TRICK OR TREAT (1986)

On Halloween night, my boo love gave to me ... thirty-one has-been overrated rock stars almost buried by this movie and later resurrected by Goddamn reality TV twenty five years later!

THE CARD:

The guy who will eternally be known as Skippy, Rock On: The Book, pale saggy white boy ass, Judas Priest: The Calendar, Large Marge, Gene Simmons: The Demon Marketer, Mom aerobics, Ozzy at the height of his coherence, 80s That Guy Bully Who's Not Billy Zabka, an Untouchable director, a killer toilet, very little trick-or-treating and too much crappy sheet metal.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Eddie (aka “Ragman”) is an awkward teenage dweeb obsessed with heavy metal who's tormented by the popular kids at school. Eddie's idol is a proto-Marylin Manson named Sammi Curr who went to his high school and later became a rock superstar. When Curr perishes in a hotel fire, Eddie goes into a tailspin of despair, rage, and overacting. His only friend is local DJ Nuke (Gene Simmons) who for some reason gives him Curr's very last recording: a demonic record that when played backwards grants Eddie renewed confidence and evil powers. He gets even with his buff school tormentors and lovely schoolgirl Leslie begins to take notice. Eddie experiments with the recording some more and discovers that he can communicate with the spirit of Curr through messing around with his Technics turntable. Meanwhile, the bullies want payback and kick Skippy's, uh I mean Eddie's ass some more, but they soon discover that Eddie has a horrific, invisible protector at his side. His newfound confidence soon degenerates into arrogance alienating Leslie and his nerdy friend Robert. As a peace offering, he makes a special Sammi Curr mix-tape for his main bully. The tape starts circulating and results in a copyright infringement that kills! Things get out of control, innocent people start dying, and Curr resurrects from the dead with his S&M chains, bloodcurdling voice, big poofy hair, and the power to command electricity (but not acting, I'm afraid). He instructs Eddie to do this bidding, but when he refuses, the full awesome power of shitty music is released upon the town that shunned Alice Cooper, uh I mean Sammi Curr!

THE FINISHER:

Trick or Treat is another 80s teen horror flick that wallowed in VHS obscurity for sixteen years. If you were into heavy metal like I was back then, you will probably appreciate this movie and look back with blissful studded-wristbanded nostalgia. If you didn't like heavy metal or cheesy horror movies for that matter, you will probably turn this thing off after twenty minutes. Featuring over-the-hill rockers Gene Simmons and Ozzy Osbourne and Family Ties' Marc Price, the movie is wildly bad, but riotously fun. I was surprised at how much I actually enjoyed it. Although there aren't many frightful moments, scary jolts, or gory sequences, the movie's sense of humor, lack of self-awareness, and mind-numbing camp value deserves a recommendation. This movie was released during the height of the controversy about violent heavy metal music and its effect on teens, when the Gores occupied themselves by blaming Judas Priest for juvenile delinquency in Congress hearings and not scaring the shit out of us about 90-degree days and inventing the Internet. In retrospect, heavy metal should have launched a thousand Columbines, but it more than likely just gave birth to a couple million pot-bellied losers and thousands of homosexuals. I plead the former. Trick or Treat touches upon this hysteria of the time in amusing ways, especially in Ozzy's cameo. The movie does take a while to get going and it's not until Curr's resurrection when he zings teens with his electric cock/guitar of death that the real fun is unleashed. Besides a serious lack of (snicker) logic and a slow start, the movie begs you to raise your finger horns, turn up your Fastway LP, and chuckle your ass off as you gaze into the sad, missed past of 80s yesteryear. Trick or Treat turns out to be more of a treat than a flaming bag of dogshit at your door. Although, that's pretty fucking funny too.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

MR. HALLOWEEN (2007)

On the thirtieth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... thirty screenplays written in junior high school English class!

THE CARD:

A young Comic Book Guy, the flattest acting since Keira Knightly's chest, effects by the Spirit Superstore, sound editing by my 80s Sanyo boombox, Goku the Sheriff's Deputy, a bag full of bad teenage mustaches, and the scariest killer since my high school janitor, and Rafael was NOT scary.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Suburban kid dorks are disappearing every Halloween night and the man known as Mr. Halloween, a local creep who loves to celebrate the holiday with the scariest house on the block, is blamed. Of course, the cops do nothing and when one of the missing kid's Dad calls his congressman, he's dragged off and killed. Goddamn Republicans. We are then introduced to some chubby guy who'd rather spend the evening with another dweeb watching other crappy movies instead of making out with his passable girlfriend. The awkward pair decides to break into Mr. Halloween's pad for kooky hijinks and when they fail, Mr. H attacks with a rubber tire iron and pounds them like an epileptic Brooklyn Brawler. He ties up the dorks and turns them into living props in his haunted house attraction. The next day, fatty's girlfriend goes looking for him with some other misfit and the two take a tour of Mr. Halloween's digs. Failing to locate fatty and the dweeb, the chick and the repulsive misfit fall in love, I guess. Mr. H then stalks the girlfriend and he puts her in his dungeon along with the dweeb, but the fatty is nowhere to be seen. Poor fatty. Anyway, the local police close in on Mr. H, but they too fail to stop him, and so the girlfriend takes up the final girl call and ...

Oh wait ... there's a knock at my door.

THE FINISHER:

[DOOR OPENS]

Hey, how's it going? Good. Me? I've been better. Oh, it's nothing, just feeling a little queasy. I'm sure it will pass. Doctor? No, no need for a doctor, I just got to get to November 1st. It's the day after Halloween, when I'll finally be finished with the 31 Days of Halloween. Yeah, it's been quite a month. I've seen some great stuff, some good stuff, some meh stuff, and some absolutely awful stuff. Don't get me wrong; it's been a hell of a lot of fun and I can't wait until next year, but ... it's just ... Oh Christ, man. Christ … Oh sweet loving banjo-playing credit-card-debt-erasing peach-pie-eating Christ. I told myself I wouldn't cry...

Steady, Tremendo, take it easy...

Mr. Halloween is not a very good movie; in fact it's one of the worst I've ever seen. This is due to the fact that ... oh man … I just can't do it.

OK, how about this:

To the guy who directed Mr. Halloween:

Look, I get it. You are a horror fan and have seen a lot of horror movies. You have a camera and your cousin Bippo's microphone from the 40s. You have family and friends who once had acting aspirations and personalities. You have a lot of obvious references to unload and you want to make them into a movie. That's gives you no right to actually go out and do it!

I'm sure you thought you did your best and somewhere deep down inside, I appreciate your effort, hell I even liked the way you framed a couple of shots . You showed much enthusiasm. But what I can't excuse is 110 MINUTES of it. No way, dude. No fricking way.

Anyway, good luck with Mr. Halloween 2: Meet the Missus or whatever the hell other idea you jotted in your Mead notebook during Civics class, you doughy freak.

There, much better. Thanks.

[DOOR SLAMS]

PHASE IV (1974)

On the twenty-ninth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... twenty-nine billion pissy solarized world-dominating Stonehenge-building ants!

