Author: unkle lancifer

In the back (and front, and side) of my mind I’ve been dreading Mother’s Day this year because my own mother recently passed away (two days before my birthday, no less). It has now become clear that I didn’t fully appreciate the amount of covert comfort my ma’s mere existence provided and now I keenly sense I’m working without a net and pretty much feel like the world’s oldest orphan. I’ve never been good with death and this is the one death (besides perhaps my own) that I’ve feared the most and for the longest amount of time. Luckily, this Isn’t my first square dance with the grim reaper and I know the only way to shoo away the swarm of howling gloom hornets is with some good old fashioned gratitude. I was lucky to have a generous mom who cared about people and animals & I’ve seen enough horror movies (not to mention the 1976 TV mini-series SYBIL) to know that’s not always the case and it's basically a crap-shoot what kind of parents one is designated at birth. I guess I’m saying I realize I lucked out. Now I guess I’m just worried I’m next on the conveyor belt rolling toward oblivion but it helps that I witnessed a spiritual vision of sorts upon the moment of my mother’s passing that leads me to believe that all is fine and as it should be (a story for another day).

In any case, certainly Kindertrauma would not exist without my dear ma, not because she gave birth to me but because she made the life altering decision to allow me to stay up late one night to watch SATAN’S TRIANGLE, the 1975 made for TV movie that activated the spewing fountain of primal fear in my brain that turned out to be the central part of my paranoid personality and the genesis of these pitiful pages. Then there was the time she came to pick me up at a friend’s house and got to gabbing with my pal’s mother. To keep us kids out of their hair, the moms put us in a wood paneled den with a humongous TV fully equipped with a brand new device called a cable box. There was no such thing as “On Demand “ Back then so me and my buddy watched whatever happened to be on HBO at the time and as fate would have it, it was none other than THE OMEN. Religious horror hounded me like a frightened fox back in the Satanic seventies and I missed way to many nights of sleep to count but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t think I would have mentally survived a few of the things that befell me in my life it I hadn’t had that inadvertent training to overcome (or at least dodge) my fears.

I should also thank my mother for never monitoring the VHS tapes my brothers and I would rent from STAGE DOOR VIDEO (a glorified kiosk in King of Prussia Mall) in the very earliest days of the home VCR boom. It may not have been her plan but she was instrumental in making me a horror fan (An aside about the early days of VHS: It’s hard to convey what a luxury it was back then to be able to watch a movie anytime you wanted to without commercials and to be able to rewind and watch it again if it was deemed worthy. Back then, you could also take the actual VHS box home with you as well and if you were like me, you gawked at every image on it, studied the synopsis, reveled in the ominous taglines and gawked endlessly at the poster art. It was all a glorious part of the home video experience).

My mother might not have been the hugest fan of horror herself but she was the type who, when finding out the mainstream movie she meant to see with her best pal Rilene was sold out, spontaneously bought tickets for THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2 instead and ended up chuckling at the mayhem throughout. She was also an avid reader and kept up with the popular titles of the day which is how I was first exposed to classic works of literature like AUDREY ROSE, THE OTHER and most frightening of all, THE AMITYVILLE HORROR. How can I repay such a gift?

When me and John first started Kindertrauma my mother was supportive enough to contribute a kindertrauma herself (HERE) something so many of my “friends” would never deign to do and once when she and her friend (Miss Rilene again, natch) were on vacation and came upon something dubbed and disturbing on TV that they could not identify I was thrilled to be able to eventually solve that “Name That Trauma” for her (It turned out to be Argento’s Masters of Horror episode “Jennifer”). Obviously my mother was way more than the few anecdotes I’ve described above (she was a devout spouse, a devoted friend, a loving caregiver to many fortunate pets and sweet enough to travel cross country to celebrate John and mine’s wedding) but these are a few of the things that I feel comfortable sharing here (I mean, it’s bad enough I had to share my mom with my brothers, much less the internet). Suffice to repeat, on this day, sad as I might be, I’m also profoundly grateful and wherever she may be, I know I have an ally out there somewhere. We didn’t see eye to eye on everything (I regret every moment spent butting heads on politics, what a waste of time) but on the things that truly mattered I believe we were on the same page (even if that page was sometimes from THE AMITYVILLE HORROR). So, Happy Mother’s day, mom and thanks for all you did and didn’t do.

