10/9/14 (Part One): Nothing Divided By Four is Still Nothing

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31 Days of Halloween, Adam Green, Adam Rifkin, AJ Bowen, anthology films, bad movies, Chillerama, cinema, Deathication, Detroit Rock City, drive-in fare, Eric Roberts, film reviews, films, horror, horror films, horror-comedies, I Was a Teenage Werebear, Joe Lynch, Kane Hodder, Knights of Badassdom, Lin Shaye, low-budget films, Mel Brooks, monster movies, Movies, multiple directors, multiple writers, parodies, Ray Wise, Richard Riehle, Ron Jeremy, satire, scatological humor, terrible films, The Diary of Anne Frankenstein, Tim Sullivan, Wadzilla, writer-director, Zom-B-Movie, zombies

I have absolutely nothing against offensive, abhorrent, socially-unacceptable humor: after all, I was raised on a steady diet of Mel Brooks, Troma, South Park and Italo-splatter films, so stuff like that is part of my cinematic DNA. When done well (and fearlessly), crude, rude humor can be a powerful tool, cutting through societal niceties in a way that allows filmmakers to make honest, pointed commentary about the less-than-perfect world we live in. Racism, sexism, gender politics, religion: these are but a few of the hot-button topics that fearlessly unflinching comedy can often handle in more powerful ways than more dramatic works. All this is by way of saying that I’m most definitely neither a prude nor an easily-outraged mouthpiece for the censorship of deviant ideas.

That being said, the multi-director horror anthology Chillerama (2011) is a complete and total piece of shit, a waste of both time and resources that manages to entertain for a scant 20 minutes out of an astoundingly painful two hour running time. This was a film that managed to lose me early, yet irritated me so profoundly that I was determined to sit through its wretched excesses in order to see how much more irritated I could become. This towering testament to scatological humor in all of its nasty, sticky excesses is both lazy and stupid, too cheaply made to be effective, too sloppily conceived to be entertaining and too needlessly offensive to be anything more than the foot-stomping tantrum of a collection of filmmakers that must, surely, fancy themselves more clever than they really are. Ultimately, my overall impression of the film can be summed up in one tidy, little declaration: I was not amused.

By their very nature, cinematic horror anthologies are always pretty safe bets for entertainment: the stories usually aren’t very long, so they don’t wear out their welcome, and they usually feature punchy twists and plenty of surprises to keep the audience guessing. In the past, I’ve watched anthologies where the current tale failed to grab me, yet my anticipation for upcoming stories would pull me through the rough patches. No such luck in Chillerama: as each fetid tale unfolded, I was only left with the sinking suspicion that each subsequent short would only be worse than the preceding one. In a feeling that Dante could certainly understand, I had abandoned all hope after entering the miraculous world of Chillerama.

Here’s what we get with this lovely little anthology film: a wrap-around segment involving horny zombies fucking and eating everything that moves at a drive-in movie theater (Zom-B-Movie, directed by Joe Lynch); a take-off on ’50s monster movies featuring a sperm that grows to the size of a house (Wadzilla, directed by and starring Adam Rifkin); a parody of ’60s surf-flicks that equates homosexuality with lycanthoropy (I Was a Teenage Werebear, directed by Tim Sullivan); an intermingling of Anne Frank and Universal Studios (The Diary of Anne Frankenstein, directed by Adam Green); and a “hilarious” send-up of scat films (Deathication, directed by Joe Lynch under the “hilarious” pseudonym, Fernando Phagabeefy).

From a purely conceptual-level, there’s no reason Chillerama shouldn’t have worked. The capsule descriptions for each short promise, at the very least, that they’ll be anything but boring. On their own rights, each of the film’s writers/directors have plenty of individual merits: Rifkin wrote and directed the ’90s cult classics The Invisible Maniac (1990) and The Dark Backward (1991), before going on to make more mainstream films like Detroit Rock City (1999) and Night At the Golden Eagle (2001); Sullivan was involved with the low-budget ’80s cult classic The Deadly Spawn (1983) and went on to write/direct the effective chiller Driftwood (2006); Green is the creator of the Hatchet series, one of the more interesting, effective modern horror franchises, as well as the subtly effective Frozen (2010); and Lynch directed the long-delayed but well-reviewed Knights of Badassdom (2013). The film features appearances from such genre greats as Ray Wise, Lin Shaye, Eric Roberts, Kane Hodder, Richard Riehle and AJ Bowen. And, most importantly, each short only clocks in at about 20-odd minutes. With all of these factors involved, what are the chances that Chillerama ends up being utterly and completely worthless? Unfortunately, the chances end up being pretty damn good.

