The October Ordeal Day 6: Society

October 6th: Society (1989)

In Brian Yuzna's Society, the title refers to the same 80s cinema stereotype found in Less Than Zero or any Brat Pack movie, the idea that the impeccably mannered (and all-white) upper-classes who constitute an impenetrable over-culture may actually be hiding something rather ugly. The ugliness is made explicit in Society, a literal groteque of Lovecraftian proportions.

Yuzna, long-time producing partner of Stuart Gordon, moved to feature directing with Society, a film written by Rick Fry and Woody Keith (who worked with Yuzna again on Bride of Re-Animator in 1990). Yuzna has directed interesting films since, yet Society has a certain original quality he has yet to match. Besides Yuzna, the other creative force behind the film is prosthetics-wiz Screaming Mad George (Predator, Freeked, Big Trouble in Little China, and most Yuzna/Gordon films), whose distinctive effects are practically Society's raison d’etre.

Our protagonist, Billy Whitney (mugging Soap-actor Billy Warlock), is being groomed by his wealthy parents (Charles Lucia and Connie Danese as Jim and Nan Whitney) for entry into the Los Angeles elite. However, Billy—the Whitney’s adopted child—is too much a rebel to conform to their ideal. So, he’s become a mullet-headed football jock instead. I want to claim that They Live! kick-started the trend of positioning a jar-head as the renegade, the voice in the wilderness, the non-conformist. But this is an archetype that goes back to early Sci-Fi (Quatermass Xperiment), and even to John Wayne. The myth of the rugged individual is embedded in the romantic fiction of Capitalism, after all. Billy may not look like the Spader clones who out-class him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a jerk. His mullet and football jersey hardly signify “integrity.” He treats the class nerd cruelly. He strangles his girlfriend for lying to him. Think Kevin Dillon in Remote Control, or Charlie Sheen in The Wraith. By placing such an oaf in the rebel role, the film cheapens its central notion. By leaving out deep cultural assumptions in its surface-level condemnation of the rich, Society’s message may be that it’s only okay to break some of society’s rules.

Convenient for Society’s running time, however: Bill is so dumb it takes him the entire length of the film to figure out what’s really going on. His doughy pal Blanchard (Tim Bartell) disappears midway through the film, but not until he plays Billy a tape proving that his parents are involved in something quite strange, including incest (Bill’s WASPy sister Jenny the object of their lust), and—from the sound of the tape—bestiality (Blanchard conveniently happens to be a surveillance expert?). Billy plays the tape for his psychiatrist, only to find the tape has been mysteriously altered. It seems that nearly everyone in town is involved in this yuppie-conspiracy. Bill can’t trust his parents, he can’t trust his sister (Patrice Jennings as Jenny), his classmates, the police (who protect money—like in life), not even his therapist.

Society features a quite obvious message. There isn’t anything controversial about the conclusions the film comes to about class, exclusivity and conformity; in fact, these ideas are classic film tropes. But still, it works. There is something genuine about Society. Horror is a powerful vehicle for satire and social commentary, even when it comes to Yuzna’s somewhat inarticulate film. By the end of Society, it becomes clear that the elites in the film are a kind of symbiotic species, who party hard by melting into a single mass of hive-mind goo. This extended scene is like something out of a Burroughs orgy-scene: sex, gore, submission and assimilation are one and the same.

Even this gross mess is exclusive: a townsperson tells Billy: “You aren’t one of us… you have to be born this way.” Subtlety Society may lack, but it does have a kind of political integrity. There is even some suggestion that members of L.A.’s mutant "Society" are upgraded to Washington after their final initiation.

Society may be termed a smart-dumb movie. Dumb characters, dumb protagonist. Smart premise, smart tone (tongue-in-cheek but serious in the right places). Whatever doesn’t work is smoothed out with a gallon of liquid latex. The look of the film is adequate, and nostalgic for any direct-to-video aficionado. Gordon’s films look like this. Jim McBride’s later films look like this. Full Moon looks the same. New Horizon. So on and so forth. The lighting could be better. The photography and acting are workmanlike. Workmanlike is the operative term here. You won’t marvel at any of the visuals, but the look of the film is fine, and allows for the effects to make a strong impression. If nothing else, Society is entertaining the whole way through. In the genre of gross-out late twentieth-century horror, and in the arena of low-budget direct-to-video, Society may be something of a narrow-scope masterpiece.

The October Ordeal Day 5: Chasing Sleep

October 5th: Chasing Sleep (2000)

Recently a friend and I were talking about The Squid and the Whale, and I was saying how great I thought Jeff Daniels’ performance is. I also added that Daniels in person appears a total goof-ball, and nothing like the character he plays in TSatW. Hearing this, my friend said “If you like Jeff Daniels, then you should definitely try to see Chasing Sleep.” I was intrigued, so to the top of my Netflix queue it went.

I was surprised at the many surface similarities between both Chasing Sleep and The Squid and the Whale. While TSatW isn’t a thriller, and Chasing Sleep isn’t funny, there are many points of commonality: in both films Daniels plays a snob professor who sleeps with a student; he separates from a woman who is also a teacher (a college professor in TSatW, a high school teacher in Chasing Sleep); and in both films he despises the man his wife is involved with for being his athletic and outgoing opposite. I must say that while the similarities are many, the two films are quite different. And to Daniels’ credit, the two leads (Bernard Berkman in TSatW and Ed Saxon in Chasing Sleep) are two different people. Daniels plays both as unique characters with unique problems, despite the fact that the characters are similar and that their problems also are similar. It would have been easy for Daniels to play both characters the same way, but he manages to find the nuance in each. Hollywood’s master character actors (sorry Denzel) often settle into specific ready-made grooves, playing the same characters over and over again; its an immense credit to Daniels that he plays two very close characters as separate individuals. Both may be self-righteous slobs who teach English at the college level and suffer marital problems, but they’re different self-righteous slobs.