THE CARD:

A vengeful ant-hater, a loopy semi-retarded farm girl, the distinct absence of Yukon Cornelius, Warren Worthington II, and the smartest ants since this guy.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Some strange cosmic event has a profound effect on the ants inhabiting the earth. They begin to display ominous signs of intelligence, build monolithic structures in the desert, and attack predators, large animals, and humans with increasing ferocity. Soon an entire town is driven out by the aggressive pests and the government responds to the threat by sending two dudes in a jeep and silo filled with Raid. One’s a grizzled grumpy scientist and the other a young etymologist who finds a way to communicate with the insects. Housing themselves in a steel structure with computers and analysis tools, the scientists try to learn everything they can about this new menace. The ants quickly learn to adapt after the researchers douse them with green gooey insect killer. Unfortunately, the goo also kills a nearby farmer, his wife, and dopey ranch hand. The only survivor, their equally dopey daughter, joins the science guys, gets angry at the bugs, and never takes her top off. The ants display more signs of intelligence including a militaristic tenacity, an expedient evolutionary cycle, and a knack for adobe architecture. The old guy gets bitten and loses a few appendages, the girl loses her mind, the young guy loses control of the situation, and the ants send an alarming message that could mean the end of mankind and a whole lotta picnics.

THE FINISHER:

Director Saul Bass is best known as a graphic artist, animator, and producer whose amazing visual work has been seen in some of the coolest title sequences in cinema including Hitchcock’s North by Northwest, Kubrick’s Spartacus, and Scorsese’s Cape Fear. But most people will probably remember Saul as the Bass in Rankin/Bass, producers of stop-motion animated holiday favorites such as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Phase IV is the only film he ever directed which is a shame because this film is an astonishing visual piece, less a horror movie and more a contemplative, psychological, mind-bending work of science fiction. Bass captures the moody, desolate, almost hopeless atmosphere with a dreary scientific coldness. But the real star of the film is the spectacular cinematography which captures the ants’ behavior in minute macro-lensed detail. Some of this stuff is amazing to look at and could have been viewed without the framework of the plot and still remain fascinating. It’s like looking at tiny ant actors perfectly responding to Bass’ commands. Technology translated into artistry is typical Saul Bass. Sadly, there were no extras on the DVD and this film begs for a more detailed scrutiny and breakdown, especially of the specialized photography. Phase IV is definitely worth checking out, but myrmecophobics should beware!

SCARS OF DRACULA (1970)

On the twenty-eighth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... twenty-eight massacring papier-mâché bats!

THE CARD:

Buxom English ladies, horny English cads, a church replete with corpse decor, a slumming Doctor Who, stuff burning up, a Benny Hill foil, and Christopher Lee totally phoning it in.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Count Dracula (Lee) has returned from however he was killed in the previous installment. He resides in his spooky castle and is served by a creepy Igor-type named Klove (Patrick Troughton). The villagers are sick of his aristocratic bloodsucking shtick and launch an assault on the castle and burn it to the ground. Everything is destroyed, well except for Drac himself. One night, a local man on the lam wanders the forest and stumbles upon Vlad’s abode where Klove welcomes him and Dracula offers him a glass of suspicious-looking Hawaiian punch. When one of castle’s undead chicks seduces and beds the guy, Dracula goes berserk and pimp slaps his zombie ho vamp-style. The man attempts to escape and disappears after discovering the secret of his bloodshot-eyed host. His friends, a foppish dork and his breasty girlfriend, search for their friend and they too stumble upon Dracula’s castle. They are welcomed, seduced, offered more punch, and a bed for the night. When they too discover Dracula’s secret (um, his name is Dracula, get it?), they run around the castle, find their friend in less than mint condition, and face down the King of the Vampires with a stick and an incredible amount of luck.

THE FINISHER:

Hammer Films is a British studio best known for a successful series of Gothic horror movies from the 50s until the 70s, when the company experienced a decline in audience. One of the most popular and successful franchises of the studio is their take on Dracula in movies starring Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. These movies are unique for exciting stories, set design and atmosphere, vibrant use of color, and streaks of sadistic violence. The Hammer Dracula isn’t a tormented soul, haunted romantic loner, or tragic character tortured by bloodlust; he is a sadistic, aristocratic villain with broader goals of subjugation and seduction, especially towards women. In Scars of Dracula, Dracula is a vicious maniac who kills women in fits of rage, massacres an entire village, and tortures his servants with hot pokers. His is a classically despicable antagonist in the best spirit of boo-hiss with a mean psychological layer to boot. That said, Scars of Dracula is possibly the weakest of the Hammer Draculas. The bare plot hobbles along at a snail’s pace, the characters have no depth or real motivation, and despite spirited efforts by Troughton and Lee, there’s barely a fright to be had. The set design is dull for a Hammer production with cheap castle models and slapped-together dungeons and castle rooms. The typical Hammer lighting scheme that enhances a moody suspense is nowhere to be found. Everything about the movie looks rushed, and maybe Hammer knew that time was running out for its star franchise. But Drac would be back in Dracula A.D. 1972 which would prove to be the true stake in Hammer’s vampire heart, and leave no scars.

WRESTLEMANIAC (2006)

On the twenty-seventh day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... twenty-seven of a thousand wrestling moves!

THE CARD:

The Obvious Reference Saloon, a walking pair of boobs with hair that says stuff occasionally, a Lucha-loving Hugo, a runway model from Auschwitz, Syd Mead's instantly repulsive misogynist, Don Knotts and Tim Conway's nemesis, the most flexible Final Girl ever, a tubby battle for the ages, El Numero Uno Luchadore Chingon en El Mundo Menos Mi, and the greatest movie in the history of our sport.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

A van carrying an asshole filmmaker, a chubby cameraman, a pothead surfer, a passed-out drunk chick, and two whorish hotties treks through the wastelands of Baja Mexico. They are on their way to film a porno in Cabo San Lucas but get side-tracked and wind up in a spooky old Mexican town called “Sangre de Dios” which translates to Sugar of Ronnie James Dio. Or Blood of Christ, I forget which. The town bears a legend which fatty knows by heart: it is the rumored resting place of the greatest Mexican wrestler (ahem) of all time, El Mascarado. El M was a killer pro wrestler in the 60s who butchered his opponents with his bare hands and became an unstoppable killing machine. Hmph, stiff workers. The authorities couldn't control him, doctors couldn't cure him, and Vince McMahon was too young to sign him to the WWE where he'd be buried in the midcard and eventually kill himself with booze and drugs. So they banished him to the town of Sangre de Dios where his peace is now disturbed by these meddling pornographers. Mascarado offs them one by one and teaches them the real meaning of hardcore. And no amount of prayers or vitamins will save them. The surviving member of the group, the leggy Leyla Milani, faces the ultimate main event in which her soul will be driven to the raw, extreme limits in this nitro-fueled, thunder-clapped smackdown of heat, havoc, and T&A.

THE FINISHER:

I'd be remiss and kicked out of the Lucha Union if I didn't review at least one Mexican-wrestler themed horror movie in this year's 31 Days of Halloween, including this utter masterpiece of bone-breaking horror. Also known as El Mascarado Massacre, Wrestlemaniac is to my knowledge the world's first lucha-libre inspired slasher, and brother it's a unrelenting, pulse-pounding scarefest and possibly the best slasher in years. This movie took my complacency to the mat and pinned me down for the three-count. The laughs and scares come at you like flaming volleys from a cannon of nightmares. The cast is pitch-perfect, including Milani as the competent and extremely skilled heroine. She's more than just an awesome body and bushel of Jose Eber-fluffed hair. The script provides an insight into the rich culture of our neighbors to the south and deftly reveals psychological insights such as the plight of growing up different as exemplified by the portly wrestling fan played by the fat guy. Legendary wrestler Rey Misterio, father of WWE superstar Rey Misterio Jr., is the new horror icon El Mascarado, a looming, fearsome presence unparalled since Glen Jacobs. Director Jesse Baget could become the next big thing if he can keep making incredible, well-made, not-annoying films such as Wrestlemaniac, American horror's biggest and brightest surprise yet.

