The 31 Days of Halloween (2018): 10/22-10/28

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31 Days of Halloween, A Nightmare on Elm St., cinema, cult classic, Film, film reviews, Halloween, Halloween traditions, Holidays, horror, horror anthologies, horror films, Movies, Night of the Demons, Nightmare on Elm Street 3: The Dream Warriors, October, Summer of '84, Tales of Halloween

As promised, we return with Week Four of the 31 Days of Halloween. We came up a little short on titles, for this particular week, and what we did screen definitely leaned towards the “classics” end of the spectrum, including one film that hadn’t been seen for quite some time. This week did include one new film, however, as well as one of the VHS Graveyard’s favorites. Take a trip with us now to that bygone time last month, as the Halloween train starts to approach its final destination.

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Tales of Halloween (2016)

As far as I’m concerned, it’s gonna take one helluva film to unseat Michael Dougherty’s Trick ‘r Treat from its current position as the ultimate Halloween-themed horror anthology. The multi-director/writer Tales of Halloween isn’t that film but that doesn’t stop it from being the second best Halloween-themed horror anthology out there.

By virtue of its format, Tales of Halloween isn’t a perfect film: a couple of the shorts were bound to be duds. When the shorts work, however, as in the case with Mike Mendez, Darren Lynn Bousman and Neil Marshall’s contributions, they work spectacularly well. Mendez’s short, “Friday the 31st” may just be one of the cleverest, best horror shorts I’ve ever seen and the central gag never wears thin with me. Most importantly, the whole anthology screams “Halloween” from the first frame to the last, making this somewhat of a no-brainer as far as seasonal programming goes.

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Holidays (2016)

Another anthology film, this time based around various holidays. We get a wide-range of holidays (Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Halloween, Christmas and New Year’s Eve), a wide-range of directors (including Starry Eyes’ Kevin Kolsch and Dennis Widmyer, The Midnight Swim’s Sarah Adina Smith, indie auteur Kevin Smith, The Pact’s Nicholas McCarthy and Some Kind of Hate’s Adam Egypt Mortimer) and a wide-range of results: pretty much par for the course with any anthology film.

While this definitely ends up on the lesser end of the spectrum, there is still much to laud here: the chronological structure works really nicely, the production values are pretty consistent and a few of the shorts (St. Patrick’s Day and Easter, in particular) are quite disturbing. That being said, there are definitely better horror anthologies out there, including the previously mentioned Tales of Halloween.

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Night of the Demons (1988)

It’s probably been at least a decade and a half since I’ve seen this fun little cult flick, so I figured that this year was as good as any to revisit Angela and her deadly shindig. Although nothing about Night of the Demons is necessarily amazing, it ends up being one of the more cohesive, well-made Evil Dead ripoffs to clog video store shelves in the late ’80s/early ’90s.

This age-old tale of teens partying in the wrong abandoned mortuary (is there really a right kind of abandoned mortuary?) features lots of ’80s staples: hair metal on the soundtrack, stereotypical characters (punker Stooge is a real riot), loud musical stingers, unnecessary slo-mo, scream queen Linnea Quigley, teenagers that are at least 25 years old, lots of gory effects and tons of questionable decisions. It’s fast-paced, goofy, a little odd and, as previously mentioned, lots of fun. It also gets bonus points for being set on Halloween night, making it a great choice for October viewing. Classic film? Not really. Worth your time? You betcha!

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Summer of ’84 (2018)

I wasn’t a huge fan of Turbo Kid (2015), to be honest, finding the film a bit heavy-handed with its ’80s worship and possessed of a few too many obnoxious characters for my taste. This is only relevant because the team behind Turbo Kid (writer/directors Francois Simard, Anouk Whissell and Yoann-Karl Whissell) have just released a new film, set in the ’80s, and guess what? Yeah…I’m not a huge fan of this one, either.

This time around, we get a film that manages to graft Stranger Things, Rear Window and Cape Fear together and the result is a mixed bag. As with Turbo Kid, the ’80s homages are so heavy-handed as to be almost parody but the characters are more likable and grounded. Much of the film still stretches credibility but never enough to make me tune out. Nothing about this tale of youthful friends trying to stop a serial killer in their sleepy suburban neighborhood is revolutionary or particularly innovative but it gets the job done.

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A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: The Dream Warriors (1987)

Of all the horror franchises, the Nightmare on Elm Street series is easily my favorite. For my money, it’s not only the best, in general, but also the most consistent: while the Friday the 13th, Halloween and Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchises all have strong individual films, they also have plenty of lunk-headed clunkers. Nightmare on Elm Street films might not always have been amazing but they were always solid and supported the same, consistent story-line (ala the Child’s Play series).

The third entry in the Elm Street saga, The Dream Warriors, is easily my favorite in the series, as well as one of my favorite films, in general. I actually got to see the film in the theater, at the very impressionable age of 10, and I can still remember the experience over thirty years later. This one features tons of inventive kills (the marionette, snake and TV being three easy examples), a Freddy who still possesses genuine menace and the final “regular” appearance of Heather Langenkamp’s iconic Nancy. Hell, it’s even got a totally kick-ass ass, hair metal theme song. They truly don’t make ’em like Dream Warriors anymore.

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That finishes off the penultimate week of the 31 Days of Halloween. Stay tuned for the final week and the conclusion to this year’s spooky event. Don’t dig into that turkey just yet, boos and ghouls: that jack o’ lantern still has a little spark left in it!

1/30/15: Toecutter’s Last Jam

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'70s action films, '70s films, A Clockwork Orange, action films, Australia, Australian films, auteur theory, Brian May, children in peril, cinema, co-writers, cops, cult classic, David Bracks, David Cameron, David Eggby, Death Wish, dramas, dystopian future, feature-film debut, Film auteurs, film franchise, film reviews, films, gang rape, gangs of punks, Geoff Parry, George Miller, highway patrol, Hugh Keays-Byrne, iconic villains, James McCausland, Joanne Samuel, law and order, Mad Max, Max Fairchild, Max Rockatansky, Mel Gibson, motorcycle gangs, Movies, Paul Johnstone, post-Apocalyptic, revenge, road movie, Roger Ward, set in Australia, Sheila Florence, Steve Bisley, The Warriors, thrillers, Tim Burns, Toecutter, vendetta, vengeance, vigilante, Vince Gil, writer-director

When George Miller first introduced the world to Max Rockatansky in 1979, I wonder if he could have predicted that the character would be popular enough to warrant reexamination almost 40 years later. With three films in the Mad Max canon and a fourth coming this year, however, it’s pretty clear that Miller’s Australian “Road Angel of Death” has had some serious staying power. While the upcoming Fury Road (2015) appears to follow the template set by latter-day high velocity outings like Road Warrior (1981) and Beyond Thunderdome (1985), the original film, Mad Max (1979), was a much leaner and meaner affair, albeit no less over-the-top and prone to some particular comic-book affectations. Drawing inspiration from sources as diverse as Death Wish (1974) and A Clockwork Orange (1971) while bearing more than a passing resemblance to The Warriors (1979), Miller’s initial outing is a real doozy and one that would go on to influence generations of action and post-apocalyptic films to come.

Kicking off with an epic, 10-minute smash-and-bash car chase between the howling mad Nightrider (Vince Gil) and a group of unfortunate highway patrol officers, we’re thrust into the middle of the action with no info-dump or warning. As things gradually settle down, a bit, we come to discover that this appears to be a rather lawless, possibly post-apocalyptic, society, where cops and criminals duke it out on the dusty highways that stretch across Australia. At first, Nightrider seems unstoppable, a Tazmanian Devil behind the wheel who handily out-runs, out-drives and out-bravados every cop he comes across. Cue our hero, Max Rockatansky (Mel Gibson), the coolest, toughest and most badass patrol officer of the bunch. Max shows up, mirrored shades reflecting back the blistering sun, and proceeds to drive Nightrider straight into an early grave. This, ladies and gentlemen, is his business…and business is very, very good.

Max’s partner, Jim Goose (Steve Bisley), is a good egg and loyal as the day is long, while his superior officer, Fifi (Roger Ward), treats Max like royalty and holds him up as shining example for the rest of the officers. At home, we get to see the softer side of Max: his loving wife, Jessie (Joanne Samuel) blows a mean sax and he’s got a cute baby named Sprog. Life seems pretty darn groovy for this Down Under Dirty Harry but there’s big trouble brewin.’

This big trouble arrives in the form of the dastardly Toecutter (Hugh Keays-Byrne) and his marauding biker gang. Seems that the gang has a bone to pick with Max for snuffing out their beloved Nightrider and Toecutter has sworn vengeance, the bloodier the better. When the gang blows into town to retrieve Nightrider’s coffin, they end up trashing the place, ala an old-fashioned Western, and chase a couple out onto the open road where they destroy their car, chase the guy away and gang-rape the young woman. Max and Goose arrive in time to pick up the pieces, finding the chained, traumatized woman and one of the gang members, Johnny (Tim Burns), so drugged-out that he forgot to run away when the others did.

Faster than you can say Dirty Harry (1971), however, the case gets tossed out and Johnny is released because none of the victims, including the young woman, will come forward to testify. Johnny walks, after taunting the cops, and Goose is furious. When the gang ambushes and attacks Goose in a particularly terrible way, however, Max will have to decide which path to follow, the one that leads to his family or the one that leads to revenge. As Toecutter, his cold-blooded lieutenant, Bubba (Geoff Parry), and the rest of the gang get closer and closer to Max, they will learn one very important lesson: you can do a lot of things to Max Rockatansky but the last thing you wanna do is get the guy mad.

