 HAUNTING,
THE (1963). Robert Wise's film of Shirley Jackson's novel The Haunting Of
Hill House stars Julie Harris as Eleanor, a nervous woman fending off incipient
spinsterhood after the death of her invalid mother by accepting an invitation by Dr.
Markway (Richard Johnson) to participate in an investigation of a haunted house. Along for
the ride is Theo, a chic lesbian psychic (Claire Bloom) in Mary Quant clothes, and Luke
(Russ Tamblyn), a booze-swilling cynic who stands to inherit the gothic mansion. After
experiencing various ghostly phenomena--an unearthly pounding noise, the cries of a child,
writing on the walls, Eleanor begins to feel an affinity with the house and her past and
wonders if the house hasn¹t been waiting for her . She also falls for Markway, but his
wife (Lois Maxwell) arrives and throws a fateful wrench into the haunting. The
Haunting manages to be something very few haunted house films are: scary. With nary a
ghost in sight, Wise puts his RKO background (he worked with Orson Welles and Val Lewton)
to full use, and his gothic Panavison images evoke a truly chilling atmosphere. The film
is full of odd angles, darkly let hallways and shadowy interiors that fill Markway' s
description of the house as "an undiscovered country waiting to be explored" and
a house "born bad." The script by Nelson Gedding is still remarkably sharp, and
while some of the characterizations seem a little dated (Tamblyn' s boozy , wisecracking
bachelor seems too cool for the room and just there to provide snappy banter), but that¹s
a small complaint. Harris is remarkable, giving an actor's studio performance that plays
wonderfully off Bloom's worldly Theo and Johnson's polished ghost hunter. Try to see this
on laser disc where the Panavision framing has been thankfully preserved, and the stunning
black-and-white photography by Davis Boulton looks gorgeous.--Reviewed by Nick
Burton HEADLESS
GHOST, THE (1959). This Fifties
teens-in-a-haunted-castle flick was a real departure for producer Herman Cohen. In place
of his usual bloody misogynist horror production (Horrors Of The Black Museum, Konga),
this little film is a breezy, light-hearted comedy-horror romp. Three refugees from a
tourist group in England, two oldish American teen boys and a shapely sweater-girl from
Copenhagen, tour a haunted castle. They decide to stay in the castle all night as an
"experiment" and run smack into the hoary keep's spectral inhabitants, including
the titular spook. Despite the fact that the three "teens" are unknowns who
remained that way (although Liliane Sottane does come off as a delectable slice of Danish
pastry), and the film's short running time and modest production values reveal it to be
the bottom-half of an A.I.P. double bill it was, Ghost is entertaining
nonetheless. The frustrations of the medieval ghosts in dealing with the irreverent
teeny-boppers are amusing, and Clive Revill, as the long-suffering leader of the spooks,
invests his character with dignity and pathos. Certainly, this film was solid
entertainment for the teenagers and young adults who flocked to drive-in theaters back
then and it holds up today as a watchable example of the Fifties teenage film phenomena.
If one could only park their Chevy Bel Air in front of it under the stars with a bowl of
popcorn and a date, it would be the perfect cinematic evocation of that era...far more
watchable, certainly, than fare like A.I.P.'s The Ghost Of Dragstrip Hollow, made
the same year.
HOLLYWOOD
RATED R (1996). Something special for all of those interested in
exploitation films, and an education for those who've never seen any. Appropriately
exploitative documentary (there's nudity and coarse language) by directing team Doug
Headline and Dominique Cazenave takes us through the fifties, sixties, and seventies and
looks at the changes in non-Hollywood products, charting their evolution from nudity to
violence to horror to drugs to blaxploitation. There aren't many film clips but
plenty of trailers, which unfortunately are of a very poor photographic quality and give
the impression that these films looked a lot worse than they actually were (I have yet to
see The Crawling Hand, but after seeing the promo I think it should be a
priority). It should be pointed out however that the trailers were often more
entertaining than the films themselves: nowhere today, for example, would you see a film
advertised with the shrieking tagline (and possible solipsism) "See a human being
murdered before your eyes!" Mostly, though, Hollywood Rated R is a
collection of talking heads--as the interviews are delivered with such affection and
interest for the subject, the one and a half hour running time passes quickly. John
Landis almost steals the show with his enthusiastic performance, but there are many other
delights in store, often of the two-for-the-price-of-one variety: e.g., Charles Napier
tells us about his career with Russ Meyer (and offers an interesting explanation for
Meyer's use of remote locations); David Friedman talks of his collaboration with
goremeister Herschell Gordon Lewis; Barbara Steele gives a surprisingly animated interview
about the role of women in film, referring to her work with Mario Bava and Jonathon Demme;
and Forrest Ackerman and Joe Dante reminisce about the William Castle movies they saw as
kids (how I envy those guys!). I wish Headline and Cazenave had cut a couple of the
slower interviews - there's a labored one which is intercut with all kinds of gags and
sound effects, but it still doesn't come across as particularly interesting - and gotten
someone like Paul Bartel on screen instead. If you've never sampled this unique
genre of films, then this may well whet your appetite. Most interesting line comes
from director Larry Cohen: "All movies are exploitation".--Reviewed by Shane R. Burridge
 HOME
FOR THE HOLIDAYS (1972--TV movie). The story takes place just around
Christmastime at Benjamin Morgan's (Walter Brennen) secluded homestead. This man's four
estranged daughters have been summoned by their father for a reunion. They all blame their
father for their mother's mysterious death, and don't very much like their father's new
wife--played by Julie Harris. Soon they discover that their father believes that his new
wife is trying to poison him. He tries to drive his daughters to kill her for him. But not
long after that, they all find themselves trapped in the old home with no way out, no way
of reaching the outside world, and are being stalked and murdered by a vicious, homicidal
maniac who is intent on killing the girls' ailing father. The killer is especially creepy,
as he is a dark phantom figure in a rain slicker, whose face is hidden by the hood, and
stalks the residence with a deadly pitchfork. The music score by George Tipton is
memorably creepy, while the performances are excellent from this top-notch cast. It was
written for television in 1972 by Joseph Stefano ( who scripted Alfred Hitchcock'sPsycho)
and he has created a terrifying, complex suspense thriller. The film was directed by John
Llewellen Moxey, who directed the terrifying "witch" movie-- Horror Hotel.
He also directed the horror-comedy TV thriller The Night Stalker. This
exceptional cast and crew have worked together to create one of the most chilling
mysteries of all time. I recommend that you try and find a copy, and watch it on a dark
night--but don't watch it alone! And remember: "There's nothing more chilling than a
warm family gathering."--Reviewed by Brandon Galvin
HORROR
HOTEL (1960). Originally known as City Of The Dead, this 1960
British chiller, starring Christoper Lee, Patricia Jessel, and Venetia Stevenson, is a
short (76 minutes) tale of witchcraft filmed in black-and-white. A New England village
with a sinister history of black magic is the focal point in this stark, atmospheric
account, of a college student (Stevenson) who decides to investigate its past. Christoper
Lee plays the professor who has a penchant for the occult, encouraging the gullible
character of Nan Barrow, played by Stevenson, to investigate the village's history
first-hand. The film projects classic horror atmosphere with its use by director John
Moxey of dark lighting (evident even in the film's black-and-white) and foggy settings.
When we are taken on our first ride through the desolate road leading to the town, we are
treated to a psychological montage of horror imagery, derivative of a Jungian archetypal
dream. As we make the journey with the innocent Stevenson towards the village and its
mysterious past, it becomes impossible not to feel the curiousity that Nan Barrow must be
feeling. The art and set decorations perfectly sum up the sense we get when witnessing the
young college student walking obliviously into the inn (the horror hotel); a sense that
what goes in, won't come out. This foreboding cleverly pulled-up through the viewers'
butterflying stomach will have you talking to the screen as you watch this short, but
effective chiller; a well-done piece of work derivative of so many classics gone before it
using genre tricks of filming for our horror-viewing treat. Christopher Lee, as always, is
fabulous. Along with Karloff, Lugosi, and Vincent Price, Lee will forever be a horror film
legend. The other sundry characters in the film (particularly the village's
"streetwalkers") and most notably Patricia Jessel as the witch who never died,
do a fine job of making the viewer feel right at home for our stay in the "Horror
Hotel".--Reviewed by Mark Pallatino
HORROR OF DRACULA (1957).
