Category: Uncategorized
Dead & Buried (1981)
The other night I was struggling with the age-old question of what to watch when I suddenly realized I was in the exact perfect mood for Gary Sherman's 1981 shocker DEAD & BURIED. This must have been the very first R-rated movie I had ever seen because once upon a time, nobody asked about your age when you were in the back seat of a crowded car at the drive-in. You'd think that over the decades I'd come to find this movie less frightening than the first time I saw it and you'd be partially correct but the truth is, it still leaves me thoroughly creeped out. Here are some of the reasons I still find this underrated and relentlessly bleak, paranoid classic uniquely disturbing.
THE OPENING SCENE. D&B opens with a photographer taking photos on a beach. He meets a beautiful young woman (Lisa Blount) who slyly seduces him and just when he's about to seal the deal, he is instead beaten by random townspeople, tied to a poll with a fishing net and then set on fire while the mob encircling him smiles and take photos. No matter how many times I see this movie, this startling introduction never fails to alarm me. Perhaps even more unsettling than the brutal violence is the way the fish netting twists, distorts and mutates the victim's face. I can't think of a more distressing visage, it's as if it foretells the burn scars he's about to acquire. Somehow the poor dude lives and is taken to a hospital but his recovery is short lived. Completely vulnerable and covered head to toe in bandages, he is visited by the same treacherous young lady who instigated his assault. Dressed in nurses' garb she presents the worst remedy ever conceived- a hypodermic needle administered straight through the eye! Imagine surviving so much only to endure a crueler fate when you're in the most vulnerable state imaginable- it all still upsets me.
THE LOST FAMILY. Right smack in the middle of the film we are unceremoniously introduced to a couple and their young son who are lost in the remarkably foggy town. To avoid hitting a man that darts in front of their car, they crash into a telephone pole. Although we'll find out shortly the car is quite operable, the beyond befuddled couple decides to venture into an abandoned dilapidated house to search for ice for their child's head (yes, these people are insane). Making matters all the more surreal, the original sound of this scene must have been lost because this entire portion of the film is abysmally dubbed, resulting in tons of superfluous dialogue and general awkwardness.
It seems every move and decision the trio makes is frustratingly ill-advised. At one point the mother even surmises that the owners of the (clearly abandoned) abode must be in the basement fixing the fuse box and suggests that her husband go down to verify her demented fantasy. It's truly crazy-making watching this family stumble about while the shadows of maniacs wielding weapons loom just out of their view. Nonsensical and partially infuriating as this entire segment is, it's also beautifully shot and genuinely unnerving to me. Eventually, crazy townsfolk are jumping out of every closed door and crevice like demented jack-in-the-box clowns engulfing the terrified trio. As the family somehow makes it back to their vehicle, the way the ravenous mob is presented as a mass of menacing silhouettes following them is stunningly nightmarish (and brings to my mind the finale of THE DAY OF THE LOCUST). It's hard not to feel bad for the hapless child, who is dragged about like a suitcase throughout and has no say in the blundering decisions of his ineffectual guardians.