As already mentioned above, there are a nearly limitless range of issues that help to scuttle the film but if I had to pick out my personal reason for this massive trainwreck, I lay the blame fully at the feet of the film’s lowest-common denominator obsession with scatology in all of its wonderful forms. Despite any pretensions otherwise, the entire point of “Wadzilla” becomes the final bit where the colossal sperm is blown-up and proceeds to coat the entire city with about 10,000 gallons of jizz: if you really enjoy seeing actors getting doused with buckets of fake spooge, this will, undoubtedly, be your Citizen Kane (1941). Any salient points that “I Was a Teenage Werebear” makes regarding homophobia are obliterated by things such as the forced rape of a character via baseball bat and ridiculously sub-Troma gore effects. “The Diary of Anne Frankenstein” comes out head-and-shoulders above the others simply by virtue of featuring actual jokes: despite being a little rough around the edges, it’s virtually a masterpiece compared to the others. “Deathication” is a minutes-long goof that features truly nauseating depictions of scat-play (staged, I’m hoping) and was the only short I had to fast-forward through: I like shit in films to be off-screen, thanks very much, although I’ve always laughed at Spud’s little “accident” in Trainspotting (1996). The wrap-around story, “Zom-B-Movie,” gets a big kick out of equating pseudo-pornographic humping with extreme gore, delighting in moments like a zombie plucking out an eyeball and “servicing” the hole or a wife zombie ripping off and eating her husband zombie’s penis. This particular short’s only grain of ingenuity comes from the fact that the blood in the segment is depicted as neon-blue fluid, like the inside of a Glo-stick. To be honest, it’s a simple concept that’s light-years beyond anything else in the film, “Diary of Anne Frankenstein” notwithstanding.

Look, here’s the thing: I didn’t hate Chillerama because it was offensive, scatalogical and stupid…I hated the film because it was all of these things AND poorly-made, sloppy, lazy and mean-spirited. There are plenty of ultra-low budget horror films out there that try their hardest, despite their limitations: Chillerama ain’t one of ’em. At the very least, it looks like the cast were all having a great time, so that must count for something (poor Lin Shaye even appears in two separate shorts, bless her heart). Sprinkled throughout the film are little inklings of the production it could have been, had anyone involved cared to make anything more than a tasteless goof. More than anything, Chillerama strikes me as a classic case of wasted potential, not least since it completely squanders the first gay-themed anthology short that I’ve seen in, quite possibly, forever. I mean, c’mon: the damn film squanders Ray fuckin’ Wise, for god’s sake…how do they live with themselves?

Ultimately, I haven’t felt as let-down by a film as I have by Chillerama in quite some time. Even though I enjoy the individual filmmakers’ work, to a greater or lesser degree (I actually really like Green’s films, especially the vastly under-rated Frozen), this was nothing but a complete disappointment. If you’re so inclined, check out Green’s short, which manages to hit some nearly Mel Brooksian levels of absurdity, mostly thanks to a truly inspired performance by Joel David Moore as a very stupid Hitler. Other than that (relative) high-point, there is absolutely no reason whatsoever to recommend Chillerama. If you want an intentionally bad movie, go watch Sharknado (2013): at least that has a totally wacked-out Tara Reid to recommend it…all Chillerama features are a bunch of bored jokesters playing chicken with the audience. My advice? Don’t take the bet.

7/12/14: Hack For More

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Adam Green, BJ McDonnell, Caroline Williams, cinema, Danielle Harris, different director, extreme violence, film reviews, films, franchise, Friday the 13th, gory films, Gremlins, Hatchet, Hatchet 3, Hatchet II, Hatchet III, horror films, horror franchises, inspired by '80s films, Kane Hodder, Marybeth, Movies, Repeaters, series creator, Sid Haig, slasher films, swamps, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, Victor Crowley, voodoo curses, Zach Galligan

Of all the modern horror movie franchises, from Saw to Paranormal Activity and back to Wrong Turn, Adam Green’s Hatchet series is easily the most ’80s-oriented of the bunch. When the original Hatchet (2006) was unleashed upon the world, it would’ve been hard not to draw parallels to that classic “slasher in the woods” franchise, Friday the 13th: Hatchet featured hulking Kane Hodder in the role of the villain, was top-loaded with just about as much ultra-gore as could be crammed into one film (whatever didn’t fit into the first was handily saved, like excess chicken stock, for the sequels), featured violent death by as many different, inventive sources as possible and stuck a group of people (or “cannon fodder,” if you prefer) into an isolated location (a New Orleans swamp versus a summer camp in the woods) so that they could be summarily wiped from the face of the earth.