Arguably the best screen version of Bram Stoker’s novel about that "sharp
gentleman" who tends to "get to the point" (as vampire-hunter Abraham Van
Helsing so neatly put it). Inarguably, one of the finest horror films existent. Both
Christopher Lee as Dracula and Peter Cushing as Van Helsing give fresh-as-morning-dew
performances that catapulted them into international status. The lush sets, the glorious
color, the crisp pacing, the pulse-pounding musical score (if you listen closely, you can
hear the music actually "say" the name "Drac-u-la"), and the virtually
non-stop action combine to make at least a minor masterpiece. Clever little touches (Van
Helsing using an early Dictaphone, Arthur Holmwood having to bribe a stuffy government
official for information) ensure that the audience stays absorbed in the film even for the
long stretches where Dracula isn’t around. The fact that this seminal hit was filmed
quickly with very little money only increases our wonder at the achievement of Director
Terence Fisher, et. al. Hopefully, a new video issue of Hammer’s films will
contain a restored version of this film with all the blood-spurting staking scenes
restored. Keep your fingers crossed (just kidding, Count). See "A
Tale Of Two Draculas."
HORROR OF THE BLOOD
MONSTERS (1970). Do you ever see those films that make you
feel like you could have made it better…'way better? My guess is that those films
were made by a really fun (*ahem* hack) director named Al Adamson. Regardless of his
ghastly film making skills, I really must admit, I enjoy them. Horror of the Blood
Monsters is an adventure into spliced together stock footage of bogus
"monsters" (i.e. lizards with add on dinosaur fins), color filters, a space ship
that must be seen to be believed, and silly cave man vampires. The film starts out with a
narrator informing us about a world (our world) that is plagued by vampires (Adamson
himself plays one). We find out that these vampires come from another planet. A space
expedition manned by Dr. Rynning (an old John Carradine), Dr. Manning, Valerie, and Willy
sets out to find the Vampire planet and discover a cure for the vampire plague. They land
on the Vampire Planet only to learn that the atmosphere is not stable and thus, it’s
color changes (?) all of the time. There are modified lizards that kind of look like
dinosaurs and a group of cave men (called tubatons) that really do nothing but beat each
other senseless. As it turns out, the atmosphere emits radiation and it’s slowly
poisoning the crew. They all must retreat from the planet. Well, they do so, they
don’t find vampire cure, and a couple of them die. The point of the film? Beats me.
However, when watching an Al Adamson film, often, there is no point. The fun is in finding
out just how bad his films really are and having a good laugh.--Reviewed by The
Creature
HOUSE
BY THE CEMETARY (1981). Starring Catriona MacColl, Paolo Malco, Giovanni
Frezzi, Dagmar Lassander, Ania Pieroni, Giovanni De Nava, Carlo De Mejo, Silvia Collatino,
Daniela Doria, Lucio Fulci. Directed by Lucio Fulci. Strange story of young couple MacColl
and Malco, who move into a new house with their young son, "Bob." I emphasize
the kid's name simply because it seems like an unusual thing to call a young child.
"Robert" I can see. "Bobby" or "Robby" I can see. Maybe even
"Rob." But "Bob"? Somehow that just doesn't gel with me and, as a
result, every time his parents, particularly MacColl for some reason, called him that, I
felt the need to chuckle. Probably not what the filmmakers had in mind, this being a
horror film and all, but also not an unusual reaction to a lot of horror films made in the
Eighties. This being an Italian horror film made in the Eighties there is also usually a
tendency to compare it to an American production that it is either "paying tribute
to" or "riding the coattails of" or just plain old "ripping off"
if you like. This is admittedly justified in some cases. After all, it's fairly common
knowledge in the horror community that certain Italian productions were made to cash in on
the success of certain American productions. (So much has been written about this that I'm
not even going to name the films in question, having done so in other reviews anyway.) But
I find myself raising one of my eyebrows (I'm told I'm quite good at this) whenever I see
one of these comparisons in a review, simply because I feel that it smacks of journalistic
laziness. Classifying something as a knockoff is just a little bit too simple, which is
pardonable, but when the comparison is downright inaccurate, that's when I think it's time
to consider the possibility that the individual reviewer may not have been putting quite
as much effort into his or her job as they probably should have been (is that gentle
enough for you?). Stepping back down from my big box of soapy diatribe, the point is that
this film has been classified as an "Amityville Horror" clone and that's simply
not what it is. Yes, they both involve a spooky house, but that's more or less where the
similarities end. So what say we just leave that right there. Dr. Freex of The Bad Movie Report
recently explained to me that one of the reasons this style of Italian horror film doesn't
particularly appeal to him is that, as a writer, he wants to see a good story. It's true
that many Italian horror films are essentially made or broken by their director's ability
to put together a good set piece, coherency be damned. I too, as a writer, can understand
the frustration that might come with watching film after film that more or less completely
ignore the basic principles of storytelling, yet I have to admit, these films appeal to
me. A lot. What's even more perplexing is that, aside from a general appreciation of the
horror genre, I'm not even completely sure as to why. There are moments in this particular
film that had me wincing, and I'm not talking about the gore effects. I'm talking about
something much more stomach churning: bad acting. Not that the actors here are bad per se
(I've seen much worse), but there are bits here and there that make you wonder if anyone
was paying attention to what was going on. In one scene, MacColl and Malco come out of a
real estate office to find that their son, whom they left in the car, is not in the car
anymore. Do they freak out like most parents presumably would? No! They just kind of stare
into space. In fact, I'd say that the look on MacColl's face is roughly akin to a stoned
hippy chick going into the kitchen to get the brownies she has made and finding that they
are not where she thought they were. Yes, that's it. Upon finding her child isn't where
she left him, she exhibits a definitive sense of mild, fleeting disappointment.
(Coincidentally enough while I was typing that last sentence, my Caps Lock accidentally
came on, making it look like I felt a lot more strongly about that than I do.) And of
course, there's the ending which, surprise, surprise, is a major headscratcher (not that I
expected it to make sense, but you never know). Fact is I'm willing to forgive
little things like that because there's something about these films that sucks me right
in. What is it? I honestly don't know. Maybe it's the novelty, the fact that it's
something different and something that only a comparatively small number of people have
access to. I've discussed this with a few different people, and it's hard to argue with
them when they say that for a film to be truly successful, it has to have something more
than just atmosphere, and yet, dear reader, here I sit, endorsing these films. Not that I
won't continue to try to figure out what the appeal is, but for now, I'm just going to
allow myself to do the very thing that I can't explain and that's enjoy them.--Reviewed
by Marc Beschler
HOUSE OF DARK SHADOWS
(1970). From 1966 to 1971 the daytime television airwaves were filled with the
creepy going-ons of a New England community called Collinsport and its 175-year-old
vampire resident named Barnabas Collins portrayed by Jonathan Frid. The day-time soap was
so successful that a feature film went into production while the Dark Shadows
series was still on television. The film, written by Sam Hall and Gordon Russell (both
writers for the series), opens (staying close to the original series' plot) with Barnabas
Collins being un-tombed in his chained coffin by Willie Loomis (John Karlen) who in a
search to find missing jewels and other assorted Collins' family treasures, stumbles onto
Barnabas. With his new-found freedom, Barnabas goes to the family estate (Collinwood)
posing as a cousin from England, the descendent of Barnabas Collins; unbeknownst to the
Collins family that he is indeed the original Barnabas entombed by his own father upon the
latter's discovery that Barnabas was/is a vampire. Barnabas meets Maggie Evans (Kathryn
Leigh Scott) and falls madly in love with her, thinking she is the re-incarnation of his
long-lost love, Josette. All of the cast members from the T.V. series are in the film.
Grayson Hall plays the doctor who not only finds out Barnabas' secret, but also falls in
love with him during the process of attempting to cure him of his vampirism. What makes House
Of Dark Shadows such a marvelous and enjoyable horror film to watch is its
atmosphere. Director Dan Curtis takes the Dark Shadows storyline a step further
by employing an impressive visual style which complements the characters as much as they
complement the film; causing the avid Dark Shadows fan to forget that as the plot
goes there isn't anything new. Curtis incorporates a vast array of visual techniques
keeping the viewer off-guard, anticipating every "what goes bump-in-the-night"
like a vampire on the edge of his coffin, er, seat. The directing is rounded out by
cinematography which gives the film a subtle hue(not easily done in a horror film showing
a fair amount of blood and gore).The result is a world where time seems suspended in a
haunting world of Gothic pathos. Frid is excellent, playing Barnabas with a sympathy that
has the viewer cheering for the rapprochement he yearns to have with not only his
long-lost Josette, but with his own inner self; longing to be the man he was before the
vampire's curse was placed upon him. The paradox of Barnabas Collins has always been this
character's strength; making him real, believable and accessible to the audience. Frid is
able to convey the torment in this vampire in a manner which juxtaposes the struggle
between self-survival and the consequence of that choice. The passion and empathy which
Barnabas conujures up is scarcely rivaled in the extant vampire-horror genre. Indeed all
of the characters who make up the world of Collinsport in this film function with a
cohesion that is a testament to the solid writing, directing and innovation which has
always been the earmark (or should we say neck-mark) of classic horror; keeeping the
collective house of Collinwood forever etched in the dark shadows of our memories.--Reviewed
by Mark Pallatino
HOUSE
OF DRACULA (1945). The last gasp of the classic Universal monsters until
Abbott and Costello briefly revived them for comedy relief, the "House" films
were generally derided by critics because they were seen as nothing more as a monster
tag-team match designed to wring the last few dollars out of Universal's horror
properties. True, the films were heavily derivative and none of the monsters (especially
Dracula) got much screen time, especially with the "House" films running barely
over an hour. But this doesn't preclude the "House" films from being fun to
watch and it doesn't prevent them from being of interest to horror fans. For example, in
this film, Dracula (John Carradine) visits a famous scientist (Onslow Stevens) seeking a
cure for vampirism. But Dracula can't resist the lure of a lovely neck, and he tries to
vampirize the scientist's lovely assistant. The scientist finds this out and vaporizes
Dracula with solar energy, but not before the vampire injects his blood into the doctor,
who goes mad just as he's about to cure the Wolfman (Lon Chaney, Jr.) once and for all.
