To much fanfare, tonight marks the first time in the history of 31 Blights of Error that the same movie has been reviewed twice. After months of careful deliberation I decided that only one horror classic is worthy of this honor: Dead Heat (you can read the review from last year by the illustrious Tim Garbage by clicking here).
In case it isn't clear from the hilarious title, Dead Heat is a movie about a cop (Treat Williams) who gets killed and then resurrected as a decaying kind-of-zombie cop who has 12 hours to investigate and wipe out the Republican zombie farmers who killed him to keep him quiet. Luckily for him, he has the greatest funny cop partner in the history of film, played by Joe Piscopo in all of his steroidal and skin-of-a-hot-dog glory.
Let me make one thing crystal clear about Joe Piscopo in this movie: Nothing he says is funny. The jokey script by Terry Black (the nerdier and much less talented brother of Shane Black) gives him approximately 8,000 one-liners in the movie, and in a true quantum miracle of mathematical probability not a single one of them is actually remotely funny. And yet, probably due to my 25 years of hindsight on this movie, I laughed at pretty much every one. There's just something hilarious about the unabashed bad taste and witless goofery of Piscopo's performance here, and the fact that he looks like a body builder who listens to chillwave doesn't hurt either.
Apart from Piscopo though, there are some interesting ideas here, albeit all of the half-baked variety. As Treat Williams' character continues to decompose, the movie comes close to being a satire of bloody Reagan-era action movies, as he becomes less and less concerned about the value of human life. By the end, he's pretty much mowing down every body in his way, and that's after he met the death of his ostensible love interest with a series of Piscopoian one-liners.
It's also fun to see two of my all-time favorite character actors hamming it up in advanced old age: Vincent Price, looking appropriately like warmed-over death, and Keye "Number One Son" Luke. They both play villains in a plot to let paying old rich white people live forever as walking corpses (I'm guessing some extra social commentary ended up on the cutting room floor), but unfortunately they only get about 15 minutes on screen between them. There are also some truly disgusting special effects going on in this movie - some of the most disgusting I've ever seen, in fact. But they're all still funnier than Joe Piscopo (haha, fuck you Joe Piscopo, I know you're reading this you fuck).
Dead Heat is a movie that I imagine felt like the worst kind of garbage when it came out in 1987. But now it takes on some new dimension as hilarious anti-comedy and a last glimpse of a now completely-gone generation of actors. And Joe Piscopo gets attacked by a dead pig.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Night of Terror #5: 'Rosemary's Baby
All of the great top-tier horror movies (except Evil Dead II, I guess) have a strong grasp of subtext, taking anxieties from real life and blowing them up along a supernatural or extraordinary angle and preying on them for chills and, ideally, some insight. Rosemary's Baby, as I am the first to point out, is maybe the best of all of them, probably because of the way it stays so close to the surface of reality, only dipping into the depths of shock and horror at key moments, and anchored by Mia Farrow in perhaps the greatest leading role in any horror movie.
That partial adherence to real life might also be why some people don't like Rosemary's Baby - unlike the other famous super-shockers of the late 60s and 70s (a wave that one could argue was kicked into high gear by this movie), it's low on big shocks and instead draws on the slowly escalating anxiety of Mia Farrow's Rosemary, almost all of which could happen to any real-world person with a Narcissistic husband and a difficult pregnancy. Roman Polanski is a master at drawing out the suspense in long pauses, unexpected waits, and awkward silences, but if you go in expecting a Hitchcockian roller-coaster it's possible you'll be disappointed.
It's also not a movie that's built to blow you away all in one go, holding numerous treasures for the inevitable second viewing. I hadn't seen Rosemary's Baby since college, and so many fantastic grace notes stood out to me this time, most of them involving Rosemary's husband, played with smarmy and boneheaded charm by John Cassavettes. The choice he makes is the centerpiece of the movie's first act, and the dinner scene between Rosemary, her husband Guy, and their slightly-too-nice neighbors plays completely differently the second time around. Watch the way that Roman (played by kindly old Sidney Blackmer with a voice like Peter Graves) slowly puts his hooks into Guy, first by making sure he's not too religious to go along with their designs, then by flattering him about his acting career. It's especially chilling once you know what's about to go down.