After Hatchet was a surprise hit amongst genre fans, Green followed it up with an even more over-the-top sequel, Hatchet II (2010), which managed to ramp the carnage up several notches (how that was humanly possible, I’ll never know) while simultaneously toning down the more explicitly humorous elements. While the sequel wasn’t quite as dynamic as the original film, it was still an awful lot of fun (for very strong stomachs, obviously, but that pretty much goes without saying) and actually served as a direct continuation of the first film, picking up right where Hatchet ended and using many of the same actors (the ones who actually survived, at least). When the sequel became another fan favorite, the future seemed clear: Hatchet was well on its way to entering franchise territory.

This, of course, brings us to the third film in the series, the cleverly titled Hatchet III (2013). For the first time in the relatively short-lived franchise, creator Green steps away from the director’s chair, although he did write the script and “present” the film. Turning the bullhorn over to BJ McDonnell, Green finds himself at that most formative stage of a young franchise’s life: that pivotal moment where the series must shake off its original progenitor (F13 did it with Cunningham, NOES did it with Craven), sprout it own set of moldy, mutated wings and fly away for parts unknown. Does it work? Does Green’s Hatchet really have what it takes to stick around in the world of franchise horror and hang with the big boys? Or is this strictly going to be direct-to-video fodder like the Wrong Turn series?

Picking up immediately where the second film ended, with series heroine Marybeth (Danielle Harris) blasting franchise villain Victor Crowley’s (Kane Hodder) face into red pulp with a shotgun, we hit the ground running. As Marybeth rests in the foreground, Victor rises in the background, leading to a short chase, a rather jaw-dropping moment where Marybeth does something extremely rude to Victor’s face-hole, followed by the equally eyebrow raising bit where Victor falls backwards onto an enormous chainsaw (used for cutting down 1000 ft tall oaks, I would imagine), where he’s split asunder, vertically, showering Marybeth in more blood than could possibly be contained in five Victors, all while Gwar’s “Hail Genocide” blasts on the soundtrack. The scene ends with Marybeth stumbling into town, a shotgun in one hand, Victor’s bloody scalp in the other. Roll credits, strap on your seatbelt, folks.

It bears mentioning, at this point, that Hatchet III is not for very sensitive sensibilities. This is, for lack of a better word, an ultra-gore epic, a film that not only revels in the depiction of inventive bloodshed on-screen but positively wallows in it. While the first two films in the franchise were gore-drenched, Hatchet III takes things into heretofore unheard of arenas: as someone who’s been watching these kinds of things for the better part of two decades, I was still surprised by some of the things I saw. Again, I only feel that it’s necessary to drive this home because I’d hate for a curious neophyte to think, “How bad could it get?,” assuming this was a more commercial type of horror confection: if the opening sounds stomach-churning, understand that it’s probably the least intense “kill” in the film and let your conscience (and your gut) be your guide.

Back in the “real world,” Marybeth stumbles into the local police station, setting off a bit of a panic (shotguns and bloody scalps have a tendency to do that, after all) and is promptly arrested and thrown into lockup by the tough-as-nails, foul-mouthed Sheriff Fowler (Zach Galligan). He sends his deputies out to investigate Marybeth’s claims of a huge swamp massacre, which they end up finding more than abundant evidence of (mostly numerous small pieces of former living folks). Back at the jail, Marybeth is being harassed by Sheriff Fowler’s ex-wife, the tenacious local reporter Amanda (Caroline Williams), who wants vindication for the entire town thinking her belief in Crowley is a load of zombie-shit. Seems that Amanda has been doing her research and knows a thing or two about Crowley that Marybeth doesn’t: namely, the hulking, unstoppable monster is also a “Repeater,” a cursed individual doomed to be reborn each night so as to continue its cursed killing streak again and again, ad infinitum. Uh oh. As the night creeps in, Sheriff Fowler and his deputies are going to learn one thing the hard way: you just can’t keep an enormous, undead, hatchet-wielding maniac down. It’s now up to Marybeth and Amanda to delve deep into Victor’s disturbed childhood, find the source of his “returning” and put an end to the curse once and for all.