Despite having very little to do, Carradine is an excellent Dracula, courtly and
dignified, yet menacing and mesmerizing...it's a shame Universal didn't feature him in at
least one stand-alone Dracula film. This film lacks House Of Frankenstein's
Karloff , but little-known Stossel does a bang-up job as the kindly scientist who becomes
a grinning psychopathic killer--he's scarier than all the legitimate monsters combined.
Chaney gives his usual tormented performance to good effect, Glenn Strange shambles
authoratatively as Frankenstein's Monster, and there's even a pretty hunchbacked nurse and
Lionel Atwill lending his cultivated presence. Who could ask for more? Certainly, it's no
classic horror film, but it's a great popcorn monster-mash movie. Required viewing with House
Of Frankenstein.
HOUSE
OF FRANKENSTEIN (1944). Generally considered the better of the two Universal
"House" monster romps, largely due to the presence of horror legend Boris
Karloff. Karloff plays a mad, would-be disciple of Dr. Frankensetin (yes, that
Dr. Frankenstein) who wants to emulate his idol's experiments (yes, those
experiments). A lightning storm breaks him and his hunchbacked compadre (J.
Carrol Naish) from the jug, they steal a travelling horror show that is exhibiting
Dracula's remains, they use Dracula (John Carradine) to wreck revenge on one of the men
who sent Karloff to prison, then they find the Frankenstein Monster (Glenn Strange) and
the Wolfman (Lon Chaney, Jr.) encased in ice, thaw them out, steal the brains of the
others who helped convict Karloff, and...whew! All this happens in just over an hour!
Although Edward T. Lowe's direction was uninspired and there's no time for any character
development, monster or otherwise, thanks to the film's break-neck pace, it's still vastly
entertaining. After all, you have Karloff and the aforementioned monsters, plus Lionel
Atwill reprising his Bavaian policeman role from Son Of Frankenstein, and even
George Zucco in a small part as the original owner of the travelling horror show. In
addition, the film is a visual feast, with great John P. Fulton special effects
(especially noteworthy is Dracula's demise from his sun bath, with his body disappearing
in stages down to skeletal remains) and some superb sets, particularly one depicting the
underground ice cave where the Wolfman and Frankenstein's Monster are entombed in ice. All
the monsters essay their parts well, with Naish doing a particularly fine job protraying
the hunchbacked assistant with pathos despite his willingness to kill at Karloff's
command. Elena Verdugo shines as a big-hearted gypsy girl who falls in love with the
Wolfman. The supporting cast is all but overshadowed with all this terror talent. Horror
fans really get a lot of bang for the buck with this flick and its sequel, House Of
Dracula.
 INCREDIBLY STRANGE
CREATURES WHO STOPPED LIVING AND BECAME MIXED-UP ZOMBIES, THE (1964). You know,
it’s almost wrong to do a mini-review on a film whose title almost eats half the
space, but here goes. The first (and last, thank you, Lord) monster musical (not counting
the top-hat-and-tails routine in Young Frankenstein), helmed by the infamous Ray
Dennis Steckler (Rat Fink A Boo-Boo, Hollywood Strangler Meets The Skid-Row
Slasher, etc. and etc.). He appears as the anti hero (under the stage name of
"Cash Flagg" and his wife (the horse-faced but shapely Carolyn Brandt) appears
as a dancing drunk. Yes, it’s in color, and yes, it has musical dance
numbers—cheesy musical dance numbers. Anti-hero meets demented gypsy who hypnotizes
him to kill (for no real reason), he kills, rebels, gets acid poured on his face, then
turns loose other acid-scarred "zombies" to strangle showgirls. This may sound
somewhat interesting in a tacky way, but Steckler’s bad acting, his clumsy, usually
stationary camera-work, and the cringingly cheap production values bring this high-falutin
frightener crashing down. Most of the film concerns not monsters, not showgirls, but a
wafer-thin teenage angst angle that wouldn’t pass muster in a high-school
production. (Steckler reissued the film in the late Sixties as Teenage Psycho Meets
Bloody Mary for drive-ins. The movie wasn’t any better, but there were live
"monsters"--local hires in costumes--to wake up the crowd during the film's
zombie attack scene.) R. D. Steckler told an interviewer that he once felt if he left his
films sitting on a street corner, no one would even bother to steal them. He was right.
 INDESTRUCTIBLE MAN, THE
(1956). A sort of companion piece to Bride Of The Monster, only this time the
aging horror star is Lon Chaney, Jr. Lon’s a brutal killer (called "The
Butcher") who is given the "hot seat" by the State. When a well-meaning
(the worst kind) scientist works on Lon’s corpse, he revives the killer and Lon
becomes "indestructible." He goes on the usual killing spree, with the usual
fumble-thumbs cops chasing him. Allied Artists (formerly poverty-row picture-maker
Monogram) seems to have made three films in one—a procedural police programmer
straight out of TV’s Highway Patrol, a film noir complete with mean
streets, tough-talking hoods and cops, and sleazy backdrops (the heroine, Lon’s
erstwhile girlfriend, is a burlesque dancer), and a monster movie. Neither of the
three work, either separately or in tandem. But, forget that. This is Lon’s last
great turn at bat as a man-made-monster, and his lumbering menace (enhanced with close-ups
of his murderous scowl and manic eyes) and single-minded unstoppable menace is a joy to
behold. Say what you will about Lon Chaney, Jr.—he always gave value for money when
performing. And his bigger-than-life scene-smashing gives enough value to this otherwise
dismal cheapie to make it watchable. One more thing: This is arguably Chaney’s most
unsympathetic horror film performance—and, possibly, his most entertaining one.
INVISIBLE
RAY, THE (1936). An early combination of science fiction and horror elements
that yielded a terrific movie. When a driven scientist (Boris Karloff) demonstrates by the
use of captured interstellar rays that a superpowerful element, "Radium X,"
landed on the earth eons ago, a small party of scientists (headed by Bela Lugosi) join him
in search of it. Karloff finds "Radium X," but is poisoned by it. Once the
others of his party seem to steal his discovery and his wife leaves him, Karloff goes mad
and exacts a terrible revenge. Everything in this movies works wonderfully--from the
teaming of Karloff and Lugosi (with the latter playing a rare sympathetic role) to John P.
Fulton's innovative (for the time) special effects (especially a sort of interplanetary
light show that depicts a meteroric even in Earth's pre-history). Karloff was never better
as the obsessed scientist whose basic good nature is poisoned both by "Radium X"
and bitter vengefulness. Lugosi is quite good as a compassionate collegue to Karloff, and
proves yet again he could essay roles other than those derived from the "Children Of
The Night" typecasting he suffered. This is the last of the classic Universal horrors
produced by the then-studio chief Carl Laemmle, and it has that particular gothic look and
tone that disappeared from Universal horror films once the Laemmles were forced out. If
you haven't seen this one yet, you're in for a treat.
