Category: Repeat Offenders

The 1973 U.K. public information film entitled "Lonely Water" should be of particular interest to horror fans. First of all, it's scary as hell and features a robed figure that introduces himself as, "The spirit of dark and lonely water." The spirit then explains how he spends his day drowning any child he can get his hands on. It's all filmed as starkly and as coldly as possible, and the spirit's voice is haunting and familiar. That's because it is delivered by a pre-HALLOWEEN DONALD PLEASANCE. I don't have to tell you that Mr. P. has a way with a line that can turn a mere whisper into a spine chilling epitaph that you can't shake. His promise of, "I'll be back!" has effectively scared a generation. Check out this classic traumatizer below and then reward yourself for your bravery with its more modern drum and bass incarnation.

AMITYVILLE 2: THE POSSESSION is not only the crowning jewel of its franchise, but it is also, in my opinion, one of the best possession films out there. Due to its numerical title one might be tempted to read this prequel as an empty cash-in on its predecessor and scan right over its singular vitality. Closer inspection shows a film that is, for the most part, unabashedly willing to glare at the dark corners of family dysfunction and the role organized religion plays in how we perceive ourselves and our actions.

Which is not to say that its wild, melodramatic strokes are not laughable at times. (Writer TOMMY LEE WALLACE also penned the borderline campy HALLOWEEN 3 and FAR FROM HOME). Still, all of the actors assembled do an above average job even as the film's humorlessness reaches unintentionally hilarious boiling points. Although based on very real incidents, AMITYVILLE 2 draws outside the lines frequently and proudly and its presentation of believable police procedure is virtually nonexistent. That said, as a tale of horror, unlike most American productions, it has a single mindedness that is potent and persuasive.

Whereas the ultimate possession film THE EXORCIST mined adolescent female sexuality for its mettle, AMITYVILLE 2 takes on that of the poised-toward-adulthood male. Sonny Montelli (JACK MAGNER), who is destined to destroy his entire family with a shotgun, ostensibly succumbs to the demons that reside within this legendary address. The truth is, as supernatural and Satanic as the Amityville presence may be, with the Montelli family half of the work is already done upon their arrival; the ingredients are all there, just add holy water.

The preexisting demons in Sonny's life are the anguish of being in the limbo between child and adult, and the guilt and fear associated with his sexual feelings, particularly those toward his adoring sister Patricia (DIANE FRANKLIN). Framed within the family's constant tug of war between passive faith and aggressive control, as represented by bickering parents RUTANYA ALDA and BURT YOUNG, Sonny's slide into madness is a short trip. Notably much of Sonny's early "demonic" behavior coincides with his standing up to his bullish and physically abusive father. Even the comparatively innocent youngest siblings seem marked for darkness, little sister Jan's (ERIKA KATZ) idea of a lark is pretending to suffocate little brother Mark (BRENT KATZ) with a plastic bag!

The fact that Sonny and his sister actually do eventually commit incest adds yet another layer of creepiness. Patricia's shame attracts the attention of a priest when she admits to the incident during confession. She leaves out the fact that the act involved her brother, but reveals that the inspiration for it was Sonny's attempt to, "hurt God." Father Adamsky's (JAMES OLSEN) subsequent impotency in aiding the Montellis, particularly Patricia, adds to the persistent cloud of hopelessness that lingers throughout. Adamsky's guilt is tangible. A phone call from Patricia begging for aid just before her death is put on hold in favor of a ski outing with a close male friend.

Released in 1982, AMITYVILLE 2 fits in snugly with other body horror films popular at the time. When Sonny is ultimately taken over by the evil, it is staged as a P.O.V. rape with the camera lens standing in as predator. His later inability to control what is within is shown by bubbling and retracting skin and veins. At one point he seems about to sprout a secondary head. The voice that taunts and tempts him to demolish his family, to "Kill the pigs!," once consigned to his Walkman earphones is now residing inside his skull.

Even non-fans of this movie have to admit that the staging of the brutal slayings is effectively upsetting. Imagine a home invasion scenario where the perpetrator is hidden within someone who sleeps under your roof. Italian director DAMIANO DAMIANI uses just about every camera trick conceivable to kick the legs out from under the audience, and the use of color and especially shadow is exquisite.