As the third film in a growing franchise, Hatchet III occupies a rather interesting position: at this point, can the film ever stand on its own or it only valuable as a part of a greater whole? Personally, I feel that it’s possible to watch individual franchise entries in any horror series on their own, without the benefit of the “bigger picture,” as it were. That being said, however, Hatchet III is a true sequel, picking up, as it does, from the end of the previous film and actually manages to expand on the original mythos. As such, we’re actually left with a situation a little closer to Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings films (bear with me here), where the overall feel is of one, long film hacked into three separate pieces. It’s certainly possible to watch Hatchet III on its own but I think the experience is actually made richer by mainlining all three at the same time: talk about your bloody weekends, though!

As a film, Hatchet III is a bit closer in tone to the second film than the first: there’s less obvious humor and more of a reliance on jaw-dropping practical fx and ultra-violence. There are also quite a few appearances from genre vets, including the hilarious performance by Galligan (Gremlins (1984), Gremlins 2 (1990), Waxwork (1988)) as the ridiculously tough lawman, Williams (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986), The Stepfather II (1988)) as the pushy reporter and an amusing cameo from all-around badass Sid Haig as a cranky old descendent of Crowley’s. Galligan, in particular, is pretty great, even if he’s never once convincing: there’s something awfully funny about watching young Billy all grown up and test-driving cuss words like he just learned them the other day.

Despite a slightly “direct-to-video” aesthetic, Hatchet III actual looks pretty good, certainly no worse than the previous sequel, at least. The swamp setting is used to good effect, once again, and the stuff about Repeaters is a really intelligent way to “explain” that old slasher movie conceit about the “unkillable killer.” The film is stuffed to the gills with some genuinely tense moments, although the emphasis is always squarely on the completely over-the-top gore sequences. To this end, we see limbs ripped off, heads power-sanded into oblivion, people hacked into bits, et al: it really is like a “greatest hits” of slasher-movie pandemonium and fans of the subgenre should be in hog heaven here. More sensitive stomachs, however, should certainly bolt for the hills.

Ultimately, what can I say? I genuinely enjoyed the first two films in the franchise, finding them to be fairly clever, well-made and fun throwbacks to ’80s gore films, perfect for a booze-soaked party or a little rainy-day weekend marathon. Marybeth is a suitably great “final girl,” Crowley has a nicely sketched in backstory and the supporting acting is always decent, bordering on quite good. At first, I was a little worried that handing the reins to another director might result in a lesser product but I needn’t have feared: Adam Green seems like he’s got the franchise pretty well under control, at this point. Here’s to hoping that he keeps finding inventive new ways to continue the misadventures of everyone’s favorite bayou baddie. Victor goes to Manhattan? Victor in Space? I’m ready for it, Green: bring it on!

3/25/14: If Wishes Were Horses, They’d Eat Your Face

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Andrew Divoff, Angus Scrimm, cinema, djinn, djinns, film reviews, films, gory films, Greg Nicotero, Harry Manfredini, horror, horror films, horror franchises, horror-fantasy, Kane Hodder, Movies, Nightmare on Elm St., practical effects, Robert Englund, Robert Kurtzman, SFX, special effects, special-effects extravaganza, Stan Winston, Tammy Lauren, Ted Raimi, Tom Savini, Tony Todd, violent, Wes Craven, wishes, Wishmaster

In some ways, I like to equate watching films with eating. Sometimes, I’m really in the mood for a complex, sprawling, four-course meal: at those times, nothing less than the twistiest, most difficult foreign film will do. Other times, I want a good, hearty steak and look towards any of the numerous “classics” that I’ve re-watched enough to memorize the dialogue. There are times when I want a little lighter fare: those are always good opportunities for a music documentary, a slapstick comedy or an old musical. At certain times, however, there’s really nothing that will hit the spot better than junk food: gimme the cinematic equivalent of a Ho-Ho, from time to time, and I’m a happy boy. On those occasions when I want to turn my brain off, kick my feet up and satisfy my horror jones, there really isn’t much finer than the first Wishmaster, a snack-pack of goodness that I’ve been enjoying for nearly 20 years.