Despite the often grim subject matter (children in peril, rape, collapsing society) and the often intense violence (immolations, dismemberments, semi driving over people), there’s a sense of buoyancy and energy to Mad Max that makes the whole thing a lot closer to a comic-book movie like RoboCop (1987) than to something more serious like, say, The Road (2009) or The Rover (2014). In addition, Miller uses several techniques, such as the wipe transitions between scenes and the jaunty score (courtesy of Australian composer Brian May) that help to elevate this sense of action-adventureism. To be honest, Mad Max often feels like a synthesis of Lethal Weapon (1987) (not specifically because of Gibson’s involvement but more for the depictions of Max’s home-life and the way in which the film’s action constantly toes the “silly/awesome” dividing line) and A Clockwork Orange (the gang’s affectations, slang and Toecutter’s casual brutality all reminded me explicitly of Kubrick’s adaptation), as odd as that may sound.

While never completely serious, aside from the film’s handful of heartstring-pullers, Mad Max never tips all the way over into campy or silly. This isn’t quite the novelty of The Warriors: Toecutter’s gang has an actual air of menace to them, an air that’s not helped by their propensity for rape and assault on innocent civilians. Keays-Byrne is marvelous as the insane gang leader, easily going down as one of the most memorable villains in these type of films: his polite, slightly foppish mannerisms are completely off-set by his hair-trigger barbarity, making for a bracing combination. Nearly as memorable is Geoff Parry’s turn as Bubba Zanetti: his laconic delivery perfectly contrasts with his hot-headed personality making for a character who would’ve been perfect going up against Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti Western.

In fact, more than anything, Mad Max is like a spaghetti Western, albeit one filtered through all of the influences listed above. The interplay between the gang members, between Max and his superiors, between the law and the lawless…the setpieces that could have easily been chases on horseback or wagon…the lonesome, wide-open devastation of the Australian landscape…Sergio Leone might have been proud to call any of them his own.

As one of his first roles, Mad Max set a course for Mel Gibson’s career that would serve him quite well, right up to the point in time where he self-detonated it. Here, however, we get Mel before the headlines, stupidity and career suicide: he’s rock-solid as Rockatansky, bringing just enough vulnerability and indecision to the role to prevent him from ever seeming as completely callous as someone like Eastwood’s Harry Callahan. He also brings a physicality to the role that helps make the whole enterprise seem that much more authentic: Gibson’s performance is so “all-in” that the scene where he limps and drags himself down the pavement genuinely looks like it hurts like hell. It would be the easiest thing in the world to play Max like a video game character but it’s to Gibson’s immense credit that he makes him both so human and so completely badass: it’s easy to see why this became a franchise so quickly, as the magnetism is undeniable.

In some ways, the differences between Mad Max and its predecessors is the same as the difference between the first two Alien or Terminator films: Mad Max is more of a small-scale revenge drama (very similar to Death Wish, particularly in the final reel) whereas the films that followed it are more wide-screen, adventure epics. Despite this, however, I was genuinely surprised to note how honestly cartoonish the film is. Perhaps I picked up on this when I watched the film in the past but it was more apparent now than ever before that the first film fits in perfectly well with the more OTT vibe of the other films. While it may be smaller scale, it’s definitely of a piece with The Road Warrior and Beyond Thunderdome: Toecutter would have fit in nicely in either of those.

With Fury Road on the horizon, I thought it might be useful to go back and revisit the film that started it all. As always, Mad Max doesn’t disappoint: from the rousing action setpieces, astounding car chases, cool-as-a-cucumber lead character, colorful villains and genuine sense of danger and tension, Mad Max is an absolute blast from start to finish. Here’s to hoping that Miller manages to maintain this classic feel with his newest: the world has been without a Rockatansky for way too long now…we need our Mad Max now more than ever.

12/6/14 (Part Two): A Healthy Fear of Spiders

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'90s films, Alive, Arachnophobia, Brian McNamara, cinema, co-writers, Congo, cult classic, Don Jakoby, Eight Below, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Frances Bay, Frank Marshall, Harley Jane Kozik, Henry Jones, horror, horror movies, horror-comedies, James Handy, Jeff Daniels, John Goodman, Julian Sands, Mary Carver, Mikael Salomon, Movies, Peter Jason, poisonous spiders, small town life, spider bites, spiders, Steven Spielberg, Stuart Pankin, Wesley Strick

Many, many years ago, when I was still in the formative stage of my youth, I had one of those experiences that tends to stick with you: in this case, it’s stuck with me for roughly 30-odd years. After waking up sometime in the middle of the night, I made my way to the bathroom in order to answer nature’s call. Still being a little more than half-asleep, I stepped into the small, dark room before flicking the light switch on. As I entered the bathroom, I felt something brush my cheek and there was a maddening tickle on my nose. When I turned on the light, I discovered that an industrious spider had spun an enormous web from the ceiling to the floor: that “tickling” I felt was me stepping straight into the tangled mess, the “engineer” hanging in mid-air merely an inch from my eyes. I can’t quite recall if I was abjectly terrified of spiders before that incident but, suffice to say, I certainly was afterwards. To this day, all these decades later, the very thought of the eight-legged monsters makes me break out in a cold sweat: I would rather be stuck with a hungry bear than have to deal with one pin-prick-sized arachnid, thank you very much. If the fate of our world ever hinges on me versus the spiders…well…let’s just say you might want to start practicing your farewell speech now.

Knowing the above, it should probably go without saying that I’ve always found Frank Marshall’s Arachnophobia (1990) to be one of the single most terrifying films ever made. As a lifelong horror fan, I’m always looking for the next genuinely scary film, the kind of thing that makes me want to sleep with the lights on and check under the bed every few seconds. Ever since seeing Arachnophobia (in a theater, if memory serves), it’s been one of the few films that’s guaranteed to get under my skin: despite the film’s overwhelmingly fun, boisterous atmosphere, there’s just no way that the sight of hundreds (or millions) of creepy-crawlies invading a small town and feasting on the residents is going to allow me to sleep well at night. Since the film creeps me out so much, however, why in the Sam Hell would I insist on re-watching it every few years? Quite simply, despite its squirm-inducing content, Arachnophobia is one of the very best horror-comedies out there, a lightning-paced joy-ride that keeps the tension on a constant simmer while dishing out one memorable setpiece after another. The film also features John Goodman as a gung-ho, nutso exterminator which, as you should well know, definitely vaults this into must-see territory. Lifelong phobia or not, Arachnophobia always gives me the creeps…in the best way possible.

We begin in the Amazonian rain forest as Dr. James Atherton (Julian Sands), a world-renowned expert on insects and spiders, leads a scientific expedition deep into the jungle. The mission ends up being a bit too successful, as Atherton and crew shake some seriously scary spiders loose from the treetops: one of the eight-legged fiends ends up biting the expedition’s photographer, resulting in instant, agonizing death. Hitching a ride back to America in the dead guy’s coffin, the killer Amazonian spider ends up in small-town U.S.A., specifically the bucolic little town of Canaima, California. Once on American soil, the South American “super spider” wastes no time in looking for a little romance: it hooks up with a garden-variety barn spider and their mating ends up producing a seemingly never-ending army of small, vicious, arachnids whose bites are fatal within moments.

Who better to come to the rescue than Canaima’s new doctor, Ross Jennings (Jeff Daniels)? Ross has just moved to the small town from the bustling metropolis of San Francisco and, with his wife, Molly (Harley Jane Kozik), and young kids Tommy (Garette Patrick Ratliff) and Shelly (Marlene Katz), looks to start a new life in the country. Ross was supposed to take over for the town’s retiring doctor, Sam Metcalf (Henry Jones), who’s since decided to stay on, leaving Ross up shit creek with nary a paddle in sight. Ross is also, along with his son, a card-carrying arachnophobe, all thanks to a childhood incident involving a spider creeping into his crib. In a nice little subversion of expected clichés, Ross’ wife and daughter both love bugs and constantly tease the guys about their “childish” fears. Childish, nothing: turns out father and son have ample reason to be afraid!

Before long, folks around the small town are dropping dead from mysterious ailments. After Ross identifies spider bites on the victims, he begins to put two and two together and realizes that a dangerous new breed of spider is stalking the quiet streets of his new home. Ross calls up Atherton and, with the assistance of the scientist, his assistant, Chris (Brian McNamara) and local extreminator/oddball Delbert McClintock (John Goodman), Ross must wage war on the monstrous, miniature killers. Time is not on their side, however: if they can’t find and destroy the spiders’ enormous egg sac before it hatches, not only will Canaima be wiped off the map but we might just be looking at humanity’s descent into that long, good night. It’s going to take all of Ross’ willpower to make a stand, however, as a lifetime of nightmares all come home to roost and he must make the ultimate sacrifice to save his family, his town…and the very world as we know it.

While Arachnophobia may have been Frank Marshall’s debut as a director, his career in movies actually started long before that: as a producer, Marshall has been involved with some of the most famous, iconic films of all time, including Paper Moon (1973), The Warriors (1979), Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), Poltergeist (1982), Twilight Zone: The Movie (1983), Gremlins (1984), Back to the Future (1985), The Color Purple (1985) and Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988). Working closely with auteur Steven Spielberg, Marshall is no stranger to crowd-pleasing, multiplex popcorn films and his debut resembles nothing so much as a long-lost Spielberg flick. All of the hallmarks are there: fun, quirky characters; a perfect balance between family-friendly scares and jolts that toe the line of something a bit more extreme; a fast pace; small town setting and excellent effects-work. In many ways, Arachnophobia is a companion-piece to Joe Dante’s Gremlins: both films are, at their hearts, horror movies, yet manage to temper the shocks with rousing adventure and comedic beats, coming up with films that can be enjoyed by both adults and their kids.