And now you see, sometimes film criticism can be faker than wrestling.

KWAIDAN (1965)

On the twenty-sixth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... twenty-six anti-ghost Buddhist prayer tattoos!

THE CARD:

Spooky Asian ghosts that don't come out of a TV set, smug phantoms in drinking mugs, a reason to cover your ears when you come across a samurai specter, gorgeous cinematography, sumptuous set design, wonderfully horrific color, impeccable acting and pacing, and eyeballs, hair, suicide and other stuff that scares the shit out of the Japanese (and, uh, me too).

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

The film is comprised of four chilling tales set in feudal Japan:

An impoverished samurai leaves his poor wife for better opportunities in the big city. There, he hooks up with a wealthy woman and enjoys social mobility, respect, and cleaner kimonos. Time passes and the samurai finds himself missing his ex-wife and loathing his current spouse, who looks like she does her eyebrows with a magic marker. Consumed with a debilitating sense of guilt, he is haunted by visions of his ex everywhere. One night, he rejects the new wife, leaves his new life, and searches for his lost love. He finds her back at their old home and she is ecstatic to see him again, well about as ecstatic as a jilted ex with nary a pot to piss in can be, and they spend the night together. In the morning, the woman is gone and the samurai is forced to question his own sanity and confront a terrifying realization.

Next, two men are caught in a fierce blizzard and are separated. One of the men, Minokichi, finds the other frozen to death while a strange woman in white hovers about him. The deathly pale woman approaches Minokichi and threatens his life but spares him. He barely makes it home alive and faces a long period of recuperation. A year passes and things are back to normal for Minokichi. One day, he meets a lost, bewildered, but beautiful woman in the woods. He invites her back to his home, feeds her, and falls in love. They marry and have children. One night as the wind howls outside, Minokichi tells his wife Yuki about his encounter in the woods those many years ago and it eerily dawns on him that his nearly frozen fate brought them together and endangers them both.

Next, Hoichi is a blind musician and gifted storyteller whose specialty is singing songs about an ancient tragic war at sea between two clans. The battle resulted in many deaths and the spirits of the combatants still haunt the coast and forest where Hoichi lives in a monastery. One night, the ghost of a samurai appears before Hoichi and takes him to his master to sing the songs. Innocent Hoichi believes that he is singing to living people and visits them regularly. The monastery priest and Hoichi’s co-workers are concerned about his nightly disappearances and when they discover that he’s being spirited away, they tattoo prayers all over his body to ward off the potentially deadly phantoms. But these dead are restless, yearn to hear their tragic story told repeatedly, and won’t take no for an answer.

Lastly, a writer on New Year’s Eve is putting the finishing touches on his latest scary story. We see the story unfold and set in feudal Japan. A nobleman comes back home after a long campaign. He and his entourage stop to drink water at the side of the road. When the nobleman brings the cup to his lips, he sees the shocking vision of a man looking back at him. He sees the man’s face in another cup, and yet another. When he sees the man again in his fourth cup, he indignantly drinks it down. Later, the man appears in his home and swears vengeance for consuming his soul. The angry ghost torments the man while his servants start to believe that their master is going insane. One night, three men show up at his door and inform him that they represent the man in the cup and warn the nobleman that he will soon visit him for revenge. The nobleman does battle with the men and wins, but the story ends there. The writer’s publisher shows up at his home to wish him New Year’s greetings and pick up his latest story. But instead he finds a horrific scene strewn about his house and realizes that some stories are better left unfinished.

THE FINISHER:

The word kwaidan roughly translates to “ghost story” and is an old cultural term now supplanted by kowai hanashi (scary story) in the wake of J-horror movies such the The Ring franchise. The film Kwaidan is a masterfully woven anthology of ghost stories that is a gorgeous visual feast of nightmares and maybe of the best movies in cinema history. So there’s not much I can say about it that hasn’t already been said. What I’ll do is try to recommend this movie to those who think Japanese horror and story traditions end with Ju-on, (The Grudge), Chakushin Ari (One Missed Call) or Kairo (Pulse). Kwaidan is not a pulse-pounding gorefest; it is genuinely suspenseful, powerfully expressionistic, and unrelentingly eerie film. Director Masaki Kobayashi utilizes vibrant cinematography and stunning set design to present traditional tales told in Japanese theatricality, yet retains a surreal, mind-bending atmosphere. The running time is a little long, but those used to Japanese cinema knows that this is par for the course. Even when the movie is slow, there is always something wonderful to look at and get creeped out by from the lavish visuals to the impressive camerawork. Kobayashi applies a poetic treatment to these traditional morality tales, mixing realistic reactions with a fever-dream eccentricity resulting in a cinematic delight. So for those Ring-lovers and Grudge-ites, I say don’t lose patience with Kwaidan’s customary pacing and culturally unique storytelling. Do so and you will miss the roots of J-horror you so cherish and the perfect film for a chilly Halloween night or steamy O-bon's eve.

BOTCHED (2007)

On the twenty-fifth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... twenty five flaming Russian rats!

THE CARD:

Cecil B. Detached, Hollywood Upstairs Acting College foreign accents, Doctor Who’s kid, Aragorn of Arathorn the serial killer, Dexter’s ex, and barrels of bloody borsch.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

A diamond thief with the worst luck (Stephen Dorf) steals a bunch of diamonds from some stupid rich person’s house. Unfortunately, his inattentive driver plows into a wall during the getaway and Dorf loses the stolen loot. Jason Statham would be very displeased. Dorf’s boss (Sean Pertwee) is pissed at the muck-up and punishes him by sending him to Moscow to break into an office building to steal a valuable heirloom, the golden cross of Ivan III. Dorf and two Russian goons pose as janitors and make their way relatively easy in and out of the secured area where the heirloom is kept, that is until they run into elevator problems and get stuck with a nerdy journalist, a sexy company vice president, a security guard, three ultra conservative spinsters, and some other red-shirted unnamed victims-to-be. The elevator drops down to the 13th floor of the building and the thieves take the other passengers as hostages and try to figure out what do to next. Eh, eh, 13th floor, eh? Oogey boogey! While Dorf and the main goon argue over an escape plan, someone or something is killing the hostages in gruesome and impolite manners. It turns out that the three old babushkas are actually cult members obsessed with resurrecting the old czar Ivan. So much for Perestroika. Their unseen baked ham brother is running around chopping up comrades in a Lord of the Rings get-up and then dissecting them on an altar. You know, Orthodox stuff. So Dorf teams with the hotty executive (Jaime Murray – Yum!), the nerd, and a tough as shit security guard who puts the Mother in Mother Russia. Our kooky heroes run up and down hallways, holler like kiddies in a third-rate carnival haunted house, use rodents as weapons, and fight their way to ninety minutes to get out of this mess.