First time director Michael Walker’s Chasing Sleep begins with a classic noir motif, and moves into some unexpected places from there. Ed Saxon wakes up one morning and his wife is not by his side. He calls in to work and begins to investigate. He calls his wife’s work, he calls her friends, and—when things seems seriously strange—eventually the police. To compound his problems, Saxon suffers from severe insomnia. Time falls out of sync, expanding and contracting wildly. For example: the police call to say they’re coming to the house, Saxon hangs up, the doorbell rings a moment later. The film is full of disorienting moments of lost time. And while the film is short on flashbacks, and the narrative moves in a relatively straight-forward direction, its quite obvious that time is seriously out of joint. Day and night constantly fold in on each other, as if some sinister force is at work, manipulating either Saxon’s mind or reality itself. Except for when the door opens, it is impossible to know if it is day or night. The sickly indoor lighting (noir doesn’t always equal dark) creates a kind of shades-drawn in-between state. In many ways Chasing Sleep refuses to differentiate. For example, Daniels plays every emotional response as if subdued by a dose of sleeping pills, pills which Saxon is indeed taking (a motif throughout the film). The tension of the character is played entirely below the surface; Saxon only half understands what’s going on, but its clear there are things he simply refuses to comprehend.

Daniels’ performance alone would make Chasing Sleep a fine film, but the script, set design and subtle touches make this a compact and powerful neo-noir. I mention the set design; this is of supreme importance, as Ed Saxon doesn’t leave his home for the length of the film. Saxon’s wife is missing, and he dares not leave, his phone and front door his only means of contact. The few auxiliary characters who flit in and out of the film serve only as human MacGuffins, who exist in the film only to move the plot forward. And—spoilers, watch out!—by the film’s conclusion there is some doubt as to the very reality of these characters. Several tired police officers appear and disappear, dropping pills and cryptic remarks that only increase Saxon’s paranoia. An adoring student (Sadie, played by Emily Bergl) brings Saxon soup and then propositions sex; Gym teacher George (Julian McMahon), the man his wife is sleeping with, punches Saxon in the face. All of these characters exist on the periphery, acting as triggers and nothing more.

The film’s true secrets are not held by the supporting cast, but by the house where Saxon lives. While all the action takes place in a few rooms, Chasing Sleep never feels like theatre. The attention to detail is uniquely filmic: the camera examines every inch of dirt, grime and decay, paying particular attention to the water damage found in the bathroom. Saxon will be left to his own devices for minutes as the film’s focus shifts to the crumbing details of the old house. This is the kind of decay an old house miraculously attains when no one lives there. The score is more like sound design than traditional soundtrack: drones and high-pitched frequencies, resembling the ambient sounds of the night and the electronic hum home-owners only notice in the dead of night.

While an unsettling psychological examination throughout, Chasing Sleep only becomes qualified horror in the last act, when the house’s (and Saxon’s) secrets are revealed. One particular scene is so disturbing and visually disarming that it frames the rest of the film in a new and unexpected manner. Questions are answered, but instead of satisfaction, the feeling is resignation. The anti-climactic resolution answers many questions, but leaves the audience cold. The largest question, “Is this all real?” is never answered; interpretation is up to the viewer; a certain indifference is present in this ultimately pessimistic film.

Chasing Sleep is already an obscurity. Much like The Minus Man, this is a film of quiet and arresting power, one which requires patience but rewards it, and warrants repeat viewings to fully appreciate its many angles. Doing more with less has always been a hallmark of noir; the emotionally restrained yet psychologically complex nature of Chasing Sleep places it among the greats of the genre.

The October Ordeal Day 4: The First Power

October 4th: The First Power (1990)

The First Power is a film which stands in the shadow of the great 80s and early 90s occult thrillers: Jacob’s Ladder, From Beyond, Prince of Darkness, Candyman, Angel Heart and The Serpent and the Rainbow. While this statement may be derisive by definition, I don’t mean to say that there is never a possibility that a film like The First Power can be good; in fact, the existence of Samurai Dreams is in part predicated upon the premise that it can. While countless “me too” rip-offs crowd around superior films, this does not mean that there will not be superior “B” category films like The First Power.

I’ve actually had my eye out for this film for a while. About a year ago, I saw it for sale at a local video store for three bucks. I got something else instead, and decided to come back for it later. However, the next time I made a visit to the video store in question, it had closed its doors for good (an all-too common occurrence these days). So when I saw it for sale at Astro Video a few months ago, I was happy to throw it in my stack and take it home.

Lou Diamond Phillips plays Logan, a tough cop chasing a vicious satanic serial killer named Patrick Channing (Jeff Kober) with the help of Tess Seaton (Tracy Griffith), a psychic. Tracy has “the second power,” while Channing has the third: possession. While Tess is a reliable police informant, Logan does not come to trust her abilities fully until Channing continues killing after his execution and Logan starts seeing some pretty weird things of his own. Also around to help out is Sister Marguerite (Elizabeth Arlen), a nun who knows quite a bit about Satan and the three heavenly powers (as she holds a cross she says to Logan: “the only person in history to have all three powers,” and then pulls half the cross away, revealing a blade). The first power we can assume is held by Logan, but the film is somewhat ambiguous about this.

