meaning of this mass visitation by the proverbial flock of storks?

As these babies grow (and they do so at a preternatural rate), certainfolks around town quickly discover that they are far from normal. Although considered "perfect" in form and development, they have a very strange look in their eyes. And to add another element of creepiness, they are all blondes. Their mental functions also seem to be advanced, even beyond that of their accelerated physical growth. The "father" of one of the boys eventually discerns that whatever task one kid learns- they all know. In addition they have the uncannily annoying ability to read the minds of both adults and other children. The twelve extraordinary children spend all there time among one another, and act for the protection of the group. They cut a strange sight in their eerily matched costumes. When one hapless townsperson accidently hurts one of the towheaded monsters, we learn that they actually have the ability to compel "normal" folks to hurt themselves.

Of course the plot arc requires these children to become both progressively powerful, and at the same time increasingly threatening. The menace they present to the village is only equaled by the scientific curiosity they elicit in the town's authorities. What to do about these ghastly tykes? Is it morally right just to destroy them? The father mentioned above assumes the responsibility of teaching the dastardly dozen . But he is unable to stem the advance of their dominance. Ultimately, he must take matters into his own hands to resolve the situation. How can he resolve his inner conflict and do what must be done? You'll have to watch to find out.

Some viewers of Village of the Damned consider it a political Cold War allegory. Perhaps the groupthink and foreign qualities of the strange kids reflect the ways that the Western world viewed their communist adversaries. However, it should be noted that another pod of freaky children was born in the Soviet Union (according to the movie), and the way they were dealt with would seem to give the lie to this particular parallel. Anyway as an entertaining diversion, it is an unqualified success. Its running time is tight, and the sight of those silken-haired little homunculi is truly fear-inducing.

Bob Balaban, "Parents" (1989)

The idea of making a vegetarian horror film might seem silly on its surface. After all, what's so scary about meat? Many in the United States consume it daily. Do you get flashes of flesh-eating zombies when you watch your grandmother sit down to a steak at Ponderosa? No, the carnivorous lifestyle is something many of us take for granted. Certainly there is ample conditioning in American society directed at creating an arbitrary detachment between the idea of food and its actual source. How often have you ever sat with a Slim Jim in your hand, pondering the origination of that delectable matter?

But on the other hand, every horror movie could be loosely defined as a vegetarian's nightmare. All that blood and gristle being splattered is merely one or another form of "meat". It is fairly well understood by anyone who understands the concept of suspension of disbelief that many gore effects employ a wide range of animal tissue. Indeed many of the entries of the genre serve to remind us that we are indeed ultimately "meat". It's for that reason I think this type of entertainment is edifying. So I reserve a special category of respect for director Bob Balaban and his efforts in truly driving the notion home. Have a look at his feature Parents, and I'm confident that you'll see what I mean.

Parents concerns the shifting perceptions of a young boy (named Michael, and played competently by Bryan Madorsky) coming to grips with his growing awareness of the nature of adult life. His folks (Randy Quaid and Mary Beth Hurt) have just moved him to a new town, and the strange surroundings cause him to re-evaluate his relationship to the world. Mom and Dad become increasingly concerned about the difficulties of adjustment their son is experiencing. He is having nightmares and is refusing to partake in family dinners. To make matters worse there in an underlying Oedipal theme, and a glimpse of his parents engaged in "love-making" leads to the formation of some rather odd associations. Most disturbing of all is the steady diet of leftover meats (which are left vaguely unidentifiable) his father is continually foisting upon him.

Perhaps if Dad wasn't acting so creepy and dispensing oddly enigmatic advice, Michael's suspicions would not have grown to the point of compelling him to initiate a campaign of detection and investigation. Spurred on by his lone friend, the boy begins searching for the explanations that will clear up the mysteries that are plaguing him. All the time, the adults in his life assume that Michael has an extraordinarily rich imagination. His deteriorating relationship with his father is of great general concern. The viewer may think that he/she knows how the story will unfold, but Balaban has some well articulated surprises up his sleeve. Parents is hallucinatory, moody, offbeat... and at the same time hugely entertaining.

While its unlikely that this well-made "B-movie" will make you adopt a new lifestyle, it should go a long way toward helping you understand the worldview of the herbivore. If watching Parents gives you a craving for German food, then you are no doubt sincerely in touch with your bestial nature. Let me know if that's the case, for I think it would be best to consider this information before accepting your dinner invitation.

Watching "drive-in movies" in a hot summer living room.

If you skimmed the post I wrote yesterday, you no doubt know that I have freed up some viewing time. While I have literally hundreds of DVD's that I haven't yet watched, I find myself often influenced by the tone of the season, and whatever mood I am currently in. Last week I picked up a cheapo box set of 50 "Drive-in Movie Classics". On a sweltering night with no air conditioning, that collection was calling me in a way I couldn't resist. So after a late dinner I went exploring for any title that seemed even remotely alluring.

I started my double feature with a film that was listed on its sleeve as Creeper. This 1978- horror/thriller starring Hal Holbrook is "better known" under the title Rituals. Its plot concerns a fishing trip that four doctors take into the wilds of Canada (the "Cauldron of the Moon). They soon realize that they are not alone in this remote region, and have to contend with an ordeal of survival that is often painful to watch. Comparisons to Boorman's Deliverance (1972) are both obvious and understandable. But from what I could tell, the settings and cinematography added enough value to elevate Rituals above the ordinary backwoods slasher ripoff.

The problem is that the transfer on this DVD is so poor that I often had a problem seeing what was onscreen. It's just way too dark. This is a real shame because the performances, writing and setup suggest that this is an unfairly overlooked gem. While unfortunate, the fact that this is a shoddy product isn't at all shocking. When it comes to paying $20 for fifty feature-length movies, it is certainly a case of "buyer beware". I'd be surprised if it didn't eventually get a better treatment. From what I could tell, it's one of the better entries in the subgenre exploring the conflict between city and country folk. On a sidenote, it's pretty interesting to hear the men exchange collegial banter about the medical profession, circa the late 70's.

As I fed my second choice into the player, I was hoping not to be frustrated by lousy production values. I got lucky- not only was the movie watchable from a picture quality standpoint, but Absolution (1978) was also original and fairly compelling. It started out with the introduction of a free-flowing, folksong-playing, longhaired, hippie transient who arrives at a Catholic boarding school in search of odd jobs for cash. He quickly runs afoul of the administration and most of the student body, yet one young student is fascinated by his lifestyle and makes an effort to befriend him. But Father Goddard (played with melodramatic authority by Richard Burton) is loathe to see this relationship develop. After all, the mortal soul of one of his favorite pets is now endangered, and he is willing to go to great lengths to keep the boy on the godly path.

Of course, the average male teen often has a very strong will of his own. After discovering the sacred confidentiality that pertains to the confession box, the boy introduces all sorts of mischief into the proceedings. Because of the inviolable sanctity between sinner and confessor, Father Goddard soon finds himself in an incredibly straining situation. The emotional toll he pays to confront the developing events eventually tries his nerves. I have to give director Anthony Page and writer Anthony Shaffer credit for expanding a broad philosophical question about the concept of absolution into a taut psychological thriller. And certainly Burton's acting makes the movie consistently compelling. But Absolution ends with a rather forced and awkward resolution, and viewers bothered by internal plot inconsistencies are warned to stay well away.