THE FINISHER:

When you call your movie “Botched” you know you’re just asking for it. The makers of “Shitty”, “Sucky” and “Man, I Just Don’t Have Any Fucking Clue How to Shoot a Movie” know that lesson all too well. In fact, the makers of Botched and those movies are probably one and the same. The movie is a loud, quirky, ham-fisted effort with aspirations of being a hybrid between a black comedy and a caper film which it fails to achieve. It’s too obvious and not smart enough to be a black comedy. It wants to be a clever caper film but it lacks a clever caper. Dorf can’t look more disinterested, Pertwee is wasted, Murray stands around being nice to look at, and although the gore is plentiful, it’s rather cheap-looking. The only saving grace is Geoff Bell who plays the ex-KGB security guard with maniacal gusto. He brings inspired energy into the few comedic moments and steals a fair share of scenes. Bell aside, most of the jokes fall flat, the plot drops dead with the first kill, and the painful punch line at the end of the film will make you cry turnip-flavored tears. Although not completely unwatchable, Botched indeed lives up to its name and in the end, it’s not just Ivan who’s terrible.

NEON MANIACS (1986)

On the twenty-fourth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... twenty four Jaded albums!

THE CARD:

The tragic slaying of the Gorton's fisherman, the Kmart brand Steve Guttenberg, a soundtrack inspired by Casio, Corey Hart, and Ramada Inn, beheaded fellatio, Sharon Stone's ex-killer squeeze, a film geek heroine, the Power Rock of Jaded, and the Village People of Movie Slashers.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

A fisherman finds some playing cards lodged in a cow skull. The cards feature gruesome ghoulish paintings of strange characters that may or may not be our title characters. Someone with a hatred of breaded fish fillets comes up behind him and gives him the axe. A scream! A shot of the San Francisco skyline! A cheesy 80s synthesizer-backed credit sequence! And we cut to Natalie, a recently jilted teen queen out on a night on the town with her doofy airhead friends in complementary stoner van. They stop at a liquor store and run into misfit Steve who's obviously in love with Natalie. They blow the dork off and head over to the park for teen nastiness. The horny teens camp out, drink, and bone each other while sad Natalie talks about her feelings with some other slut. Out of the darkness emerge the characters seen in the cards earlier: a zombie samurai, an undead cop, an electrical dude, a feral animal guy, and a one-eyed snake. Yes, a one-eyed snake. What, no trouser pilot? All the kids dies horribly except for Natalie who's saved by the cops who have missed the mayhem. The police don't believe Natalie's story because the bodies are gone. She is shunned and ridiculed at school and Steve takes full advantage of her vulnerability and asks her out. Meanwhile, a snotty girl filmmaker-wannabe catches a whiff of Natalie's story and wants to know the truth. She bothers Natalie with questions, snoops around the crime scene, and harasses big black cops. She learns that the maniacs live under the Golden Gate bridge, are unstoppable killers, and are not the most hygienic bunch of bachelors. Film geek girl teams up with schmucky Steve and Natalie to stop them, but first it's Battle of the Bands time! The final showdown with the scary neon dudes goes down at the high school Halloween concert where Steve's pussy rock band goes up against sheet metal giants Jaded. Big dude hair! Incompetent guitar and vocals! Men in makeup! JADED! And thus, the true horrific spectacle begins.

THE FINISHER:

Neon Maniacs is a horror movie revelation, and not because it's any good, makes any sense, or provides even a minute sliver of fright, but because it proves without a doubt that the 80s was the cheesiest decade in the history of man. Nah, I won't give it all that credit. I guess I'm still in shock because I'd never heard of this film until some fat sap on YouTube recommended it. And I really trusted said fat sap, until I saw this shockingly bad and belly-busting hilarious clunker of a movie. In truth, Neon Maniacs is all I expected: goofy fun wrapped in an awkward, poorly shot, nonsensical wrapper. And I ate up all its nutty goodness in under ninety minutes. That's good eatin'. At times the movie is achingly hilarious with the big hair, loud New Wave jackets, and C-3PO's cereal. The origin of the title characters goes unexplained as they ham it up like Shatner at Karaoke. Equally comical is the revelation of their only weakness: water. You could almost hear eight-year-old M. Night Shyamalan popping a boner at the sight of that. The acting is about what you'd expect, and although the maniacs' design is pretty cool in a bad amusement park mascot kind of way, there is a serious lack of gore besides a couple of appendage detachments and stabbings. Although the spirit is in fun and they went for humor instead of scares, they forget to include actual jokes. There are also shocking and nostalgic images such as the unnerving appearance of Michael Jackson murals, Alien ball caps, Star Wars references, and fat guys eating bologna and walking their dogs in bunny slippers. Maniacs has got it all. I just wish I was eleven again so I could have really loved this movie, instead of just mildly amused by it.

BONUS: FRANKENSTEIN MEETS THE WOLF MAN (1943)

THE CARD:

A less-than sober Lon Chaney Jr., the Bavarian Mae West, Franken-Bela, cranky monster-weary villagers, the great weirdo Lionel Atwill, and a Universal battle for the ages.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Larry Talbot (Lon Chaney Jr.) is resurrected from his tomb by two snoopy grave robbers. As a result, people start disappearing and a bloodcurdling howl fills the night air. Ol’ furry eyes is back. Talbot wakes up in a hospital where a detective and a concerned doctor try to figure out who he is. They eventually track him down to Talbot’s old village and find a trail of blood leading to his miraculous reappearance. All Talbot wants to do is end his suffering and go die somewhere. Miami, maybe? So he escapes the hospital and searches Europe for the only person who could understand and help him, the old lady gypsy from the first movie. The old gypsy agrees to help him and suggest they contact a man with the secrets to the powers of death: Dr. Frankenstein. (Cue thunder and lightning). They arrive at Frankenstein’s favorite village to torment, Vasilia. There they are shunned and nearly run out of town on a rail, but just when they are on the right trail to catching up with the Doc, they discover he’s been dead for years. Talbot turns into the werewolf and is hunted down by the villagers. Later, he stumbles upon the hidden lair of the frozen monster (Bela Lugosi) and revives him, and the two form an awkward alliance. Talbot seeks out the doctor’s only living relative, the Baroness Frankenstein (silly-accented Ilona Massey) and begs for help. The monster attacks the city, and Talbot’s doctor has finally tracked him down. As the good doctor and the Baroness race against time to help both tortured souls seek peace, the townsfolk call out for their blood, setting the stage for the ultimate showdown between two of the greatest monster hams in Hollywood history. And Brother, that’s sayin’ a lot!

THE FINISHER:

Like most horror crossovers, Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man is an exciting treat for fans, and this one moves much quicker than the first Wolf Man film, and is just plain good fun. Chaney returns to the role that made him a star (maybe?) and reels in another anguished, tortured, and intense performance. Watching him made me very interested in reading his biography, given the scant knowledge I have of his alcohol-fueled downfall and sad end. Lugosi is spectacularly awful as the Monster, staggering around like a drunk guy at a Halloween party. But how can you hate that lovable bloodsucking Ed Wood-encouraging junkie? Seeing him stumble around like a third-grader zombie, I uselessly wished he would just scream out, “See, I told you I could do it better than that limey cocksucker!” By the time of this production, the original Universal monsters had probably lost their scariness, leading the way to their demise at the studio and run-ins with Abbott and Costello. But it’s got everything you’d want in an old fashioned monster movie: sci-fi doodads, a cute aristocratic chick, fat German creeps, spooky castle models, and a fast-paced adventure story.

THE WOLF MAN (1941)

On the twenty-third day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... twenty-three silver wolfman-head walking canes!