Lou Diamond Phillips is not a good actor in the traditional sense. That is to say, his range is very limited; Phillips can not adapt to any character. He can however play one character very well. So, like Keanu or Furlong, he can be cast well. And Phillips is more than adequate here, pulling off angry, confused, cynical and impulsive. The acting in The First Power is uniformly workmanlike. The gray and black indoor and outdoor sets are well decorated, and communicate well the kind of seedy urban (in this case L.A.) environment where occult power could conceivably manifest itself (see also: Candyman and Larry Cohen’s Q: The Winged Serpent). The First Power does a lot of things right—albeit while working within a tested framework—and ends up being wholly entertaining.

The most disappointing thing about The First Power is its conclusion. So often a genre film will unnecessarily end with an ambiguous “Gotcha!” moment, which subverts audience expectation, but for no real reason. As vague as what exactly “the first power” is in the film (and who has it) the ending is even more confusing. A simple and concise conclusion would have been appreciated. But this criticism aside, I very much enjoyed The First Power.

(This review originally appeared in Samurai Dreams issue #4. Its been a busy day so I had to cop out. I haven't posted this review here, so I think I can get away with it. Luckily I don't have many such reviews on reserve, so I'll need to be more diligent in the coming weeks)

The October Ordeal Day 3: The Shrieking

October 3: The Shrieking (1973)

Prism's VHS release of this obscure Leo Garen exploitation pic is titled "The Shrieking"; the original title is Hex. "Hex" actually makes sense, as plenty of people in this film get hexed. I don't recall any shrieking. A confusing title isn't the only dishonest part of Prism's box art; The Shrieking isn't really even a horror movie. Can't blame 'em; this is a confusing film. IMDb says: "A group of friends who were World War I flyers ride their motorcycles across America in search of what they believe their generation lost during the war." I've seen the film, and this is news to me. Apparently, The Shrieking never saw a theatrical release. Strange, as Hex would have been a perfectly adequate drive-in flick.

The bike gang (referred to as "The Company") doesn't ride motorcycles across America, they ride them to Nebraska, and stay there. The Company finds its way to the home of Oriole (Tina Herazo) and Acacia (Hilarie Thompson), two half-Indian (no tribe is given) sisters living alone on their small ranch. An uneasy arrangement is made, yet Oriole's hospitality soon wears thin as inter-personal complications arise. Any further plot synopsis would only lead to a headache on my part, so this premise will have to do.

The film isn't about narrative. Mood is the important thing. The film has that particular dustiness of drive-in classics like Deadly Harvest and Vanishing Point. The archetypal setting could be the creepiest episode of Little House never seen; it isn't set in any immediately recognizable time period. This could be the 20s, it could be the 50s--only the bikes kept me from placing The Shrieking in the Hollywood Old West. The specific time period doesn't matter. The idyllic prairie-town only signifies an already mysterious past. The quiet pastoral languor of The Shrieking at times feels even more tranquilized than Idaho Transfer or Picnic at Hanging Rock. This isn't a bad thing: while there's a lot wrong with this picture, the image itself is confident.

The characters themselves are stock. Oriole and Acacia are opposites: Oriole the strong, dark, handsome older sister; Acacia the blonde innocent. The gang has all the typicals: Keith Carradine plays Whizzer, the idealistic young kid; Gary Busey is Giblets the unhinged madman, Scott Glenn the stoic leader Jimbang; Robert Walker plays Chupo as a Jodorowskian mute wild-card with a big beard. The histories of these two sets are left to the imagination. Most of the company are running from something, or someone, but details are absent. All we really know about Acacia and Oriole is that their "Injun pa" taught 'em how to smoke marijuana and talk to bees before he died. The dialog between these characters is painful, the yokel phrasing laughable ("Shush up!", "Makes no never-mind"); but the non-verbal interplay amongst the group is often interesting.

No character is identified as protagonist, and none as antagonist. In one scene everyone's smoking prairie-weed and playing Jew's harp, in the next Giblets is trying to rape Acacia in the front yard. The Shrieking is full of abrupt shifts in tone, usually signified by Charles Bernstein's strange electroacoustic score. The role of any character can change from scene to scene. Whether a point is being made about the nature of human interaction and game-playing I cannot say. It's just as likely alliances and loyalties shift merely to push the film to its inevitable bloody conclusion. Ultimately it doesn't matter, as the film seems to posit that fate has brought these characters to a specific point in time from which there is no easy escape.

The uneven rhythm of the film becomes uncomfortable. Long periods of cinema-hypnosis are punctuated by moments of grotesque cruelty and acid-trip surreality. Oriole as a character grows more malovolent as the film winds, performing strange rituals: she sews a lock of biker-chick China's (Doria Cook) hair into a toad's mouth, and walks around in a cow's skull like a compelled witch. Her black-magick outbursts occur whenever the pace of the film slows to a stand-still. One thing I love about drive-in movies is how strange they can often be; in an earlier review I mentioned the bizarre images in the slasher Final Terror being especially memorable.

Somehow out of all this two romances develop. Whizzer and Oriole pair off in an antagonistic, almost-violent subset, and Acacia finds her familiar in the company's runt Golly, a flax-haired kid so passive he's almost ethereal. These four actors seem the most competent but also the most mystified: they play every hokey line ("What the jim-jam are you doin?") straight, as if in a trance. The acting in The Shrieking can't be called great, but it is appropriate.