And a ribbon of beauty-gone-wrong runs through the whole movie, from the pretty pink title cards and almost romantic-comedy-style introduction to Rosemary and Guy, to the score by Krzysztof Komeda, and the inspired casting of loveable old Hollywood character actors in roles both benign and sinister.
Rosemary's Baby is a top-flight Hollywood thriller by a master of the genre, and as such it's loaded with way too many great details and effects for me to go into without spoiling the whole thing (also, it's kind of late and I'm sleepy. Hail Satan.
That partial adherence to real life might also be why some people don't like Rosemary's Baby - unlike the other famous super-shockers of the late 60s and 70s (a wave that one could argue was kicked into high gear by this movie), it's low on big shocks and instead draws on the slowly escalating anxiety of Mia Farrow's Rosemary, almost all of which could happen to any real-world person with a Narcissistic husband and a difficult pregnancy. Roman Polanski is a master at drawing out the suspense in long pauses, unexpected waits, and awkward silences, but if you go in expecting a Hitchcockian roller-coaster it's possible you'll be disappointed.
It's also not a movie that's built to blow you away all in one go, holding numerous treasures for the inevitable second viewing. I hadn't seen Rosemary's Baby since college, and so many fantastic grace notes stood out to me this time, most of them involving Rosemary's husband, played with smarmy and boneheaded charm by John Cassavettes. The choice he makes is the centerpiece of the movie's first act, and the dinner scene between Rosemary, her husband Guy, and their slightly-too-nice neighbors plays completely differently the second time around. Watch the way that Roman (played by kindly old Sidney Blackmer with a voice like Peter Graves) slowly puts his hooks into Guy, first by making sure he's not too religious to go along with their designs, then by flattering him about his acting career. It's especially chilling once you know what's about to go down.
And a ribbon of beauty-gone-wrong runs through the whole movie, from the pretty pink title cards and almost romantic-comedy-style introduction to Rosemary and Guy, to the score by Krzysztof Komeda, and the inspired casting of loveable old Hollywood character actors in roles both benign and sinister.
Rosemary's Baby is a top-flight Hollywood thriller by a master of the genre, and as such it's loaded with way too many great details and effects for me to go into without spoiling the whole thing (also, it's kind of late and I'm sleepy. Hail Satan.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Night of Terror #4: 'Curse of the Werewolf'
The Hammer Films formula, as I understand it, is thus: Take a popular Universal Monster, crank up the blood, sex, and colors, take out anything that might get you in trouble with the lawyers (or "lawyies," as they're called in the UK), and release to theaters to massive financial success.
Curse of the Werewolf doesn't really hit the same highs as other more famous movies, but it starts out bracingly nasty and eventually settles into a pleasing genre trifle in the classic Halloween mold. Oliver Reed hadn't reached the height of his Oliver-Reedness at this point (it was his first starring role), but I did appreciate the animalistic physicality he brought to the werewolf during the distressingly few minutes of screen time it has.
I don't have a ton to say about this one so I'll close by singling out Clifford Evans, who plays Reed's father figure and brings a very subtle comic sensibility to a movie that's otherwise deadly serious. At first I was annoyed by his understated mugging but he eventually won me over, reminding me of actors like Adam West or Vincent Price.
Alternate title: Tears of the Werewolf.
Curse of the Werewolf doesn't really hit the same highs as other more famous movies, but it starts out bracingly nasty and eventually settles into a pleasing genre trifle in the classic Halloween mold. Oliver Reed hadn't reached the height of his Oliver-Reedness at this point (it was his first starring role), but I did appreciate the animalistic physicality he brought to the werewolf during the distressingly few minutes of screen time it has.