THE CARD:

Glorious black & white cinematography, a sober Lon Chaney, a wolfie-bashing Captain Renault, sizzling gypsies, a Tattooed Bela, a creepy Baskerville Hound-free forest, Mortimer Duke's bro, and a classic Universal monster.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

The Universal monster pantheon is comprised of the most horrifying first names in history: Victor, Imhotep, Vlad, and ... um ... Larry. Englishman Larry Talbot (Lon Chaney) returns home after a lengthy stay abroad and brings with him a load of guilt, a talent for fixing telescopes, and a heavy American accent. He reconciles with his estranged father (Claude Rains) and prepares to take over as caretaker of his family estate. Larry woos a local girl who works in an antique store (Evelyn Ankers), after spying on her with said telescope and creepily talks his way into asking her out. Later that night, Larry and the girl take a walk, but the girl has invited a girlfriend as a chaperon. Cockblocked! They visit a gypsy camp where the girlfriend gets her fortune read by a googly-eyed gypsy psychic (Bela Lugosi). Bela sees nothing but badness in the girl's future, so he asks her out for a bite. Bluah! Meanwhile, Larry and the girl have taken a walk in the scary woods to talk about junk and stuff. A scream breaks up the sexual tension and Larry goes to the rescue to find girlfriend being attacked by a giant wolf. Unfortunately, girlfriend doesn't survive but Larry beats down the wolf with a silver-tipped walking stick. Larry's luck worsens when he's bitten himself and the wolf later turns out to be Bela. The local constable (Ralph Bellamy) suspects that Larry is either a murderer or is going insane, or both. The were-gypsy's mother (Maria Ouspenskaya) informs Larry that he now bears the burden of a curse where he will turn into a wolf and gobble up the citizenry. The only way out of this predicament is death by silver, though Larry was probably hoping it'd be chocolate or booze. Larry doesn't believe a word but when he transforms into a snarling beast out for blood and offs a few townspeople, reality starts to set in. The constable steps up the hunt for the monster, Larry's girl stands by his side, and Larry comes to terms with his inescapable, hairy-footed fate.

THE FINISHER:

Of all the Universal monster legends, the Wolf Man has always been the most lonely, most tragic and most depressing. I mean there's nothing the innocent victim of the wolf bite can do to save himself: no fix, no cure, no salvation. He hurts, he restrains himself, but eventually he must give in and succumb to the cursed destiny that's been thrust upon him. He's the ultimate victim who not only suffers alone, but spreads his suffering to his loved ones and strangers. This 1941 original version is the literal granddaddy of werewolf movies and is considered as a classic, and it certainly deserves that status, but only to an extent. The movie is indeed morose and atmospheric and represents the best aesthetics of the Universal monster movies: stark cinematography and lighting, creepy set design and groundbreaking make-up work. The first appearance of the wolfman sent chills up and down my arm, not so much because he's scary, but because of his iconic status. But the movie lacks a riveting narrative or character psychology to make it compelling or satisfying, regardless of the outcome. The story is too simple, lags in the middle between transformations, and wraps up a little too predictably. Lon Chaney is deservedly unforgettable in the title role with his deep-set eyes and sad sack face that conveys his inner turmoil and torture, aspects that would embody the man in real life. The Wolf Man's thrust-upon destiny will remain as the film that laid out the mythos and legend for subsequent multitudes of werewolf stories and films. And for that aspect alone, it should retain is classic status.

WHO CAN KILL A CHILD? (1976)

On the twenty-second day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... twenty-two one-way tickets to Kiddie Killer Island!

THE CARD:

Gorgeous Spanish beaches, a Spaghetti Western That Guy, the Pueblo of the Damned, Britain's Donald Sutherland, the cutest lil' gunman, and the worst case of indigestion ever caught on film.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

The movie opens with an agonizingly long credit sequence that details the history of child deaths during war in the 20th century. Ok, nail firmly implanted into head, Mr. Director. We open to a young British couple traveling to a Spanish resort town for a holiday. The man is a biologist and the woman is a clueless pregger. They trek to the island of Almanzora located just off the Catalan coast. But instead of welcoming Spanish villagers with jamon, paella, and mojitos at the ready, they find the place deserted and dead quiet. While exploring the town, the two see little children dart around corners and dash about the peripheries of their vision. The children giggle eerily and stare at them with horrifying fascination. The pregger meets a little girl who is fascinated by and caresses her pregnant belly. Minutes later she witnesses the girl bludgeon an old man to death. They’re definitely putting something in the milkshakes. The biologist scrambles for a reason for the disappearance of the adults and the strange behavior of the children, but instead finds dead bodies, panicking Dutch tourists, and kids playing with another old man like a piñata. As the kids’ behavior grows more bizarre and threatening, the couple struggles to find a way off the island while staving off the hordes of bloodthirsty kiddies in the mood to slash some snotty Brits, and the biologist with his newfound machine gun will discover if he can become the answer of the film's title and issue the ultimate time-out.

THE FINISHER:

Who Can Kill a Child? may sound like a kiddie killer film, but it's quite the opposite. Think of a combination of The Birds and Village of the Damned with a hint of The Wicker Man and you may be in the ballpark. Reminiscent in dark tone and eerie style of earlier reviewed film Long Weekend, this disturbing film deals with weighty subjects and themes such as the atrocities suffered by children during cataclysmic events such as the Holocaust by presenting the vision of children killers inheriting a bloodlust unframed within the caustic reasoning of war. Tension builds slowly and methodically, the children’s madness is not explained, and setting the film in the daylight with an innocuous threat such as children is particularly effective. Not so surprisingly, few horror movies set during the day succeed at bringing the fright as this film, which is a shame because more horror filmmakers should experiment with this approach. The movie also preys on fears of impending fatherhood, social isolation, and the wrenching question posed by the title: if you had to, could you kill a child? The lead actors are fine particularly dependable Australian actor Lewis Fiander as the biologist, and the cinematography is outstanding and masterfully blends the beauty of the Mediterranean sun and blue sky with the blood-drenched happenings in the town. Who Can Kill a Child? is a unnerving and well-made film, abounding with a nightmarish scenario and shocking images of killer teens and toddlers going outside, getting some fresh air, and meting out murderous ferocity and not locked in the basement playing Grand Theft Auto.

SLEEPAWAY CAMP (1983)

On the twenty-first day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... twenty-one bloodstained 70s tube socks!

THE CARD:

A Wonderland Ranch full of short-shorted prepubescent boys, lots of irritating New York accents, 38-year-old teenagers, the worst fake mustache in cinema history, and the creepiest ABC After School Special since “Why Johnny Doesn't Wash”.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

It's the 80s and everyone's hair is enormous. Case in point, little Angela and her brother who are enjoying a day on the lake with Dad. A couple of overzealous teens out horsing around in a speedboat accidentally run over and kill Dad and little bro. Screams! Blood! Death! Hairspray! Years later, Angela is a teenager living with her aunt and cousin Ricky. The teens are off to Camp Arawak for the summer to engage in wacky teen adventures with Bill Murray nowhere in sight. Angela is a shy, quiet, and mute nerd who's obviously been traumatized by the loss of her family. Brawny Ricky is her sworn protector and defender against the teasing of the other large-haired and snooty summer campers, including sexually active prima donna/deformed elf Judy. The kids frolic, play baseball, and engage in kooky summer camp hijinks of all kinds in bucolic splendor. Angela remains distant, talks to no one, and just stares at the hormone-induced wonders. One day, she's cornered by a lecherous camp cook who attempts to molest her until she's rescued by Ricky. Later, a mysterious figure dumps a vat of boiling water on the chef, sending him to the cooling rack. Still later, Ricky introduces her to his friend Mike and Angela begins to break out of her shell, but she's still bullied and ridiculed by Judy and the other kids in the camp. The mysterious killer returns to wreak vengeance upon Angela's tormentors while the camp owner refuses to do anything for fear of bad publicity. As the body count rises, the counselors do nothing, Angela confronts her troubled past and emerging sexual urges, and the truth behind the identity of the killer is guaranteed to blow your volleyball-playing mind.

