Category: General Horror

The film CANDYMAN is highly regarded but not highly regarded enough for me. Not only is it the cream of its decade, I'd say it deserves to stand among the best of all time. Director BERNARD ROSE's obsessive, God's eye geometric visuals are positively KUBRICK-ian, the score by PHILLIP GLASS is gloriously inspired and the acting, most particularly that of VIRGINA MADSEN is award worthy for any genre. Based on the short story "The Forbidden" by CLIVE BARKER, CANDYMAN hides a bee's hive of intricacies behind a deceptively basic slasher coat. Perhaps the reason many don't appreciate the film's full exquisiteness is because they walk away overpowered by the mythos of the title character. The figure of Candyman, as in the tale itself, is a dynamic catch-all Rorschach sponge of urban fears but inside his shadow lies an even stronger presence, that of MADSEN's character Helen Lyle.

When we first encounter Helen she is working on a thesis involving urban legends. She is particularly drawn to the story of Candyman, a murderous phantom that can be summoned at will. We learn early on that her relationship with her husband Trevor (XANDER BERKELEY), a university professor, is important to her yet strained. There is a competition of sorts at play as Helen's research coincides with her partner's expertise. Helen clearly suspects infidelity and Trevor hides his fears of being challenged and surpassed with condescension.

As Helen learns more about Candyman, she subconsciously builds a springboard away from her marriage. Just as Trevor seems to yearn for a more submissive, child-like partner as represented by his flirtation with his student Stacey (CAROLYN LOWERY), Helen desires something deeper and more spiritual as represented by Candyman (TONY TODD). You can find characters like hubby Trevor in just about any romantic comedy, he's the shifty, superficial "Mr. Wrong" that the audience wills away from the protagonist. Strange as it may seem, Candyman reads as "Mr. Right", he is more than able to accept the entirety of Helen, which includes her attraction to darkness and her burgeoning desire to unearth the unpleasant. (Candyman may offer chocolates spiked with razor blades but hey, they're chocolates just the same.) Helen's research into his legend is really a bid to be taken as an equal. As frightening as Candyman may be he also offers validity and ultimately even immortality to Helen.

Don't worry, there's a pyre being constructed for all this lovey-dovey romance stuff. The fire that Candyman fans within Helen, even he won't be able to contain. If you're at all dubious of the film's connection to romantic melodrama though, take a gander at the snapshot of MADSEN below, lit up and oozing like a DOUGLAS SIRK heroine…

As Helen progresses forward on her path (spurred in one instance by a dismissive male colleague of Trevor's) she becomes more and more socially unacceptable and less useful as an ornament for her husband. She's publicly viewed as a possible murderess and written off as completely insane. After breaking free from a mental hospital and journeying back to her home (whispering pleads to herself that Trevor will be there) she walks in to find him shacking up with his chippy in the wings and painting their apartment PINK!

The color pink (which Helen vehemently and vocally hates) perfectly captures the mandatory traditional feminine values that Trevor requires but there's something bigger here too. This is a whitewash of a different hue, the conscious smudging out of the undesirable truth, the blatant opposite of what Helen has committed herself to. Helen surpassed her husband's capabilities the moment she stepped foot in Cabrini-Green, the hell's nest where she gathered her information on their shared interest first hand. Trevor wants to play house, he's an academic and an armchair researcher. Helen has learned to get dirty; she has learned to look into the mouth of the beast. Unlike Trevor, Helen is no longer a poseur, she has accepted a wider variety of color into her world (think of the graffiti in Cabrini-Green!) and some of the colors aren't pretty.

This is the height of feminist horror but it also speaks to the innate power and subversive bravery of the horror genre itself. In my opinion, Helen speaks for every horror fan, every true artist and every minority poised to shove back when she utters this next line to her happy to paint the whole world pink, bourgeois husband…

"What's the matter, Trevor? Scared of something?"

If he were capable of honesty or any self-awareness Trevor's answer would be, "Yes" and well it should be.

So Helen and her schismatic shadow suitor Candyman now get to walk hand in hook into the sunset right? Listen, this movie is NOT about Candyman, I don't care what the title tells you. Candyman says it himself…

"It was always you, Helen."