INVISIBLE
AGENT (1942).During the years of World War II, Hollywood entertained the
general public with fantasies set on the war front. Almost everyone imaginable was
to get into the act, including the Invisible Man. Invisible Agent was
one such film, based on H. G. Wells famous character with a screenplay written by sci-fi
writer Curt Siodmak. Peter Lorre is one of two heavies in this film, a tale of an
invisible man taking on the Germans and the Japanese. Our story begins when a group of
foreign agents, including Lorre, visit one Frank Raymond (played by actor Jon Hall) in his
print shop. We learn that Raymond is actually Frank Griffin, grandson of the first
Invisible Man. German agent Conrad Stauffer (played by actor Sir Cedric Hardwicke)
wants to buy the invisibility formula that Raymond is purported to have. Raymond
won’t give it up, and Lorre, fascinated by a heavy duty paper cutter, suggests that
it should be used to make Raymond change his mind. Raymond finally gives in, but in the
ensuing fight manages to escape his assailants. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, Raymond
decides to give the formula to the Allies on one condition, that he is the only one to use
it. The generals agree, and he is quickly whisked off to Germany. As he parachutes
into enemy territory, the invisibility drug takes effect, and for the remainder of the
movie we are treated to the special effects that are now so familiar to viewers of the
Invisible Man films. In fact, Invisible Agent won an Academy Award nomination
for its special effects work. The movie doesn’t skimp on comedy either, as the Nazis
are portrayed in many cases as doddering fools. Raymond meets up with beautiful
counter-agent Maria Sorenson (played by actress Ilona Massey). In an attempt to get much
needed intelligence, she entertains a high ranking German officer, Karl Heiser. She learns
of Hitler’s planned attack on the United States.As a personal aside, one of the best
roles in this film is that of Heiser, played by actor J. Edward Bromberg. He is one
of my favorites from this era, in particular his role as Alcalde Don Luis Quintero in the Mark
Of Zorro (1940). We now learn that Lorre is a Japanese agent, Baron Ikito, also after
the invisibility formula. His alliance with the German, Stauffer, is tenuous at
best. Stauffer sets a trap for Raymond, capturing him as he rifles through files in
Stauffer’s office. Raymond again gets away (he was pretty good at this through
the entire film!), this time by setting the office on fire. He escapes with a book
containing the names of all the German and Japanese agents working in America. Ikito
confronts Stauffer over the missing book. Heiser has been jailed by Stauffer for
conspiring to get his job and his love interest, Maria. Raymond visits Heiser in
jail, and in exchange for his freedom, Heiser gives up more details about the planned
attack on the United States. Suicide aerial bombers are to attack New York City,
while agents sabotage industries and public utilities. (With the recent horrors of
September 11th, 2001, and the continuing War on Terror, this struck me as being a bit
creepy!) The attack is scheduled to begin that very night. Ikito also sets a trap
for Raymond, capturing him in a net laced with fish hooks. He takes Raymond and
Maria to the Japanese embassy. They escape (of course!) as the Germans and Japanese
fight each other. Ikito stabs Stauffer to death, and then proceeds to commit
hari-kari. Fleeing to the local airfield, Raymond and Maria commandeer a German
aircraft for their get away. Conveniently, Maria’s training includes
piloting. They bomb the planes on the ground that are scheduled to attack New York
City, and then head off for England. They are shot down by English gunners, but
parachute to safety. Remember, I did say earlier that there was some fantasy
involved here. Raymond gains back his visibility, and is re-introduced to Maria as
Maria Goodrich, a British agent. They embrace and kiss as the movie ends.--Reviewed
by John W. Coleman
ISLAND
OF LOST SOULS (1932). A shipwreck survivor (Richard Arlen ) finds himself
stranded on the tropical island of Dr. Moreau (Charles Laughton) , a goateed Lucifer in a
white suit , who has "stripped away thousands of years of evolution" with his
inhuman experiments with animals, failed half-human monsters who he enslaves with threats
of vivisection in his laboratory, known as "the house of pain." When Arlen
arrives, Moreau sees him as an unwitting volunteer for his most ambitious experiment, the
mating of his most successful specimen, Lota (a stunning Kathleen Burke), a beautiful
woman made from a panther. But when Arlen¹s fiancé (Freaks' Leila Hyams) to
rescue him, Moraeu turns his attention to her capture. This stunning 1932 adaptation of
H.G. Wells' The Island Of Dr. Moreau is without argument not just one of the finest
horror films of the Thirties, but of all time. Directed by Erle C.Kenton, and with a
screenplay by Waldemar Young and Philip Wylie (A Generation Of Vipers), the
atmosphere in the film was so unpleasant that Wells himself denounced its extreme approach
that featured scenes of Moreau's frightening "natives" howling on his
vivisection table. It is to this day--like Freaks--still capable of jolting a
first-time viewer, and like that film, it creates a atmosphere of palpable horror.The
photography by Karl Struss has the look of German expressionism in many scenes (Struss
also worked with F.W Murnau on Sunrise) ,and the scene of the monsters' uprising,
lead by Bela Lugosi as the hirsute-faced "Sayer Of The Law" ("What is the
law?" Laughton asks them; "Not to spill blood!" is the reply, "are we
not men?") has lost none of it's nightmarish zing. Laughton as Moraeu is terrific as
usual, a greasy, sadistic pervert who asks Arlen, "Do you know what it means to feel
like God?" Laughton's grin is one of the most perverse in cinema history, and his
performance is informed with a kind of De Sadean cruelty and black humor. His Moreau is
one of the screen's greatest villains.--Reviewed by Nick Burton
JACK
THE RIPPER (1976). Starring Klaus Kinski, Josephine Chaplin, Herbert Fux,
Ursula von Wiese, Lina Romay, Andreas Mannkopf, Francine Custer, Hans Gaugler, Olga
Gebhard, Nicola Weisse. Written and directed by Jess Franco. Fair interpretation of the
Ripper mythos with bits of sleaze and sadism thrown in here and there just to remind
everyone that this is indeed a Franco film. Kinski is the murderer, which works to the
film's advantage as his appearance and demeanor make the character just that much scarier
(from what I understand, his demeanor in real life could be pretty damn frightening too,
though I'm assuming he wasn't this psychotic). Probably the most promising aspect of this
is that, keeping with the oft-expressed theory that the Ripper was a member of the medical
profession, Kinski plays a doctor who, and this is the interesting part, only treats the
very poor, to his own financial detriment. Not only does this make a nice contrast with
the other, decidedly vicious side of his life, it can also be seen as a reference to the
way that the real murders called attention to the abominable living conditions that people
in areas like Whitechapel had to endure. Unfortunately, Franco never really develops this
idea. So instead, we get a series of uneven scenes ranging from quite good (the chief
inspector tries to nail down a description of the killer using witnesses of widely
disparate societal elements) to tacky (a supposed-to-be-sexy but really-just-silly
nightclub act) to tasteless (Kinski repeatedly stabs a girl and then starts humping her
body as she bleeds to death) to downright nauseating (he takes the same girl back to his
hiding place and dismembers her, including cutting off her breasts, thanks Jess!). Mind
you, these four scenes take place in just the order I've described them, which should give
you some idea as to Franco's gift for consistency. I know that he has a strong cult
following, but I have yet to see the reason why. To be fair, though, I've only seen two of
the roughly kajillion films that he's made and neither of them, supposedly, are to be
counted among his best, so I will reserve final judgment until I've seen at least a few
more.--Reviewed by Marc Beschler
JESSE
JAMES MEETS FRANKENSTEIN'S DAUGHTER (1966). As the title says, old West
outlaw Jesse James (John Lupton) and his burly sidekick (Cal Boulder) run smack dab into
the daughter (actually granddaughter) of Frankenstein. The sidekick becomes the new
Monster, whilst Jesse is beset by lawmen, Indians, and Frankenstein's granddaughter's
advances. A certified party/cult/camp film, this is the second of two horror westerns
directed by William "One Shot" Beaudine (the other was Billy The Kid Vs.
Dracula), and is the better of the two. Oh, it's still a Grade Z film, but it is
competently made (sets, costumes, and extras are at least up to low-budget television
standard) and benefits from adequate performances. Minor-league character actor Lupton is
not exactly memorable as Jesse James, but he doesn't disgrace himself in the role, either.
Muscleman Boulder is an amiable giant who later shambles convincingly as the Monster. Not
surprisingly, the two best performances come from Republic Pictures veterans Estelita and
Jim Davis, who protray, respectively, a big-hearted senorita and a no-nonsense
marshall. But the standout performance is provided by Narda Onyx as Franstenstein's
offspring--she gives a ripe, lip-smacking, eye-rolling interpretation that is a delight to
behold--if she had a mustache, she would no doubt have twirled it. This is definitely a
six-pack and pizza film...but hold the anchovies, please.