One of the keys to Arachnophobia’s success is the masterful way that Marshall manages to keep the spiders front-and-center in our minds. Once the little bastards are on the move, there are very few frames of the film that DON’T feature a spider hanging out, in some way or another: so much of the film’s truly creepy moments happen in the margins (a barely glimpsed hint of movement as something scurries away…a spider that drops, unseen, into the background behind someone…the nagging assurance that someone is about to poke their hand into an “occupied” hiding-spot), that we’re constantly on edge. Unlike other films that feature giant spiders, the critters in Arachnophobia are, for the most part, “normal-sized,” which means that they can hide in just about any nook, crevasse or cranny they can find. This also means that they’re about a billion times more terrifying than the Volkswagon-sized spiders from The Giant Spider Invasion (1975). For my money, there is no scene in films more horrifying, more soul-shatteringly terrible, than the one where armies of spiders begin to pour out of the walls in the Jennings’ farmhouse, leading poor Ross to make a panicked escape into the basement: for a guy suffering from crippling arachnophobia, he ends up doing pretty good. Me? I probably would have just gone ahead and had the heart attack right then and there, saving everybody a lot of time.

Like the best Spielberg films, Marshall’s debut benefits from a truly great ensemble cast. Jeff Daniels is always a blast, as is John Goodman and the persnickety Henry Jones. Personally, I’ve always got a kick out of Julian Sands performance, since it’s one of the rare times where the character actor gets to portray a good guy: as a rule, Sands is the one you call when you need a memorable villain for something like The Doctor and the Devils (1985) or Warlock (1989). Here, he ably switches gears and gives us one of those well-meaning but woefully misguided scientists who will, according to films, eventually be the death of us all.

Marshall would go on to direct a handful of films after Arachnophobia, including the award-winning Alive (1993) and his adaptation of Michael Crichton’s Congo (1995), one of my picks for “Worst Film of All Time.” As far as I’m concerned, however, Marshall was never as good as he was with Arachnophobia. Just like Spielberg’s classic Jaws (1975), Arachnophobia is a prime example of a film firing on all cylinders, a modern-day monster movie where the emphasis is on fun, frights and adventure. Come for the awesome cast, great action scenes, genuine scares, and roller-coaster final 30 minutes: stay through the credits and rejoice as eternal beach-bum Jimmy Buffet serenades us all with the single best spider-themed credit song ever, “Don’t Bug Me.” Whether you’re one of those freaks who thinks spiders are “cute” or would rather see them squashed on a shoe, Arachnophobia has a little bit of something for everyone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go stock up on rolled-up magazines and Raid.

10/31/14 (Part Four): All Hail the Pumpkin King!

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31 Days of Halloween, A Christmas Story, Alberto Ghisi, Anna Paquin, anthology films, Brett Kelly, Brian Cox, Britt McKillip, cinema, Connor Levins, cult classic, cult films, Dylan Baker, father-son relationships, favorite films, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Glen MacPherson, Halloween, Halloween night, Halloween traditions, holiday classics, horror, horror films, Isabelle Deluce, Jean-Luc Bilodeau, kids in peril, Lauren Lee Smith, Leslie Bibb, long-delayed films, Mark Freeborn, Michael Dougherty, Moneca Delain, Monsters, Movies, Peter Greenaway, Pulp Fiction, Quinn Lord, Rochelle Aytes, Sam, Samm Todd, serial killers, Tahmoh Penikett, Tony Wohlgemuth, Trick 'r Treat, werewolves, Wes Anderson, writer-director, zombies

What is the true meaning of Halloween? I don’t mean the historical origins, mind you: we could sit and debate pagan ceremonies, harvest festivals, etc…til the cows come home and still not get any closer to the actual answer. As we should all know by now, holidays have a way of shedding their original meanings over time, of morphing into decidedly different entities than they once were. Just as the concept of Christmas has, over time, become more secular/commercial and increasingly divorced from its religious origins, so, too, has the concept of Halloween lost much of its pagan origins and become something much more universal.

But none of this answers the original question: what, exactly, is the true meaning of Halloween? If I may be so bold, I think that I have the answer. Halloween is ghosts and curses, trick or treating and costumes. It’s parties, pranks, candy, the color orange and the long, slow death of Fall. Halloween is the one time of the year where everyone in the world, horror fans and neophytes alike, relish every possible opportunity to scare themselves senseless. Halloween is about ancient traditions, scary movies and jack-o’-lanterns.  It’s about becoming someone/thing other than what you are, if only for a night. Halloween is all about having fun…but it’s also about the realization that death is only ever a stone’s throw away, hiding off in the shadows to pounce on the unwary. What is Halloween? Halloween is writer-director Michael Dougherty’s flawless Trick ‘r Treat (2007), a film that manages to encompass everything great and terrible about the holiday into one neat little package. Think of Trick ‘r Treat as the equivalent to A Christmas Story (1983), one of those films that just sums up a time of year so perfectly that you can’t imagine celebrating without it.

Structurally, Trick ‘r Treat is an anthology film, albeit one more like Pulp Fiction (1994) than Creepshow (1982): rather than feature several separate stories, one after the other, all of the tales in Trick ‘r Treat are interwoven together. Characters from one story appear in the periphery of other segments: incidents seen from one angle are given a 360-view once we’re privy to all the details. The effect, quite frankly, is stunning: Dougherty creates such a unified vision that Trick ‘r Treat ends up being one of the most three-dimensional horror films ever…we really get to know the characters involved because we see so many different facets of them. The one constant that unites it all? The ever-present specter of Halloween and the diminutive, instantly classic presence of Sam, one of the greatest modern horror creations in recent memory.

Sam, clad in what appears to be a scarecrow’s garb, complete with burlap-sack mask, flits into and out of each of the film’s various stories. The stories themselves, ranging from a young woman’s (Anna Paquin) sexual awakening to the tragic story of a school bus full of drowned children, are familiar but are all given unique twists and turns courtesy of Dougherty’s exceptional script. Sam, the very embodiment of the holiday, serves a variety of roles throughout the film: avenging angel, detached observer, gleeful participant, mischievous prankster, cold-blooded killer.  We never know quite when or where he’ll pop up next but pop up, he always does, ready with a rakish tilt of the head and that terrifying lollipop-knife of his.

I mentioned earlier that Trick ‘r Treat is a flawless film and I stand by that bold admission: there’s absolutely nothing about the film that ever takes me out of it for even a moment and each viewing ends with the desire to start the whole thing over. The acting…the filmmaking…the script…even the opening credits, styled like an old EC Comic, ala Creepshow…are all absolutely perfect. It’s quite handily become one of my favorite films and is one of the few movies that I can unequivocally recommend to anyone, regardless of individual tastes: if you like movies, you will like Trick ‘r Treat…I guarantee it, as Justin Wilson used to say.

From a filmmaking standpoint, Trick ‘r Treat is absolutely gorgeous and brilliantly made: the production design and art direction (by Mark Freeborn and Tony Wohlgemuth) are simply stunning, especially in eye-popping scenes like the yard full of jack-o’-lanterns or the ridiculously creepy scene where the kids find the half-submerged school bus. Glen MacPherson’s cinematography is nothing less than beautiful, giving the film a feel that’s pitched halfway between Wes Anderson and Sam Raimi. Truth be told, Trick ‘r Treat’s entire mis en scene reminds me of Anderson’s work (or, perhaps, even the work of legendary filmmaker Peter Greenaway): every scene and shot is so immaculately composed that it almost feels as if one has stepped into a perfect, miniature diorama.

Ultimately, there’s not a whole lot more for me to say about the film: I love it unconditionally and that’s pretty much all there is to it. Prior to seeing Trick ‘r Treat (which was inexplicably dumped straight-to-DVD after being delayed for years), I had always considered Carpenter’s classic Halloween (1974) to be the perfect representation of the season. There’s so much care and craft in Dougherty’s feature-debut, however, such a complete and genuine love for all things Halloween, that it’s impossible not to see Trick ‘r Treat as the ultimate Halloween film, bar none.

What is Halloween? Quite simply, Halloween is Michael Dougherty’s Trick ‘r Treat: all hail the Pumpkin King and long may He reign!

10/25/14 (Part Two): Wolfman’s Got Nards!

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'80s films, 31 Days of Halloween, Adam Carl, Andrew Gower, Ashley Bank, auteur theory, Bradford May, Brent Chalem, Carl Thibault, co-writers, Count Dracula, creature feature, cult classic, Dracula, Duncan Regehr, favorite films, fighting monsters, Film auteurs, Frankenstein's monster, Fred Dekker, horror films, horror-comedies, influential films, Jack Gwillim, Jason Hervey, kids in peril, kids vs monsters, kids' movies, Leonardo Cimino, Mary Ellen Trainor, Michael Faustino, Michael MacKay, monster hunters, Monster Squad, Night of the Creeps, Robby Kiger, Ryan Lambert, scrappy kids, set in the 1980's, Shane Black, special-effects extravaganza, Stan Winston, Stephen Macht, the Creature From the Black Lagoon, The Monster Squad, The Mummy, the Wolfman, Tom Noonan, Tom Woodruff Jr., Universal monster movies, Van Helsi, Van Helsing, writer-director, young adult films

At the risk of sounding like a complete grump (“Please get off my lawn, if you don’t mind too terribly”), kids/young adult movies were a lot better in the ’80s. I know, I know…everything was better back in the day, right? Far from being a knee-jerk condemnation of anything new and au courant, however, I actually have some solid reasoning behind my opinion (mixed with plenty of good, old-fashioned personal prejudices, of course). Sure, there was plenty of awful, commercial, soulless bullshit out there, just like there always is, but there was also a pretty unbeatable string of absolute classics that came out between 1981 and 1987: Time Bandits (1981), E.T. (1982), Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983), Gremlins (1984), The Goonies (1985), Explorers (1985), Fright Night (1985), Labyrinth (1986), Stand By Me (1986), The Gate (1987), The Lost Boys (1987) and, of course, Fred Dekker’s amazing The Monster Squad (1987).