In case you didn't hear him, that sentiment is also painted on the wall clear as day. Now, I know that some read this sentence as confirmation that Helen is the reincarnation of Candyman's past love or evidence that everything is in her head and that she is guilty of the bloodshed we've seen. To me though, this movie is all about fables within fables and the power of legends and storytelling. The viewer can read this line anyway they like, but I believe it literally means "Hey Helen, this story, this legend, is ABOUT YOU not Candyman!"

We can give the iconoclastic Candyman some props for being a catalyst for change in Helen's life but she's the one who births him in her mind after all. He's really nothing without her. With every story she hears she adds to his vigor, but make no mistake about who made who flesh. In fact, Candyman uses Helen's desire for meaning against her. He claims that he will free an infant child he has stolen if she will sacrifice herself and become legendary alongside him. This turns out to be a rouse, a way for Candyman to in fact subjugate and shadow Helen just as Trevor wanted to, a way to keep her latched to his coattail.

Instead, Helen kills Candyman (no sequel can tell me different) and crawls THROUGH FIRE to save the child. She dies a martyr's death, hair aflame like JOAN OF ARC. Her journey has been a solitary one, understood and acknowledged by few. Poetic justice prevails though, as the residents of Cabrini-Green somehow understand what she has sacrificed and accomplished. Perhaps finding a hook amongst the rubble was proof enough or maybe they just instinctively recognize that Helen raged against the same machine that they must. As her whispered story spreads she is finally able to surpass not only Trevor but also Candyman. Like a true hero her journey ends when she transforms into what she was seeking.

Trevor ends up haunted by the memory of Helen. (Like Candyman once did, she now lives in the minds of many.) The safe, unchallenging world he has created with Stacey is unsatisfactory and Stacey clearly feels the same. Without Helen as the monstrous other to seal their complacency pact, life seems quite the bore.

The last scene of the film shows Helen's full metamorphosis into her own creation, her own deadly phantom. She now IS Candyman. She's not working for him, they're not in love in some spectral plane, Candyman does not exist anymore; she has made him obsolete. Helen has absorbed Candyman's strength and now stands alone without a partner or crutch. Her first order of business is to eradicate Trevor completely (repeating the ten thousand dollar question "Afraid of something?") and then frame Stacey for the crime (perhaps sending her on a similar path.)

I don't mean to shortchange Candyman, our one truly vital African American horror icon but in the singular universe of the first film, and considering the romantic mechanisms bubbling underneath, the smooth talking psycho doesn't offer Helen much more than her husband. In other words, "Thanks for showing me the ropes on how to be an immortal, tall dark and dangerous, but maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore!" (By the way, speaking of CM's romantic undercurrents, guess who was first in line for the role of Helen if MADSEN should decline? Can you believe the then unknown, future queen of rom-coms SANDRA BULLOCK?)

As I said before, the film's fascination with urban legends and oral history is constant. History is written by the winners and stories and recollections are known to mutate as they pass from person to person (as in the game "telephone" a.k.a. "Chinese whispers".) Candyman is an undeniably seductive presence but let's not let his magnetism drown out who really carries this film, on her back, through the flames.

We all know I'm prone to hyperbole so stand back because as far as I'm concerned understatement is anesthesia. VIRGINIA MADSEN as Helen Lyle delivers what should be considered one of the best performances in the history of horror film and it's a travesty that it is not more widely regarded as such. There's never a false note that I can detect and she's asked to travel emotionally from alpha to omega and back again. She shows us everything from the absolute physical pain her character must plow through to the deep guilt and remorse she suffers as her lone confidant Bernadette (KASI LEMMONS) falls victim to the demon Helen has conjured. She convincingly conveys both authentic intelligence and earned bravado and she is able to flash from stunned awe to whimpering mental collapse within a heartbeat. How the living hell does this performance go unmentioned so often? Yo horror fans, you've gotta frickin' JESSICA LANGE level performance in your midst, you wanna do so something besides dust room off your shelf for your TONY TODD action figure?

Put aside the performance now and let's look merely at the character of Helen Lyle again. You people don't want to celebrate a horror heroine of such fortitude? Egad, what, she's too complicated for you? Forget "final girls," Helen isn't "final." She's eternal and she sure as hell ain't a girl, she's a fully realized being. She did more than conquer her boogey man for crying out loud, she leap-frogged over him and swiped his mojo. She encompasses all of the qualities that horror fans purport to hold in high regard and then some and yet her name is rarely uttered.

What's the matter fanboys, afraid of something?