I don't have a ton to say about this one so I'll close by singling out Clifford Evans, who plays Reed's father figure and brings a very subtle comic sensibility to a movie that's otherwise deadly serious. At first I was annoyed by his understated mugging but he eventually won me over, reminding me of actors like Adam West or Vincent Price.
Alternate title: Tears of the Werewolf.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Night of Terror #3: 'The Driller Killer'
With a name like The Driller Killer, you definitely expect a certain type of movie. Grimy, illicit, vaguely sexual thrills, with copious amounts of blood and maybe if you're lucky a little bit of suspense. But the brilliance of The Driller Killer is that the sequences from the movie in your imagination are only part of the story, and the only ones that give you or the protagonist any respite from his urban suffocation.
That protagonist is played to the hilt by Abel Ferrara, who also directed this pleasingly nasty piece of work. And his real-life insanity is employed to great effect both behind and in front of the camera. Then there's the rabbit-butchery scene, in which his craziness comes at you from all possible angles. You can't really blame him for being nuts, though, since early 80s New York is conveyed in all of its hellish glory - this is like what Travis Bickle was seeing in his worst nightmares.
The only time the movie falters is when it stops going for urban claustrophobia and gory drill-kills and starts going for heightened drama - it doesn't feel real (unlike the highly naturalistic vibe of the rest of the movie) when Ferrara's character is verbally eviscerated by an art dealer, or when he chases after his fleeing girlfriend. But even these sequences end up contributing to the feeling of "wrongness" in the City of Hope, as if Ferrara's grip on reality is coming even more unglued. The argument over pizza is pretty good though.
I guess since this is a Halloween blog I'll say a little more about those drill murders. They're the only parts of the movie that have any kind of conventional narrative traction, and they end up seeming like a break from the magnificently staged sequences of financial desperation, ennui, and repetitive mediocre punk rock riffs. I don't know if this was an intended meaning or not but it ends up being sort of a comment about why we like going to movies like this - how messed up is it that watching people get violently killed with a household appliance can count as escapism?
That protagonist is played to the hilt by Abel Ferrara, who also directed this pleasingly nasty piece of work. And his real-life insanity is employed to great effect both behind and in front of the camera. Then there's the rabbit-butchery scene, in which his craziness comes at you from all possible angles. You can't really blame him for being nuts, though, since early 80s New York is conveyed in all of its hellish glory - this is like what Travis Bickle was seeing in his worst nightmares.
The only time the movie falters is when it stops going for urban claustrophobia and gory drill-kills and starts going for heightened drama - it doesn't feel real (unlike the highly naturalistic vibe of the rest of the movie) when Ferrara's character is verbally eviscerated by an art dealer, or when he chases after his fleeing girlfriend. But even these sequences end up contributing to the feeling of "wrongness" in the City of Hope, as if Ferrara's grip on reality is coming even more unglued. The argument over pizza is pretty good though.
I guess since this is a Halloween blog I'll say a little more about those drill murders. They're the only parts of the movie that have any kind of conventional narrative traction, and they end up seeming like a break from the magnificently staged sequences of financial desperation, ennui, and repetitive mediocre punk rock riffs. I don't know if this was an intended meaning or not but it ends up being sort of a comment about why we like going to movies like this - how messed up is it that watching people get violently killed with a household appliance can count as escapism?
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Night of Terror #2: 'John Carpenter's Village of the Damned'
I love John Carpenter, and I love (OK, really like) the original 1960 Village of the Damned, but for some reason I never got around to seeing this before today. Maybe it's because as a former evil blond-headed creepily articulate child I thought it would hit too close to home. Or maybe I just thought a mid-90s Carpenter remake starring Kirstie Alley wouldn't be A-game Carpenter.