Ultimately, The Shrieking offers no explanations. Moments in the last reel point to clumsy political commentary (the company ride "Indian" bikes, after all), but the stronger point here may be an implicit assumption about the malleability of human psychology in certain situations, or in certain archetypal positions. The final scene is the most bewildering of all, and I can't find the words to assess it. Like many of the films that find a home at Dreamscape, this is a bewildering and perhaps even off-putting film. Its strangeness, however, is the glue holding it together. Like the otherworldly aura of a dream, The Shrieking is often mundane, but the mysterious collection of these mundane moments grants surprising and unqualified occult dimensions.

The October Ordeal Day 2: Video Violence 2

October 2nd: Video Violence 2 (1987)

Camp DVD packages both Video Violence 1 and 2, but it might as well have put the sequel in the “extras” section, because that’s what this feels like. Released less than a year later and featuring much of the same cast (and some of the same footage), Video Violence 2 feels more like an excuse to reunite the ol’ gang rather than an effort to create a stand-alone film. Shame, because technically it’s an improvement. Despite the fact that its shot on video, Video Violence 2 actually looks (and sounds) much better than the first film. But, trust me, that’s still not saying very much.

For the sequel, Gary Cohen throws away the traditional narrative structure of the first film and structures the film as an extended television show. Sadistic TV hosts Howard (Bart Sumner) and Eli (the actor is listed only as “Uke”) return, this time bringing their snuff-variety show to the air-waves, via a pirate signal. And--we learn via an unconvincing news report at the film’s opening--the show is a big hit. Besides a dozen fake commercials and interludes, we spend the entire movie with these two goons. Besides introducing clips, Howard and Eli torture a bound woman live, with the participation of their music-man Gordon (the film’s composer Gordon Ovsiew).

Videodrome had a huge impact on gore-hounds in the 80s. The late-night pirate snuff/torture porn premise of Video Violence 2 is clearly inspired by Cronenberg’s film. I imagine there are a lot of Fango-junkies who love Rick Baker’s effects but probably didn’t really get the film. There’s nothing funny about the routines in Videodrome; the murders in Video Violence 2 are played for laughs. Like the first film, VV2 is creepy in its contrived “zaniness”, an awkwardness that occasionally plays as downright disturbing.

While the original Video Violence was clumsily plotted for sure, VV2 is constantly in the process of falling apart. Simply, the film has no center. Also, it's not that great. There was a kernel of something worthwhile in the original; here there is none. It took a lot of self-control not to watch the last half of the film in fast-forward. The two protagonists from the first film appear only in a cameo, and the video store itself is the setting for only one scene. The two best things about the original film are essentially removed. While there are things about it I like, I can barely recommend the original Video Violence. The sequel however, I can confidently warn against. Alas, since both films are available on one DVD, this point is practically irrelevant.

The October Ordeal Day 1: Video Violence

October 1st: Video Violence: When Renting is Not Enough (1987)

The fuzz audio that begins Video Violence cannot have been a choice. Rather than being a decision made in editing, the noise in Video Violence that stands in for silence is the result of cheap tech. This suggestion of affordable equipment continues when the score enters over the opening credits. You guessed it: one guy with a synth. Yet: the simple-dumb notes that cycle over the opening scene (cars driving us to suburban Frenchtown, NJ) are actually quite pleasurable. Although overbearing and goofy, the budget sounds of the opening theme are somehow mildly unsettling. Much about Video Violence feels voyeuristic in that its anonymity borders on an aura of violated privacy. The sub-verite aspects of the film make it feel like an all-warts home movie. So, the film’s music fits because it sounds like a private-press synth-pop obscurity.

I can’t stress how cheap Video Violence is. While the director reveals that it was actually shot on film and mastered to video in the editing, its almost hard to believe him. The sequel is authentic video, and it looks exactly the same. This is perhaps the cheapest horror film I’ve ever seen that isn’t something my friends and I made in eighth grade. It’s cheaper than Blood Cult. It’s cheaper than Troma. The film has a graininess to it that’s deeper than the mere quality of the image. This isn’t so much like watching a horror film from the 80s; its like watching local television commercials from the 80s.

I’m not one to seek out a film merely for its low-rent obscurity; the premise of Video Violence is actually what attracted me. How can a genre-fan resist a horror film about horror films set in a video store in 1987? Nearly every scene in the store had me pausing and zooming to verify each film on the shelves. We catch glimpses of big boxes and posters galore: Pieces, Ghostbusters, Critters, The Hunger, Dreamscape, Brainstorm, April Fool’s Day and loads more. A customer even rents the aforementioned Blood Cult, which (as the legend goes) is the first SOV (shot on video) horror flick ever produced.

Video Violence isn’t the only horror film set in a video store or about video tapes; in fact, films like Terrorvision, Remote Control, Video Dead and Night Vision practically constitute a micro-genre (see also: Videodrome. See also: The Ring). And although the plot parallels 2000 Maniacs in many ways (the director, Gary Cohen, claims he hadn’t seen the H.G. Lewis film), its still quite novel and a great set-up. Steven Emory (Art Neill) and his wife Rachel (Jackie Neill, his real-life partner) move to Frenchtown from the big city to open up an independent rental store. Rachel works at the court house, Steven works the store counter, and hires a local kid to help him. The Emorys settle in, and business is surprisingly brisk for such a small town. The really strange part: customers only seem interested in horror and porn. But since the store is a success, Steven tries not to think too much about it. One morning, however, he becomes nervous when someone leaves a blank tape in the store’s drop box. His employee convinces him to watch the tape, which the two play on the video store TV. What they witness looks surprisingly real, and Steven wonders if what he’s seen is what it looks like: a snuff film. The kid who works for him even thinks he recognizes the victim. More tapes arrive, and eventually Steven and Rachel decide to investigate what appears to be a small-town snuff conspiracy.