Even as the frustratingly feeble Patricia, DIANE FRANKLIN is virtually impossible not to have sympathy for, and her final moments, when face to face with the now monstrous Sonny, are painful and even a bit heartbreaking. As much as I appreciate the film as a whole, I have to admit that a lot of what makes it so compelling departs with FRANKLIN.

AMITYVILLE 2's finale does closely follow the lead of THE EXORCIST, but due to its earlier originality, I think it is nit-picky to fault it for eventually playing this card. The final confrontation between Sonny and Father Adamsky is, if not entirely original, at least garnished with some pretty impressive transformation effects. Thankfully, we are also granted one last moment with FRANKLIN, as the demon in temptress form, as she accuses Adamsky of his own repressed lust. (Apparently the producers pushed this more standard ending and another one was intended involving the lost souls within the house making an extended appearance. Stills do exist of this alternate take and are available on the U.K. special edition DVD).

A film like AMITYVILLE 2: THE POSSESSION has its work cut out for it as far as being viewed impartially. It's a sequel, a prequel, and a bastardization of actual events. Its subject matter is unpleasant and its tone is repellent and grim. If AMITYVILLE 2 came up to your home unannounced and rang your doorbell, I wouldn't blame you for turning off your lights and hiding behind the couch.

As for me, I have to give props to a movie that avoids heroics and false sentiment and dives head first into the pit. Where other possession films are more likely to showcase pure, innocent victims that require heavy pushing into the dark-side, AMITYVILLE 2 suggests the more frightening concept that some people just need a little nudge.

NOTE: You can watch AMITYVILLE 2: THE POSSESSION for free HERE

The very first film I can recall seeing in an actual movie theater was GODZILLA VS THE SMOG MONSTER. I can't claim to have ever become a huge die hard Godzilla buff, but my love of this particular adventure of this continues to this day. Growing up, Godzilla was a Saturday afternoon staple in my home, yet although I readily admit to having a certain fondness for the tiny fairies that summoned sometime collaborator, sometime foe MOTHRA, most of his movies seem to blur together in my mind. Not so with SMOG MONSTER, a.k.a. GODZILLA VS HEDORA, a movie that stands out like a pulsating purple sore thumb. In fact, Godzilla producer TOMOYUKI TANAKA was so flabbergasted by the film that he disowned it and even claimed that it ruined the franchise.

One might assume that my affection for SMOG is based simply on blind nostalgia or a need to be contrary since it's widely perceived to be the King of Monster's red-headed step child. The truth is, it's just a great movie. Filled with gloriously grim imagery, crazy psychedelic tuneage and bizarre animated inserts, SMOG holds up better than should be expected, and its environmental message is, of course, even more timely today.

As a monster, HEDORA/SMOG is quite a specimen. The creature, speculated to have come from space via meteor, begins life as a crazy tadpole that consumes water pollution and grows to an enormous size. Soon it's large enough to knock over oil tankers and eventually take to land. Once land mobile, it jumps at the chance to take long bong hits from toxic smoke stacks that empower it even further. Eventually the slimy glutton is capable of flight and shooting mud pies from his grey, goopy torso.

The aerial attack scenes are what struck me the most as a child. Shaped like a giant horseshoe crab HEDORA is shown flying over schools while children below in the playground drop like flies. Many of the monsters victims are memorably left as mere skeletons after exposure. The most disturbing image perhaps is shown during a television news broadcast of an infant crying, neck deep in sewage and mud. (O.K, I'm lying here, The most disturbing image SHOULD be the one of the infant drowning in filth but for me it's actually the image of a poor confused Alley cat covered in mud howling at the camera!…What's wrong with me?)

I guess there may be something undeniably silly about a film that climaxes with two men in rubber suits wrestling on a miniature train set, but the eco-disaster that frames the action is notably ahead of its time. Long time GODZILLA fans may call foul when it's revealed that the big guy has been keeping them in the dark about his ability to fly over the years (he propels himself with his atomic breath), but I get a kick out of this reveal every time. Regardless of its initial reception, nobody could argue that the film's heart is in the right place. For me, the one two punch of dismal disaster and goofy broad slapstick is pretty irresistible.