For a while there I thought Zelda William’s LISA FRANKENSTEIN was right up my eighties-loving alley but that dalley turned out to be a dead end and I ended up walking in circles looking for a viable exit and eventually, exhausted, fell asleep in a pile of trash in the corner and was urinated on by a stray dog (not his fault). The movie looks great, it’s got visual flair to spare and the cast is killer (both Kathryn Newton as Lisa and Carla Gugino as her overbearing step mom Janet are stellar) and the lovingly curated soundtrack is phenomenal ( I’m still stunned that I lived to see the day when The Chameleon’s “Up the down Escalator” was used in an outfit upgrade montage. On the other hand, it may be time to give The Pixie’s “Wave of Mutilation” a rest and one rendition of REO Speedwagon’s “I Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore” is certainly more than enough). The uneven script is care of Diablo Cody (the underrated JENNIFER’S BODY) so there’s more than a few solid zingers amongst the onslaught of heavy-handed slang but all good intentions are dampened by the deadly decision to prematurely eradicate the film’s lively antagonist, a sin akin to sawing off three legs of the chair the audience is sitting in. Sure, the doomed outsider teen romance aspect may be enough to keep some lovelorn viewers smitten but I kept thinking I’d seen a similar union done far better before in 2013’s WARM BODIES. It’s not a total wash out, it throws you enough bones to make itself watchable but this wonky contraption may be too randomly cobbled together to stand as fully upright as it could have.

I’ve got more than enough backyard swimming pool related trauma in my past to be fully susceptible to the idea of a malignant pool taking out an innocent family Amityville-style. That said, I’m thinking NIGHT SWIM’s premise may be better suited to a short film (apparently, it actually sprung from a well regarded short and I'll have to track that down) or an episode of anthology television. Its already dubious plot is done no favors by a few over the top performances, funky effects and ridiculous reveals yet I gotta admit such broad strokes allow a certain amount of campy comedy to flourish and make the absurdities strangely watchable. Although the movie loiters in the shallow end ( a philosophical pool cleaner tries to inject meaning but his efforts are moot) its undemanding nature is sorta endearing and in the end, super likable Wyatt Russell’s earnestness as a self sacrificing father somehow keeps the sinking ship somewhat afloat. It’s not hard to see why this one was blasted by critics upon release (with the exception of Stephen King who notably compared it to Spielberg’s classic DUEL) but I found it a harmless enough diversion and I figure the world needed at least one killer pool movie anyway.

It’s possible my views cannot be trusted when it comes to Christmas set horror films due to the fact that I love them so much and treasure nearly every new addition to the sub-genre (within reason). I’m also of the mind that Martin Starr (FREAKS AND GEEKS forever) should be in every movie possible. In THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE BARN Starr stars as idealistic American father Bill Nordheim who drags his skeptical family (second wife Carol (Amrita Acharia), son Lucus (Townes Banner) and daughter Nora (Zoe Winther- Hansen)) to his ancestral farm in Norway to live a more peaceful and simple life. Well, you know the old saying “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry especially when your barn is home to a persnickety elf who demands you adhere to certain rules which you ignore thereby condemning your family to an onslaught of non-stop grief and carnage” (BTW:The elf and elves in question here bare a closer resemblance to common bearded/hooded garden gnomes, the kind of which appeared in the 1983 British horror anthology SCREAMTIME). This Hilarious dark comedy romp follows in the snowy footprints of holiday set, regulation-happy, morality fables GREMLINS (’84) and KRAMPUS (2015) and it does both of those classics proud with its well balanced blend of violence, humor and sentimentality. My only regret is that I did not have the opportunity to watch it during the proper season but there’s always next X-mas to fix that pint-sized oversight.

I was on the fence in regards to whether I wanted to see the latest monster mash-up GODZILLA X KONG: THE NEW EMPIRE. I very much wanted to spend time with the giant ape and the humongous radioactive lizard but I knew I’d have to endure packing peanut scenes involving boring humans staring at computers, pushing buttons and speaking gibberish. I’m not sure who I was kidding though because about five minutes into the movie I was indeed in my happy place, blissfully lost from reality and hanging out with roaring gargantuan beings who stomp on buildings and in Godzilla’s case, nap curled up in the Roman Colosseum like an exhausted house cat. Sure, there’s still some pesky humans poking about but it’s mostly the amiable likes of scrappy yee-hawing, eighties music loving monster dentist/vet “Trapper” (THE GUEST’s Dan Stevens) and likable and lanky adoptive mother/scientist/ Ilene Andrews (NIGHT HOUSE’s Rebecca Hall). The two apparently had some kinda fling in collage but happily we’re spared the details to make room for the more interesting in-depth analysis of the complicated social life and ever rotating pecking order of moody colossi. As an added bonus, the majority of the film takes place in a ridiculous upside down center Earth space that gives off some serious LAND OF THE LOST vibes. I found myself immediately regretting not paying the extra clams to experience this vibrant Saturday morning cartoon madhouse in what I'm sure would be spectacular 3-D.