The snuff tapes actually take up quite a bit of the running time. These scenes are unsettling in that they look like home movies within one long home movie. While the gore in the film isn’t frightening (although I must say it isn’t incompetent), the pace of these scenes is. The violence in films like Henry: Portrait of a serial Killer is often called “unflinching” or “unrelenting.” The operative phrase here is meandering. Or tedious. There is something stomach turning about watching prolonged scenes of extras rolling in buckets of fake blood, their screams peaking the audio.

While the plot is entirely sensational, Cohen explains that the film is meant as social commentary. This is only really evident in an early scene taken from Cohen’s own experience as a mom-and-pop video store owner. A mother with a young child rents Blood Cult and asks “is there any nudity?” When Steven tells her he doesn’t think there is she responds “Oh good, then the kids can watch it,” oblivious to the film’s violence (although I must say those watching Blood Cult face more bores than scares). This scene casts the rest of the film in at least a slightly different light than most SOV gore-fests.

Camp’s new series of DVDs celebrating 80s SOV no-budget horror, the “Retro 80s Horror Collection”, is surprisingly high-profile. I noticed their gory full-page ads for Video Violence 1 & 2 (“The awesome 80s are back!”) in several magazines, and read reviews for these lost and tossed little cheapos in various corners of the web. Its strange that Camp has managed to market these films so well, considering the seemingly unanimous agreement (even among fans) that they are not, well, good. There must be something else going on here. The director even warns in a DVD extra: “It’s not good…” I don’t know if I can explain the appeal of trash SOV. Sites like Critical Condition and Bleeding Skull have done a great job of cataloging and celebrating these historical curiosities, and Camp DVD, to its credit, has made no effort to pose these films as anything more than what they are.

I haven’t yet seen a great 80s SOV horror film, and I’m not sure one is out there. That said, there is something likable about Video Violence. There’s something appealing to me about no-budget flicks that read like enthusiastic community productions. I think the draw is that these films play like something other than cinema. If the filmmakers had more money and resources, Video Violence could easily have been a traditionally fun horror flick. They didn’t; they made the film anyway. There’s something admirable about that. I find that the language of criticism even breaks down here, as calling Video Violence a bad film is patently redundant. We all agree on this point. Most of the time, this ends the discussion. Interestingly, this is exactly where the discussion begins with a film such as Video Violence. We’ll see how the sequel fares.

The October Ordeal

Fall is my favorite season. The strong aesthetic of Halloween I feel as soon as the leaves start to change. I've already noticed that I've been shifting all the horror flicks on my Netflix queue towards the top. Television gets really good come mid-October; I remember taking in Godzilla, William Castle and Hammer marathons with my friends in middle school, back in the days when AMC and TCM would do such a thing.

About two weeks ago I began toying with the idea of doing something here for the month of October. Reviewing a bunch of horror flicks only seemed natural. I began to wonder: how insane would it be to review a film a day, for the entire month? When I thought of a name by which to call this ambitious project, the challenge was official. 31 horror films in 31 days... The October Ordeal.

Let's see if I can pull this off! First up: Video Violence 1 & 2.

Ghost Story (1981)

(Spoilers ahoy)

Ghost Story is formally presented as “old fashioned”; this description is only partly accurate. Ghost Story stars a quartet of former leading men, all Old-Hollywood royalty. The 1981 film also begins with a fantastic 50’s premise, but the similarities between Ghost Story and the old Price/Karloff pictures evoked by the notion of “old horror” (the Famous Monsters would be going too far back) end there. Ghost Story is an astute commentary on the horror genre itself (and not just horror in film, I must add), a meditation; Ghost Story interrogates the intersection of “Old” and “New” (read: post Hitchcock) film horror’s colluding.

Lawrence D. Cohen, who’s main gig is adapting Stephen King novels and short stories for television, here adapts Peter Straub’s novel. John Irvin directs. Irvin’s asymmetrical oeuvre includes films as diverse as Raw Deal and Hamburger Hill. While neither scriptwriter nor director have particularly impressive careers, here their efforts create an interesting film, perhaps the best of both their careers.

Ghost Story refers to the business of the “Chowder Society,” a group of old men whom once a week gather to spin ghastly moralistic narratives. The Society is Ricky Hawthorne (Fred Astaire), Dr. John Jaffrey (Melvyn Douglas, who appeared in the comparable The Changeling only a few years earlier), Sears James (John Houseman), and Edward Charles Wanderley (Douglas Fairbanks Jr). While the Society are the prime movers of the film, much of the present-time narrative concerns Don Wanderley, son of Edward, whom is called back to the spooky and anachronistic town of Millbrook, Massachusetts after the mysterious death of his twin brother David (both played by Craig Wasson of Body Double and The Men’s Club), and the equally strange death of one of the Society’s members: his father. While initially the connection between the two deaths is vague, both have something to do with two women from different eras who may in fact be the same person: Eva Galli and Alma Mobley (both played by Alice Krige, whose performance may be the film’s best). The film’s narrative from this point on begins to twist through space and time, meting out the complete story in pieces, presented as stories told to one character by another. I have not read the original novel, but this diegetic strategy may be a way of inserting necessary information outside the story's selected arcs.

It is a testament to the film’s script that these scenes never feel like meandering digressions. The mindful pacing of the film conceals the fact that Ghost Story takes huge risks by dropping in and out of the main narrative. The center of the film is in fact a lengthy departure in which David relates a tale to Fred Astaire’s Ricky Hawthorne (the bond between these two is the strongest relationship in the film). While the film is in some sense part of the mystery genre, an unusual amount of patience is required, as not every flashback brings the viewer closer to solving Millbrook’s riddles. Storytelling itself is an important part of the film; much of the film is actually told as story: the Chowder Society is formed around the act of storytelling; film itself is storytelling (no matter how abstract or non-linear a film is, all films have a narrative if only because there is a timestamp: all films have a beginning and an end in the experience of the viewer).