Let's wrap this up before I crush the wine glass in my trembling rage fueled hand. CANDYMAN is some super fine sweets for the sweet. As for Helen Lyle (and by association VIRGINIA MADSEN) consider me among the residents of Cabrini-Greene who walked en masse to testify at her funeral. It's an ironic shame that although the film allows her character to scale over the forces that seek to dilute her that the outside world of horror fandom continues to succumb to Candyman's hypnotic spotlight stealing gaze. I love you Candyman, don't get me wrong; I'm just saying that there's a sleeping giant of a horror icon in your movie and it's high time you stepped to the side and let her get her rightful due.

I took a trip away from Kindertrauma Castle last weekend and landed in New York. Cops stood on every corner but I also witnessed DEBBIE HARRY on a stroll. Last time I was in this strange city it was not quite as windy and I saw JEFF GOLDBLUM sneeze and JENNIFER JASON LEIGH taking in ALICE NEEL. In other words, every time I go to New York I see someone who has starred in a DAVID CRONENBERG movie. What does it mean? My theory is that New York does not really exist. It is only a dream that I have every time I step onto a Peter Pan bus. The bus driver is my hypnotist. How else can you explain ten dollar beers?

One nice thing about New York is that, unlike post-apocalyptic Philadelphia, they have decent movie theaters. Another plus is that you are less likely to be shot for stepping on somebody's toe and you don't always have to sit next to a crying baby on a cell phone. It's as if the people who go to the movies in New York actually have a desire to watch the film they've paid to see. I think it's kind of fun to go to the movies when it's not the most aggravating experience imaginable and I don't mind spending a few extra dollars on tickets if it means that when I leave the theater my will to live is not in shreds.

Being in New York was my big chance to see THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE, a much ballyhooed movie about a mad German who wants to sew together a butt-to-mouth choo-choo train out of understandably reluctant victims. But wait, the pal I'm visiting tells me of another film playing in the same theater called HOUSE a.k.a. HAUSU (1977) and shows me this trailer on his laptop…

HUMAN CENTI-WHO? Contrary to what you may have read on the bathroom stall, when it comes to choosing between forced butt munching and portraits of Persians who spew blood, I'll always pick the later. The choice was clear I had to see HOUSE; it had a floating decapitated head in it! I know I'm not usually the biggest fan of J-horror but from what I could tell from the trailer this movie had nothing to do with haunted hand-held technology. I could catch up with that crazy German guy later; after the dour NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET remake it was high time your rapidly aging Unk had some G.D. fun. You remember fun, it's that frothy feeling that everything doesn't suck.

One thing is for sure, I would have had a much easier time explaining the CENTIPEDE movie to you. HOUSE is about as unexplainable as they come. Director NOBUHIKO OBAYOSHI tapped his young daughter's head for the film's bonkers content and boy did he find a wellspring. HOUSE has the same type of exuberant, logic-defying power as a kid's drawing. If DARIO ARGENTO took ten tabs of acid and filmed an episode of JOSIE AND THE PUSSYCATS starring SHONEN KIFE and sporting a soundtrack by ELO it would come out only half as insane as this. HOUSE makes a kaleidoscope look like a monocle. It funnels its giddy cartoon dogma directly into your eyeballs. I promise you, it's pretty much like playing "light as a feather, stiff as a board" with a very high HELLO KITTY. I can't tell you it's scary though, the scariest part of this movie is having to return to the real world when it's done.

In HOUSE you'll meet a teen girl named Gorgeous and her friends Prof (the smart one with glasses), Kung-fu (Sporty Spice), Sweet (the sweet one), Melody (musically inclined) and Mac (the girl who can't stop eating.) The sassy lasses take a super fake train ride under cotton candy clouds to Gorgeous' mysterious Aunt's house. Following them wherever they go is Blanche, a white Persian cat who apparently bought her own train ticket and steals every scene she's in. The Aunt is some kind of crazy witch with a hidden agenda and the house is as alive as the cabin in EVIL DEAD 2.

There is so much going on that it's nearly overwhelming and I'm sure that one viewing will never be enough for most. This is the type of perfect cult movie that you should have on hand to subject your friends to. It's strange and twisted enough to be embraced by horror fans and goofy and weird enough for anybody sick of the usual. Even if my entire trip to New York was not a hallucination, I'll never be completely convinced that my viewing of HOUSE was real. If movies are drugs, this is a potent one and I may never look at my cat the same way again.