THE FINISHER:

Looking back at a childhood and teenage life dominated by spooky VHS fare, I don't know how the Hell I missed Sleepaway Camp. Ah let's face it, I don't know where this film has been hiding my entire life. The movie has a relatively strong cult following with several sequels including a 2008 release featuring the child stars of the original. Let me first state that it's not very good, is inadvertently hilarious most of the time, and feels like another Friday the 13th imitator. But the movie is distinguished from its contemporaries by a virulent psychosexual subtext and one Hell of a great ending. And you know what they say, good movies with bad endings are mostly forgotten, but you never forget an ordinary movie with a great ending. Sleepaway Camp is an average slasher, albeit with pretty good effects for the time, and displays the themes of teen angst and twisted sexuality with blood-drenched pride, yet simultaneously wallowing in fun-bad movie incompetence. The acting is atrocious, with the possible exception of Felissa Rose who plays Angela with an appropriately detached and emotionless creepiness. The rest of the cast is not particularly memorable save for a few muscle-bound doofs in tighty whities, bitchy 80s chicks with a low tolerance for the handicapped, and the most offensive pedophile chef since the Frugal Gourmet. But I guess it's all in good fun. Without going into too much detail, the real reason to watch is movie is the twist ending and along with the entertainingly low-budget production values, uncomfortable psychological issues, and cheeseball acting, Sleepaway Camp earns a solid recommendation.

LET THE RIGHT ONE IN (2008)

On the twentieth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... twenty cardboard vampire Valentines!

THE CARD:

The frozen tundra of suburban Stockholm, the palest kid I've ever seen, a bright blue-eyed little Nosferatu, bunches of pissed-off kitties, and an unforgettable bloodsucker love story.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Oskar (Kare Hedebrant) is a quiet but troubled kid from a broken family living outside Stockholm in the early 80s. He lives with his mother in a dreary apartment and occasionally visits his father who lives on a snowy but idyllic farm. His classmates torment him at school, but he never fights back which only fuels the abuse. At night, he stands in front of his bedroom window and acts out a terrible pretend vengeance upon his tormentors with a knife he keeps under his bed. He also has an unhealthy interest in crime and death, including a fascination with a recent series of murders in his town. One night in the playground, Oskar meets a disheveled young girl (Lina Leandersson) and tries to make friends, but the two don't exactly hit it off at first. Time goes on and he becomes more curious about this mysterious girl who doesn't wear a jacket in the freezing cold, while at school the bullies escalate their teasing. Eventually through persistence, Oskar forms a bond with the little girl, who is named Eli. Their friendship soon blossoms uncomfortably into something more when Oskar realizes that Eli is a vampire. She is aided by a man who gathers blood from unsuspecting victims, but when he disappears, her hunger forces her to hunt and feed on people who live in Oskar’s apartment building. As Eli becomes more and more of an influence in his life, he comes to terms with what he must do to confront the bullying at school. But the adults in the town are slowly discovering what’s behind the recent string of bloody murders and fate is closing in on Oskar and Eli. But the isolation of a frozen wasteland, the brutality of revenge, and even life and death are not enough to keep two young people from being apart.

THE FINISHER:

Screened on the last day of L.A.'s Screamfest, Let the Right One In is a poignant, brilliantly original and moving vampire film. Ethereal child actors Hedebrant and Leandersson perfectly inhabit their roles in this hauntingly beautiful and chilling romance. Eli’s innocent, bloodstained face and Oskar’s bewildered yet knowing expressions are extraordinary. The kids carry the emotional brunt of alienation, loneliness, and violence with stunning yet gentle skill. The storytelling here is simple, yet at the same time feels like something new and different, imaginatively merging a teenage love story with vampiric lore such as bloodlust, cats’ hatred of vampires, and vampires’ inability to enter a home without being specifically invited by the resident.

Director Tomas Alfredson brings the chills, the scares, and sensation without going for the throat with quick cuts, loud music, CGI, or cheap effects. You won’t see any sexy superhuman Twilight rejects here; the vampires here are tortured souls, twisted by the unfathomable horror of persistent hunger and solitude, but still retain basic human needs. The cinematography is stark and minimalist and the score is atmospheric, unsettling and understated. Let the Right One In is perhaps the one of the best vampire movies in years and works as a love story and a fairy tale, dark and arcane yet sincere and sweet.

ZOMBIE AFTERMATH (1982)

On the nineteenth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... nineteen acne-suffering undead bikers in purple pants!

THE CARD:

Super deformed Space Shuttle models, a marauding Howard Stern, young Captain Spaulding, a crumbling Los Angeles cityscape north of the 10, running women in tank tops with perky boobs, and zombies I think.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Earth is devastated after a zombie epidemic wipes out most of the population. A crew of astronauts on a mission in space (or someone's garage, I can't tell) loses contact and returns home unaware of the global disaster. They crash land in the ocean and make camp on the beach where they are attacked by the undead who apparently know how to box. In the morning, they trek towards the leveled city of Los Angeles where they stumble across a tape recording someone left documenting the downfall of society. The astronauts go exploring, argue incessantly about the reasons for the downfall of humanity, and find a museum with a small band of survivors subsisting inside. Pioneering uber-nerd Forrest J. Ackerman appears as the tour guide in the dilapidated museum and he muses poetically about man's folly. Um, Forrest, there are some things man can't be held responsible for, even zombie apocalypses, OK? Thanks. Meanwhile a scumbag leader of a biker gang, Cutter (Syd Haig) has his way with kidnapped women, tortures survivors, and generally acts like a jerk. Forry kicks the bucket and the main astronaut, Newman, takes over the leadership and care of the museum survivors including a young boy he gets a little too cozy with. Newman and the kid have a run-in with a woman (the one with the perkiness) who escaped Cutter's gang. They are soon attacked by zombies who jump off roofs and carry sticks. This may be the first appearance of fast-moving zombies! Back safely at the museum, Newman and perky chick hump while Cutter's army commits more atrocities. Newman and his small band plot to overthrow the monstrously horny Cutter, who's been raping, pillaging, eating' babies, blah blah blah. Now here's where it gets weird. Newman's girlfriend gets a hold of a laser gun. A Star Wars-type laser gun. She destroys most of Cutter's camp with the super magic gun. And then we don't see it again. They return to the museum where they hump some more. Cutter gets his revenge when he invade the museum and rubs out a generous portion of the survivors. Newman finds perky girl dead, polishes his shotgun, and gears up for a full-on showdown, and the hope that the funny looking zombies will reappear dims.