If there’s one commonality that these decidedly disparate films share, it would have to be the understanding that children are neither angelic cherubs nor empty vessels for adult motivations: like adults, kids have their own personalities, foibles, quirks, ways of talking and notions of “good vs evil.” The best kids’ movies, as far as I’m concerned, are the ones that allow children to be genuine and act like real kids: they swear like sailors, use non politically correct language, think the opposite sex is completely gross (up until the moment those hormones kick in), are smarter than we give them credit for and think that adults who talk down to them are dumb-asses. The very best kids’ movies don’t sugarcoat or sanitize everything: there have to be real stakes because that’s the way life really is. Think back to films like E.T. and The Goonies: despite their status as “kids’ movies,” both films feature genuinely scary, dangerous moments. The aforementioned ’80s kids’ films all feature death as a very real consequence, which makes them successful as both kids’ movies AND genre films. As far as I’m concerned, the very-best kids’ movies, just like the very best animated films and cartoons, should be able to be appreciated by adults, as well. Dumbing down entertainment does no one any favors.

All of this, of course, is a roundabout way of saying that The Monster Squad is one of the most kickass films in the long and legendary history of the modern cinema. This is pure opinion, of course, but I’m also fairly sure that it could be proven scientifically, if necessary. I can’t actually recall the first time I saw the film, although I’m fairly positive I was no older than my early teens, if that. Since that time, however, I’ve fondly returned to Dekker and scribe-supreme Shane Black’s ode to growing up in the era of Famous Monsters of Filmland and Fangoria magazines time and time again. Like the best films of that era, I never get tired of re-visiting the movie: each time, it’s like taking a little trip back to my childhood, a time when monsters were real, adults were lame and kids had all the answers, even if no one was asking them the questions.

Kicking-off with a supremely fun setpiece set “100 years in the past,” we’re introduced to that most famous of monster hunters, Abraham van Helsing (Jack Gwillim), as he and his “freedom fighters” attempt to rid the world of vampires and monsters. “They blew it,” as the on-screen text tells us, but we already knew that: otherwise, what would be the point?

In the here and now, we meet our two main protagonists: Sean (Andrew Gower) and Patrick (Robby Kiger). They’re the kind of kids who are totally obsessed with all things monster and horror-related: they get sent to the principal after they’re caught drawing monsters in class and even have their own “official” monster club: the Monster Squad. The other member of their group is Horace (Brent Chalem), the wise-beyond-his-years outcast who gets saddled with “fat kid” by school bullies E.J. (Jason Hervey) and Derek (Adam Carl) and is pushed around so much that he’s always just one pivot away from a pratfall. The worm turns, however, when E.J. bullies Horace once too many times and incurs the wrath of Rudy (Ryan Lambert), the resident “bad kid.” Rudy’s in junior high, wears a leather jacket, smokes cigarettes, peeps on girls through bedroom windows with binoculars and doesn’t take kindly to bullies: the triumphant scene where he forces E.J. to eat Horace’s candy bar off the ground sets the stage for what’s to come…these misfits are about to shine!

But where would a Monster Squad be without monsters to fight? Luckily (or unluckily), the gang is going to have plenty of monsters to take a swing at. Seems that ol’ Count Dracula (Duncan Regehr) has hatched a plot to take over the world with the help of some old cronies: Frankenstein’s monster (Tom Noonan), the Wolfman (Carl Thibault), the Gillman (Tom Woodruff Jr.) and the Mummy (Michael MacKay). When the adults around them, including Sean’s policeman father, Del (Stephen Macht), fail to connect the dots on the bigger scheme, it’s up to The Monster Squad to stop Drac’s plot. Lucky for them, they just happen to have their hands on Van Helsing’s diary, which might have a tip or two on how to stop the unholy fiends. Unluckily for them, however, Dracula is on to them and will stop at nothing until all impediments to his progress have been destroyed, be it man, woman or child. Things are about to get awful hairy but never fear…the Monster Squad is on the case!

From start to finish, Dekker’s The Monster Squad is just about the most fun someone could have at the cinema, especially if you happen to be a horror fanatic likes yours truly. The cast is phenomenal, highlighted by totally fist-pumping performances by Chalem and Lambert as, respectively, Horace and Rudy. Horace, in particular, is a totally awesome character: he’s a completely three-dimensional character who’s the furthest thing from the odious “fat kid” stereotype in youth movies. In fact, Horace’s progression from picked-on outsider to ass-kicker is subtle because he already kicks ass when we first meet him…by the end, he’s just received enough self-assurance to be proud about it. One of the greatest parts of this film (or any film, for that matter) is the epic moment where Horace’s former bullies look on in admiration as he helps mop up the monsters. “Hey, fat kid…good job,” says E.J., looking suitably awed. Horace’s response? “My name (cocking his shotgun) is Horace!” If you don’t jump up from your seat, cheering, you were probably never young, to begin with.

As I mentioned earlier, the kids in The Monster Squad actually look and sound like real kids: they swear, discuss “wolf dork” as the reason for the Wolfman wearing pants (which leads to the legendary moment where Sean tells Horace to kick the Wolfman “in the nards.” Horace complains that he “doesn’t have them,” before being proven wrong once he actually kicks him and the monster doubles over in pain. “Wolfman’s got nards!,” Horace triumphantly proclaims, as if he just discovered the cure for cancer), say “Bogus” a lot, roll their eyes at authority figures and are casually cruel and sexist. They’re pretty much the furthest thing from sanitized “Disney” versions of kids and are all the more indelible for it.

Despite having only three films under his belt (Night of the Creeps (1986), The Monster Squad and RoboCop 3 (1993), Fred Dekker is easily one of my favorite filmmakers in the entire world. Night of the Creeps is an absolutely perfect ’80s B-movie (one of the film’s best jokes is even repeated in The Monster Squad, as Del notes that dead bodies don’t walk around, only for us to witness the Mummy doing just that), as is The Monster Squad: I must admit to remembering nothing whatsoever about RoboCop 3 but I’m willing to wager that must have been pretty swell, as well, if Dekker was involved. For my money, he’s one of the most successful, effortless combiners of horror and comedy in the business. Dekker also populates his films with dynamic, fascinating characters, whether main or supporting: no one in a Dekker film is just cannon-fodder, regardless of how much or little screen-time they get.

One of The Monster Squad’s secret weapons, of course, is screenwriter Shane Black.  Beginning with his script for Lethal Weapon (1987), Black has been responsible for some of the best, smartest and most interesting action scripts in the business: he wrote The Last Boy Scout (1991), The Long Kiss Goodnight (1996)and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005), all of which flip the genre on its head in some interesting, fun ways. Co-scripting with Dekker, Black comes up with one of his best, tightest scripts: the film is full of not only great scenes but plenty of awesome dialogue, as well. There’s a great moment where Rudy tries to kick in the door of a locked church, only to be told, “Don’t kick the church: it’s religious.” His response? “It’s locked, is what it is.” Classic. There’s also a really great, subtle moment where the kids remark that the “Scary German Guy” (Leonardo Cimino) who helps them translate Van Helsing’s diary must know a a lot about monsters. “I suppose that I do,” he replies wistfully, as the camera lingers on his concentration-camp tattoo. It’s the kind of real moment that happens all too little in most kids’ movies: The Monster Squad is full of them, however, and all of that credit is due to a tremendously good script.

Ultimately, even after studiously looking for flaws, I can only find minor quibbles with The Monster Squad: despite being designed by Stan Winston, none of the monsters are really a patch on the originals (the Mummy, in particular, is rather scrawny) and the film can also, upon occasion, get a little silly. It is a kids’ film, after all, so at least some measure of silliness is to be expected. For the most part, however, The Monster Squad, like Night of the Creeps, is just about as flawless as they come: action-packed, full of great humor and a real love letter to the Golden Age of Monsters, Fred Dekker’s film is an unmitigated classic. If there were any justice in this world, The Monster Squad’s promise of further adventures would have been fulfilled ten-fold. As it stands, however, we’ll just have to settle for what we got: one of the very best kids’ movies of all time.

 

10/14/15 (Part Two): The Devil’s Dance Floor

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31 Days of Halloween, Alida Valli, auteur theory, ballet, Barbara Magnolfi, cinema, classic films, co-writers, cult classic, dance academy, Daria Nicolodi, Dario Argento, dog attacks, favorite films, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, Flavio Bucci, foreign films, Goblin, Helena Markos, horror films, iconic film scores, Italian cinema, Italian horror films, Jacopo Mariani, Jessica Harper, Joan Bennett, Luciano Tovoli, Movies, opening narrator, Renato Scarpa, Stefania Casini, stylish films, supernatural, Suspiria, Suzy Bannion, Udo Kier, violent films, witches, writer-director

There’s absolutely nothing subtle about Italian giallo-maestro Dario Argento’s classic supernatural shocker Suspiria (1977)…and there’s nothing wrong with that whatsoever, thank you very much. From the opening drum crash that cues Goblin’s iconic prog-rock score to the over-the-top murder setpieces to the near constant use of dramatic colored lighting to heighten mood, Suspiria is one of the all-time great cinematic mood pieces, a ferocious nightmare that has all of the narrative continuity of a fever-dream and is so unabashedly beautiful as to be almost hypnotic. In a 40+ year career filled with more ups and downs than a bakers’ dozen of filmmakers, Suspiria will always stand as not only Argento’s magnum opus but also one of the single most original, visually stunning films in the history of the cinema.