I'll say no more on the former point but on the latter: Ehhh, yes and no (Christie is fine, incidentally, in the little screen time she actually has). There are sequences in this that rank as some of the best, or at least the most terrifying, that Carpenter has ever done. Most of the movie's big shock scenes have to do with people being compelled by the evil blond psychic alien kids to hurt or kill themselves, and unlike in, say, The Happening, it never comes off as risible in the slightest. Watch the early scene in which we first see the kids' psychic powers in action - and the kid in question's "mother" is mesmerized into plunging her hand into a boiling-hot pot of soup. This scene is vintage Carpenter - suspenseful, scary, and masterfully executed, and overall the movie is as smartly engaging as you would expect from old JC.
There are some downsides, though. I usually jump for joy when I see Carpenter's name under "music by" in the opening credits, but his score here is weirdly listless, despite being characteristically his work. And I'm sorry but the glowing-eye effect that this movie leans on so heavily is just silly. I'm surprised to see it from a Carpenter movie since he's usually so artfully restrained, and the original movie provides a pretty good template for those sequences as is. But there's no better filmmaker than John Carpenter at conveying the kind of isolation experienced by the inhabitants of the titular village.
I really want to see a movie about Buck Flower and Mark Hamill's characters just hanging out. They could have called it Village of the Hams.
I'll say no more on the former point but on the latter: Ehhh, yes and no (Christie is fine, incidentally, in the little screen time she actually has). There are sequences in this that rank as some of the best, or at least the most terrifying, that Carpenter has ever done. Most of the movie's big shock scenes have to do with people being compelled by the evil blond psychic alien kids to hurt or kill themselves, and unlike in, say, The Happening, it never comes off as risible in the slightest. Watch the early scene in which we first see the kids' psychic powers in action - and the kid in question's "mother" is mesmerized into plunging her hand into a boiling-hot pot of soup. This scene is vintage Carpenter - suspenseful, scary, and masterfully executed, and overall the movie is as smartly engaging as you would expect from old JC.
There are some downsides, though. I usually jump for joy when I see Carpenter's name under "music by" in the opening credits, but his score here is weirdly listless, despite being characteristically his work. And I'm sorry but the glowing-eye effect that this movie leans on so heavily is just silly. I'm surprised to see it from a Carpenter movie since he's usually so artfully restrained, and the original movie provides a pretty good template for those sequences as is. But there's no better filmmaker than John Carpenter at conveying the kind of isolation experienced by the inhabitants of the titular village.
I really want to see a movie about Buck Flower and Mark Hamill's characters just hanging out. They could have called it Village of the Hams.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Night of Terror #1: 'Long Island Cannibal Massacre'
There's a scene in Long Island Cannibal Massacre in which one of the titular cannibals (actually, I guess his designation as a cannibal might be a matter of dispute but for the sake of saving space and the time of everyone reading this I'll call him a cannibal anyway) is ordered by his demonic and leprous father to "eat the girl." Instead of, I dunno, cutting off a slice of rib meat or something he just sinks his teeth into the girl's jeans. The late-night audience I saw the movie with laughed a lot at this absurdity but I thought it was a potent metaphor for the experience of watching movies with titles like Long Island Cannibal Massacre: You have to chew through a thick layer of tough denim in order to get to the treasure underneath, and sometimes that treasure is just a turkey leg covered in corn syrup and red food dye.
Exactly one year ago I started off last year's 31 Nights of Terror with a movie called Splatter Farm. Looking back on my post I profess a vague sense of guilt over the fact that I can't seem to embrace these cheap, schlocky VHS horror movies the way I see other people doing. Well, it's been a year, and by some twist of fate (and the fact that the other scary movie I watched today wasn't very good) I'm kicking things off again with another piece of trash horror, albeit of the Super-8 variety (it screened on a VHS tape though). I liked this one a little more than I liked Splatter Farm, but more importantly than that I've made peace with the fact that this is not my favorite kind of movie. Maturity has its benefits.