As much as I love HEDORA/THE SMOG MONSTER in all of his guises, and as much as I am still riveted by a scene in which a character inexplicably hallucinates that everyone in a disco has turned into fish-faced ghouls, my favorite thing about this movie is its marvelous opening song. Taking a cue from JAMES BOND, a beautiful woman is shown singing before a screen of pulsating hues as clips of pollution and decay flash by. The song, "Save the Earth" (in the American version) is just about the greatest thing ever, and it's sure to be running around in your brain for days after you hear it.

If I could go back in time and pick what movie should be the first that I ever saw in a movie theater, I don't think I could do much better than this one. Balk if you like, but GODZILLA VS THE SMOG MONSTER is a trippy, gonzo free-for-all that had me instantly falling head over heels in love with the film going experience.

 

Confession time: Your Aunt John has a major thing for the genius that is director LARRY COHEN. Sure, from a technical perspective his movies aren't necessarily the prettiest to look at (IT'S ALIVE), and yeah, his special effects are typically more, ummm, "special" than effective, but sweet baby Jesus, that man is not only an astute observer of popular culture, but also a brilliant satirist to boot!

Case in point, 1985's THE STUFF.

Like most readers in my age demographic, I originally caught this gem on basic cable the same year a TCBY yogurt set up camp in a neighboring town's strip mall and became THE frozen desert palace du jour (coincidence or conspiracy?).

On the surface, THE STUFF centers on an over-marketed frozen dessert (Is it ice cream? Is it frozen yogurt? Is it, gasp, tofutti?) that becomes a must-have for mindless American consumers along the lines of Swatch Watches and Coca-Cola clothing. Enter MICHAEL MORIARTY (in one of the worst hair-pieces ever!) as David ‘Mo' Rutherford, an industrial saboteur with a silly Southern drawl hired to find out the secret ingredient of the titular "Stuff" by some rival company. He quickly recruits the brainy and beautiful marketing wunderkind behind the successful Stuff advertising campaign (ANDREA MARCOVICCI), a little boy with hypnotically blue eyes (JASON BLOOM), and a deposed cookie entrepreneur (GARRETT MORRIS as "Chocolate Chip Charlie") to ascertain the specifics of said recipe.

If you try to watch THE STUFF as a head-on horror flick, the cheesy zombie-inducing effects caused by mass "Stuff" consumption will surely disappoint you. It's straight up ridiculous, and the shoestring effects budget really doesn't help matters. However, if you focus solely on "The Stuff" advertisements sprinkled throughout the movie, you will see the aforementioned COHEN genius. He lampoons advertisers over reliance on supposedly sexy models, "urban" dance troupes, Broadway actresses, and ‘80s octogenarian ad queen CLARA PELLER.

 

 

Did you catch kinder-heartthrob ABE VIGODA in the above ad? Like I said, COHEN is a genius! Repeat viewings of THE STUFF was enough to keep my family away from TCBY and on the Carvel path. Long live COOKIE PUSS and his (her?) non-zombifying side effects!

PET SEMATARY 2 is just bizarre. In fact, if the original PET SEMATARY died and you buried it in the pet cemetery it would probably come back as PET SEMATARY 2. Although there are several nods towards the first film (hey look it's the Creeds mailbox! Let's meet Church the cat's veterinarian) drastic liberties are taken and important boundaries present in the first installment are ignored. I don't know about you, but bad table manners are the last thing on my list of concerns about the recently deceased.

EDWARD FURLONG plays Jeff Mathews a boy who recently lost his famous movie star mother after she was electrocuted during an on-set mishap. He moves to the town of Ludlow, Maine (Georgia is cast as Maine) with his veterinarian father Chase (ANTHONY EDWARDS). Jeff is not in town long before he meets a mean kitten-napping bully (BIG's JARED RUSHTON) and an overweight kid (JASON McGUIRE) juggling an abusive step dad and a doomed pooch. Things are said, punches are thrown, dogs are shot and eventually people are trotting off to the old Indian reanimation station.