THE FOUND FOOTAGE. The entirety of D&B is filmed in a gloriously gauzy and grainy way that rather resembles peering through dusty cheesecloth. Remarkably the murky-visual-ante is upped even further when Sheriff Dan Gillis (James Farentino) develops a mysterious roll of film for his wife (Melody Anderson) and decides to check out its horrific contents. I won't give away the devastating plot point he discovers but I will say it is presented in a POV semi-snuff looking way that leaves you with the unclean feeling of having witnessed something vile and atrocious. Years before THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT, D&B presented this grittier than a Philly mascot slice of visual miasma and it still feels as disorienting and downright icky as ever. I don't know if it's the leering oldsters, the decrepit surroundings or Joe (CHILD'S PLAY) Renzetti's persuasive score but combined with the clips sleazy revelation it really gets under my skin. I can almost smell the moldy dank air as I write this and I also get a poisonously putrid Lovecraftian vibe.Â
Not everything in D&B makes sense but I believe that is part of the reason I find it so disturbing. Some folks are able to "fall out" of a movie when it presents something that is unlikely to occur but I sometimes find such lapses in logic remind me of the relentless way an inescapable nightmare works. I get the feeling that the writers didn't fully lock down exactly what is going down in Potter's Bluff, there are mentions of voodoo, witchcraft, and pseudo-science but when a definite explanation is teased by the central culprit it is soon nipped at the bud with, "I'll take my secrets to the grave." I'm fine with that. I find the horror in DEAD & BURIED especially potent because it is so darn amorphous and impossible to fully pin down. You get the sense that Potter's Bluff is a town abandoned by light and rationality long ago and now it's kind of stuck in an endless death spasm. I wish I could chalk up the way DEAD & BURIED hits me in my psychological Achilles' heal to mere nostalgia. The truth is the inescapable mortality that engulfs the town like an impenetrable fog may be even more unnerving to me today than it was when I witnessed it in my youth.
Terror at Red Wolf Inn (1972)
Mill Creek has put out a new movie collection entitled NO TELL MOTEL, which offers eight horror films focusing on ill-advised overnights in dangerous locations. The first disc sports spiffy letterboxed titles like VACANCY (a decent enough thriller) IDENTITY (love that one) and ELI ROTH's HOSTEL and its first sequel (both semi-annoying and yet very interesting and disturbing). The second disc consists of several public
TERROR AT RED WOLF INN isn't represented as well as it should be but until a superior version is available it'll just have to do. Sadly this is a PG-rated version of the 1972 movie that is also known as TERROR HOUSE and THE FOLKS AT RED WOLF INN. This particular cut is ten minutes shorter than the one I watched on VHS back in the day but from what I've gathered (Googled), the missing scenes don't amount to too much. Ironically, this truncated, supposedly tamer arrangement contains a violent scene where a character beats a small shark against a rock and I'd much rather have that unsightly bit excised above anything else. They took out a
The movie introduces us to a
RED WOLF INN feels a lot like a seventies made for television affair and maybe that's why I dig it so. It's got an offbeat sense of humor too that never goes far enough over the top to bring you out of the paranoid predicament. It's also genuinely unnerving in spots, utilizing distorted camera angles to disquieting effect. There's something about simply sticking an idiosyncratic tomboy-type in a giant old mansion that's always going to hit me in my horror comfort zone. I could have used a little more background information regarding just about every character overall, but there's something to be said of the simplistic approach that plays out almost like a gingerbread house fable. Plus, it's got a message that's still valuable today: Young people, please never assume that the generations ahead of you have your best interest at heart. Spoiler alert: They don't. Amusing, delightfully odd and routinely creepy, TERROR AT RED WOLF INN is an appetizing seventies offering worth making room on your plate for. It's also a great reminder that the best way to avoid cannibalism is to become a vegetarian.
For the Love of:: The Boogens (1981)
UNK SEZ: Today is all about THE BOOGENS! Your Unkle Lancifer has teamed up with fellow BOOGENS enthusiast Amanda Reyes of MADE FOR TV MAYHEM fame and we're both going to share our five favorite things about this lovable 1981 flick which STEPHEN KING himself recommended as a "wildly energetic monster movie"! I think we can all agree that what the world needs now is more BOOGENS! Amanda, take it away….
AMANDA: Opening credits: As an archivist I have an unhealthy fixation on not just history, but also the diverse ways we can (and do) recount the past. That history is often stitched together like a quilt (or maybe Frankenstein is a better reference for this article!), with distinctive artifacts, manuscripts and sometimes oral histories helping us develop the bigger picture. I'm also really into economical storytelling and low budget horror. There is something really simple but brilliant about how the opening credits sequence of The Boogens creates the standard slasher flashback sequence through sepia tone photos and ratty newspaper headlines. The film quietly lays out the story about a booming mine that has been shut down due to several mysterious cave-ins, and deaths, generating an impressive level of intrigue. And don't forget that sweet harmonica score, which adds just the right amount of melancholy. This is easily one of my favorite openings to a horror film, and without one visceral moment to be had. It's all about mood and storytelling.
