kindertrauma

Traumafessions :: Reader Steve B. on The Incredible Hulk

Posted on By aunt john

Hey guys,

I recently discovered your site a few days ago and have been scrolling through it ever since. I think I'm going to have to watch some of your favourite movies, as my enjoyment of horror films (even the so-bad-they're-good ones) is slowly being reawakened.

After doing a quick search, it seems one of my many childhood traumas has not been posted yet, so here goes. It involves that ‘80s T.V. series THE INCREDIBLE HULK.

Now, I was never terrified by the Hulk. Even though I was only 5 or 6 when it was on, and even though he was big and green and monstrous, I knew he was the good guy, and never meant anyone any real harm. And I adored him. No, it wasn't him that traumatized me.

It was that other guy, the Evil Hulk.

He was much scrawnier in comparison, but those dilated white eyes, those bushy black eyebrows, that snarl, the hair that looked like he just licked his finger and stuck it into an electrical socket. He was a horrific version of the hero I knew and loved.

I never wanted to have to watch the two-part episode that the Evil Hulk was featured in, any time it came on. But I knew I had to, because I hated him so much, and I knew that I had to endure the terror if I was to ever see the Good Hulk kick that evil mofo's ass. So imagine my disappointment after finding a clip of the final scene, and watching it for the first time in about thirty years after forgetting how it ended. I won't spoil it, but let's just say the Hulk's "victory" is rather, well, anticlimactic:

Regards,

Steve

Traumafessions :: Greg Goodsell on Planet of the Apes & The Last Man on Earth

Posted on By aunt john

There were a lot of horror films that deeply affected me as a child. One of my earliest film-going remembrances was the time my father took me to see the original PLANET OF THE APES (1968) on its first theatrical release. The problem was is that we arrived a bit too early, and we caught the film's big shock ending … CHARLTON HESTON rides up on the beach with his cave woman girlfriend to see the remnants of the Statue of Liberty and we learn that this so-called "alien planet" is in fact the planet Earth after some unspecified holocaust. As a child of eight, I was only vaguely aware of the nuclear threat at this time, and I was suitably unnerved by this final image. CHUCK HESTON's histrionics notwithstanding ("He's screaming and wailing – just like your mother!" my dad pointed out, laughing), I begged out of watching PLANET and we departed after seeing the considerably milder second feature, THE WATERMELON MAN.

The fact that the world could go up in particulate matter with the press of a button would be explored further in the PLANET OF THE APES sequel, BENEATH THE PLANET OF THE APES (1969), educating countless school kids about the insecure status of humanity in the postwar world in a succession of G-rated installments.

One other film that clued me in to the haunting finality of death, nuclear or otherwise, was the first adaptation of RICHARD MATHESON's "I Am Legend," THE LAST MAN ON EARTH (1964). VINCENT PRICE is seemingly the only human being left on the planet after a mysterious plague sweeps the world, transforming other survivors into vampires. PRICE barricades himself in his suburban home (supposed to be in Los Angeles, but shot in Rome – giving the film an even more off-kilter flavor), while at night the undead hordes call out to him to join them – stark shots of black-and-white terror that could be dropped wholesale into GEORGE A. ROMERO's NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (1968) without the slightest trace of continuity error.

Two scenes in LAST MAN chilled me to the bone, and continue to do so – those who denigrated this film, which included VINCENT PRICE and RICHARD MATHESON, fail to grasp the power this strange film still wields. PRICE loses his young daughter to the plague, and bodies are tossed into a giant fiery pit at the edge of town in an effort to control the pestilence. PRICE tries to spare his daughter an anonymous burial (remember, the Holocaust was still very recent when this was filmed, and filmed in Europe), he is pushed aside by an impatient government worker who says, "There are a lot of daughters down there – including mine!" Never had the Apocalypse been rendered with such blunt, unsympathetic words to my then-tender ears.

The second scene has VINCENT PRICE discovering a bedraggled poodle and he is momentarily cheered with the prospect of a companion to ride out his lonely solitude with – until, of course, he examines the dog's blood to see that the poodle has the vampire virus, and he collapses in mirthless, bitter laughter. The next scene has PRICE burying the poodle, stake through the heart in his back yard, which should be hysterically funny – but just isn't.