Director MARY LAMBERT doesn't really have much to work with here, and even the cemetery itself seems scaled down and rushed. She still has a great eye for twisted details and gothic nuances, but some of her off kilter sensibilities glare rather than enhance. Part of what made the first film so potent was its appreciation of a permanent, weighty environment rich in history. In contrast, PET SEMATARY 2 feels like a transient carnival passing through town. I don't know if the focus on younger characters is to blame or if it's the absence of recalled horror, but the ancient evil vibe is M.I.A. Lamentably, when cornered LAMBERT tends to fall back on her extensive music video background. The songs we hear are great but really a little goes a long way and they tend to elbow out any established mood. (The tracks chosen actually would have made an outstanding soundtrack, unfortunately such a thing never materialized.)

The good news is that CLANCY BROWN who portrays Jeff's pal Drew's bastard of a step father is a wonder to behold. His character may make little sense when held up against what we've seen in the original film, but if you just let that go he's a darkly humorous marvel. In fact, if we could just rip out this movie's connection to the first film entirely it would fare a lot better. If this was not a sequel to PET SEMETARY, scenes like the one where Jeff's father dreams that he's making love to a woman with a very unconvincing dog mask on might actually be kinda fun. Instead it's just kind of head shakingly sad.

As far as the film's climax goes I'm kind of torn. I don't think I'll be ruining anything here when I tell you that Jeff's mother does indeed return from the grave. Unfortunately, just about every opportunity to make this development suitably gruesome is avoided. The problem is she's looking too damn good. I know that this may be partially due to illusion but still, the fact remains, bitch ain't scary. Although it's undeniably fun to watch her burn alive, face all dripping apart, something just seems too theatrical and corny here to be taken seriously. In a way, this climax isn't so different from the one in DARIO ARGENTO's INFERNO with that nutty dime store death skeleton. I always enjoyed that, it's sort of goofy but that's just DARIO being DARIO right? Why can't I give MARY a break like that? If this film was in Italian would I think it was artsy and cool rather than cringe-y and cartoonish? The answer to that question is pending. Bottom-line is PET SEMATARY 2 is not a great movie, but it is reasonably entertaining. If you pretend it has subtitles you might even like it. The problem is that as a sequel it drops the ball in any language.

Note: One other bizarre thing about the film that is equal parts fascinating and embarrassing is its closing credits which elect to show you the film's victims in cut out circles on the side of the screen. To me it laughably looks like the opening of a mid-eighties night time soap. One more head scratching choice in a movie filled with many.

Thank God MARY LAMBERT directed STEPHEN KING's PET SEMATARY. I don't think anybody could understand the material as well as she does. Certain parts (especially particular lines of dialogue) may come off as clunky, but her ability to blur the lines between a believable reality and an obtuse spiritual world is what makes the film so powerful (check out her earlier film SIESTA for even more evidence of this talent). Scripted by KING himself, this update of the MONKEY'S PAW was never in line to be your typical slash-and-boo show, but LAMBERT's personal touches somehow make the film's taboo busting creep-outs all the more universal.

The story centers around a young family so optimistic and unstained that they might have been plucked from a department store catalogue. DALE MIDKIFF as father Louis is a dedicated physician who is rugged yet soft as suede, and mother Rachel DENISE CROSBY has a habit of jutting her jaw-line like she's contemplating war bonds. They have 2.5 children (Smokey-blue cat "Church" being the .5). Daughter Ellie (BLAZE BERDAHL….GHOSTWRITER!) has a knack for asking all the big questions and is as equally whiney as she is psychically inclined. Our perfect family is completed by rugrat Gage MIKO HUGHES who begins the story looking like a Christmas tree ornament and ends it looking like the non-tranny version of SEED OF CHUCKY.