NOTE: HOUSE will be released on DVD by Criterion in September and it looks like THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE is currently on IFC pay-per- view (at least here.) Looks like I made the right decision for sure, I can have my possessed cat and eat my HUMAN CENTIPEDE too.

My heart will go on… even if it does suffer from post-Titanic disaster stress disorder thanks to the iceberg Platinum Dunes. Who would have ever thought that Freddy would one day get raped by more maniacs than his ma Amanda? I spent the week floating on an ice cube holding onto Freddy's gloved hand but he finally slipped away. I watched him sink, growing smaller and smaller, darker and darker until…pfft. What followed was a self destructive drunken rampage that if I remember correctly involved my robbing a hamburger joint with ROB LOWE while wearing a bunny mask and then beating the crap out of ALI LARTER for touching my baby, or was I just watching BAD INFLUENCE and OBSESSION back to back? I guess I'll never know. (They say you've bottomed out when you can't remember the night before.)

A wise Kindertrauma commenter suggested that I jump back on the red and green striped saddle again as soon as possible and that's exactly what I did. It turns out that your Aunt John had never seen WES CRAVEN'S NEW NIGHTMARE so I just had to correct that immediately. While watching the film I thought about what I had learned recently from my friends on Elm Street. Why not take the lessons that I gained from the original film and apply them to my current depressive dilemma? I'm not referring to the very tempting act of denial as utilized by the Elm Street parents; I'm talking about Nancy's final a-ha moment when she realized that she was feeding the beast.

So here it goes; NIGHTMARE REMAKE, I take back every bit of energy I ever gave you. You're nothing. You're shit.

Hey, it worked! It's silly to get all bent out of shape when I still have my box set of the originals an arm's length away. In truth, I should thank the remake for reminding me just how much I love them. What was I thinking looking for comfort outside my own DVD collection? The answer was here all the time. (Wow, aren't those the lyrics to "Don't cry for me Argentina?)

Now I'm not saying that WC'S NN is a masterwork or anything. It's silly in spots but it's entertaining as hell and if ideas were popcorn kernels the movie would be jiffy-pop. Aunt John even ended up loving it, which by the way, is not an everyday occurrence. I hate to "out" him on this but his attention span is so short that it was once mistaken for WALLACE SHAWN. (crickets chirp) No? No MY DINNER WITH ANDRE fans reading the blog today? O.K. lets move on because it's time for a love fest. Thanks again 2010 NIGHTMARE, you really did help to remind me of how much I adore the original NOES crew, all of whom shine in the seventh installment…

WES CRAVEN

What a clever and spiritual filmmaker. CRAVEN did more than create a highly effective scare movie with the original film. He created a character and a world that never existed before yet still felt as familiar as your own bad dreams. The sequels that the original spawned may not have been as satisfying, but CRAVEN constructed an open canvas that pushed other filmmakers and writers in creative ways that would not have been possible in any other series horror or otherwise.

I love how in NEW NIGHTMARE he pegs Freddy as a creature that has always existed and has appeared in many forms because that's how I have always felt about him. From the first moment I laid eyes on Krueger I recognized every childhood fear collected in one shadowy form. CRAVEN has created so many classics that it's not easy for NEW NIGHTMARE to rise to the top of the heap but there are few better examples of his ability to push the genre into new territory while still honoring the ancient art of storytelling.

JOHN SAXON

What a guy. Is it any wonder that the three N.O.E.S. movies that SAXON appears in are considered the best? In a series known for it's malleable, topsy-turvy environments, SAXON provides the perfect anchor of lucidity. In NEW NIGHTMARE he plays himself as a nurturing shoulder to lean on but observe as he starts to blend into his onscreen persona, a true pro at work. Yes, I recently included him on my "A-holes of Elm Street" list but really that was just because I wanted to look at his picture.

HEATHER LANGENCAMP

I think my respect for LANGENCAMP's contribution to the original films has grown the most thanks to recent events. I may have made some disparaging remarks about her acting in the past but I'm taking them all back. Maybe her delivery can be a bit awkward at times (sometimes awesomely so) but there's never any doubt about what she's feeling on screen. LANGENCAMP's Nancy Thompson is earthy and humble and fighting to realize her full potential. She's a warrior with a heart of a lamb.