KINGDOM
OF SHADOWS (1998). An unconventional documentary written and directed by
Bret Wood, Kingdom Of Shadows explores the roots of the horror cinema via a
compelling, dreamlike montage of images from the silent and early sound eras. Historic
film clips are grouped according to theme: religion, the monster, the mad scientist, the
carnival, the influence of Poe, somnambulism, and sleep ("the closest we can get to
get to death without committing ourselves to it entirely," narrator Rod Steiger
gravely intones). Kingdom Of Shadows will provoke reassessment of common
misconceptions about the silent horror cinema. For example, Georges Meliès'
oft-praised use of the fantastic was so couched in the conventions of Victorian burlesque
that it's difficult to credit the French pioneer with any real influence on the
genre. Conversely, D. W. Griffith's House Of Shadows (1913) and The
Avenging Conscience (1914) reveal an overlooked strain of the macabre in Griffith's
oeuvre, while the 1913 Edison shockumentary Electrocuting An Elephant anticipates
Faces Of Death. While Wood supports his assertion of the centrality of religious
imagery in the early horror cinema with a wealth of frighteningly realistic footage of
Inquisition torture, he overstates his case in characterizing Carl Dreyer's Leaves
From Satan's Book (Blades Of Satan's Bog, 1921) as a seminal horror
movie. While the film features bracing depictions of medieval penitence and Satan as
protagonist, it's actually an episodic moral allegory patterned after D. W. Griffith's Intolerance
(1916). Graphic violence and supernatural themes aren't sufficient to attach a work
to the horror genre-these elements must contribute to a pervasive effect of the uncanny
and terrifying to make a horror film. Ravishing transfers of Witchcraft Through The
Ages (Haxan 1921), The Student Of Prague (Der Student Von
Prague, 1913), and The Bells (1926, with Boris Karloff as a Caligari-like
mesmerist) underscore the need for major video releases of films currently available only
in blurry public domain editions, while the awesome spectacle of Guido Brignone's Maciste
In Hell (Maciste All'nferno, 1925)-which looks like a Doré engraving come
to life--hints at the existence of yet undiscovered European fantasy masterpieces. Some
clips are so brief as to preclude recognition, even with the aid of the 39 titles listed
in the end credits. Should Kingdom Of Shadows prove successful enough to
occasion DVD release, a still supplement identifying all source material should be
regarded as a necessity. Joseph Turrin's electronic score sustains an appropriately Gothic
atmosphere, but suffers from a tinny, pseudo-orchestral sound common to budget video
soundtracks. A cluttered sleeve design with drippy EC Comics-type lettering (and a
photo of Rod Steiger looking more like Robert Englund) belies the spirit of meticulous
presentation that truly distinguishes this presentation. It's hard to imagine a more
effective narrator than Steiger, who recites Wood's evocative commentary in ominous,
world-weary tones. Kingdom Of Shadows isn't just a documentary, but a visual
poem, an elegy for an age that produced some of the most haunting moments in the history
of world cinema.--Reviewed by Michael Draine
LADY
AND THE MONSTER, THE (1944). One of the ultra cheap horror films made by
Republic studios, this came towards the end of the original golden era for straight
horror. Eric Von Stroheim plays the obsessed, chain smoking scientist who seeks to
keep a brain alive after bodily death. His motives initially seem honorable but of course
as the film progresses this changes. The brain in question, kept after a crash kills
the central (but of course unseen) character of Donovan is kept alive and begins to
transmit its will telepathically. In truth until this point the film is rather slow
with a very long set-up. However once the possession kicks in the film goes into
another gear and it’s murderous grimaces all round. Eric Von Stroheim looks
suitably menacing but seems weary and doesn’t give the manic performance needed to
lift his part unlike his earlier The Crime Of Dr. Crespi, where madness
almost literally exudes from the screen. The madness is left to Richard Arlen who
twists his face into evil leers to great effect. As the power of the brain increases
the horror is piled on as Donovan tries to straighten out his murderous and fraudulent
affairs through Arlen. Of course, in the end the brain along with Stroheim is
destroyed and Arlen lives on with his girl, the curiously named Vera Hruba Ralston (wife
of Republic Studios boss, Herbert J. Yates. The horror is a long time coming and for an
age the film plays like a low budget sci-fi film but once it gets going, the excitement is
piled on towards the end. Just keeping up with Donovan’s convoluted schemes is
somewhat taxing. The sets are rather impressive for a low budget film with the
castle, crackling with electricity and drenched in shadow providing a moody
backdrop. A seemingly evil but benign house keeper adds to the mystery and overall
the film is lacking a sense of abandoned delirium found in films like The Monster And
The Girl (often confused for this due to the title). However, it’s still vintage
low budget thrills done without humor or campiness. The film went on to be remade a
number of times, notably as Donovan's Brain. There are lots of nice little
touches and who can forget the line “The brain, it lives."--Reviewed by
Mark Coyle
LEECH WOMAN, THE
(1960). Here's a real anomaly...a late Fifties-type monster flick with a feminist twist. A
neglected wife, well past her prime, goes to the jungle with her abusive scientist-husband
to find the root extract that gives women short-lived youthful rejuvination.
Unfortunately, male spinal fluid is also required. After using her husband (Philip Terry)
and a jungle guide (John Van Dreelan) as doners (killing them in the process), the
now-youthful wife flees back to the States. She tried to romance her hunky lawyer (Grant
Williams), but the need to kill more men for their spinal fluid keeps getting in the way
(this really is spinal tap!). This last-gasp Universal-International horror film
is now a cult item, due primarily to the aforementioned feminist undertones. Aside from
the spectacle of seeing a woman get her licks in, however, this is an undistinguished
"B"-horror programmer, with cheap sets, unmatching jungle footage, and a
filmed-in-a-sound stage look. Coleen Gray really upstages her bland male co-stars as both
the boozy aged wife and as the transformed randy young beauty. Gloria Talbott (I
Married A Monster From Outer Space) looks great in a sweater, but is otherwise wasted
as a jealous nurse. The aging make-up is a bit plastic-looking, but effective. Not
recommended as a "date" movie.
LEGEND OF BOGGY
CREEK, THE (1975). Starring Willie E. Smith, John P. Nixon, John W.
Gates, Jeff Crabtree, Buddy Crabtree, Mary-Beth Circe, narrated by Vern Stierman. Directed
by Charles B. Pierce. Crude, but interesting docudrama about a series of sightings of a
Bigfoot-like creature in the small swamp-town of Fouke, Arkansas. I've never been
completely sure exactly what a 'docudrama' is supposed to entail, but in this case, it's a
film that is approached in a documentary-like way, with dramatized scenes of what
allegedly happened sprinkled throughout. I found it to be nicely atmospheric, but then
I've always been a sucker for good swamp photography. The deadly earnestness of some of
the voiceovers and the dated musical interludes are bound to elicit a few chuckles, but
Pierce keeps it effective, not only filming it in the places where it all supposedly took
place, but also using the locals in the filming, often having the people who were actually
involved play themselves. This was apparently tremendously popular when it was released to
theaters, so much so that Pierce made a sequel, The Barbaric Beast of Boggy Creek,
but not before someone else beat him to it, releasing an unofficial followup, Return
to Boggy Creek. The film also turned the town of Fouke into something of a tourist
attraction, not only because of the 'monster', but because many people had never seen
anything quite so rural before. What it really comes down to is that this is a nice, if
unspectacular effort;more of a curio than anything else, though that will be tempered by
your interest in the subject matter. Potentially interesting bit of trivia: Pierce
apparently heard what may have been the creature screaming in the woods. He recorded it
and the sound is liberally used on the film's soundtrack, which, depending on whether or
not you believe in this sort of thing, adds to the creepiness factor.--Reviewed by
Marc Beschler
LEGEND OF THE
SEVEN GOLDEN VAMPIRES, THE (1974; also released as The Seven Brothers
Meer Dracula (US)). Hammer almost at the end of the road. The movie was shot in Hong
Kong and offers a strange mixture of vampires and kung-fu fighting. For the very last time
Peter Cushing brings life to the character of Van Helsing who finds himself tracking down
a cult of zombie-like vampires in rural China, assisted by his not too bright son Leyland
Van Helsing (Steward), seven Chinese kung-fu brothers (one is a gal) and a naive, ambly
bossomed society woman (Julie Ege, who outdoes the Collinson twins when it comes to bad
acting). Christopher Lee wisely declined and left the cape to Robinson, who hams it up as
Dracula in the opening and closing minutes. Viewed in the right mood it's all quite
enjoyable though.The story is so confusing (bad chronology, bad genealogy) that the film
isn't regarded as part of the Hammer Dracula cycle but stands (not very steadily) on it's
own.The Warner video is badly scanned, ruining the fighting scenes. An exception is most
of the 10 minute pre-credit sequence; this was done to make place for the subtitles (David
Chiang speaks Chinese in that sequence, but is dubbed in the rest of the film). Note: Anchor Bay has released a letterboxed
edition of this film featuring both the US and British versions.--Reviewed by
Henrik Larsen
LEOPARD
MAN, THE (1943). I consider this to be perhaps producer Val Lewton's
most underrated film, nearly as great as The Seventh Victim, The Body
Snatcher, and I Walked With A Zombie. The setting is a small Mexican
town which is held in the grip of terror after a wild leopard escapes from it's renters, a
touring American entertainer named Kiki (Jean Brooks), and Jerry (Dennis O'Keefe), her
manager. When a series of savage killings begins, the leopard is, of course,
suspected. But could the killer be human, Kiki and Jerry wonder? As with the
every Lewton, ambiguity and complexity reign in this third and final entry to be directed,
quite lyrically, and with great atmosphere and suspense, by Jacques Tourneur. The
film's structure, which roams from one terrorized community member to another, makes one
wonder if Robert Altman is a Lewton fan. It also nicely embodies the film's major
themes. What connects us as a people, what moves us away from and toward
others? Is it fate? Is it the forces of nature (the cat)? Or the evil, perhaps
chaotic, forces within the darkest parts of the mind (a serial killer)? Or is it
human compassion, in the end? A real contrast to Fritz Lang's M, the film
provides a whole new concept for the serial killer, paving the way for some modern classic
thrillers. It features one of the greatest Lewton sequences, young Teresa Delgado's
frightful night errand across the sleepy town and back (with a tremendous climax), and is
also highlighted by the crackerjack performance of Margo, nearly stealing the show as
Clo-Clo, the town's seemingly hard-as-nails favorite performer.--Reviewed by Matthew Wanderski
LET'S
SCARE JESSICA TO DEATH (1971). Upon her release from a mental
institution, a fragile young woman (Zohra Lampert), her husband (Barton Heyman), and their
best friend (Kevin O'Connor) move to an apple farm in a sleepy rural community to start
anew. The arrivals of two women in their lives--a hippie squatting in their new
house, and a silent girl appearing to Jessica in the distance--seem to signal what might
be the haunting of the film's protagonist--or is it just the return of her mental
illness? Writers Ralph Rose and Norman Jonas and first-time director John Hancock
have created a great synthesis of drama and horror here. Make no mistake, though,
the horror does not lose out to the drama. This is no detailed exploration of mental
illness; it's just a totally compelling, believable portrait of a person fighting for her
sanity in the midst of possibly supernatural circumstances. Hancock balances this
all beautifully, creating an atmosphere of uncertainty and dread as the lines between
emotional instability and ghostly danger blur. This film also features some of the
creepiest, yet loveliest, images and scenes filmed within the genre. Gretchen
Corbett is truly striking in her brief appearance as The Girl, while Mari-Claire Costello
is unforgettable as Emily, the hippie who alters the family's balance. But it's
Lampert who owns this film, which provided her with her greatest role to date. She
truly inhabits Jessica, making her fear and uncertainty painful to watch. I'm not
being hyperbolic when I say it's a phenomenal performance, one of my favorites in all of
film.--Reviewed by Matthew Wanderski
LITTLE
SHOP OF HORRORS (1960). Starring Jonathan Haze, Jackie Joseph, Mel Welles,
Dick Miller, Myrtle Vail, Jack Nicholson, Tammy Windsor, Toby Michaels, Leola Wendorff,
Lynn Storey, Wally Campo, Jack Warford, Charles B. Griffith. Directed by Roger Corman.