While the plot of Ghost Story could be the premise for a fine revisionist-William Castle film, neither the script nor the acting in Ghost Story point to camp or nostalgia. The four leads are all veteran actors who can command attention here, yet there are no attempts made in their performances to belie the simple fact that these old men inhabit frail bodies—bodies most likely not strong enough to survive the hazards of 1980’s horror. The commonplace yet keenly observed frailty of the actors is a testament to the film’s direction, as the old men of the story are allowed to be old men; many films betray this biological fact, presenting elderly performers as outside-of-time.

















As excellent as the four leads are (particularly Astaire), the other two players in Ghost Story are equally fantastic. Interestingly, both play two characters: Krige portrays Eva and the ghost Alma, Wasson doubles up as Don and David Wanderley. Craig Wasson is an interesting specimen. Wasson spent the 1980’s perfecting a kind of anti-charisma, a talent prefect for certain films. Wasson became the uncertain, slight, ineffectual everyman of the 1980s. Wasson often represented a perceived hand-waving liberal powerless in Reagan’s America. In Ghost Story, the Don and David Wanderley sub-plot could be a film in-itself. While the wealthy and successful David checks out early in the film, Don carries much of the film’s weight (and buckles underneath it), as the Wanderley failure, a disappointing shadow of his father and twin brother; a loser who twists his ankle at the film’s climax and only cowers in fear when the hammer drops. In the story Don tells Ricky, his mundane life is ignited by the overt sexuality and power of Alma, whom he meets at the college where he teaches English. When he begins to suspect something is the matter with Alma (she is in fact dead), he cuts the relationship short, only to find out she has found and seduced his brother David.

The ghost of Ghost Story, Eva/Alma, is masterfully and subtly played by South African actress Alice Krige. This is a ghost who operates metaphysically, ageless and even supra-conscious of the film itself, reflexively embodying the conflicts pertinent to the film. By this I mean to say that Ghost Story is in many ways about the meeting of old and new horror, articulated by the unraveling of the old fashioned Chowder Society by the (often ugly and intrusive) outside world. When Hawthorne investigates an abandoned old building from his boyhood, he only finds a derelict named Bate (Miguel Fernandez), who’s seemingly been appropriated by Eva/Alma, and his pre-teen boy companion. The boy, (Lance Halcomb) rising dirty in a woman’s nightgown, is somehow shocking, especially by contrast. The Chowder Society ultimately represent an obsolete lifestyle.

Ghost Story in fact mixes and matches the old and the new. The chilly New England settings recall Lovecraft, Bradbury and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. The score feels decades old, fit for a children’s fright film actually, a kind of wistful version of classic Hermann. Not classic, however, are the gory special effects of the film. While used sparingly, when the kills occur, they remind the viewer of Argento in their forwardness and unflinching intensity. In several scenes Alma’s long flowing hair obscures her face, which may be borrowed from Gialli thrillers, yet still prefigures one particular obsession of J-Horror.

While I may give the impression of a binary here, Ghost Story actually demystifies the seeming duality created. The Old Horror represented by The Chowder Society is interrogated during a flashback to the college years of the four men. “50 years ago” the story begins. The elderly Society are mostly confident, commanding and mindful; the younger Society are altogether different. The four young men are cast as smart, effeminate, republican geeks, a casting which feels distinctly Lovecraftian. What might have been a formalistic flashback becomes a weird, embarrassing and awkward sequence to watch, as the stately old protagonists of the film (and actors of an older generation) are in their origin seen as four social rejects whom constantly embarrass themselves and eventually funnel their misfit status into misogynistic rage and end up doing something rather horrific to Eva, the girl of their dreams who will later return as the vengeful Alma.

During this sequence it becomes clear that this is a film which pulls no punches. While the elderly Chowder Society is refined and gentlemanly, this betrays the total picture of these men and perhaps more broadly the entire idea of the “old-fashioned gentleman”; which is often merely a pose for a kind of confused male-white supremacy. In this interpretation Eva/Alma becomes entirely sympathetic, despite her bizarre and cruel behavior. While the Society is ultimately remorseful, it becomes apparent by the film’s end that the horror of the film is in fact of their creation. Eva’s death is an accident, but motivated by the Society’s perceived emasculation by Eva. By Ghost Story’s end it becomes apparent that these are not leading men in the traditional sense, but flawed individuals, living in a world of false appearances, carefully constructed as a defense mechanism.

What exactly Ghost Story’s point is, it is hard to say. It makes more sense to see Ghost Story as polyglot. Part horror genre history lesson, part multi-level demystification (social, filmic), part ode to storytelling, and part good-old fashioned ghost-thriller. Significantly, Ghost Story proves that elderly actors can carry a genre film, and not just a film posed as revival or nostalgic revision. More than anything, however, Ghost Story is a fine film which is now something of a buried treasure (of its genre, certainly, but a marvel by any measure). The reviews of Ghost Story were initially rather unkind; I say it's time for a reappraisal.

God Save the Village Green

(Hot Fuzz spoilers ahoy)

About a year ago, National Review writer John J. Miller sent a peice called "Rockin' the Right: The 50 greatest conservative rock songs" spiraling into the blogosphere. There are plenty of legitimate choices (Sammy Hagar, Charlie Daniels... I don't know who thinks these guys are "great," but they certainly are conservative), yet, most of the list (and Miller's follow-up list) is inane: The Who? Black Sabbath? The Sex Pistols? Dead Kennedys? (Are you fucking kidding me?). I have no interest in playing these right-wing/left-wing games, yet there was one recurring group that interested me. The Kinks show up more than any other band on Miller's lists, and this selection is what interested me most.