Anyway, back to Long Island Cannibal Massacre - the most interesting thing to me is how despite its obvious schlocky trappings it does feel like an actual movie, one with an actual script, plot, and characters. In an environment where the usual fare sometimes seem like improvised snuff films, this makes quite a bit of difference.
Also adding to the fun is that it was written, produced, and directed by a 17-year-old - my parents used to freak out about me suplexing my friends on our video camera, thank God I wasn't into horror movies then.
Exactly one year ago I started off last year's 31 Nights of Terror with a movie called Splatter Farm. Looking back on my post I profess a vague sense of guilt over the fact that I can't seem to embrace these cheap, schlocky VHS horror movies the way I see other people doing. Well, it's been a year, and by some twist of fate (and the fact that the other scary movie I watched today wasn't very good) I'm kicking things off again with another piece of trash horror, albeit of the Super-8 variety (it screened on a VHS tape though). I liked this one a little more than I liked Splatter Farm, but more importantly than that I've made peace with the fact that this is not my favorite kind of movie. Maturity has its benefits.
Anyway, back to Long Island Cannibal Massacre - the most interesting thing to me is how despite its obvious schlocky trappings it does feel like an actual movie, one with an actual script, plot, and characters. In an environment where the usual fare sometimes seem like improvised snuff films, this makes quite a bit of difference.
Also adding to the fun is that it was written, produced, and directed by a 17-year-old - my parents used to freak out about me suplexing my friends on our video camera, thank God I wasn't into horror movies then.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Introduction: Government Shutdown Edition
Howdy folks. I'm taking a minute in between foraging for food and interviewing applicants for my roving cannibal cult to introduce you to part 3 of my ongoing 31 Nights of Whatever project. Here's how it works: I (and my cabal of friends and associates) will watch and write up a horror (or otherwise Halloween-related) movie at the rate of one per day.
It's a pretty heavy project to add on top of my already borderline-pathological movie-watching schedule, but it's fun and I always have a lot of cool people to help out so it should be a good time. This year I plan on watching a lot of Italian horror, some Val Lewton, and throw in some stuff I'm seeing around town (the Austin Film Society is doing a couple of horror series which should provide good fodder for the blog).
If you'd like to write about a scary movie you're fond of (or that's important to you for some other reason), shoot me a comment or message me somehow and I'll slot you in. I'm really lazy so I always appreciate people joining in.
So, welcome. In the way of closing I'd like to offer some preemptive apologies:
- Sorry that the blog looks so shitty and unprofessional, I don't know anything about blogs + I think it's kind of funny.
- Sorry for watching so many Fulci and Argento movies, I swear I'm not a creep.
- Sorry for making posts really late at night, as Count Orlock says in FW Murnau's classic film Nosferatu, "I keep odd hours."
- Sorry for letting Oswald write about Jack Reacher.
Have a great October!
It's a pretty heavy project to add on top of my already borderline-pathological movie-watching schedule, but it's fun and I always have a lot of cool people to help out so it should be a good time. This year I plan on watching a lot of Italian horror, some Val Lewton, and throw in some stuff I'm seeing around town (the Austin Film Society is doing a couple of horror series which should provide good fodder for the blog).
If you'd like to write about a scary movie you're fond of (or that's important to you for some other reason), shoot me a comment or message me somehow and I'll slot you in. I'm really lazy so I always appreciate people joining in.
So, welcome. In the way of closing I'd like to offer some preemptive apologies:
- Sorry that the blog looks so shitty and unprofessional, I don't know anything about blogs + I think it's kind of funny.
- Sorry for watching so many Fulci and Argento movies, I swear I'm not a creep.
- Sorry for making posts really late at night, as Count Orlock says in FW Murnau's classic film Nosferatu, "I keep odd hours."
- Sorry for letting Oswald write about Jack Reacher.
Have a great October!
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