Many will already be familiar with the basic story: awkward, insecure Seymour (Haze),
while working in the failing Mushnik's Flower Shop on Skid Row, grows a unique plant that
turns out to have an even more unique eating disorder. But, somewhat unfortunately, most
will be familiar with it from the campy musical it inspired or, even more likely, from the
1986 Frank Oz-helmed film version of the musical, with Rick Moranis as Seymour and Ellen
Greene reprising her stage role as Audrey (played here by Joseph), the sweetly dumb girl
who Seymour loves and whom he names his plant after. I don't mean to take anything away
from the play or the movie it inspired (except for the needless happy ending, grafted on
after test audiences thumbs-downed the original, apocalyptic ending, the jackasses). It's
just a shame the story isn't better known from its original source material, which is both
darker and funnier thanks to the witty script by Corman regular Griffith (A Bucket Of
Blood), who also appears as a robber and does the plant's voice. The film undeniably
has a cheap look to it, but when you consider that it was all shot in two days (two days!)
it actually looks remarkably good. The whole cast acquit themselves admirably (including a
young Nicholson in his much-ballyhooed cameo as a pain-freak), but Welles is a dynamo as
the loud, perpetually cranky Mushnik and Vail is a hoot as Seymour's professionally
hypochondriacal mother. If you haven't seen this, you should. As Mushnik might say,
"Seventy minutes out of your day--what's to lose?"--Reviewed by Marc
Beschler
LUST FOR A VAMPIRE (1970). The status of this film
- actually it's only claim to fame - as being very 'naughty' is undeserved. Despite a few
lesbian encounters and plenty of bare breasts it's a hopelessly dull experience. If you
want an erotic Hammer film, check the pre-credit sequence of Vampire Circus
instead! Song "Strange Love" is laughable (especially in the context, an
intended steaming love scene between Stensgaard and Johnson) and so is most of the
dialogue. This was a sort of sequel to The Vampire Lovers, the part of Ralph
Bates originally written for Peter Cushing, who had to look after his terminally ill wife.
For those who care: In this film vampires break every rule and get away with it. They walk
around in broad daylight and Stensgaard even takes a swim in a forest lake, disregarding
the otherwise established fact that vampires are destroyed by running water.--Reviewed
by Henrik Larsen
LUTHER THE GEEK
(1990.) Starring Edward Terry, Joan Roth, Stacy Haiduk, Thomas Mills, Joseph Clark.
Directed by Carlton J. Albright. Ludicrous horror film about a kid named Luther who
witnesses a geek at a carnival and decides that he has found his calling. (Nota bene:
A geek was a carnival attraction, basically just a guy who had so hit rock-bottom that he
would bite the heads off of live chickens for money. How this came to be associated with
science-fiction fans is beyond me.) A potentially interesting premise becomes a generally
boring affair with only the slightest little things to recommend it. One of these is a
shot early on of Luther (Terry) fashioning himself some sharp metal dentures. If you've
ever winced at the idea of going to the dentist, watching the file grate the fake teeth
will inspire stomach clutches. Then there's the scene at the end when one of his potential
victims finally manages to communicate with Luther. You see, Luther doesn't speak exactly:
he clucks like a chicken. That's right, clucks like a chicken. When the woman (Roth)
begins doing likewise, Luther loses his shit and starts dancing around, flapping his arms
and jabbering like a rooster in heat. It truly must be seen to be believed. The only other
thing this film has going for it is a very nice nude scene for the amply-endowed Haiduk,
probably best known as Lana Lane on TV's The Adventures of Superboy. This would
make an interesting double-bill with Fulci's The New York Ripper, which is famous
for, among other things, having a killer who quacks like a duck. If I finds me a flick
with a psycho who honks like a goose, I've got me a real barn burner of a triple feature
there.--Reviewed by Marc Beschler
MAD DOCTOR OF MARKET STREET, THE (1940). Lionel Atwill
is once again a mad-ish scientist, this time determined to perfect a technique of
suspending animation. Unfortunately, he is only successful at ending animation.
Once another human test subject dies under his ministrations, Atwill flees aboard a ship
bound for New Zealand, killing a detective sent to catch him in the process. The ship
catches fire and sinks, and Atwill and a few others drift in a lifeboat to a desert
island. When Atwill appears to bring the island native chief's daughter back to life, he
is worshipped as a god and lords it over his fellow shipwreck survivors. Like many
bottom-of-the-bill Universal programmers, this film packs a lot of action in a short
running time. As such, it moves at a fair clip. However, the plot is so full of
contrivances and coincidences that it resembles a live-action pulp story of the period.
But Atwill is satisfyingly sinister as the would-be discoverer of eternal life who gets
too big for his britches, and this is one potboiler that holds its steam up to the closing
credits.
 MAD LOVE
(1935). This is the black-and-white Peter Lorre film (not to be confused with Geek Love,
a much later book about sideshow family relationships). This film is about love gone
wrong, in which a brilliant surgeon becomes so deeply obsessed with a stage star (who
"performs" in a Grand Guignol theater as the recipient of inquisition-like
torture). When her pianist husband's hands are crushed in a train accident, he endeavors
to "fix" them for her. His method involves a recently- decapitated knife-thrower
(it gets a little confused here). His passion also involves a waxwork of the woman in her
stage costume, and has some comic relief and unintentional misdirection from a housekeeper
with a taste for cognac. It's a fun watch, especially Lorre's eyebrow-twitching depiction
of thinly restrained passion and a newspaper reporters' attempt to sound like a cynical
Brooklyn reporter which inadvertently slides into Groucho Marx too often to ignore. The
climax involves our heroine attempting to pass herself off as the waxwork while Lorre
confesses all to her, thus putting her into greater danger than before. Alas, for the
simplistic and abrupt ending which resolves everything and nothing. "What about those
hands now?" asked my sweetie plaintively, and I could not think of a good answer.--Reviewed
by B.T.