As befits Argento’s supernatural films (of which this was the first), Suspiria only makes as much narrative sense as it absolutely has to. If anything, the film is much more concerned with establishing and maintaining a haunted, skewed fairy-tale atmosphere than it is with ticking off plot points on a sheet of paper. Suffice to say that the plot can be boiled down rather succinctly to the following: Suzy Bannion (Jessica Harper), a naive, young American ballet student, has just arrived at a mysterious dance academy in Germany that may or may not actually be the front for an ancient coven of witches. As Suzy witnesses one strange incident after the other, beginning with the dark and stormy night when she first arrives, it becomes more and more difficult to figure out what’s real and what she might be imagining due to a good, old-fashioned case of the heebie-jeebies. As she continues her investigation, Suzy will gradually come to learn the truth about Miss Tanner (Alida Valli), Madame Blanc (Joan Bennett) and the sinister, unseen Helena Markos, who may (or may not) be the ancient, Satanic evil known as The Black Queen.

While Suspiria isn’t necessarily concerned with connecting the dots from Point A to Point Z, it is absolutely, thoroughly dedicated to immersing the viewer into a completely surreal, eye-popping, nightmarish environment. Argento accomplishes this suffocating sense of atmosphere in many ways, although some of the most notable are the extensive use of colored lighting, tricky camera angles and the near constant, moody score. As mentioned earlier, Suspiria is a gorgeous film, thanks in no small part to the evocative cinematography of veteran DP Luciano Tovoli: there’s one scene in the film, lit with a green light and shot through a light-bulb that is absolutely stunning…it’s doubtful that even Peter Greenaway has been responsible for an image this lovely, which gives some (small) idea how massively impressive Suspiria’s visuals truly are.

As with almost all of Argento’s films, Suspiria is built around a series of escalating, over-the-top set-pieces, sort of like individual rides in one, large amusement park: the opening murder involving multiple stabbings and a stained-glass window…the maggot rain…blind Daniel (Flavio Bucci) and his terrible death at the jaws of his own dog…the extraordinary, red-lit scene where the practice hall is turned into a dormitory and Helena Markos makes her first “appearance”…the stylishly weird scene where the housekeeper and ultra-creepy Albert (Jacopo Mariani) appear to hypnotize Suzy…Sara’s (Stefania Casini) horrible demise via a room full of razor-wire…rather than feeling disjointed or episodic, Suspiria ends up feeling genuinely odd and unsettling. It’s almost as if we’ve been invited to peel back someone’s skull and peer right into the deepest, darkest corners of their fevered imagination.

Those new to the world of ’70s-’80s Italian horror will, undoubtedly, find some of Suspiria’s quirks to be a little off-putting, although they’re nothing if not endemic to that particular style of filmmaking. Some of the performances can come off on the wrong-side of stagey (the excruciating “fight” between Sara and Olga (Barbara Magnolfi) that consists of them sticking out their tongues and hissing at each seems to last for at least a month, if not longer) and some of the dubbing is a little suspect. In one of the most head-scratching moments, the evil Helena Markos is voiced by someone who appears to be channeling a stereotypical street thug by way of Cloris Leachman: it’s a strange, silly choice and has the unfortunate effect of taking you out of the movie, if only for a moment. Again, these aren’t issues that should be new to anyone who’s seen their fair share of Italian horror films but neophytes would be advised to exercise patience with some of the film’s “sillier” contrivances.

Make no bones about it, however: Suspiria is a vicious, hard-hitting film that’s managed to lose none of its power in the 37 years since its release. If I’ve seen the film once, I’ve probably seen it at least a dozen times, but it never fails to pull me in from the very first frame: hell, I get a practically Pavlovian response whenever I hear the score, similar to my extreme love for John Carpenter’s oeuvre. This time around, I tried to view the film as critically as possible, with an eye towards determining whether the film was actually “scary,” at least by modern terms. I may be a little biased here, since I’ve always been in love with the film, but I think that it still possesses all of its feral power, even for a generation that’s become jaded on every sort of cinematic atrocity imaginable. Make no bones about it: the violence in Suspiria is sudden, shocking and extreme, made even more disturbing by the fact that Argento frames everything in such lovely, stunning visuals. Even though the copious blood never manages to look like anything less than thick, red paint, the suspension of disbelief in the film is absolute: Argento, at the height of his power, was (arguably) the greatest European horror writer/director ever (which, of course, makes his fall from grace of the past couple decades even more depressing).

Horror fans tend to be a fairly fickle bunch but there are a few films that appear to be universally respected: Suspiria is certainly one of those. Although Argento would go on to make several exceptional films after Suspiria (very few filmmakers have had a string of quality films like Argento experienced with Profondo Rosso (1975), Suspiria, Inferno (1980), Tenebre (1982), Phenomena (1985) and Opera (1987)), this will always stand as the unholy height of considerable abilities. One of the greatest compliments that I can give the film is to say how completely and utterly jealous I am of anyone who gets to experience this for the first time: believe me when I say that, in all likelihood, it will open your eyes. October just wouldn’t be the same without Argento’s infamous “witch academy” and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

10/13/14 (Part Two): The Way Out Is Through

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31 Days of Halloween, Alex Reid, all-female cast, auteur theory, cave system, Centurion, cinema, cult classic, cult films, Dog Soldiers, Doomsday, favorite films, female friendships, feminism, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, friends, horror films, horror-adventure, isolation, Molly Kayll, Movies, MyAnna Buring, mysterious cave, Natalie Mendoza, Neil Marshall, Nora-Jane Noone, Oliver Milburn, Saskia Mulder, Shauna Macdonald, spelunking, subterranean monsters, The Descent, underground exploration, unexplored cave system

One of the biggest problems with the horror film genre, practically from its inception, has been the way it tends to marginalization women. In many cases, female characters exist solely as either cannon fodder or eye candy: the concept of the “male gaze” is so intertwined with the slasher film, for example, that it’s nearly impossible to separate that particular sub-genre from its inherent misogyny. One of the laziest defenses of these decidedly old-fashioned ideals, of course, is that the genre has “always been this way”: Dracula chased virgins, masked maniacs hunted nubile co-eds and T & A was just something to hold interest in-between creative kill scenes. This is, quite obviously, a pretty huge load of horse-shit: these things “have always been like this” because they benefit the status quo, pure and simple. Audience enjoyment of a horror film shouldn’t be precipitated on the need to constantly see bare breasts any more than it should be precipitated on the need to constantly see gore: the horror genre is so much more than the sum of (some of) its small, mechanical parts.

For the time being, the film world (particularly the horror genre) is predominantly a “boy’s club”: male directors still overwhelmingly outnumber female directors, although there are certain small in-roads being made. The Soska sisters, to name but one example, seem poised on the cusp of a massive filmmaking revolution…if ever there were folks duly suited to picking up the torch and burning down the institution, the fearless creators of Dead Hooker in a Trunk (2009) and American Mary (2012) seem like them. We’re a far cry from anything actually approaching equality, of course, but the same could be said for the subject, in general. The most important thing to keep in mind, I think, is the notion of the doctor “doing no harm.” If filmmakers are not willing (or able) to completely right the imbalance, then they should, at the very least, not be contributing to it. It may be a small gesture, in the end, but it’s often the smallest gestures which can lead to the biggest breakthroughs.

British auteur Neil Marshall’s sophomore feature, The Descent (2005), is one film that I honestly feel “does no wrong” as far as the subject of gender politics goes. For one thing, Marshall’s film features an almost exclusively female cast, a complete rarity in the horror genre: the only male in the film is featured in the intro and he’s out of the film within the first five minutes. For another thing, Marshall’s neo-classic is informed by feminism to the degree that patriarchal notions and power dynamics are largely left by the wayside: the focus here is firmly on the various interpersonal relationships between the women, rather than having the female characters serve as plot devices to complete a male character’s arc. The Descent is that most impressive of “message” films because it’s message is so basic, yet important: women are capable of kicking as much ass, sowing as much chaos, getting in as much trouble and being just as strong as their male counterparts.

Like Tarantino’s From Dusk Till Dawn (1996), The Descent is, basically, a two-fer-one: a bracing, thrilling caving adventure and a claustrophobic, terrifying monster flick. For the first half of the film’s running time, there’s no notion whatsoever that this will develop into anything more than a thrilling drama about the ways in which best friends can drift apart. Via a gripping white-water-rafting intro, we’re introduced to our protagonist, Sarah (Shauna Macdonald). Sarah’s happy, now, but sudden tragedy will strike, stripping her of her family and her old life all in one fell swoop. In order to help their friend recover from her devastating loss, Sarah’s friends, led by alpha female Juno (Natalie Mendoza), decide to “get the band back together” for one more spelunking trip, just like the good old days. The friends haven’t seen each other since Sarah’s family was killed, so this is an excellent time to re-ignite old friendships…and reopen old wounds.

Seeking a suitable “adventure” for her decidedly less-experienced friends, Juno ends up taking the group to an unexplored caving system rather than the “beginner” cave that she promised she’d take them to. Once the truth is out, Juno’s thrill-seeking new friend, Holly (Nora-Jane Noone) is stoked but everyone else is decidedly less enthused: what was supposed to be a nice get-away among former friends has now turned into something decidedly more intensive and, potentially, life-threatening. As they continue to explore the cave, a roof collapse cuts off their way back, forcing them to push forward into the unknown. There’s a great sense of thrill and adventure here: as the friends press on, they fear the unknown but there’s a visceral punch to the notion that they’re all boldly going where no one has ever gone before.