Many of the series other entries delved into the discovery of personal power but it was HEATHER who provided the perfect prototype. Those big blue eyes, that girl-next-door charm, this gal had serious chutzpa and she never had to be showy or vain about her emerging strengths. As played by LANGENCAMP you simply HAVE to route for Nancy, just as you'd route for any exotic creature poised toward extinction.

NEW NIGHTMARE gives her character a chance to expand and share her power maternally (much like Ripley in ALIENS). One can still point out her acting quirks throughout but what's also prominent is her effortless charisma and unique accessibility. Put that up against the robots in the redo and just see who flinches first.

ROBERT ENGLUND

Mr. Irreplaceable. I'm sure there are many fine actors who could give the ol' fedora a good whirl but there's never going to be anybody who can approach what ROBERT ENGLUND has done throughout the series. Maybe some of the sequels got a bit too jokey but could anyone else have held your attention as he did? CRAVEN may have created an incredible character but ENGLUND fuckin' rode that baby like a bronco.

One of the fascinating aspects of NEW NIGHTMARE is that it's forward enough to encompass all aspects of the Freddy character. From his climbing out of the primordial ooze in Craven's head with fairy tale lore still clinging to his shoes to his campy, zeitgeist media infiltration. ENGLUND can play Freddy any way you throw at him and as is hinted at in this film, the line between the performer and the character is difficult to pin down. ENGLUND is married to Freddy and Freddy to him, their marriage may not be recognized in your country or state but it should be. It's a once in a lifetime thing when the stars align and the resulting merge is this sweet and symbiotic, don't question it, just bow before it's beauty.

WES CRAVEN'S NEW NIGHTMARE is a must for any fan or even non-fan of the NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET series. It gives you a rare bird's eye view of the creative process and it's aftermath while still operating as an authentic horror film. The idea of bringing Freddy back to his darker roots was obviously thought of before the remake was ever commissioned and trust me it was done a far sight better in 1994. More importantly, if you're like me and are still trying to scrape the residue of the recent incarnation off your shoe, it's the perfect cure. Maybe there's a purpose for idea-free, emotionless, parasitic films like 2010's A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET after all; they serve to remind you who your real friends are.

Have you ever been disappointed by a film only to stumble across it decades later and find it to be a head smacking work of absolute brilliance? That's my story with VAMPIRE'S KISS. What was I thinking way back in ‘88 when I shrugged this slice of genius off? I guess young Unk was expecting something different (a straight up horror flick) and was just too rigid to go with the funky flow. Well, a changed mind is an open mind I always say and I'm just glad this flick sauntered back into my life. VAMPIRE'S KISS is not your traditional vampire tale; it's a raven black cult comedy, a portrait of a soul longing to connect while dismantling in the process and a "Wish you here!" post card from late eighties, late night New York. It was written by JOSEPH MINION, the guy who wrote MARTIN SCORSESE's AFTER HOURS and maybe if I was privy to that nugget of info way back when, I wouldn't have been so dense to the film's modus operandi. Truth be told though, I think one needs a bit of life experience, a couple of their own soul sucking vampire encounters, to truly appreciate what's going on.

NICOLAS CAGE is Peter Loew an insecure egoist with some real intimacy issues. Here's a guy who wants to fall in love but fears losing himself in the process. One night stands do little to appease his needs and the only sense of self importance he can attain is through vicious power plays at his yuppie job and temper tantrums performed before his therapist (ELIZABETH ASHLEY). He has an interested, fun-loving romantic interest at his disposal, Jackie (KASI LEMMONS), but his head and heart itch for the acceptance of an unattainable beauty, who rebuffed him, Rachael (JENNIFER BEALS). One night a bat flies into his apartment (is it real? I don't know), and he finds his battle with it more arousing than the available Jackie. Clearly Peter is more excited by the "mortal combat" of love, not the actual attainment of it. From this point on he falls into a pit of fantasy where he is owned and can be loved by a nonexistent vampiric entity. In the made up world inside his head, love is finally possible now that choice and consequences have been obliterated. Peter's fears of being drained by love have transformed him into a life draining monster himself. Eventually, like a snake eating its own tail, he consumes himself.