AMANDA: Fred McCarren: I'm not sure when or where I first laid eyes on the adorable and affable Fred McCarren, but he was always a reliable "Oh, that guy," for me through most of my life. Predominately a character actor who showed up in everything from Hill Street Blues to Here's Boomer, every so often Fred got to star in a film. And, The Boogens really lets Fred's star shine. He's appealing, likeable and beyond charismatic as good guy Mark. In The Boogens, Fred showcases his incredible knack for comic timing, and he constructs Mark as a guy who is funny in small, simple ways, which makes him realistic as a buddy and potential boyfriend. It also seems fairly obvious that Fred is an actor who is not so egotistical that he has to own every scene. I get the feeling he loved the ensemble cast of The Boogens, and he never attempts to be the biggest personality in the room. It's that low-key approach that makes him so disarmingly sexy, and that is very sexy indeed.
AMANDA: Romance: Going back to Fred McCarren for a minute (sorry, I can't help myself!)… There are many things about The Boogens that I adore, but ultimately it is my love of love that keeps me coming back to the film. Most genre films of this era have some level of romance, whether it's unrequited love (which often spurs a character to kill), or simply pure animal lust (which is the case 90% of the time in most of these films), there are always characters who only speak of love (or sex, but we'll call it love for the sake of the argument). The Boogens definitely has the animal lust component in Roger (Jeff Harlan) and Jessica (Anne-Marie Martin), who are undoubtedly loveable but almost exhausting in their pursuit of carnal desire. They're fun and all, but it's the courtship dance between Mark and Trish (my hero, Rebecca Balding) that keeps me coming back for more. There is such a sense of fun in the dialog delivery, and there are so many genuine sparks you think all of that snowfall is going to melt around them. A bit like my heart does! I feel like I'm falling in love with them as they fall in love with each other. Sure, I'm a sentimental fool, but goshdarnit, the love affair between Mark and Trish beats the crap out of any Harlequin romance novel going, and will ultimately defeat the Boogens! So sue me, K?
AMANDA: Friendship: A while ago I wrote a paper for school about female friendship in horror films, and I noted how the influx of slashers coming out at the time (the Halloween remake, Sorority Row, etc.) featured very antagonistic characters. It often seemed as though no one liked each other and I wondered why on earth they would hang out together. I'm a bit old school, but that gives me the benefit of hindsight, and I can see that movies like Friday the 13th, Friday the 13th Part 2 and so on were appealing because people actually liked each other (I mean, mostly, let's not get into Melissa in Friday the 13th Part 7, who is amazing but not someone you'd want to share a bowl of ice cream with). When they hung out in the film, you were hanging out with them, and it was cool, man. Real cool. The Boogens has several endearing friendship moments, and I want to drink a beer and barbeque with all of them. But it's probably Trish and her best girl bud, Jessica that always makes me smile. They want what's best for each other, and when Jessica plays cupid for her gal pal, the way she tries to sell Trish to Mark by asking, "Isn't Trish neat?" is one of the sweetest moments I can remember in any horror film. Ever. It's the engaging nature of the characters that keeps me invested in their outcome, and sad when some don't make it. I mean, this is a horror film, and yes, I love the death scenes, but I also hate them because that means I have to say goodbye to someone I actually care about. Tiger forever, y'all!