THE FINISHER:

Sweet Weeping Bad Movie Watching Christ. Where does Tremendo's DVD dealer find these things? More than likely the penny bid at the Dollar store and that's when he splurges. Zombie Aftermath, which sounds like my condition throughout high school, is a crappy sci-fi zombie flick that was probably made with leftover footage from that Shazam TV show of the 70s. Syd Haig, fresh off his Jason of Star Command run, dominates the scene with a seedy, swarthy presence not seen since, well, the prior Syd Haig B-movie cheapo. I mean, did he ever make anything worth a damn? There’s Rob Zombie’s Devil's Rejects, and I know people who like Spider Baby. I got to get around to watching that. I tried to watch it with Netflix streaming service, but for some reason the damn thing wouldn't stream. I upgraded to Explorer 7 and that seemed to do the trick, but then I lost other functionality so I went back to the prior version. I prefer Firefox as my browser to be honest. But Netflix streaming doesn't work with it. I know there are little hacks or fixes out there, but why doesn't Netflix just fix the damn thing? Not everyone bows down to Bill G. and Explorer blows. Have you tried that Google browser? I don't know if I want to download another damn browser. Firefox is fine with me. I even use their email program on my laptop. It's alright I guess, but what the hell do I know. Back to Haig, did anyone see Rob Zombie's Halloween remake? What a disappointment. But the remake was like totally unnecessary don't you think? I think most remakes of great movies are a big waste of time, like that Manchurian Candidate remake a few years back. Come on, Jonathan Demme! And Denzel Washington was unwatchable for the first time ever. I really like Devil in a Blue Dress, though. What a wonderful neo-noir, plus a good script didn't hurt. I remember watching it on VHS with this girl I had a crush on, my roommate's best friend. She made Rice Crispy squares with Red Hots in them. She was very talented. Mmmm...I sure could go for a few of those right now. Man, she was cute. Whatever happened to, um what was her name?

...

...

...

Oh yeah, Zombie Aftermath. It sucked.

FINAL EXAM (1981)

On the eighteenth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... eighteen A-pluses ... in murder!

THE CARD:

Wise-cracking, evisceration-prone college students, a death-obsessed Nerdlinger, a Kurt Vonnegut dead ringer, Larry the Football Coach Guy, John Huston's failed progeny, and cafeteria workers with gigantic beards.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Two horny alcoholic teenagers make out in a convertible on a grainy, dimly-lit street. They sort out their relationship difficulties in a three-second conversation and then get down to business. Before you know it, some dude in Chugga boots interrupts the coitus and offs them with superhuman strength. The next day, the campus is mildly shocked at last night's events. Cut to a chemistry class final exam (hence the title) and we are introduced to an Advertising major with low morals (shocking!), a hateful loudmouth jock named Wildman, a Laraine Newman lookalike Brainiac, a world-weary Professor, and a morbid nerd with an encyclopedic knowledge of mass murder named Radish. Yep, Radish. Like any good scholar, the Prof is fooling around with one of his students, a young airhead hotty named Lisa. Meanwhile, the obligatory black van stalks the campus. But instead of our superhuman killer who's quickly becoming the most beloved character twenty minutes into this thing, the van is actually filled with armed masked gunmen who blow away students on the front lawn. Awwwkwaaard. Well, it turns out to be a fraternity prank that, um, probably wouldn't go over too well today, but was funny as shit in 1981. The distraction allows the Mad Man wanna-be to cheat on his exam. A gum-chewing Sheriff who definitely fails to communicate shows up and hassles our massacre-loving pranksters and vows to keep an eye out. Later, we discover that Lisa and Brainiac are roommates and Brainy is getting frustrated at Lisa's good and easy life. Brainy confides in Radish and the pair form a burgeoning romantic partnership, despite the fact Radish is gayer than ballerina night at a West Hollywood piano bar. Wildman and Advertising guy harass Radish for calling the cops and promise to make finals week even more stressful. So some other pranks are pulled, big-haired Advertising guy and Wildman plot to steal drugs, Brainy gets more depressed setting up her final girl turn, and I worry that our slasher will never show up. My frets don't last long as our invincible Wrangler jean-wearing maniac magically appears to clean (frat) house, cut class, boost his Grave Point Average, and other lame college kid-killing puns.

THE FINISHER:

Continuing my nostalgic trek into 80s horror comes this teen slasher that took forever to make it to DVD, and maybe it should have taken a little longer. The movie was unoriginal, boring and very predictable. Sure it came out at the dawn of 80s slashers, just as early releases were laying out the parameters for the genre, but that doesn't excuse its utter lameness. On a positive note, the movie is not slow, some scenes and dialog are enjoyable for their laugh-out-loud awfulness, and the characters are completely unlikable which feeds the viewers' lust for a speedy, bloody end. Final Exam borrows much from its contemporaries such as the Halloween-inspired soundtrack and the Friday The 13th death scenes. Director Jimmy Huston, son of John Huston, is less than inspiring at moving along the bare plot, and it would have been interesting if he'd learned anything from Pops. The killer's motives and origins are left unexplained and he's just dumped upon the campus as an indestructible, quick as the wind, empty homicidal android. But on the plus side, he looked like one of the Daryls from Newhart:


The DVD has interviews with the cast of the film. I watched the one with the guy who played Radish in hopes that he would out himself, or at least admit that he banged that asshole Wildman. But, it's a by-the-numbers “We shot it here and had a good time”, and “Everyone was wonderful”, and “I am so ashamed” deal. Final Exam is pretty standard work, no fancy cinematography, passable acting, and a sad lack of gore. I guess horror fanatics will enjoy its reemergence from VHS obscurity, and it does have that bad 80s charm that makes you feel so warm inside. Just like being strangled by parachute pants.

JACK BROOKS: MONSTER SLAYER (2007)

On the seventeenth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... seventeen hours of monster karate lessons!

THE CARD:

Teenage mutant ninja monsters, a pissed-off white boy, ineffectual psychiatrists, Room 222 rejects, and pukey messes that aren't the script.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

The title character (Trevor Matthews) is a jack-of-all-trades handyman with a shitty van-load of anger issues fostered by witnessing the death of his family at the furry hands of a forest monster as a kid. Life is falling apart for Jack. His shrink is out of ideas, his girlfriend's got a wandering eye, and he can't control his whiny self-hatred and temper tantrums. He attends night school where his science teacher Mr. Crowley (Robert Englund) asks him for help with his plumbing. Jack goes to work on his basement plumbing and unbeknownst to him, inadvertently releases a weird gas that slowly seeps into Crowley’s bedroom and turns him into a ravenous carnivorous creature with black contact lenses. (I knew I should have invested in those things. They’re everywhere!). Guided by the sickness, Crowley digs up a box in his backyard that contains a beating black heart that he promptly chows down. Meanwhile, Jack's loss of temper intensifies despite meeting a new punk rocker girl and a breakthrough with his counselor. But he’s still pissed and refuses to talk about his parents’ death. Crowley's physical deterioration continues as he eats his pet dog, vomits on the chalkboard, and grows tentacles from his hips. Unfortunately, there's not a giggling Japanese girl in sight. Jack confers with an old fart who owns the local hardware store. Oldie weaves a tale of the bizarre legend of Crowley's house which clues us in to the mystery of his degeneration. Shouldn’t we all know by now that when a scary old man tells you a narrative of his misspent youth that results in dismemberment and/or cannibalism, you should probably heed his advice? But Jack dismisses the cautionary tale and continues doing stuff, mostly not monster-slaying. By now Crowley is a burping, farting, fleshing-eating mess, and his transformation into rubbery movie monster completes. Crowley the Hutt unfurls his tentacled fury upon his students and transforms them into hideous zombies while Jack tries to save his girlfriend and a couple others by doing what any skilled monster slayer would do: lock themselves in a room. A life or death struggle ensues with lots of running, screaming, monster grunting, and unnecessary ethnic stereotypes. Jack and his lady manage to escape, but a song triggers a memory and a feeling deep within Jack and he returns to met out some serious monster killing like the Walmart-bred badass he was born to be.