CAGE broke my heart a long time ago. No, I couldn't take a flight on CON AIR with this once astonishing actor, it just hurt too much. Here he is at his pre-sell out, still has a neck, prime; lanky and ridiculous, flailing about like a stringless marionette and shamelessly mugging for all to see. What a great, fearless, go-for-broke, let the chips fall where they may performance. NICK, all is forgiven and bravo. I know that weirdo is still inside you somewhere. I plan to now seek out THE BAD LIEUTENANT: PORT OF CALL – NEW ORLEANS and to rewatch THE WICKER MAN solely for comedic purposes. I have held a grudge against you for decades and I am now calling a permanent truce. Rank me among your highest supporters…for now.

In contrast to CAGE's intoxicating showboating is MARIA CONCHITA ALONSO as his long suffering secretary Alva. ALONSO delivers such a quiet, restrained alternative to CAGE's manic drooling that the collision of the two approaches is spellbinding. Peter (who even has a photo of KAFKA on display in his office) sends poor Alva on a bureaucratic goose chase that's sometimes uncomfortable to witness but also hilarious. CAGE's excesses are such that I found myself almost hiding behind my hands in sympathetic embarrassment for both parties. It's as if he sends her on an equally fruitless journey as his own out of spite and when her goal is miraculously reached before his, it sparks his final self destructive nose dive.

Director ROBERT BIERMAN deserves accolades for opening every cage in the zoo and for letting the script and the city speak for itself. Downtown New York is really allowed to breathe and be itself on screen yet the visuals never overpower the performances (really how could they?) ELIZABETH ASHLEY as Pete's doctor should also be singled out for delivering some of the film's funniest, most sardonic lines without a wink. VAMPIRE's KISS is currently on HULU and you can watch it for free HERE. Clueless Unk circa 1988 may not recommend it, but I sure as hell do.

I've always felt a bit of a stony disconnect with 1951's THE THING FROM ANOTHER WORLD. It's not because it's in black and white, me and black and white movies are prone to secret late night rendezvous all the time. Is it because I saw JOHN CARPENTER's remake first? That never stopped me from getting completely entranced with the original CAT PEOPLE or INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS. I've said before that I'm not the type to give up on a film just for not putting out on the first date. My love of JOHN CARPENTER's THE THING is enough for me to own the film it's based on and the other night I gave it another go with happy enough results. It ended up being a fine film to help me put old man winter to bed and watching it with the conscious eyes of a CARPENTER fan delivered some rewards previously missed.

I'm thinking my problem has always been that the film steers clear from the emotional and psychological aspect of horror. It's a stiff upper lip, often times jocular man's man flick whose tone seems closer to that of a war film or western. Most of the characters crack wise throughout the running time and the worst terrors seem readily cured by a hot cup of joe. There's never a real sense of chaos as all involved (save for a wigged out watchman whose bullets have zero effect on the creature) approach the problem at hand with steady, rational aplomb. Moments after the monster gets his arm ripped off by a dog we've learned just about everything we would want to know of the being thanks to some scientists and a couple microscopes. Maybe a little too much even, personally I'd advise a "Don't ask don't tell policy" if my film's main threat was conceived as an "intellectual carrot."

As much as I'd like to shake the whole phlegmatic affair up like a snow globe, I have to admit that some of the stark desolate photography is winning and that there's a few good workable jump scares. I know that's faint praise for a renowned classic but I've always found the unflappable a bit dull. It's certainly entertaining; I just feel I should want to squeeze its cheeks a bit more than I do.

Although the listed director is CHRISTIAN NYBY it's widely known that CARPENTER's hero HOWARD HAWKS cracked the whip on this dog sled. Just as AUNT JOHN has taught me to appreciate, if not love, some films I've neglected, knowing that CARPENTER holds this film in such high regard makes it that much more interesting to me. There's a mismatched group facing an unknown foe just like in ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13 (and THE FOG), There's a dark shadowy giant with a habit of crashing through hallways just like "the shape" in HALLOWEEN and the final sky gazing moment that warns of future possible terror was lifted directly for THE FOG's elegant epilogue. I also think I understand why NANCY LOOMIS was cast in so many of CARPENTER's films, her girl Friday quip-banter is a chip off of TTFAW's MARGARET SHERIDAN's block. In fact, I'd say in some ways this film resembles those early CARPENTER flicks a bit more than it does his official remake.