Miller describes the songs on his lists as needing to meet this requirement: “The lyrics must convey a conservative idea or sentiment, such as skepticism of government or support for traditional values.” Speaking of "traditional values" as a quantifiable set is troublesome, but I'll leave that alone for now. While Miller hops all over their discography, he suprisingly doesn't mention The Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society. A great album by any means, I've often wondered about the philosophical leanings of TKATVGPS. Here, The Kinks clearly look back at an idealized past, and seem to yearn for the "traditional values" of Old England (whether or not this idealized past actually existed is another matter). The nostalgia of the record points to radio serials, tea and biscuits, lazy weekends and simple pleasures like cats and taking pictures of your friends. I'm not sure if this is actually a conservative idyll as much as a uniquely English nostalgic holiday. An equal argument could be made from the left: The Kinks here lament industrialization and the the 40-hour week, as well as the potential confines of the traditional family unit. Note this lyric: "We are the skyscraper condemnation affiliates." The Human League's "Empire State Human" is, by contrast, much more conservative in the relevant sense ("High-rise living's not so bad!")

I thought about this tension the other night when I went to see Edgar Wright's Hot Fuzz, which uses the opening cut from TKATVGPS, "We are the Village Green Preservation Society" early in the film, in a remarkable, thematic way (I bet you were wondering what the payoff to all this was). Not to give too much away, the villainous force in the film is a kind of literal Village Green Preservation Society. The film imagines a kind of Village Green Secret Society, in fact, an enterprise to keep the imagined traditional English values alive, no matter the cost (no matter the "externalities" to use the language of economics).












Complete with Hammer robes, clandestine rituals and secret catacombs, the town elders in Hot Fuzz dedicate themselves to what Miller thinks The Kinks are getting at in Village Green, and more than a conservative/liberal contrast, this is a philosophical position, ultimately. The elders here represent a kind of Kantian absolutist morality, one in which the Good isnt good because its good, its good because it is "the Good." The externalities of upholding the Good (the murders staged as accidents) are irrelevant to the Good. Hot Fuzz provides a counter-point in cop Nick Angel (Simon Pegg), who speaks of "the greater good" in a different way. Angel here represents the Utilitarian ethic: greatest good for the society, not the greatest Good for the sake of an abstract, ideal good. J.S. Mill found Kant's categorical imperative a thorny ethic, and sought to draft a more pragmatic form in the notion of utility. Mill's moral theory is just as problematic, but the two work as interesting counterpoints, as do Pegg and The Village Green Secret Society in Hot Fuzz.

This may be all a fancy way of saying that I think Hot Fuzz is a really smart flick.

Blood Sisters (1987)

(Preface: for some reason I cannot find the exact VHS cover image online. There is a similar image on some editions of the DVD, but this is still not the version I refer to here. A black & white representation is found in Samurai Dreams)

While some of my fellow reviewers at Samurai Dreams explicitly prefer the VHS format to DVD, I do not. I have a great fondness for tapes, but the plain fact is that I’d prefer to watch films in their original format (This of course, has nothing to do with my enduring love of tapes; yet it may be necessary to clear any confusion). There is one thing, however, about VHS tapes that is undeniably better than DVDs (at least thus-far): the cover art. Often in DVD design art, the film logo dominates half the case, with a Photoshop-altered still from the film taking up the rest, usually a picture of the lead. A good example is the DVD cover for A History of Violence, a film which even featured an excellent 1-sheet during its theatrical release. There are certainly exceptions, such as the packaging of Criterion Collection discs, or the designs from the folks at NoShame, but on the whole DVD package-design is an afterthought. VHS tapes, on the other hand, often feature fantastic original paintings. I have bought cheap VHS tapes solely for the cover art. While Octaman is goofy fun, I bought it with the intention of displaying the oversized painted cover as an Objet d’Art. When trolling video-store blow-outs and flea markets, at times the only thing I can base a purchase on is eye-catching package design. Often this is a poor strategy, as a VHS tape itself can be more artistic and interesting than the film contained. It works both ways,certainly; some terrible cover designs have marred interesting films.

Not quite at either extreme, Blood Sisters is a very average 80’s slasher. Fans of the genre will enjoy it; the average viewer will probably get through the film without the aid of the fast-forward button. One thing about Blood Sisters which is exceptional, however, is the awesome, mind-blowing painted VHS cover. In the basement of Astro Video, during one of my many recent visits, Blood Sisters leapt of the shelf. As I was on a tight budget, I even ended up putting a film I had already grabbed back, so I could purchase this film. Featured prominently on the VHS case is an evocative young woman, gazing maniacally skyward, as her wild orange hair morphs into fire engulfing a Victorian mansion. A dark skyline frames her, and a wooden floorboard pattern emerges at the bottom, as a demonically possessed rocking horse rears to life. A grinning skull shoots beams of light out of its eye sockets in the center of the image, and the title, "Blood Sisters," sits in raised lettering in a streak of red paint.

The film itself is a trim haunted-house slasher at eighty-five minutes, full of the anticipated gore and nudity. The plot is rote: occultist sorority sisters camp out in a haunted bordello and get murdered. Simple. There are actually some creative and well-composed shots in the film, and the opening kill is a fully realized sequence, mostly shot in POV, Halloween-style. And despite Blood Sisters’ adherence to sexist genre conventions, is not particularly mean-spirited or nasty. Watch it with friends, especially if they can’t get enough of Prom Night knock-offs.