AMANDA: Boogens-cam: Let's go back to what I said about The Boogens being an exercise in economical horror filmmaking. They've got a great location, awesome characters and good set-pieces, but, I have to admit, the monster effects leave a little to be desired. Don't get me wrong, the worm-like Boogens are charming as all get out, but they are budget too. The filmmakers realize this and in place of overselling it, they opt instead to use what I have always referred to as the "Boogens-cam." So, it's like most slashers in that the there are several killer POV shots, but here we're seeing the terror from the monster's eyes. A giant worm monster! This means we're looking through some crazy and fun angles, usually taken from the ground, giving us a glimpse of the victims-to-be as they find themselves in very precarious situations. Jessica's death is especially gripping, but the awesome POV shots also give those scenes a bit of a tongue-in-cheek feel, adding to all that charm I keep falling over myself for. I don't even care what the monster looks like when all is revealed. Well played, Boogens. Well played.
UNKLE LANCIFER: The Title. Much like Smucker's jelly, with a name like THE BOOGENS — it has to be good! I have to salute this wonderfully unique and creative name for a horror movie. Some unknown genius snatched something familiar from childhood fears (the "Boog" from "Boogeyman") then streamlined and pluralized it to come up with something creepy, catchy and uniquely its own. I dig that it sounds like an incurable disease or a fearful feeling like the jitters or the heebie jeebies. I love that it is equal parts threatening and amusing because that is my favorite flavor of all time. It's such a potent moniker that it even became a go-to punchline on the sitcom NEWHART (in one episode, the character of Michael (PETER SCOLARI) rejoices in the fact that a Fellini festival is finally over and has been replaced by THE BOOGENS. A later episode finds him telling his employer Joanne that she looks scarier than anything in THE BOOGENS). I'm also fond of its bedraggled cursive font that resembles a hastily painted warning sign suggesting unknown danger is ahead. I'm only sad I never got to see THE BOOGENS RETURN on a marquee.
UNK L: The Creatures. First time viewers are nearly unanimous when it comes to being somewhat disappointed by the titular monsters lack of screen-time and less than impressive ultimate reveal. I can't say I blame them; the film does such a fine job of building them up in our imaginations throughout that their rubbery puppet appearance can be a bit of a sobering let down. That said, once you embrace the clawed, tentacled turtles as simply the humble victims of a limited budget, you kind of have to love them (even if they strangely resemble Witchiepoo's spider henchman from H.R. PUFF N' STUFF). The little dudes are a big part of what makes THE BOOGENS so special. For the most part, the film chugs along not unlike your typical (albeit superior) early eighties slasher fare but once our little devils are exposed we're in pure, squishy monster movie territory (think FIEND WITHOUT A FACE (1958) or ISLAND OF TERROR (1966)). That type of hybrid may not seem like such a big deal now but I can tell you from personal experience (I'll never forget seeing THE BOOGENS in the theater) it was a blast of minty fresh air at the time (the same might be said of the previous year's creature feature dancing to a slasher beat, HUMANOIDS FROM THE DEEP). Anyway, let's just say if somebody made a BOOGENS stuffed animal I would buy it in an instant and if I were Santa Claus, a HUNGRY, HUNGRY BOOGENS game would be under every tree.
UNK L: The Dog. Hey, it's Tiger, the greatest dog who ever lived! Sure, there are plenty of other adorable pooches that inhabit the horror genre (Muffin from FRIDAY THE 13TH PART 2, Thor from BAD MOON, good ol' misunderstood CUJO, et al.) but none are quite like unflappable Tiger. Animal rights activist should be smitten with THE BOOGENS because Tiger is presented not only as a sidekick or accessory but also as a fully developed character complete with his (or her?) own meaty storyline. We're talking real acting chops here, folks! Tiger doesn't have to resort to language to express wants, needs and fears; Tiger speaks loud and clear with facial expressions and eyeballs alone (and maybe a yelp or two). Tiger alone understands that danger is a foot and the Cassandra-esque canine's warnings go unheeded to the peril of all involved. If only they had listened! Tiger may not survive the BOOGENS onslaught but that does not negate the puffy puppy's persistent pluckiness! All hail Tiger!