THE FINISHER:

First off, I love monster movies of all sizes, shapes, and species, (well, except for Species) and I've been more than forgiving for any missteps to the majority of the bad ones. Jack Brooks: Monster Slayer is not a terrible movie, but I don't think any less of it because it's evident that there's genuine enthusiasm that went into it that longs for the 80s style and spirit, a recent trend permeating independent horror. I remember with fondness afternoons and nights watching horror goodness raided from the local video store as a cherubic scare monger. The best part was that sometimes I'd find something really good amidst VHS tapes of mostly bad. And Monster Slayer not only wants to bring back that exciting, fuzzy feeling, it also wants to be emblematic of it. Unfortunately, the movie plays out more like a pilot of a cheap TV show than an independent horror movie or a nostalgic throwback. I suppose it's meant to be a comedy, but the laughs weren't coming at you like silver bullets. In fact, the first forty minutes drags significantly with filler and exposition. But the movie does follow a low-budget horror movie rule: save everything for the third act. Unfortunately, they forgot to include a first and second. But they pursue this rule faithfully as the last thirty minutes is an enjoyable, fast-paced gorefest. I was very thankful and appreciative for the lack of CGI and impressed by the traditional camerawork, and make-up and puppetry effects. The main leads are fine, Jack is gruff and ingratiating but bland, and once again Englund pulls through like a trooper. What I took away from this watchable but flawed movie is an enjoyable lack of pretension. It's just a guy slaying monsters because monsters need slaying. Unfortunately, the movie and characters aren't well-rounded enough, the monsters themselves are a little too cartoonish, and the story less than engaging. Monster Slayer's intentions are good, but it fails to bring back that elusive joy of finding a gem in a pile of crap.

WES CRAVEN'S CHILLER (1985)

On the sixteenth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... sixteen homicidal human Popsicles with Mommy issues!

THE CARD:

That guy from The Warriors, a priestly Paulie, loads of other That Guys, jerky doctors, Wonder Woman’s Mom, a violated Rottweiler, and another black eye for the Cryogenics industry.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

Miles Creighton (Michael Beck) dies of liver failure and his grief-stricken, money bags-laden Mother (Beatrice Straight) puts him into frozen suspended animation. She hopes to revive him when a treatment is available in the spooky liver-free future, despite the spiritual protests of the family priest (Paul Sorvino). Ten years pass, and a malfunctioning ice box thaws Miles out but doctors are able to revive him and treat his now-curable illness. But Miles isn’t the same warm, affable guy he used to be. He huddles alone in bedroom in his enormous mansion and watches TV, drinks wine, and silently contemplates evil doing. Well, so far I can really relate. But the real Miles blossoms when he’s given back control of the family business, a mega-corporation in need of profit-making ventures. He’s emotionless and ruthless, hates charities, and lacks a soul. He drinks a lot of booze, beats women, abuses animals, and murders here and there. He then hits on his adopted sister (Jill Schoelen), who can’t see he’s a cold-hearted snake! Just look into his eyes! He’s been telling lies. He’s a lover boy at play, he don’t play by rules, oh oh…OK I’ll shut up now. So he does a bunch of other messed-up Donald Trumpish-crap before the final showdown with his ticked-off, over-billed Mom who leads him back into the fridge where he’s put down for an eternal chilly time-out.

THE FINISHER:

Browsing my Netflix horror selections, I stumbled across Chiller which had “Wes Craven’s” displayed prominently on the front cover. “Hmm, the guy who directed the original Hills Have Eyes and the underrated People Under the Stairs and invented Freddy Krueger, you know, that horror icon”, I told myself. Then I thought, “Hmm, but this is also the guy who created Scream and the endless stream of haughty, self-aware, dumb-as-shit teen slasher copycats”. What to do? It was dated 1985 so I guessed that this was made between the first Nightmare on Elm Street and Serpent and the Rainbow, which comprised a classic Craven era of sorts, so I figured what the hell. I later learned that this was one of several TV movies Craven did in the 80s. The DVD quality was worse than anything you can see on VHS. It looked like someone put a camera in front of tube TV and shot the whole thing in a cave. The acting was spectacularly wooden, even for TV. Only stage-trained actress Straight seemed to be putting in any kind of effort. The Warriors guy was as stiff as a Baseball Furies bat. Sorvino may have had ten minutes of screen time at best, but his mug dominates the video cover. The only redeeming and memorable factor of the movie was a cool reanimation sequence by the late, great Stan Winston.

Chiller was truly dreadful, slow, and worst of all, boring. I longed for commercial breaks that never came. Like, remember that one Popsicle commercial from the 80s where goofy kids sung and danced into the popsicle like a microphone? Yep, better than Chiller.

OTIS (2008)

On the fifteenth day of Halloween, my boo love gave to me ... fifteen cans of Slim Fast for Serial Killers!

THE CARD:

A pudgy cool duder without a life, Scorcese’s ex-squeeze, Macaulay Culkin’s former nemesis, A Dear John alum A-hole, Rool, and lots of obvious, painfully unfunny mutilation jokes.

More details here.

THE ANGLE:

A young hot chickie (Ashley Johnson) is kidnapped by a tub-of-lard serial killer Otis (Bostin Christopher) obsessed with taking girls to his basement and acting out the prom night he never had in high school. Fatty calls all his victims “Kim”, bangs them, and tortures them for good measure before offing them. It's probably the only exercise this girthy wonder will ever get. The girl's empty-headed but concerned parents (Ileana Douglas and Daniel Stern) are distraught when the idiot detective assigned to the case (Jere Burns) is more interested in his hairdo than solving the case. The investigation spirals out of control, forcing the overzealous Mom and Dad team to take things into their own hands. Meanwhile Otis has a difficult time hiding his crimes from his jerk-wad brother (Kevin Pollack) and is starting to feel the heat from the parents' meddling in his dark affairs. Eventually, hilarity ensues when the parents mistake Otis' brother for the killer and kidnap, torture, and brutally murder him. It all gets really silly and insipid when the parent's discover their error and encounter the real Otis waiting for their next move. The ending is supposed to be ironic and shocking, setting up the stage for further hot chickie buffets for Tubby.

THE FINISHER:

I watched this movie as part of the 2008 Fangoria Weekend of Horrors in L.A. last April with an enthusiastic audience cheering and cracking up for ninety minutes. I almost pierced my brain scratching my head trying to figure out what they were seeing and what I was missing. Too smug to be a stupid slasher and too dumb to be a black comedy, Otis deserves little scrutiny and more fast-forwarding through the boring parts, of which there are many. Just like his upper lip, Otis is a big sloppy mess. If I must say anything positive it's that the movie tries to say something about media hyper and victimization, and this would have been fine in a film that didn't irritate the living fuck out of you every five minutes with cheap jokes, inept pacing, and poor attempts at scares.

Bostin Christopher as Otis is a bumbling, stuttering, and grunting headache. Even stalwart vets Douglas, Stern, and Pollack can't surpass the material in this overwrought disaster. At times, Otis wants to develop into a slasher parody, but instead it wallows in painfully “ironic” character turnarounds and drowns itself in a bucketful of obviousness. There’s not much to like about Otis, despite the nostalgic tasteless humor and 80s-Pop soundtrack. Even in a room full of fellow horror geeks, it took concerted effort on my part not to leave the room. But I have to admit, I did leave ten minutes before the end (Ray Wise was speaking in the main room!). I got caught up on the ending and just threw my hands up in a spectacular “Meh”! The movie becomes another victim of the pitfall of horror comedy: keeping a balance between the funny and scary. Otis is about as consistent and reliable as his bulging, blubber-curdling waistline.