The message to my young mind was absolutely clear. Death, the ultimate monster, strikes little girls and poodles just as cold and merciless as anyone else, including grown-ups. Furthermore, adults had all the cards in their favor – they could push a button and wipe out humanity, draft young men to fight in foreign wars to die in battle or consign their own children to fiery, bottomless pits with a brisk, bureaucratic efficiency.

I wish there was a heartwarming or reassuring thing to share about this monster kid memory, but there isn't any. This horror film had fulfilled its obligation of engaging me, thrilling me and introducing me to certain truths that my own parents, at that time, were themselves too terrified to tell.

AUNT JOHN SEZ: Thanks for the traumafession Greg! To read more by Greg Goodsell, be sure to check out both SCREEM MAGAZINE and ANGELS IN DISTRESS.

Name That Trauma :: Reader Burgen on a Scary Dr. Suess Book

Posted on By aunt john

Hey there Kindertrauma,

I was wondering if you could help me figure out a book that scared me for years.

O.K., all I remember is it was a Dr. Seuss book, the cover was different shades of dark blue.

My cousin used to bring it out to freak me out (gotta love relatives).

I have no idea what it was called but it was something about "Scary."

I've looked everywhere to find this book but nothing.

I figured someone who loved Dr. Seuss as a kid might remember it???

Wish there was more info. to go on.

It's always bugged me.

Keep up the trauma,

Burgen

UNK SEZ: Burgen, based on your description I think you are looking for "What Was I Scared Of?" by DR. SUESS. It's blue for sure and has "scared" in the title! Turns out you are not alone with this trauma, we got a traumafession on it once before HERE!

Traumafessions :: Reader Heidi O. on Dot & the Kangaroo

Posted on By aunt john

Hi all,

I've been a fan of this website for some time now, so I thought I might finally contribute a precious childhood memory of my own. As an Australian child of the ‘80s I was made to watch the classic Australian film DOT AND THE KANGAROO in primary school (it is kind of educational in that it has native animals dancing around and singing about how they got their Latin names), and there was one scene involving a bunyip that always creeped everyone out.

Being an unusual child, this scene was my favourite, but I'll do this traumafession on behalf of all my classmates who weren't as brave as I was. Anyway, the scene starts with NICK CAVE-esque piano intro playing while animated turtles swim over real-life footage of a creek (or billabong) in the outback. Suddenly a hand emerges from the water, then an arm, then an entire Aboriginal Dreamtime monster. The scene is accompanied by an eerily lilting song called 'Bunyip Moon,' and it lulls you into a false sense of calm as the bunyip rampages the bush, chasing people, dingoes and kangaroos through the trees. The whole thing has the feel of a beautiful nightmare as the bunyip curls around the moon, appears in campfires and transforms into a bird.

The true moment of horror is at the very end, when the bunyip's face starts to 'decompose' and transform into a cave painting. That's two seconds that will stay with you for a very, very long time…

Heidi

AUNT JOHN SEZ: Heidi, if it's any consolation to your classmates, they are not alone. Both Mr. Canacorn and Absinthe had similar reactions to that bad ass bunyip.

Name That Trauma/Traumafessions :: Reader Tara A. on a Creepy Chanel No. 5 Commercial

Posted on By aunt john

Hi Kindertrauma,

I'm hoping you can help me track down a Chanel No. 5 commercial I saw on network T.V. in what I believe was the late .80s. I have a vague memory of the commercial (though I clearly remember it disturbing and confusing me.) I recall a glamorous woman sitting in a theater, drinking from a bottle of perfume. There's some sort of creepy music playing over the scene. You hear a loud "sipping through straw" sound effect toward the end of the commercial, and a woman exclaims, "Number Five!" in a breathy squeak. My mother claims the networks pulled this commercial because it taught children that perfume was safe to consume.

Thanks!! As a huge fan of discussing the consistent state of terror I was in from 1986-1993, I am hooked on your site!! Awesome job!!

—Tara

UNK SEZ:: Tara, could the clip below be the commercial you seek? It does feature a movie theater…

ALSO: I have to thank you Tara. While looking for your trauma I stumbled across a Chanel No.5 commercial that I used to love (below). Now (thanks to you) I know why I loved it so much, it turns out it was directed by RIDLEY SCOTT who directed two of my favorite movies BLADE RUNNER and ALIEN!