MASK, THE
(AKA The Eyes Of Hell, 1961). "Radin put on The Mask, and there were young
girls never seen again! Barnes put on the mask and his sweetheart shrank from his
bloodlusting clutch! You put on The Mask and enter a never-before-dreamed-of world of
delicious terrors!" So read the original ad copy for this tense, eerie low-budget 3-D
Canadian feature. An ancient South American mask that allows the wearer to see into his
own psyche drives young archeologist Michael Radin (Martin Lavert) to madness, murder, and
suicide. Dr. Barnes (Paul Stevens), Radin's skeptical psychiatrist, follows the
instructions of Radin's suicide note and dons the skull-like mask to experience
hallucinations of an infernal netherworld "beyond the subconscious." Every time
Radin's disembodied voice commands "Put the mask on--NOW!" viewers don 3-D
glasses (mask-shaped in the original theatrical release) to join Barnes in a series of
surreal, violently erotic sequences designed in consultation with a Toronto psychiatrist:
a tattered, skull-faced version of Barnes gropes his way blindly through a Bosch-like,
fog-shrouded terrain; a ghoulish gondelier pilots a floating coffin through Stygian
waters; a trio of cadaverous monks in ragged investments lead the seductive otherworldly
counterpart of Barnes' secretary to a sacrificial altar. The visions awaken in Barnes a
compulsion to kill, as well as an irresistible urge to again wear the mask, and immerse
himself ever deeper in the terrors of the subconscious. In a scene in a parked
convertible, he tries to warm up his secretary with that never-fail line, "I must
experience the greatest act of the human mind--to take another life!" Martin Lavert
(who resembles a Psycho-era Anthony Perkins, both in appearance and intensity) as
Radin and Paul Stevens as Dr. Barnes deliver charged, obsessive performances as men in the
grip of a force that liberates the "storm and fury" that underlies the conscious
mind, and eradicates all moral inhibition. Intelligently scripted and showcasing
brilliantly stylized set and costume design, The Mask recalls psychological
thrillers like Spellbound and Stranger On The Third Floor as much has it
anticipates the psychedelic cinema of The Trip and Altered States.--Reviewed
By Michael Draine
MASQUE
OF THE RED DEATH (1964). Generally considered the jewel of the Sixties
A.I.P. Roger Corman-directed films based on Edgar Allan Poe works, this adaptation is
certainly the most visually spectacular. Vincent Price stars as Prince Prospero, a
decadent, Satan-worshipping nobleman who finds his yearly Bacchanal for the local gentry a
convenient refuge from the coming plague. With the object of his desire beside him in the
form of lovely village girl Francesca (Jane Asher, then dating soon-to-be-famous Beatle
Paul McCartney), Prospero guarantees his fellow nobles that they will indeed be safe from
the Red Death, while the poor villagers outside the castle walls suffer . Meanwhile, the
Lady Juliana (Hazel Court) seeks to get closer to Prosepero by devoting herself to Satan,
and the dwarf Hop Toad seeks to revenge the lascivious Alfredo (Patrick Magee), a leering
sadist who had slapped the tiny dancer Esmeralda. With beautiful Panavision photography by
the great Nicolas Roeg in saturated Pathecolor, there are several striking scenes here,
including the rooms in the castle colored yellow, purple, white, and, finally, black where
the invocations to Satan take place, and Court has a memorably psychedelic hallucination
scene. Price's performance is a knockout, too: he gives Prospero the same weight an actor
would give King Lear, and it pays off--the performance has almost none of the campy or
hammy quality often associated with such flamboyant roles. Corman's only directorial
misfire here is the climactic "Dance Of Death" sequence, which looks even worse
now then it did in the Sixties, a awful example of bad modern dance choreography that
seems wildly out of place. The screenplay by Charles Beaumont and R. Wright Campbell is
effective, taking in Poe's "Hop Toad" as a sort of bonus subplot that works
marvelously well. Considering that this film was reportedly made in the span of 15 days in
1963, it's a remarkable achievement and without question one of Corman's best.--Reviewed
by Nick Burton
MIGHTY PEKING MAN, THE (1977). After his girl leaves him for his brother, Hong Kong explorer
Johnny Fang (Danny Lee) agrees to lead an expedition into the Himalayas to capture a giant
prehistoric creature known as the Peking Man. Once Fang and shady entrepreneur Lu Tiem
(Keng Fu) arrive most of their hunting party is quickly wiped out by stampeding elephants,
mauling tigers and mountain climbing mishaps. With most of the crew dead Tiem (giving the
movie's lone effective performance) decides that the journey is too perilous and returns
home. Unfortunately, he neglects to tell Johnny, who wakes up in his tent alone in the
middle of jungle. Which ends up being a blessing in disguise for the heartbroken Fang as
he meets Samantha (Evelyne Kraft), raised from childhood by Peking Man after her family
perished in a plane crash but still managing perfect teeth, lovely hair and a full supply
of make-up. Johnny and Samantha quickly fall in love and decide to take Peking Man back to
Hong Kong. Much carnage ensues. Though King Kong (whose narrative the movie shamelessly
pirates) was forty years old at the time, after watching The Mighty Peking Man
you'd think special effects technology had actually regressed. The models are hilariously
obvious, the blue-screen action laughable and the acting ridiculous. But that's the kind
of incompetence that makes The Mighty Peking Man a classic of bad cinema and a
shining ode to filmmaking ineptitude that all lovers of bad movies should be sure to
devour.--Reviewed by Matt Mulcahey
MONOLITH
MONSTERS, THE (1957). The only movie about killer rocks you'll ever
see. It's hard to believe such a story pitch was ever greenlighted, and just as
unbelievable to see that it actually works. Concept is similar to that of J.G.
Ballard's creepy novel The Crystal World, and execution follows the pattern of
other more well-known genre films of the time: it has an ominous opening narration
(usually a prerequisite for these films); a desert setting (always popular, since this
gives the monster more time to roam about killing wayfarers before it reaches the
already-alerted community nearby); a hero who works for the government with some
military/scientific background; his girlfriend (subject for possible paper: Why are the
leading couples never married in 1950s SF/horror films?); a quasi-scientific rationale for
the monster's creation; and a race against time to find a means of defeating the invading
creature. Where it differs most dramatically is the choice of monster. It
falls back on that SF staple, the silicon-based lifeform--if it is a lifeform. The
monoliths of the title are spires of obsidian, neither living nor dead. Their only
means of movement is to grow into spindly obelisks which then splinter and topple
forward. This is one of the few monster movies you'll see where you feel nothing
whatsoever towards the monster (e.g. pity, revulsion, admiration, fear), but perversely it
is this complete lack of connection that makes the monsters more threatening--they are
truly alien. Film manages to maintain interest despite sticking to formula--the effects
are good (and original); the dialogue isn't embarrassing (there's only one silly line,
when hero Grant Williams remarks "You're absolutely right, it's ridiculous--but
that's what they said about the wheel when someone first thought of it."); and the
time element is used effectively to convey a sense of menace. My favorite moment is
when Williams and his colleague are alone in a workshop trying to determine the cause of
the rocks' growth, unaware that it is starting on a major scale all around them.
It's too bad the film didn't work more of these ironies into the story - for example, the
fact that the technology they're using to find a way to defeat the monsters is all
mineral-based (at one point an early victim is kept alive for a while in an iron
lung!). The science is just as specious here as in other genre pics, but at least
this time around it sounds convincing. Pretty much overlooked, but just as deserving
of attention as some of those other SF "classics" that were around at the time.--Reviewed
by Shane R. Burridge
MONSTER
AND THE GIRL, THE (1941). A horror film that approximates Universal's mood
and manner, but was actually released by Paramount. The first reel comes off like a
standard urban melodrama, telling the story of a man framed for a murder when he tries to
help his sister, a small-town girl ensnared by big-city white slavers. He's found guilty
in court and executed--and his brain goes to mad scientist George Zucco. Then the film
transforms into a full-fledged horror vehicle, as Zucco transplants the condemned man's
brain in a gorilla, and the man-ape escapes to wreck vengeance on those who framed him.
The production values are high, and the performances are good (even from Skipper, the
dog), if a bit overwrought at times. If you watch closely, you will spot Edward Van Sloan
(Van Helsing to Bela Lugosi's Dracula) in a tiny and uncredited role as a prison warden.
B-movie rugged leading man Rod Cameron (only sixth-billed here) is good as a sympathetic
reporter, but Zucco's patrician performance stands out most, although his screen time is
relatively brief. The ape costume is one of the best ever seen on film--it's darn near
convincing and far superior to the usual moth-eaten fur suits used in genre films. On the
down side, despite some imaginative photography, the production is a bit too plodding and
too often resorts to the plot devices of the radio soap operas of the time to generate
real chills.