No more is this sense of hesitant excitement more pronounced than the white-knuckle scene where they must make their away across a seemingly bottomless chasm: as Rebecca (Saskia Mulder) makes her away across the cave ceiling, one agonizing inch at a time, there’s a genuine sense of the pioneer spirit. And then, of course, Marshall drops the other shoe: as Rebecca traverses the ceiling, she comes across something not only unexpected but existentially terrifying – an aged, rusted climbing spike driven into the otherwise untouched cave ceiling. The realization hits the friends hard: they’re obviously not the first cavers to explore the system, yet it doesn’t exist on any maps. This, of course, means that the previously explorers never actually made it out alive.

With this new knowledge firmly in mind, the group begin to notice odd things here and there: an abandoned mining lamp, strange cave drawings, mysterious shadows that seem vaguely humanoid but melt into the background whenever examined…it all culminates in the jaw-dropping reveal where they find themselves in a huge antechamber filled with all manner of skeletal remains…including, of course, human bones. From this point forward, The Descent becomes a no-holds-barred battle for survival as Sarah, Juno and the others engage in bloody, life-or-death combat with a group of subterranean creatures that appear to be an awful combination of human and bat. As the friends are hunted through the darkness by creatures that thrive on the inky emptiness, they must pull reserves of strength from deep within themselves, reserves that many of them never knew they possessed. Old rivalries and betrayals will surface, pitting friend against friend, even as the ravenous monsters press in from all sides. Far under the ground, hidden from the “normal” world above and completely off the grid, they most wage the most desperate fight of their lives or snuggle into their cavernous new tomb and accept that there are just some places that humans do not belong.

The first half of Marshall’s film is so gripping and enthralling, similar to the nature-based adventure setpieces from Deliverance (1972), that the appearance of the monsters seems destined to tip the film’s serious edge into total pulp territory. Instead, the horror-based second half actually dovetails perfectly with the more adventure-oriented first part, creating a beast similar to Master Blaster from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985). It’s a nifty hat-trick but one that Marshall pulled off with similar aplomb in his feature-length debut, Dog Soldiers (2002), which grafted an action-packed military film onto a werewolf movie. As an interesting parallel, Marshall’s first film featured only one female role (albeit a prominent one), whereas the follow-up featured only one (brief) male role in an otherwise all female cast.

While The Descent’s casting is certainly noteworthy, there’s absolutely nothing gimmicky about the concept: the film never feels like a jaded attempt to shoehorn diversity into a largely male-oriented genre but, rather, an honest, genuine attempt to tell a horror story from a feminine perspective. Most impressively, the cast never feel like female actors subbed in for their male counterparts: the themes and ideas explored here – friendship, betrayal, the importance of the family unit, the need for emotional honesty – all feel organic to the characters and there’s appears to be a genuine focus on the female characters. Despite a plot point that involves infidelity, there is a refreshing lack of male needs guiding the overall story: these are women who are perfectly capable and happy on their own, without the need to be intrinsically connected to male counterparts. In the truest notion of equality, the characters in The Descent are just allowed to be their own characters, for better or worse, and there’s no notion, at any point, that they’re merely marionettes being forced to dance for the male gaze. In a genre that seems to thrive on finding inventive ways to showcase distressed young women wearing as little clothing as possible, Marshall’s extraordinary film does the zaniest thing possible: it opts to just treat them like human beings and let the drama arise organically from the characters and situations. Fancy that!

As with Marshall’s debut, The Descent is an absolutely stunning bit of craftwork, featuring some truly gorgeous cinematography (the scenes lit solely by red flares are genuinely beautiful, conjuring up a haunted atmosphere that’s equal parts dreamy and Stygian) and some of the most impressive locations ever committed to celluloid. Truly, The Descent stands as one of the crowning achievements of the cinematic caving subgenre (narrow as that might be) and is practically the first and last word on caving-based horror films: there have been a handful of others but they all look pretty impoverished compared to Marshall’s flick.

The acting, as befits all of Marshall’s films, is note-perfect. Shauna Macdonald, in particular, is an absolutely riveting hero: while she doesn’t possess the steely reserve of someone like Lt. Ripley, there’s an honesty to her character’s actions that feels both suitably dramatic and grounded in reality. Sarah is not a fearless character strutting through an apocalyptic wasteland with gum in one cheek and her boot up someone’s ass: she’s a regular person whose preservation instincts propel her forward, even as her options seem to be running out right and left. Similarly, Natalie Mendoza could have played Juno as a shrill, one-note antagonist, someone whose sole function was to awaken a change in the main character. Instead, Mendoza infuses Juno with enough nuance to allow audiences to empathize, at least to some extent, with her actions. One of the most powerful moments in the entire film comes from the scene where Juno accidentally kills one of the party: her character has been cocky and obnoxious, up to that point, but the fear, pain and horror in her eyes are new emotions and Mendoza is a capable enough performer to allow each to bubble to the surface, in time, even if only briefly.

I fell in complete love with The Descent after my very first screening of the film (which happened to be in a theater, thankfully) and my opinion hasn’t wavered one iota in the decade since. The film is easily one of my favorite horror movies, of any era, and is one of the modern horror films that I feel completely comfortable with canonizing: I think that The Descent is a film that audiences and critics will be returning to for many decades, similar to any of the greats in the genre. Even viewed as critically as possible, I can find very few real faults with the film and the high points soar handily above the high points of many, many other films. The fight sequences are visceral assaults to the senses, the feeling of claustrophobia is so complete as to be almost suffocating and the film has one of the single greatest, most perfect endings in the history of cinema. No lie: if I were Marshall, I’d get a bumper sticker that says “My film kicked your honor student’s ass.”

 

10/13/14 (Part One): Going to the Dogs

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31 Days of Halloween, action films, aliens, auteur theory, British films, Centurion, Chris Robson, cinema, cult classic, Darren Morfitt, Dog Soldiers, dogs, Doomsday, Emma Cleasby, extreme violence, feature-film debut, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, horror films, horror movies, isolation, James Cameron, Kevin McKidd, Leslie Simpson, Liam Cunningham, Movies, Neil Marshall, Sam McCurdy, Sean Pertwee, soldiers, The Descent, Thomas Lockyer, war games, werewolves, writer-director-editor

Like horror-comedies, action and horror hybrids walk a pretty fine line: too much of the action side of things and you get, well, an action film. A film which features endless scenes of zombies engaged in bone-crunching MMA action might be thrilling but it probably won’t be very blood-chilling. Likewise, traditional zombies that pop out of the background, stumble around and bite people might be horrifying and blood-chilling but probably won’t elicit the kinds of fist-pumping responses we might get from our mixed-martial artist gut-munchers. It’s a real formula, in a way, a formula which very few films really get right. The gold standard for these types of horror-action hybrids, as far as I’m concerned, is James Cameron’s classic Aliens (1986), the direct sequel to Ridley Scott’s horrifying sci-fi classic. Coming in at a close second, however, would have to be writer-director Neil Marshall’s extraordinary feature-film debut, Dog Soldiers (2002). Soldiers fighting werewolves? It doesn’t get much more thrilling than that, friends and neighbors.

As befits its no-nonsense style, Dog Soldiers jumps us into the action fairly quickly and keeps the accelerator floored for the majority of its running time. A small squadron of British soldiers, led by Sgt. Harry Wells (Sean Pertwee) and including Pvt. Cooper (Kevin McKidd) among their ranks, are in the Scottish Highlands for a run-of-the-mill training exercise. They seem to be a good bunch of guys, close-knit and good at what they do: we’ve already spent a little time with Cooper as he tries out for a Special Forces position and know that he’s a helluva fighter with a strong moral center and a particular respect for dogs, which seems to befit the protagonist of a werewolf film.

In short order, our intrepid group of soldiers begins to get the idea that things might not be as copacetic as they originally thought: they constantly hear odd noises in the surrounding forest and someone/thing tosses a slaughtered cow in their general direction, which would be enough to unnerve just about anyone. The situation gets even more extreme once they stumble onto the destroyed campsite of Capt. Ryan (Liam Cunningham) and his Special Forces unit. Ryan was the son of a bitch from the intro to shot the innocent dog but he appears to have seen much better days: he’s cut up pretty bad and looks as white as a ghost. He’s also babbling that “They tore them apart!” and the even more sinister, “There was only supposed to be one!”

Faster than you can say “Full moon,” the squadron are under siege and end up taking refuge with a passing Good Samaritan (Emma Cleasby) at a nearby abandoned farmhouse. As the enraged werewolves try to storm their meager safe house, the soldiers must band together against a foe that seems to be not supernaturally strong but also unbelievably cunning and vicious. There’s more than meets the eye here, however, and the odious Capt. Ryan appears to be right at the very heart of the mystery. What is the secret behind their hirsute attackers and will any of them survive to greet the new day?

Horror films have incorporated action elements for generations but this really became explicit with the rise of horror franchises, such as Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street, in the ’80s. One of the conventions of these type of films, perhaps best exemplified in something like A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: The Dream Warriors (1987), are the scenes where the protagonists engage in heated battle with the main villain. These “action” moments are almost always qualified, however, with the knowledge that the “normal” people are never a match for foes like Jason or Freddy: they might temporarily get the upper hand (at least until the finale) but they’re way to “wimpy” to ever pose any real threat to these super-strong monsters. This is one reason why Scott’s Alien (1979) can be considered a horror film, whereas Cameron’s follow-up is distinctly horror-action: in Alien, the human characters (with the exception of Ripley) are all too weak to even finish off one Xenomorph, let alone a handful of them. The hat-trick that Aliens pulls, then, is to give us a group of protagonists who are utterly and completely badass: Space marines, as it turns out, and set them loose against the alien menace.  This way, we don’t question when the marines are kicking alien ass up one side and down the other (although this doesn’t happen quite as easily as I’ve, obviously, made it sound) because that’s what rough-and-tumble space marines are supposed to do: kick ass.