The cast is rounded off by what LAMBERT refers to in her DVD commentary as the "good" and "bad" angels. "Good" being BRAD GREENQUIST as the recently dead and nearly translucent Pascow, a tsk-tsking Cassandra prophet in jogging shorts. "Bad" being a scene stealing FRED GWYNN as the history-hoarding neighbor Jud, who is also the king of bad ideas and an unknowing underminer. If he is not exactly consciously "bad" he is at least toxically passive aggressive. Advice like, "Sometimes dead is better" would be a little more effective without the "Sometimes" part. A small amount of redemption is found as Jud realizes his blunder, but let his folly be a lesson to us all: "Sometimes keeping your pie-hole shut is better."

When the industrial (urban) world of metal and steal barrels through this Maine rustic mirage of safety in the form of a giant truck with RAMONES music blasting it snatches away a dream. The nightmare of not only every parent but also anyone who ever loved anyone is revealed to be always just a stone's throw away. This is a tale of profound loss and the unhealthy lengths one might go to in an effort to resist moving forward; LAMBERT creates a child's drawing of a happy family and then lights it a flame. Ironically it's rare that real death is presented in a horror film, but SEMATARY's fascination echoes a child's determination to turn over road kill with a stick just to see what's on the other side.

Many of our first encounters with the subject of death are through that of storytelling by those who walk before us in life. KING's tale provides several flashback inserts that operate the same way. LAMBERT relishes these scenes and the eerie quality she provides them with would probably have been lost on a less earnest director. Rather than concentrate on the flight or fight response that dominates most modern horror, we have here a meditation on a certain horror that is steady and unavoidable. Various characters actions may speed the process along but the inevitability of all our outcomes hangs just below the surface like a carpet of fog. It's not without its humorous moments, but any chuckles you might be able to produce are akin to whistling past the graveyard. In this world, as in our own, there are only two types of people, those who have suffered a great loss and those who WILL suffer a great loss.

Critical response to the film might have been lukewarm, but audiences gravitated in droves. If there is an innate desire to work through death issues by attending a horror film PET delivers in spades. (In fact it's sort of like dumping a loaf of bread on a pigeon that is anticipating a crumb). Although the film is far from seamless, its determination to move past assembly line murder and glare at the after effects of tragic death rings a too seldom heard bell. Ultimately horror films are naturally critic proof, alphabet grades are about as durable as autumn leaves when a film successfully touches a nerve as this one does. PET SEMATARY's success proves that empathy and character identification can trump gore and visceral thrills when given the correct amount of attention. Die hard fans of the original novel might be less convinced but as a film PET SEMATARY left an imprint all it's own.

As far as Traumafessions go, PET SEMATARY is one of the most prolific providers. Besides the several found on these pages a thread on Imdb concerning the effects of encountering the character of Rachel's sickly sister Zelda is currently up to 130 responses. There's no denying the film scared the bejesus out of many. MARY LAMBERT, whose directorial output never again reached this particular zenith, took what many would have made a glorified zombie flick and gave it a vulnerable bloody heart; a heart whose rhythmic beating reminded audiences of their own.

I confess. I'm ga-ga for the kooky Canuck stalk and slash who-done-it known as HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME. I say this knowing that there are large slices of the movie that are totally indefensible, most notably its slap you in the face, punish you for paying attention final reveal. Maybe it's because I originally saw it at a very gullible age. Rather than be flabbergasted by the multitude of inconsistencies, contrary edits and overall implausibility, I was instead hog-in-slop happy to be eavesdropping on what the "big kids" were up to. I imagined my own future life of playing chicken over drawbridges, belonging to an elite snobby group that everyone secretly hates, and murdering people during well-timed blackouts.

Regardless of the film's ability to sometimes drive me over the deep end with frustration, I cannot help returning to it again and again. It has a certain mood that I just can't stay away from. There is a distinct gothic soap opera vibe. Amnesia, clandestine affairs, drunken, wealth-obsessed mothers banging on mansion gates in the rain, H.B.T.M. is decorated with thick, sweet old-fashioned melodrama. Furthermore, I think it does a fine job of capturing, like a firefly in a mason jar, the adolescent death wish angst that makes you skip curfew and head out to the graveyard. It doesn't always work but even when it doesn't, it delivers something memorable.