I have to admit I did not appreciate seeing my usually thoughtful pal Kong picking up a baby giant ape he just met and using him to bludgeon his attacking foes but the lil’ dude seemed to recover (and even forgive) quickly and I’m sure the younger audience must have found the slapstick pummeling hilarious. In fact, what Adam Wingard’s second excursion into this world delivers so wonderfully is the toys in a sandbox, destructive power fantasy joy inherent with these fantastical creatures. It may not impress critics as much a the deeper, more grounded GODZILLA MINUS ONE but it does have the power to make at least this viewer remember what it was like to be a kid again (after viewing, I immediately went home and google-gawked at the latest toy-line based on the film and although I do not have the disposable cash to purchase such items, was not disappointed). I was also very delighted to see my favorite character show up (spoiler alert) and that would be the angelic behemoth moth Mothra who I am completely in awe of and possibly in love with. The cherry on this day-go cake is the introduction of a new misunderstood female titan named Shimo who is gorgeous and blasts ice out of her mouth. Although I’m subtracting points for relying on the tired ginger bully trope, I enjoyed this diversion more than Wingard’s previous stomp in the franchise thanks to its goofy childlike spirit and positive closure that involves our beloved victors united and waving goodbye over a hill like rogue violent Care Bears showering the world with earned camaraderie and (green) blood soaked rainbow glitter.

It’s a tricky thing to mess around with an already established franchise, particularly in the realm of prequels. Like the perils of time travel, one minor blunder can seemingly tarnish or muddy the carefully placed previous groundwork. Arkasha Stevenson’s debut feature THE FIRST OMEN is that rarest of unicorns, it stands gallantly on its own legs if need be but also serves to enhance the classic(s) that came before it. Beyond being easily one of the best in its home series, it also radiates as a much appreciated ode to satanic seventies cinema in general. Richard Donner’s gothic forerunner happily haunts this religious epic but so does ROSEMARY’S BABY (’68), THE DEVILS (’71), THE EXORCIST (’73), SUSPIRIA (’77) and thanks to a spirited central performance, POSSESSION (’81). It almost feels like a family reunion of sorts and if you’re a fan of any of the aforementioned you should feel at home, albeit uncomfortably. This artsy monster has surprisingly sharp teeth.

Nell Tiger Free (who previously lurked in SERVANT) portrays put upon would be nun Margaret Daino who is sent to an Orphanage in Rome in 1971 to learn the ropes before committing herself to God. There she encounters creepy seemingly possessed kids, cigarette smoking/trampoline enjoying women of the cloth and the sexual temptations of disco (poor thing is even enticed by Boney M.’s “Daddy Cool” which wasn’t released until 1976 but I digress). Things are harrowing and trippy but overall manageable until a fellow pre-nunster soaks herself in gasoline, lights herself aflame and does the classic “This is for you” self hanging with accompanying window crash routine as displayed in the first film. Henceforth our gal Maggie is unraveling conspiracies within the church to expedite the arrival of the Antichrist and is forced to witness her wildly talented co-stars (won’t say who lives or dies but we’ve got the likes of Sonia Braga, Ralph (THE WITCH) Ineson, ALIEN 3’s Charles Dance and SHAUN OF THE DEAD’s Bill Nighy on deck) steamrolled FINAL DESTINATION-style whenever they start getting an inkling of the untoward goings on. You know the drill and if you’re like me you love said drill.

I won’t mention any names (sounds like SCHMEXORCIST: DA-BIEBER) but this film does everything right that a certain recent attempt to reignite a beloved religious horror franchise fumbled. Steven’s film feels lived in, weighty and real and the relationships of the people involved click and repel in believable, human ways. It understands, controls and commands its space and elicits genuine concern for its tortured protagonist (who endures much body horror and often emits the bleak dread of a Munch painting). It’s highbrow when it wants to be, lowbrow when it needs to be and is absolutely not ashamed to take the gloves off and be nasty as hell on occasion. It feels absolutely epic and some of the images and visions we’re subjected to reverberate like genuine experienced hallucinations as it slyly trains the viewer not to trust their own eyes. It’s just good film-making that not only takes its subject matter seriously but its audience as well. Hey, I’m as shocked as you are. I found this covert prequel highly entertaining, truly unnerving and deliciously morbid (even if I figured out its central twisty rug-pull from miles away). What’s more, I can honestly say it restored my faith if not in religion than at least in the potential for true art in commercial film. I’m giving it six hundred and sixty six clawed thumbs up.