UNK L: The Snow. I've probably mentioned this a million times before but I've really got a soft spot for snowbound horror films. They're great all year round. In cold months you can commiserate along with the characters and in hot months they provide relief from the heat. THE BOOGENS, which was filmed in Colorado and Utah whips up a stark and snowy atmosphere under oppressive slate grey skies and it's a movie I would not mind living in. The cabin in which most of the action takes place in is all kinds of old-school cozy and inviting and the same can be said for the local watering hole inhabited by counter-Hollywood, salt of the Earth types. The brisk weather also necessitates that all characters involved don exceptionally solid late seventies layered flannel and sweater ensembles. Yep, I'm into the whole look of this movie from the isolated, frigid landscape right down to REBECCA BALDING's signature pageboy hairdo.
UNK L: The Novelization. This has to be one of my favorite literary adaptions of a horror movie (it's only real competition would be OWEN WEST (aka DEAN KOONTZ)'s THE FUNHOUSE). It does a fantastic job of not only touching the bases covered in the film but expanding upon them as well. There are several additional interesting characters and a much more catastrophic climax. The mood is tense and grim throughout and the creatures themselves come alive in ways unachievable on film. There's something almost LOVECRAFTian in the way the monsters squirm about on the page. They are described more as gelatinous blob-like entities and their multitudes and anatomy come across as way more convincing. I recommend you track this paperback down while it's still relatively affordable. Much like the film, it's perfect for delivering chills any time of year. The only thing more dog-eared than my copy is Tiger himself.
For My Dad
I haven't posted in a while because my Dad died. He went to the hospital complaining of back pains and he passed away three days later. It was cancer and there were complications and I'm not going to elaborate further. The important thing for me was that I got to see him, look into his eyes and hear him say my name. I'm shell-shocked but am grateful for the fact that he looked peaceful when he passed and that he was surrounded by loved ones. I tell myself every day that today is the day I'll get back to "normal," knowing there's no "normal" to get back to. If normal still exists, I can't see it from here and if it should show up I'm not sure I'd welcome it. I'm kind of pissed off at normalcy right now. It feels like something fraudulent I've trained myself to tolerate. Suddenly my usual inspirations feel trivial and my go-to mental preoccupations reek of pettiness. I thought I was an expert at dissociation and denial but maybe this coat doesn't fit me anymore or I'm too tired to put it on. There's a non-stop avalanche in my head.
What's more appropriate for these pages is that I tell you that my father is directly responsible for my love of horror- for the therapy of horror – for the catharsis of being terrified for a moment and then being comforted seconds later by purring privileged safety. One of my earliest memories takes place in Allison Park, Pa. Many of my cousins are visiting and there must be at least a dozen of us kids. It's early summer night and I'm sure there would be fireflies. We're sitting on a wooden patio my father built or on aluminum fold out chairs. You have to be careful where you place your chair; this backyard is known for underground wasp nests. My brothers and I are often dumb enough to throw rocks at these hives in order to agitate them. My Dad is telling a scary story that might involve the house that burnt down next door, the end result of smoking in bed. When my father comes to the climax of the tale we're slowly starting to believe, my Uncle, draped in a white sheet, jumps out from behind a bush wailing, sending all of us screaming in every possible direction. This is pure thrilling joy for me, an explosion of excitement. Suddenly all of us cousins, no matter age, size or gender are a unified mob in our shared fear followed by elation. Like every kid ever, we all beg for one more story.