MELISSA SUE ANDERSON plays VIRGINIA WAINWRIGHT a girl on the fringe. She obviously has desires of fitting in with her friends and placating her aloof father, but she knows she is different from everybody. Years ago she and her floozy mother were involved in an accident that took her mother's life and left Virginia in the need of some serious (and experimental) brain surgery. As flashbacks of the tragedy persist, Virginia's friends begin to die in gruesome ways and it begins to appear that Ginny's operation was not such a smashing success after all. Has the surgery altered Ginny? Although we are meant to, at turns, suspect nearly every one of the extensive cast of the murders, we are always in tune with Ginny who is growing more and more horrified of what she may be capable of. It's an exaggerated metaphor for what many people feel at her age, that their mind or bodies are no longer their own.

Virginia is shown as a virginal goody-two shoes at first. She passively involves herself in wild stunts with her friends and immediately fights against her loss of control. She's no wilting wallflower though, as the veils fall off we find her prone to raging outbursts and tantrums over her situation. The more she connects with her past pain the more aggressive she becomes. Some of her duel-natured behavior can be explained away by the film's surprise conclusion, but not all. Actually, the film's nature as a murder mystery requires many of its character's to put on false facades at regular intervals so that suspicion may fall upon them. At the drop of a dime, Ginny and a number of her buddies are required to adopt icy stares and spout threatening double entendres. It may be a cheap ploy, but if you take it literally it has an eerie effect. In Ginny's world, nobody seems to be who they say they are and everyone is a liar.

Which brings us to HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME's bizarre finale. I'm not complaining about the morosely beautiful setting or the more than impressive guests supplied by TOM BURMAN. Of course I'm referring to the de-masking of our killer and the subsequent unraveling of everything we've seen. After viewing Ginny's calculated seduction and murder of a friend via shish kebob, it's finally time for her birthday party to get underway. Here it is revealed that her pal Ann (TRACEY E. BREGMAN) has been responsible for everything we have witnessed thus far. (Although the discoteque seduction of her friend was all Ginny as Ann was present at the time). How were we the viewers who actually witnessed the last couple murders performed by Ginny misled? Well, Ann was wearing a mask, an incredible mask in fact, the kind that makes you look exactly like another person. Don't get me wrong, a part of me bows down to this movie's brazen audacity. In a way it's a precursor to the television remote control in FUNNY GAMES. The movie basically looks the audience straight in the face and just says, "Suck it."

You really can't blame director J. LEE THOMPSON (The original CAPE FEAR and the CHARLES BRONSON slash-thriller 10 TO MIDNIGHT) because a surprise ending was forced on the guy. In 1981, it was pretty much mandatory in a horror movie. By all accounts it was our main gal Ginny who was meant to be the killer during filming and that's just what I can't let go of. I still want Ginny to be the killer. I think that's a better, more original movie. In fact, it WAS the better, more original movie I was watching 'till this ending was thrown at me out of nowhere. Shoving in some voice over dialogue claiming one of the characters is a "genius mask maker" just doesn't cut it. I want Ginny to be the killer because she deserves it. She earned it. There are few enough slasher films that delve into the mind of its killer, let alone slasher movies with a female protagonist/killer. (Speaking of clever play with genre gender roles, it's important to note that the more elaborate, fetishistic kills are reserved for male cast members. The lone onscreen murder of a female (FUNERAL HOME's LESLEH DONALDSON ) at the film's beginning, reads as perfunctory.)

At the end of the day I love this movie too much to ever really want to change it (don't even get me started on it's creeptastic theme song or those must-have Crawford Acadamy striped scarves) but, like a concerned mother telling her child to sit up straight, I can't help wanting to adjust it so that others can see in it what I do. It is said that the ending that had Virginia as the killer was never even filmed, yet somehow it still exists in my mind's eye. I'd forgive Virginia. She's had crazy-ass experimental brain surgery after all, she's not responsible. It could have been a modern female version of I WAS A TEENAGE WEREWOLF if they had just let it alone. Jeez, you want a surprise ending? Just have Ginny's dead mom grab her hand at the end. What do you think dead people are for in horror movies?