Oh boy, you know, I started this post thinking I'd keep talk of CARPENTER's remake to a minimum but that's kind of impossible. I admit it, the whole time I was with the 1951 version I was thinking of it's younger sibling (you can take the Unk out of the eighties but you can't take the eighties out of the Unk.) Who am I kidding? I guess the ultimate truth for me is that nothing can really stand up to CARPENTER's take on JOHN W. CAMPBELL JR.'s WHO GOES THERE? Those other remakes I mentioned, CAT PEOPLE and INVASION, add modern nuances to the films they spawned from (to debatable effect, personally I enjoy them all) where CARPENTER's version just blows the previous take absolutely out of the water and renders it nearly obsolete.

Ugh, I said it. I know not everyone will agree with that but I doubt I'm alone. CARPENTER added the paranoia, the distrust, the believable human aspect that's needed as an appropriate flip side to the alien menace. The original takes on a rather surface issue of invasion and can be seen as a "red scare" parable of us vs. them. CARPENTER tackles something a bit deeper, the very real fear (and this should scare you) that we ARE (or are becoming) "them." The threat may still come from outer space but the territory it marks as a landing pad is the human body, it conquers from within. Ultimately traditional heroics have little effect in the remake as we are left wondering if even our star player MacReady (KURT RUSSELL) is corrupted. The ultimate fear is a global dehumanization, a very profound and real social worry that continues. I ask you, in 2010, is man still "the warmest place to hide" or is the alien menace likely to get more mileage hijacking a laptop?

The ‘82 version may have gotten gaff for relying too heavily on special effects but artist ROB BOTTIN did a bit more than throw blood and prosthetics about. He made it seem that anything was possible and that anything could happen at any moment. His conjurer's hand added yet another significant layer of unease and distrust to the happenings. Suddenly, all bets were off and the audience had that rare experience of not having a clue as to what to expect. Cautious critics can cry "leaves nothing to the imagination!" as much as they like, we now know the reverse was true. BOTTIN's beautiful work in fact, lit the fuse of imagination. He had many of us pondering what shape "the thing" might take next and the possibilities were simply endless. Let's hear it for coloring outside the lines.

Can I just say I hate the cliché of "leaves nothing to the imagination" because it assumes to know the perimeters of my mind? I get the slavish love for subtlety, I think it's great to allow the audience to fill in the blanks when it's done well, but the gall of suggesting that audiences can't expand upon what they have seen just seems like lazy rhetoric to me. It's sad that so many critics in 1982 could mistake legitimate, inspirational artistry for sensationalist gore. Mr. BOTTIN, Mr. CARPENTER, you left a hell of a lot to my imagination, thank you very much. You still do.

Honestly, do you know what's a way bigger imagination killer than visceral, in your face special effects? I'd say it's having your monster be a carrot. Heads with spider legs are not the enemy my friends, walking vegetables are!

Oh no, I've jumped the rails again (and perhaps I'm preaching to the choir), please enjoy my mania while it lasts. I don't mean to disrespect a film that made so many of my favorites possible. The earlier version (maybe it's not even fair to compare the two) really does have a snug, affable atmosphere even if its thrills feel limp. I guess THE THING FROM ANOTHER WORLD is never going to satisfy this viewer completely. It's not that it's dated and as dispassionate as a distant patriarch, it's because I have no real need to dance with someone so frigid when I know I can just as easily, for the same quarter, have my mind blown.

I once facetiously said that horror heroine Ellen Ripley officially belonged to the world of sci-fi because she broke bread with robots and drove a spaceship to work. The truth is, no amount of blinking computer lights or sparkling stars can keep ALIEN from being one of the purest examples of a horror film in existence. ALIEN may wear a sci-fi jumpsuit but when you look into its eyes, horror is all you see. I started this project hoping to show the similarities between RIDLEY SCOTT's stone cold masterpiece and that of the classic horror films that came before it, but as you'll see I fell off the rails a great deal and included films released after ALIEN as well. The reason for that, I'm sure, is because that is where the greater share of my familiarity (and DVD collection) lies. (I also ended up including some other examples of the sci-fi horror hybrid; both genres have always been thick as thieves anyway-why split hairs?)

Although I may have lost my initial point in the process, I think I discovered a bigger truth, that the mechanisms shown are eternal. As I see it, the notorious scene of the alien baby bursting from JOHN HURT's chest may have signaled an exciting new path ahead for both genres but at the same time it exposed something as ancient and primal as birth itself. ALIEN, Lt. Ripley, have I told you lately how perfect you are?