I was a fearful child due to the fact that a giant hand lived under my bed that wanted to drag me to who knows where. Plus, there was "Mary Wolf" to contend with. Mary Wolf looked like an African mask I spied on the cover of a children's Encyclopedia (which I've yet to see again) and I think the she-devil was born from my mishearing the title of the comic strip "Mary Worth." Oh, and someone thought it was a great idea to put a clown painting on my bedroom wall. When cars drove by the house, reflected headlights lit up his stupid face at vexing intervals. Listening to my Dad's scary stories was like lifting up the trunk of my fears and letting a few fly away or at least lose some power. It's no wonder I got addicted to the sensation. Each scary story made me a little braver. Eventually my father brought home a scary-story telling machine. We were the first on our block to obtain this life-changing device; some folks called it a VCR. This machine showed me things that my father would likely not approve of but thankfully he let us rent anything we wanted and paid zero attention to ratings. This might not seem like a good idea to some but to me it was the greatest gift in the world.
My father and I were not very much alike. He appreciated sports where I thought soccer was a game in which you monitored ant hills until a ball rolled towards you and people yelled "Wake up!" He was organized and meticulously clean while my home looks like a cross between the set of SANFORD AND SON and the trash compactor scene in STAR WARS. My Dad was a great, accomplished businessman with an incredible work ethic whereas it took me weeks to write this tiny blog post. You get the idea. We're basically opposites but he let me know that was O.K. I learned countless lessons from my father but the most important lesson was embossed in our very relationship and that is that you don't have to agree with somebody about everything to love them. Truth told, as conservative as my Dad sometimes seemed to me he had an artistic streak that was impossible to ignore. Nobody in my family will ever forget when he broke against the established decorum of the neighborhood and painted our front door the most amazingly garish, nearly fluorescent, leaning toward fuchsia, red. My brothers and I could see that door from literally miles away as we explored the golden California fields around our childhood address. It was so bright that we could never get lost and we always knew our way home. The only beacon that shined brighter was my Dad.
I'm not going to post a picture of my pop, I'm not sure he'd be into that. Instead, here is a picture of TED KNIGHT with a chimp because I know it would crack him up. I Love you, Dad. Maybe it's time for me to repaint my front door.
VHSaturday:: Anguish (1987)
Who in the world is strong enough to resist the VHS box for 1987's ANGUISH? Why, it's positively hypnotic! I'm not sure why the good people of KEY VIDEO (one of my all time favorite distributors) decided to drop ANGUISH's charming eye-filled theatrical poster art and simply zoom in on ZELDA (POLTERGEIST) RUBENSTEIN's scowling mug encased in a swirly spiral (which makes sense only after you've seen the movie) but I'm going to give them high marks for thinking outside the box anyway. And really, what kind of person is going to pass up a tape that comes emblazoned with an urgent warning stating: "contains scenes of powerful hypnosis, shocking crimes and unrelenting terror!"? I hope you all appreciate that I had to put on my glasses to relay that fine print for you. But wait; hold up! The best part is on the back! ANGUISH pays tribute to the fact that at least part of this Spanish produced motion picture takes place in a movie theater with an adorable illustration depicting a tub of popcorn and two un-torn movie tickets! I will marry this box.
Because ANGUISH partially takes place within a movie theater (that is showing a movie called THE MOMMY) the optimum way to view it is in a theater (as I did because I'm that old) because it adds to the forth wall breaking paranoia (sorta like the beginning of SCREAM 2). If that option is not feasible than I'd recommend the DVD because this movie is reliant on its tactful visuals. In other words I'm not recommending you watch it on VHS at all but I like having this old tape around anyway because the DVD cover art is drab as hell. According to the security labels inside, this tape was once a former rental at TOWER VIDEO (but I'm pretty sure I picked it up at a used joint in Philadelphia not too far from the theater I once saw the actual movie in which is now a hideous pharmacy). Not much more to say about the tape itself but I will always respect this strange movie for doing its own thing and being so against-the-grain bizarre. I'll also admit that when I first saw it, I didn't care for it that much because it was a lot to take in and ZELDA's acting style can sometimes be a little rough around the edges (sorry Z!). Eventually though, I learned to love it so there's your tip for the day, never be afraid to give a flick a second chance! Ciao! Arrivederci! Have a nice Saturday! Stay woke!
You must be logged in to post a comment.