Recently I've discovered a way to watch this movie AND accept its bonkers conclusion. It's simple really, Ann's bathtub drowning was the real deal. My Ginny, wracked with guilt, and unable to accept her actions, simply hallucinates that her dead pal Ann masqueraded as her and is responsible for the bloodshed. Denial is a powerful force, and is there any greater reality-smasher than good old tried and true insanity? It's a stretch I know, but in a movie where identities are shuffled about like playing cards and where truth is whatever you explain it to be, what's one more mask to tear off?

Note: Unfortunately, the current DVD of H.B.T.M. has an alternative soundtrack to the previous theatrical version. Although this does benefit us with an extra disco tune nothing can replace the previous score which cleverly riffed on the film's awesome theme song throughout. Luckily, SYREETA's haunting number still remains over the closing credits…

 

For a film that begins in flashback mode and whose action ignites with a prank gone wrong, THE HOUSE ON SORORITY ROW is a relentlessly original slash excursion and easily one of the best of its kind. The plot may sound familiar, a group of sorority sisters being offed one by one by someone they wronged, but the execution is blow-you-away slick and suspenseful. Unlike most prank gone wrong flicks, the crime here is a recent one and the looming specter of discovery by authorities helps to add yet another level of anxiety. It's no surprise to learn that director MARK ROSMAN at one time worked alongside BRIAN De PALMA for the potential victims here in no way have clean hands. ROSMAN, credited with the script as well, also knows a thing or two about keeping a viewer on their toes and questioning everything. Who is responsible for the escalating body count and why is always frustratingly just out of reach.

As many interesting queries as the movie raises the biggest one is how did the lead actress KATHRYN McNEIL (also of MONKEY SHINES) escape major A-list stardom? She looks pretty incredible on film and she exudes a regal ferocity that should have had her stealing parts from SIGOURNEY WEAVER or at least NICOLE KIDMAN. As the lone voice of reason amongst her pack, some of what she is required to say and do is a bit hokey by today's standards, but that's part of her charm. She comes off as worlds, or at least decades, removed from her very-eighties cohorts. All in all you could not ask for a better lead in a film like this. The viewer can't help but to follow her like a puppy.

The most fascinating thing about H.O.S.R. to me is how it subtly gets darker and more twisted with each scene so that by the end you can't believe you are watching the same film you began with. Early scenes are bright with chirpy birds and corny music, and then eventually you end up in the grimmest of Gothic arenas surrounded by a darkly grandiose score (not to mention very creepy clown wallpaper). There is even a side step into SUSPIRIA-like neon psychedelic dream imagery. As a whole, the movie is like one of those sped up film shorts where you watch fruit rot right before your eyes.

H.O.S.R. is less concerned with its character's sexuality then most slashers (although the requisite "bad girl" does know her way around a water bed and crankin' up a jack-in-the-box means certain death), but the themes it does focus on are just as common. Wrongs from the past resurface just like the corpse that won't stay submerged in the swimming pool and forced accountability is the order of the day. Authority figures are routinely stifling or duplicitous and when we are granted access to the dorm's hidden attic room, we are shown symbol after symbol representing the false happy facade of childhood. Although there's not much new ground broken here, it's hard to cite many of its contemporaries that present these ideas with the same amount of grace and aplomb.

My only gripes would be with the slightly off dubbing of the wicked cane-carrying housemother Mrs. Slater (LOIS KELSO HUNT) and I hate to say it, the open ending which many people adore. I admit it is legitimately classy in a BLACK CHRISTMAS ('74) kind of way, but the film has worked itself up into such an incredible crescendo at this point that, to me, it feels like being pushed out of a car at high speed. The latter part of the film, when it has come down solely to McNEIL and the killer (who is now donning the most horrific harlequin/jester outfit you have ever seen) is just TOO GOOD and should have gone on for at least another 15 minutes. (I would even sacrifice the awesome new wave party band FOUR OUT OF FIVE DOCTORS to make this happen!)