Kindertrauma Sci-fi Funhouse!

Posted on By unkle lancifer

UNK SEZ:: Will this be too easy or too hard? How well do you know your sci-fi? Special kinder-thanks go to the indispensable BADMOVIES.ORG for image #10 as my personal DVD was acting ornery! Good luck, kinder-space cadets!

Name That Trauma :: Reader Brie on Infidelity in Ireland

Posted on By aunt john

It wasn't super traumatizing…but I'm trying to figure out what the crap this show was called.

Family with daughter move to Ireland?

Possibly something about trolls and they put out milk and it turns to blood?

Dad has a dream of the mother screwing someone else and the guy says, "Somebody likes to watch."

Helllllllp!

—Brie

UNK SEZ:: Brie, I think I've got this one! Sure, I've been known to miss a "Name That Trauma!" or two concerning classic movies directed by my heroes, but I'll be damned if I don't recognize a direct-to-video GREG EVIGAN movie! I'll bet you a bowl of blood that the movie you seek is 1996's SPECTRE (aka HOUSE OF THE DAMNED)!

Most dismiss this one as a stinky clunker but your Unke Lancifer actually owns a VHS copy of it! Don't judge me folks, how can I resist B.J. from B.J. AND THE BEAR and BAYWATCH's ALEXANDRA PAUL (who also starred in JOHN CARPENTER's CHRISTINE) hanging out in a haunted house in Ireland? Plus, as you can see from the trailer below this movie offers both an exploding car and a blood squirting turkey! I'm only human ya know!

Traumafessions :: Reader Toonhead on The Day After

Posted on By aunt john

Dear Uncle L. and Aunt J.,

First of all, you have created a fabulous website. I would like to nominate this site for the "Most Addictive Webpage Ever Award," and if such an award does not exist, it ought to! It is easy to tell that the folks that write in with contributions are dyed-in-the-wool film lovers. (Or possibly DIED-in-the-wool, considering the movies discussed…)

Anyway, my Kindertrauma is the one glaring omission to your movie list. I am referring to the T.V. movie, THE DAY AFTER. The movie features JASON ROBARDS, JOBETH WILLIAMS, JOHN LITHGOW, and totally eighties heartthrob STEVE GUTTENBERG.

When this was broadcast on ABC, I was in junior high school. The Powers That Be decided that all of the students at my school should watch this film so that we could hold a discussion on it in Social Studies the next day. Hey…watching a movie as homework, sounds great!

Well, not so great, after all.

Between shots of people being vaporized by the nuclear blast, a little boy being blinded, and the survivors slowly dying of radiation sickness, this was not a movie for a pre-teen with delicate sensibilities. Other scary films I had seen up to that point had caused oh, maybe a single sleepless night, but this one freaked me out for DAYS! I kept thinking about someone, somewhere, without warning, pushing a few buttons, and plunging the whole world into nuclear Armageddon. Mind you, I think if I would watch the whole movie again as an adult, it would have some Moments of Cheese. But I did pull up the clip of the nuclear strike in Kansas a short time ago, and it still gives me the shivers.

Eaten Alive (1977)

Posted on By unkle lancifer

The HOOPER posts, they just keep on a' coming! I can't blame some folks for not cuddling up to EATEN ALIVE. It's scattershot, brutally blunt and sometimes feels like it's held together with spit and crossed fingers. Like the run down hotel it takes place in, the overall structure comes off as flimsy and second hand and the walls literally wobble. Yet it's also strangely eerie and I don't know what your nightmares look like but mine don't look too far off from the random, nausea-toned whirlwind found here.

There's not much as far as plot goes, sad sacks line up to be scythed and fed to a crocodile, but genuine sense-defying horror hovers about like an impenetrable wall of humidity. Bottom of the barrel country tunes bleed together with manic music box chimes (and a chorus of wails) and even as the whole package plays with pointlessness, it's so darn expressive that you have to take a step back and gawk. EATEN ALIVE's commitment to chaos makes it a slippery fish and hard to get a handle on but as a surreal horrific mood piece, it works big time for me.