(I'll be looking for a cover image in the coming days and weeks)

End Credits

Just got word today that Astro Video is officially closing its doors May 15. Prices on VHS and DVD couldn't be lower, so I'll definately try to make a few more trips before the Warehouse becomes an eBay dealer exclusively.

Astro Video has been going out of business for almost a year now, so I wasn't suprised when my buddy told me over the phone today. But what did suprise me was the other bit of news he had: Video To Go in Greenfield is also closing down. I called up today and learned that VTG has stopped renting, but will keep the place open for a few more weeks to sell off some stock. The prices are pretty high, but Video To Go is full of treasures.

Good and bad news for a tape fiend like myself, of course.

The mom n' pop video store is really on its death bed, if places as well stocked as Astro and VTG can't even stay open (in an area dense with college students, remember). Shame what's left is the uniformality of the chain and the anonymity of Netflix and torrent sites. I remember hearing a while back that Astro was waiting for one of the big rental players to buy the upstairs space to close, so perhaps soon we'll see that retro-future Astro Video + Video Warehouse sign (with its endearingly ridiculous boast "The world's largest selection") replaced with a Hollywood or Blockbuster logo. While I haven't gotten the chance to actually go into Video To Go (driven by it a few times), I've heard my friends rave about its wide selection of foreign and independent films often. Too bad that the first time I'll step inside of it will probably also be the last.

Well, on the bright side, these kind of sales are always a good way to add to my collection. I can't really afford to blow much cash on tapes and DVDs, but I think I can justify it in this instance, as this might be my last chance to walk down rows and rows of vintage videos at Astro, overwhelmed by the evocative painted covers of obscure horror, post-apocalypse, science fiction and spy films.

Expect a proper eulogy in the next Samurai Dreams

The Kiss (1988)

Film directors with workmanlike sensibilities will often try out a few genres before they find the one that makes bank. I can only assume this was Pen Densham's strategy, when he sandwiched a low-key horror entry titled The Kiss between Moll Flanders and something called The Zoo Gang (IMDb plot summary: “Homeless kids need a place to stay, so they rent the club ‘The Zoo’ out, from Old Leather Face."). Also, the guy wrote A Gnome Named Gnorm, a film which I routinely see going for less than a dollar at library book/vhs sales. If I had known his resume, I would have had low expectations for The Kiss from the first frame (I suppose if I had known The Kiss was co-written by Ken Russell collaborator Stephen Volk I might have at least given it a shot); however, in these lean days my apartment-mates and I go without the internet, so I entered The Kiss blind.

This little horror film is very easy to watch. This is not necessarily a compliment. However, when you watch as many "B" pictures as I do you come to accept diminishing returns, so when something is at least entertaining--if not interesting--it can be a welcome break. No mistake, The Kiss may be predictable and unambitious, warranting its obscurity, yet--it ain't half bad either.

A short prologue set in "Belgian Congo, 1963" establishes two of the main characters, Hilary and Felice Dunbar, and also the generic curse, and a generic cursed totem. Flash forward to the late 1980s, Albany, New York, where Hilary (Talya Rubin) lives with her husband Jack Halloran (Nicholas Kilbertus) and teenage daughter Amy (child star Meredith Salenger). Their suburban stability is shattered however when Hilary receives an unexpected phone call from her estranged sister Felice (Joanna Pacula), now a globe-travelling model. The two arrange to meet, yet Hilary dies in a gruesome car accident soon after inviting Felice to visit her family in Albany. Well, Felice shows up anyway, "five months later" and swiftly seduces Jack, kills a few interlopers, and makes quick enemies with her neice Amy, the film's protagonist.

The plot is rote; I'll not waste too many words in this regard. The film which is probably playing out in your mind is accurate: Felice appears amiable yet mysterious at first, but eventually reveals her true intentions. In fact, Felice turns out to be an undead occultnik femme fatale who must pass on the generic curse (via "the kiss") to a young relative (Amy) before she withers away. Amy wins of course, yet the ending is somewhat ambiguous. Of course, these building blocks say little about this type of genre film: an entry like The Kiss can sail or fail by virtue of its style. Problem is, The Kiss is so damn average. I liked the occaisional 80s slang and fashion, the well-done gore FX by some guys who worked on The Fly and Scanners, and I was especially hyped up by the gonzo black magick rituals Felice performs throughout The Kiss, even if the strikingly handsome Joanna Pacula's performance remains one-note "mysterious." In these scenes Felice writhes nude with body paint, candles, bones, and a mangy stray-cat puppet, which somehow causes people to die in horrible accidents elsewhere. If the film maintained the style of these montages throughout, it would play like a higher-budget Necropolis.

The characters here exist merely as archetypes: dopey husband with a vague office job; highly sexualized yet innocent daughter; valley girl best friend; nosy yet well-meaning neighbor; heroic boyfriend, ad naseum. This is fine. Yet a few wild cards could have elevated the film (come on, yr telling me no magician-tracker from "Belgian Congo, 1963" is following Felice around the globe?). The Kiss is full of missed opportunities.

I can't recommend The Kiss. I also can't say I regret watching it, or that I'd never pop it in the VCR again. Use your discretion.

Note: Has everybody noticed how weird the user-submitted plot tags have gotten on IMDb? Here's what you'll find for The Kiss: Occult, Severed leg, Curse, Model, Murder, Person on fire, Female nudity, Menstruation. Fellow fetishists look out for each other, I suppose.