H.O.S.R. was a huge financial success that made almost twenty-five times its budget back. Why there was never a sequel (preferably one that takes place right after the events like HALLOWEEN II) I'll never know. Without giving away the identity of the killer, I'd just like to say that he or she could have been a serious contender as an indelible horror icon. I personally would buy every action figure, t-shirt and poster they could produce. On the other hand, maybe that's just what makes this masked killer so uniquely powerful, rather than overexposure and tangled story lines we have an ambiguous, mysterious threat that for all these years has remained securely hidden in the shadows. Your mind can have a field day filling in the blanks and perhaps that's the point. This scary jester may have not made it into big screen movie sequels, but maybe at the end of the day, starring in an actual nightmare or two is the more dignified gig.

NOTE: This review is in conjuncture with DINNER WITH MAX JENKE, for another take on THE HOUSE ON SORORITY ROW, stop by and visit HERE.

If one Sasquatch monster per film is not enough for you, than 1970's BIGFOOT has your back. In this movie we find a whole clan of Bigfoot monsters running about, terrorizing a small town. Much like the fish monsters from HUMANOIDS FROM THE DEEP, these dudes only have one thing on their primitive minds, interbreeding with human ladies to populate their dwindling race. (We know that this type of inter-species whoopee has been successful in the past because there is a little Bigfoot/human hybrid helping them out).

One day the monsters kidnap a chick who happens to be the girlfriend of a member of a motorcycle gang that's passing through town and all types of hell breaks loose. Unbeknownst to the Sasquatch tribe, they have started a gang war! In order to preserve the lifestyle they have grown accustomed to, which consists of raping ladies by day and wrestling bears and mountain lions at night, the Bigfoot clan must defend their turf from the not threatening in the least motorcycle gang.

BIGFOOT, a certifiable mess with the most unconvincing sets this side of GILLIGAN'S ISLAND, at least knows how to have a little fun. Bikinis, funky music and motorcycles go a long way in hypnotizing the viewer into ignoring small details like the fact that you have to actually light dynamite to make it explode. JOHN CARADINE and, count 'em, two MITCHUMS (JOHN AND CHRISTOPHER) are on hand to ease some of the pain, but me thinks the film makers were relying mostly on the voluptuous talents of JOI LANSING to carry the audience through the film. I have to admit there is dopey fun to be had in this showdown for species dominance, but as usual I think I was routing for the wrong team's victory. One thing is undebatable, the sasquatch were not the most alarming inhabits of this film.

If you're experiencing Bigfoot mania and you want it to end immediately, just watch THE CURSE OF BIGFOOT. Not only will you find yourself losing your appetite for the hairy beast but also for movies in general and perhaps even life itself. For me, it actually brought back memories of having to watch sleep inducing educational films in junior high school, and for that I can never forgive it. In fact, most of the movie involves a class lecture that never seems to end. I knew watching this movie so soon after seeing the incredible NIGHT OF THE DEMON was akin to going on a blind date right after meeting the person of my dreams, but I was willing to give it a fair shake anyway. Well let me tell you, if CURSE was a blind date it would be the type that you slam your door on after first glance.

I tried to be patient when Bigfoot showed up in the beginning wearing an obvious paper-maché mask. I even withstood the not quite amusing tale about two hillbillies encountering the beast in the woods. Then, mid-way through the film, a crazy lecturer appears out of nowhere to tell his own not even slightly harrowing tale. His story is actually a film made ten years earlier that's been tacked on to fill in CURSE's running time. Watching a completely different movie should be a relief, but the film he relays is TEENAGERS BATTLE THE THING; it involves a mummy in a cave and it's actually worse than the film we're already suffering through. (They were able to get the same guy from that much earlier picture to play the part of the dude who is boring the class, so kudos for that).

I suppose this movie could be fun if you are a masochist and I guess the idea of seeing two movies scotch-taped together is slightly intriguing, but in this case, the novelty is short lived. You all stand warned; if you're looking for anything resembling a good time, you're better off just walking over and opening your refrigerator and peering inside. There is sure to be more going on in there, and it's definitely going on at a much faster pace. Trust me NIGHT OF THE DEMON, what happened between me and THE CURSE OF BIGFOOT was meaningless!