There's really no identifiable reality to cling to here for comfort. EATEN ALIVE, with its makeshift, puke-toned, sets comes off as a hellish high school stage production or a cancelled Satanic soap opera. HOOPER, having just exited the bleached bone dust bowl dimension of THE CHAINSAW MASSACRE, flipped a switch in his head and got down to experimenting with garish unnatural color and lighting, a proclivity that will come to full fruition with THE FUNHOUSE.

The film texture itself is collage-like sometimes stark and brazen, sometimes shrouded and hazy. Maybe it's just grindhouse sloppy but it jars regardless. I can't help comparing it to the mash-up, psychedelic roulette wheel visuals that ROB ZOMBIE puts to use in his films. HOOPER may have been paying a bit of an homage to horror comics with his color palette but I'm also reminded of the plethora of neon-soaked eighties music videos that EATEN ALIVE predates as well (or stranger still, ROBERT ALTMAN's FOOL FOR LOVE). The clash of "real" weathering and grit and "unreal" otherworldly color may throw some off but maybe that's the point. So much of what is going on here comes off as a slap attack on the viewer.

Speaking of the ROB-ZOB, EATEN ALIVE definitely digs dumping its ladle in hillbilly sleaze and stirring the white trash gumbo. It's not only the local yokels like the TARANTINO-quoted Buck (a young ROBERT ENGLUND whose, "I'm Buck and I like to fuck" resurfaced in KILL BILL) who come off as less than noble characters. Even TCM survivor MARILYN BURNS is difficult to relate to or rely upon completely. First of all, she's not a very good mother and second of all, I still can't for the life of me figure out why she wears a "new Jan Brady" wig at the start of the film and then discards it without ado. Her husband is bat-shit crazy for what purpose to the story I don't know and her daughter (a pre-HALLOWEEN KYLE RICHARDS) does little more than scream at the top of her lungs (not that that didn't work for BURNS in TCM).

If you want to know how much EATEN cares about your sensibilities just check out how it milks poor RICHARD's peril. I won't reveal her outcome but her safety is not the usual assumed "given" based on her child status. That's really one of EATEN ALIVE's biggest strengths, the fact that you can't trust the film or anybody in it at any time. Everybody we meet is crazy, duplicitous or falling apart in some way and weirder still, the victims all but take numbers and volunteer for their savage fates.

The crocodile is paper mache phony and the sets are about as convincing as a SID AND MARTY KROFFT production. Nobody, not MEL FERRER (who is presented as little more than an animated portrait painting) or THE ADDAMS FAMILY's CAROLYN JONES (made up for the most part like a hunch backed cartoon witch) or main loon Judd (a wild-eyed and mumbling NEVILLE BRAND) is identifiable as an authentic human. I guess these are all reasons enough for some viewers to put up their hands and decline. When presented with wild arbitrary violence such as this maybe it's instinctual for some to automatically comb for any evidence of falsehood to keep their footing and/or distance.

Perhaps it's a cop out on my part but I don't think a film like this needs to be bound by rational laws. In fact, I think its main agenda is to stick its tongue out at rationality in general. The truth is, when real horror does find its way into your life that old pal rationality is the first to yell, "Check please!" Real horror really can render everything senseless and the familiar world a false cardboard stage.

There's an intense (though relatively short-lived) chase scene within EATEN ALIVE that almost takes place on a fairy tale page with prop trees bending to impossible winds amidst swirling, machine made mists. It's a raging, Southern gothic storm and it's cheap and lovely like a plastic champagne flute. Whether you buy into the situation or not HOOPER does orchestrate a multi-layer cake of suspense with several floors of his Starlight Hotel reaching fever pitches of the grotesque simultaneously. If EATEN were a dream this is the moment of crescendo right before the sleeper wakes. No, it's not very believable at all but every dreamer knows it's quite real enough.

I love character driven psychological horror; I love expertly timed set pieces too but there is a special place in my heart for films like EATEN ALIVE that rattle and run on simple unleaded insanity. The adult me protests and throws down barriers but the primal me rolls over like a sniveling dog. I suggest watching EATEN ALIVE alone without the distracting voices of sense and reason, preferably late at night when the walls between "awake" and "asleep" grow soft and blur. I've come to see it as a blood-stained music box with a headless, spinning hillbilly ballerina inside. Sure, this is some frayed, imperfect jacked-up business and it's no TCM but when baby Leatherface has a bad dream, it just might look like EATEN ALIVE.