MONSTER
OF PIEDRAS BLANCAS, THE (1958). Starring Les Tremayne, Forrest Lewis, Jeanne
Carmen, John Harmon, Frank Arvidson, Peter Dunn, Joseph La Cava, Wayne Berwick, Don
Sullivan, Jack Kevan. Directed by Irvin Berwick. A small seaside town is rocked by a
series of murders in which the corpses' heads have been separated from their bodies. One
of the locals keeps insisting that it has something to do with an old legend about a
creature that lives in the caves in the cliffs above the sea. Everyone pa-shaws him to no
end, but, of course, he turns out to be right. (Not that he gets he chance to gloat, as
his own decapitation is one of the things that causes the townspeople to rethink his
little theory.) Also, in what is probably the best little twist in the film, it turns out
that the local lighthouse keeper knows a lot more about what's going on than he's willing
to admit. An undeniably cheesy film (there's a wealth of MST3K-able moments) and all the
more fun because of it, but actually not a bad little horror flick in its own right. It
kind of falls apart near the end (the seams just start to become a bit too obvious), but
until then it manages to maintain a fairly consistent level of suspense. Fans of this
style of B monster movie should eat this stuff up. I recall seeing a rather gory still
from this film of the monster holding up one of the severed heads (I think it was the
cover of the Angry Samoans' album "Back from Samoa"), but I didn't see it in the
film, though we do see him carrying a head at one point. Kevan, who plays the creature,
and who also produced, did makeup and creature design in some of the most famous sci-fi
films of the Fifties, including This Island Earth and The Incredible
Shrinking Man.--Reviewed by Marc Beschler
MONSTER
WALKS, THE (1932). A primordial "Old Dark House" movie, made the
same year as James Whale's similar film of that name. A young heiress and her doctor
fiancee arrive at her recently deceased uncle's creepy mansion to witness the reading of
his will. She ends up owning the whole estate--and is then meanced by a murderous ape-like
creature all through the night. This early effort has all the haunted house conventions
down pat--gloomy manse, trick portraits, secret passages, hairy arms grabbing from the
darkness, sinister servants (a dour housekeeper and her lumbering manservant son)...even a
black chauffeur was tossed in (Willie "Sleep'n'Eat" Best) for scaredy-cat comedy
relief. This film has none of Whale's directorial flair or fluid camera-work. Director
Frank Strayer has the camera stay stock still, filming stage-play set pieces with very
little action (early sound equipment was cumbersome and tempermental, and lesser directors
kept the equipment stationary as a result). An actual live ape caged in the cellar shows
much more animation than most of the human cast. Only Mischa Auer, who made a living
in Hollywood protraying mad Russians, is memorable. His take on the lumbering manservant
is an interesting mix of Dwight "Renfield" Frye and Boris Karloff. The
"mystery" is easily solved within the first reel, the hairy menacing arm is
clearly not simian, and even Thirties audiences couldn't have been very much impressed
with the "ironic" ending. A historical curiosity, no more.
MOTEL
HELL (1980). A great film with wonderful performances by its
stars. Farmer Vincent, played to perfection by the talented Rory Calhoun, runs a
motel and a meat plant. He does so along with his sister, Ida, who is played by
Nancy Parsons. One morning, Farmer Vincent is out and discovers a woman (Nina Axelrod)
lying by the side of the road. He takes her in, and eventually, she meets his
brother, the local goofball sherriff (Paul Linke--formerly Officer Grossman on Chips).
But eventually the woman he brought in notices there's something strange going on.
Farmer Vincent and his sister Ida are keeping a secret. What can that be?
Will the woman Vincent brought in discover the secret? And will it ever be
discovered? Does the brother have something to do with it all? What exactly is the
"Secret Garden"? Watch this movie and find out. This film is to The
Texas Chainsaw Massacre what Airplane! is to Airport. It is a
comedic horror, brilliantly directed, with a decent script. Also, it's highly above
average for a low-budget movie. And watch for the climax! It's great! "It
takes all kinds of critters to make Farmer Vincent's fritters!" --Reviewed by
Joseph Norman Frezza
 MOUNTAIN
OF THE CANNIBAL GOD (1978). Starring Ursula Andress, Stacy Keach,
Claudio Cassinelli, Helmut Berger, Franco Fantasia, Antonio Marsina, Akushia Sellajaah.
Directed by Sergio Martino. I admit that I have been greatly reluctant to venture into
that particular oeuvre of cult film known as the Italian cannibal movie. I have a
pretty strong constitution when it comes to gore films, but I do require that a good
story, at least, is presented along with the gruesomeness and much of what I had read
about these films was that they basically existed solely to be nauseating, utilizing
threadbare plots as an excuse to show scenes of graphic torture, disemboweling and the
real murder of animals. Opinions pretty much run the gamut when it comes to these films,
ranging from some declaring them powerful statements on the human condition, with others
decrying them as purely sick shit for people with sick minds. (The one thing, I'm happy to
say, that most people, even fans, seem to agree on is that there was no excuse for any of
these filmmakers to include the gratuitous animal slaughter scenes, PETA take note). I
myself have a very distinct memory of walking by a Times Square grindhouse (many years
before the Mouse muscled his way in) and seeing a poster for Umberto Lenzi's Cannibal
Ferox under its American title Make Them Die Slowly. The title alone made me
queasy and its assertion that the film had been banned in thirty-one countries (which is
bull) had me astounded that there were actually people out there who wanted to see this.
I'm pretty sure that (possibly on the exact same day, maybe even at the exact same
theater) I also saw a poster for Ruggero Deodato's equally infamous Cannibal Holocaust,
because I remember its claims that the people who shot it were actually eaten alive by
cannibals (again, bull). Of the two, Holocaust seems to have both the strongest
defenders and detractors. I am neither, as I haven't seen either of these movies owing to
my above-mentioned reluctance to do so. However, I did feel that at some point I would
give this genre a look and when a copy of Mountain Of The Cannibal God (an
unedited version of a movie released in this country as Slave Of The Cannibal God)
passed through the video store where I work, I decided, as I had read that this was a kind
of a mid-tier movie of this type, to snatch it up before the guy who was buying it came to
pick it up. I felt slightly comforted by the fact that Keach and Andress were in it, as
they are comparatively more famous than any of the people in the hardcore cannibal flicks.
Don't ask me what the logic behind this was; I guess familiar faces made the whole thing
less threatening somehow, and I turned out to be dead wrong anyway, as, while this may be
mild in comparison, it's still pretty nasty. Andress is a woman searching for her missing
explorer husband in the jungles of New Guinea with the help of guide Keach, who eventually
run afoul of a tribe of…well, guess. It's not too hard to glean which footage
comprised the twelve minutes cut out for the US release. Animals are killed, both at the
hands of man and by other animals (this stuff really is hard to watch) and there is some
pretty graphic gore, most memorably in a scene where one of the tribesman tries to get it
on with Andress and the chief, angry because they view her as a kind of goddess, has him
held down and gives him an emergency cock-ectomy (in as painfully a realistic depiction as
I care to imagine). If it weren't for the atrocities, this would basically be a passably
standard jungle adventure, entertaining enough on a mindless level, but nothing
particularly special, which, in the long run, probably best explains why this genre came
about in the first place. As in the case of many types of drugs, after a while your
initial dosage just ain't strong enough anymore and you need something harder. And, in
fact, they do make films nowadays that are even more disgusting than these (notably the
films of New Zealand auteur Peter Jackson), but those films are made with a sense of humor
and little of the inherent cruelty on display here. That may not count as what you would
call progress in some peoples' books, but for the discerning horror fan, it's damn good
news indeed.--Reviewed by Marc Beschler
MUMMY, THE (1932). Following Dracula
and Frankenstein in the classic Universal
monster movie cycle, The Mummy fails to live
up to either film, though still earning a rather lofty position in the pantheon of early
sound horror films. Removing the action from the imposing Gothic gloom of its
predecessors, the film takes place in Egypt, where a team of archaeologists inadvertently
resurrect 3700-year-old mummy Imotep (played by Boris Karloff). Imotep promptly goes about
seeking his reincarnated mate, Aksen A-Moon, and murdering those who disturbed his resting
place. Apparently the “Death, eternal punishment for anyone who opens this
casket” wasn’t enough of a warning. Ten years later the son of the original
expedition’s leader (David Manners) returns to Egypt to continue his father’s
work, when a mysterious stranger named Ardeth Bey (Karloff) tells him the location of
Aksen A-Moon’s mummified body. Manner’s digs her up, and Karloff continues his
quest to resurrect her by reading from a sacred scroll. Director Karl Freund, who gained
invaluable experience behind the camera working on Tod Browning’s Dracula and on Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, adds much with his probing camera
movements, creeping around corners, lurching forward and plummeting into a midst of smoke
to begin a flashback sequence. Freund isn’t the only member of the Dracula team to work on The Mummy. The screenplay is by John L. Balderston,
who wrote the play Browning’s film was based on, while Edward Van Sloan apes his Van
Helsing role as Doctor Muller and the always irritating Manners (Jonathan Harker in Dracula) once again makes a dull hero. The Mummy’s dialogue is better than the
stagebound Dracula, the excellent score is
superior to Frankenstein, but in the end The Mummy lacks the most vital element of the
monster movie: The presence of a strong monster. Karloff only appears as the
bandaged-encased mummy (courtesy of Frankenstein make-up artist Jack Pierce) in the
opening scene. He then spends the rest of the film as the Lurch-like, monotoned Bey,
making The Mummy essentially a monster movie
without a monster.--Reviewed by Matt Mulcahey |