By making our protagonists tough-guy soldiers, Dog Soldiers levels the playing field quite a bit and allows us to suspend disbelief for the resulting action sequences. We don’t question that these guys have sharp reflexes and are able survivalists because, well, that’s kind of what we expect of soldiers. Since the opponents are more evenly matched (at least slightly more, as the werewolves are still towering, mountainous and furry buzzsaws), this allows for a more even balance between the action and horror elements. There are genuine horror elements in the film, not least of which is the ultimate “reveal” about the werewolves identities, which are allowed to play out at a more leisurely pace. For the most part, however, Dog Soldiers definitely plays like one all-out action sequence after another, similar to the way that Dario Argento liberally sprinkled murder set-pieces throughout his early classics.

For a debut film, Dog Soldiers is a remarkably assured and nearly flawless construction. Marshall also handled the editing of the film and displays a deft talent for putting action scenes together in fast-paced and evocative yet clear ways: this isn’t the chaotic chop-chop editing of Greengrass’ The Bourne Ultimatum (2007) but something that’s altogether more fluid, with characters being much more delineated on the screen. The cinematography, by extension, is also crystal clear and sharp: Sam McCurdy, the director of photography on all of Marshall’s films, thus far, has a real eye for color and detail that gives the proceedings a rich look.

Effects-wise, Dog Soldiers is a complete marvel: the violence is sudden, harsh and well-done, while the creature effects are simply stunning, recalling nothing so much as Rick Baker’s groundbreaking work on The Howling (1981). Unlike films that hide their monsters behind shadows and off the edge of the frame, Dog Soldiers is (rightfully) proud of its lycanthropes and takes every opportunity possible to trot them before the camera. Thanks to the stellar effects work, the creatures look equally imposing whether shot in a long shot or in close up: you won’t see any zippers on these costumes.

One of the most important aspects of any “squadron-based film,” of course, is the effectiveness of the ensemble cast: as with everything else, Dog Soldiers knocks this out of the park. Sean Pertwee does a great job as the Sarge who just wants to get his guys out of the shit and Kevin McKidd (from TV’s Rome) injects enough grit into his performance of Pvt. Cooper to prevent the character from seeming like too much of a “goody-goody” cliché. Cunningham is a rather teeth-gnashing, over-the-top villain, but the performance ends up working, perhaps because it gives the group someone entirely more “manageable” to fight against.

One aspect of Dog Soldiers that sets it a bit apart from similar films (and parallels it with Cameron’s Aliens) is the film’s overall serious tone and intent: while there are the occasional clever one-liners and cheeky moments, the emphasis is definitely on adrenaline over the easy release that comic relief affords. Truth be told, the film’s funniest moment is also one of its most badass: as Spoon (Darren Morfitt) is about to be devoured by a werewolf, he tosses out the immortal retort, “I hope I give you the shits, you fucking wimp!” Epic, indeed.

For my money, Neil Marshall is, hands-down, one of the single most impressive genre directors in the business. While I’ve enjoyed some of his films more than others (Dog Soldiers and The Descent (2005) occupy a pretty lofty perch, whereas Doomsday (2008) and Centurion (2010) reside a bit closer to solid ground), I’ve never been anything less than completely entertained with any of his work: he’s the kind of director that can get me excited for any project, sight unseen, and is a filmmaker that I expect to follow for several good decades to come. It’s always handy, however, to go back to the beginning and see how it all started. For Marshall, it started with this thrilling, edge-of-the-seat classic about werewolves and the soldiers who fight them and it doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon. Utterly essential for genre fans and anyone who relishes a ripping good, military-themed action film.

10/11/14 (Part Two): Who Goes There?

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31 Days of Halloween, aliens, Arctic setting, auteur theory, based on a short story, Charles Hallahan, classic films, cult classic, David Clennon, Dean Cundey, Donald Moffat, dopplegangers, Ennio Morricone, favorite films, Film auteurs, horror films, isolation, Joel Polis, John Carpenter, Keith David, Kurt Russell, paranoia, Peter Maloney, remakes, Richard Dysart, Richard Masur, sci-fi, sci-fi-horror, scientists, shape-shifters, T.K. Carter, The Thing, Thomas Waites, Wilford Brimley

Although we horror film fanatics tend to be a fairly diverse bunch, there are still a handful of films that are pretty much accepted as canon by discerning viewers. This doesn’t, of course, mean to speak for everyone: many fans who call themselves horror fanatics have no interest in the genre’s history, past or anything more academic than watching the newest collection of gore scenes. I’ve long argued that horror is a genre and field as worthy of deep exploration as any other but it doesn’t change the fact that many viewers are still just after a visceral, momentary experience.

For every “casual” fan of the genre, however, there are plenty of what could best be described as “rabid” fans, folks who live, breathe, eat and sleep the stuff, tearing into everything from silent, black and white films to the newest CGI spectacles. For these fans, there are a few films that have managed to stand out from the crowd, proving endlessly influential and sources of much repeat viewings and continued exploration: Night of the Living Dead (1968), The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), Halloween (1978), the classic Universal monster films, A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), Peeping Tom (1960), Psycho (1960) and The Exorcist (1973) are but a small handful of the films that would probably show up on most hardcore horror fans “Best of” lists. One would be remiss, of course, if they didn’t also include one of the single most influential, popular and well-made horror films of the ’80s: John Carpenter’s ferocious, ground-breaking and utterly essential sci-horror masterpiece, The Thing (1982).

Although I’m pretty sure that almost everyone is, at the very least, familiar with the basics behind The Thing, the plot is pure simplicity. A team of American scientists at a remote research base in the frozen Arctic come into contact with something decidedly not of this world after they run into a group of Norwegian scientists who are violently pursuing a seemingly innocent dog. What at first seems like an extreme case of “snow madness” is soon revealed to be something much more terrifying: the dog is actually a grotesque, shape-shifting alien organism. The creature is cunning, quick and extremely hungry: with the Norwegians out of the picture, the Americans become the new snack du jour. As resourceful, gung-ho chopper pilot R.J. MacReady (Kurt Russell, in one of his most iconic roles) takes command of the increasingly paranoid and frightened group, he’s faced with a real devil’s dilemma: since the monster can look and act like any of them, how do the men really know which of them are from planet Earth and which are from a location just a little further away in our galaxy?

Full disclosure: I’ve been a pretty nutso fan of Carpenter’s classic ever since I first saw the movie, an impression that hasn’t changed one iota in all the years since. To be frank, The Thing is just about as perfect as a film gets, a classic case of intention meeting craft in a perfect creative spark. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been able to appreciate different aspects of the film: when I was younger, I was all about the ooky effects, rewatching the key setpieces so often that I practically had the creature’s movements memorized. Now that I have a few years under my belt and have become a little more jaded regarding special effects in films, I find myself focusing more on the film’s exquisite use of location and the exceptional ensemble cast: I still dig the ever-lovin’ shit out of the effects scenes, don’t get me wrong, but the subtler aspects of the film are the ones that really push it from something special to something essential.

There’s so much about The Thing that exemplifies the film as one of the very apices of the horror film genre, a perfect storm of disparate elements. There’s Carpenter’s sure-handed, expert direction, of course: the auteur is one of the very best filmmakers for combining action and horror into one Voltron of awesomeness and he has a rare eye for background detail that adds immeasurable tension to every frame of the film. The film was shot by Dean Cundey, the masterful cinematographer responsible for everything from Halloween to D.C. Cab (1983) and Jurassic Park (1993): the film looks absolutely gorgeous and Cundey is expert at making the principal characters seem as small and insignificant against the unforgiving immensity of the Arctic wasteland as possible. The score was done by the iconic Ennio Morricone, the creator of some of the most legendary, unforgettable film scores in the history of the medium. While Carpenter’s self-made synth scores have always a particular highlight of his films, Morricone’s epic, sweeping score really adds a new layer to the proceedings. The groundbreaking practical effects work was done by industry pioneer Rob Bottin and would go on to influence at least the next generation of effects creators, if not more.

And then, of course, there’s that cast. Jeez…what a cast. Taking a cue from Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979), Carpenter stocks his film with some of the best character and genre actors in the biz, ensuring that no one comes across as generic “cannon fodder.” Kurt Russell…Wilford Brimley…Richard Masur…Keith David…Richard Dysart…Donald Moffat…each and every performer brings their A-game to the proceedings, adding up to one hell of an ensemble performance. The shining star of the group, of course, is Russell: while he’s been behind some of the most iconic action heroes in cinema (any conversation about kick-ass heroes that doesn’t include Snake Plissken is fundamentally flawed from the jump), MacReady is easily one of the highlights. We first meet Russell’s character as he plays computer chess: when the machine beats him, MacReady pours his bourbon down its access panel, shorting the computer out. Classic Kurt, in other words. Regardless of what’s happening on-screen, Russell is always the magnetic, undeniable center of everything: MacReady is one of the great screen creations and much of the credit for this must go to Russell’s inspired performance.

In fact, the cast is so perfect that my one quibble with the film’s actors has always been the same: I’m disappointed that there are no strong female characters here, ala Alien or Aliens (1986). There are certainly room for them, as the previously mentioned examples state. While some have pointed out that an isolated research station wouldn’t be co-ed, this has always seemed like a rather spurious assumption: after all, women have been successfully integrated into many such films (Aliens pretty much makes and ends this argument, thanks not only to Ripley’s character but the other female space marines, as well).

Integration complaint aside, The Thing really is a perfect film. It’s unbelievably tense, expertly crafted, looks amazing and is an absolute blast to watch. So many of the film’s setpieces have been burned into my brain over the years that it’s hard to imagine a world without them: the dog transformation…the hot wire and the blood…the defibrillator gone horribly amok…the spider-head…the cynical, utterly badass ending…the jaw-dropping reveal of the UFO…to be honest, a good 80% of the film plays like a highlights reel, similar to an award-winning band that scores eight hit singles out of ten on their album. I attempted to watch The Thing with as critical an eye as possible, this time around, but my earlier impressions were all just reaffirmed: this thing really is one of the all-time classics. I can’t even knock the film down a few points for being a remake of the Howard Hawk’s classic The Thing From Another World (1951), since it’s one of the few remakes to not only do justice to the original but to improve upon it in pretty much every way: Carpenter’s film has never felt like a cash-grab to me, like other remakes. The Thing has always seemed like a complete labor of love, pure and simple.

As someone who constantly finds myself re-examining and re-evaluating my impressions and opinions on films, I find that my “Best of” lists are, likewise, in constant flux. One thing that’s always remained constant, however, is my love and appreciation for Carpenter’s film. I’m not sure that I’ve ever left The Thing off of a list, to this point, and I can all but guarantee that I probably never will.

10/7/14 (Part One): Before the Mask

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'80s films, '80s slasher films, 1st person POV, 31 Days of Halloween, Adrienne King, Betsy Palmer, camp counselors, cinema, classics, Crystal Lake, cult classic, dead teenagers, film reviews, films, Friday the 13th, giallo, Halloween, Harry Crosby, Harry Manfredini, horror, horror movies, Jason Voorhees, Jeannine Taylor, Kevin Bacon, Laurie Bartram, Mark Nelson, Movies, Peter Brouwer, revenge, Rex Everhart, Robbi Morgan, Sean Cunningham, sex equals death, slasher films, summer camp, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Tom Savini, Walt Gorney

Despite “starring” in ten separate films, going to Hell, New York, outer space and slaying enough teenagers to populate a mid-size country, slasher icon Jason Voorhees was not at the center of the film that started it all, Sean Cunningham’s Friday the 13th (1980). Of sure, Jason’s presence hung over the proceedings, no two ways about it: it just wasn’t his hand on the machete, so to speak. In many ways, Cunningham’s original film is more of a giallo than the brutal slashers that the franchise would evolve into with future entries. Like Hooper’s equally influential The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), Friday the 13th is a fairly maligned film, seen as both bloodier and dumber than it actually is. In reality, Friday the 13th is a lean, mean, well-made and bluntly effective little film and stands proudly next to Carpenter’s Halloween (1978) and Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre as one of the founding forefathers of the modern horror film.

Story-wise, Friday the 13th is simple enough to almost be an urban legend or cautionary fairy tale. A couple of unsolved murders, along with a host of unexplained accidents and strange incidents, has led to the closure of Camp Crystal Lake for over 20 years. When hippy-dippy Steve (Peter Brouwer) decides to reopen the summer camp, against the concerns of the nearby townsfolk, it’s only a matter of time before trouble rears its ugly head again. This trouble, of course, manifests itself in the form of a heavy-breathing, blood-thirsty killer, a killer that we never get to see thanks to the film’s first-person-POV “kill scenes.” As a co-ed group of camp counselors busy themselves with renovating the camp and exploring each other’s underwear, the mysterious killer picks them off one by one, usually right after they’ve been engaging in a little of the ol’ fornication. In time, only Alice (Adrienne King) remains alive: will she be able to uncover the identity of the anonymous slasher or will she end up as just another maimed body stuffed into a cabin?

Within that amazingly simple setup, Cunningham, cinematographer Barry Abrams, composer Harry Manfredini and makeup/sfx guru Tom Savini work some pretty impressive magic. Indeed, it’s the combined forces of these four that go a long way towards explaining the power and continued impact of the film. Thanks to Abrams evocative camera-work and Cunningham’s sure-handed direction, the film manages to maintain a constant atmosphere of tension and creeping dread. Manfredini is responsible for that iconic score: it’s almost impossible to watch a slasher film, nowadays, and not immediately think of that classic “ch ch ch ka ka ka” effect. Elsewhere, Manfredini’s score builds and sets mood in as effective a way as Carpenter’s score for Halloween: like Halloween, Friday the 13th would be a much different, less effective film without its score.

Savini’s role, of course, could never be overstated: quite frankly, Tom Savini is one of the most gifted, influential makeup/sfx artists in the entire history of cinema and he elevates any film he’s involved with. In the case of Friday the 13th, Savini’s expert makeup and effects work really gives the film something to hang a hat on: while the film isn’t overloaded with pointless, gratuitous gore, it also doesn’t shy away from the red stuff: who could forget the scene where poor Jack (Kevin Bacon, in his big-screen debut) gets an arrow pushed through his throat or Marcie (Jeannine Taylor) takes an ax to the forehead? Although future entries in the series would play up the creative kill scenes to the point where they became the entire focus of the films, the kills in the original film are so well-staged and impactful that they have a resonance the rest of the franchise can’t possibly match.

As with Halloween and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Friday the 13th’s influence on the horror genre simply can’t be overstated: quite frankly, the film was responsible for establishing all of the slasher-film “rules” that weren’t previously established by Carpenter’s low-budget masterpiece. Crazy guy warning the intended victims? Check. Heavy-breathing, killer’s POV? Check (although Halloween did get here first). Creative, gory, murder setpieces? Check. Creepy, potentially sinister backwoods townsfolk? Check. Isolated, rural setting? Check. Sex equals death? Check. Endless sequels? Check and mate.

As mentioned earlier, the original Friday the 13th actually plays out more like one of Mario Bava or Dario Argento’s giallos than it does a “traditional” slasher film. In particular, one can see how much of an influence Bava’s Bay of Blood (1971) had on Cummingham’s film, both with regards to the kill scenes and the film’s overall style. There’s a mystery at the heart of Friday the 13th and, even though it might not be a particularly tricky one (we find out the identity of the killer by virtue of them being the only person alive aside from Alice, which is roughly equivalent to one of Matlock’s “confession on the witness stand” denouements), it still separates the film’s from the packs of “dead teenager” films that followed in its wake.

Acting-wise, the film is no worse and markedly better than many other slashers: most of the cast acquits themselves quite ably, although Kevin Bacon is a bit to backwoodsy for my taste and Adrienne King tends to wear out her welcome just a little by the time the film’s finale rolls around. Nonetheless, she’s a more than fitting “final girl” for much of the film’s running time and manages to be a bit more proactive than “cower in the corner, screaming and crying,” although she manages to do enough sustained whining to last a lifetime. Betsy Palmer ends up being the real star of the show: a TV and theatrical actress, Palmer brings an essential blend of insanity and maternal compassion to her performance as Mrs. Voorhees and her sustained cat-and-mouse chase with Adrienne King is one of the film’s unmitigated high points. Palmer is also the source of some of the film’s best behind-the-scenes stories, including the one where she actually started to beat up and throw poor King around for real, so caught up was she in the fictional action.

In fact, the filming of Cunningham’s cult classic is interesting enough to serve as its own film: fans of the franchise or filmmaking, in general, would be well-served to pick up the exhaustive coffee table book, Crystal Lake Memories: The Complete History of Friday the 13th. Even though the F13 series was never my favorite of the “classic” franchises, the book is filled with so many great stories, interviews and anecdotes that it really did give me a whole new appreciation for the series. There’s also a filmed version of the book, although I must admit to not seeing it, at least yet: if they can distill even one-tenth of the fun from the book, however, I’m assuming it’s also a must-see.

For many, Friday the 13th is a film that exists more on reputation than anything else: modern audiences seem to approach many of these classic films, including Halloween and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre as museum artifacts, pieces of history that were more instrumental in forming the foundation for modern horror than relevant as pieces of art, in their own right. This seems to be why modern remakes of these films are so prevalent nowadays: modern audiences and filmmakers appreciate the “sentiment” behind the films but find them too quaint for current tastes. This, of course, couldn’t be more wrong or reductive: there’s absolutely nothing wrong with these older films…it’s just that modern audiences have become more than a little jaded and lazy.

When examined on its own merits and removed from its role as a musty relic, Friday the 13th actually stands pretty tall: it’s certainly no worse than many horror films in the class of ’79/’80 and is quite a bit better than many of its peers. Like Halloween and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Cunningham’s film has a purity of vision and purpose that’s all too refreshing in an era when meta-narratives have become the default for almost every genre film. The film is clear and uncluttered, moves at a pretty breakneck pace and features a fairly decent twist ending (cribbed from De Palma’s version of Carrie (1976) but what are ya gonna do?): when compared to more generic, faceless slashers, the original Friday the 13th is practically a Kurosawa film.

While it’s a little harder to completely defend all of the films in the franchise (Friday the 13th Part 2 (1981) is actually quite good, although the series tends to dissolve into muck fairly quickly after the third entry or so), the film that started it all is an absolute classic: genuinely frightening, full of great setpieces (the scene where Marcie explores the creepy restroom is amazing), great effects and effective performances. We may only see Jason as a drowned rat in the first film but the movie feels all the more powerful for his general absence. Mr. Voorhees may have gone on to become a superstar, in his own way, but the original film is the real star attraction of the franchise, hockey mask be damned.