Right off the bat, it helps to know one very important thing about Wishmaster: the film series began as the labor of love of Robert Kurtzman, one of the premiere special effects/make-up guys in the industry. Along with Greg Nicotero (any horror fan worth his salt should recognize this name immediately) and Howard Berger, he formed KNB EFX Group in the late ’80s. Naming all of Kurtzman’s projects would require its own separate blog entry but we’ll list a few that folks might recognize: Evil Dead 2, Phantasm 2, From Beyond, Predator, Tremors, Cabin Fever, Misery, Army of Darkness, Pulp Fiction, From Dusk Til Dawn, Scream, Boogie Nights, The Green Mile, Hulk…basically, if it was released in the past 28 years, Kurtzman probably had a hand in the makeup, effects work or both.

As with other directorial efforts by special-effects experts, specifically Stan Winston’s Pumpkinhead and Tom Savini’s remake of Night of the Living Dead, the focus in Wishmaster is squarely on the astoundingly gory, over-the-top special effects, most of which are jaw-dropping…sometimes literally. The nifty hat trick here is that Kurtzman has taken an entirely serviceable idea for a B-horror film and tricked it out with an immaculate, shiny coat of candy-apple-red primer. As mentioned earlier, this is pretty much the epitome of junk food: delicious but nearly devoid of any actual nutrients. Wishmaster is like an amusement-park thrill ride: a blast to sit through but essentially incapable of changing your overall world view.

As far as a story goes, Wishmaster is pretty lean and mean: an opening inter-title explains that there were once men, angels and djinn. The djinn didn’t want to play nice, despite their ability to grant wishes, and were banished to the furthest regions to prevent their complete destruction of humankind, an event which they can bring about simply by granting the same person three separate wishes. Cut to Persia in the 1400s and we see all hell (quite literally) bust loose as a djinn grants a king’s second wish. Before the djinn can grant the king’s third wish and damn humanity to an eternity of servitude, a court magician imprisons the djinn in a gemstone. Cut to the present and a drunken accident at a dock has led to the discovery of the gem: the gem changes hands until it ends up with Alexandra (Tammy Lauren), our spunky heroine. As can be expected, the djinn is eventually released and goes on a wish-granting rampage, all the while trying to get back to Alex: if he can grant her three wishes, mankind can kiss its collected asses goodbye. Will Alex be able to save the world? Will she be forced to use her third wish? Will the djinn help them throw the craziest party in 600 years? As if you had to ask!

Let’s get one thing absolutely clear: Wishmaster will never win any awards for acting or its script but that’s not really why we’re here: we’re here because this thing is a party in a can. Decades before audiences thrilled to “in-on-the-joke” junk like Snakes On a Plane and Sharknado, we all had to make do with good, old-fashioned B-movies, films that took themselves at least seriously enough to avoid winking into oblivion. Wishmaster is a film with plenty of heart (all over the damn place, pretty much) and isn’t so terribly removed from the effects extravaganzas that Harryhausen created back in the day…just with a lot more viscera and exploded rib-cages, of course.

Although the film is jam-packed with eye-popping moments, it’s book-ended by its two biggest, most extravagant set-pieces: the opening Persian bloodbath and Beaumont’s (Robert Englund) climatic cocktail party. Both scenes are chock-full of the kind of explosive effects that would be the centerpiece of any other film: someone turns to crystal and shatters, spraying deadly shrapnel around the room; a skeleton rips itself from a man’s body and stands for a moment, pondering the chaos, before running off to cause some more; a collection of bronze and stone statues depicting warriors from various countries and eras comes to shuddering life, in a scene that directly references Harryhausen’s classic films, and massacres a group of armed mercenaries; someone is cut to pieces by living, levitating piano wires, etc etc…In truth, the two aforementioned scenes actually pack in more amazing special effects moments than at least four lesser horror films combined. Even better, the effects are almost all practical, lending the film yet another point of reference to classic films like Clash of the Titans and The 7th Voyage of Sinbad.

I’ve gone on and on about Wishmaster’s effects but what about the rest of the film? While it’s certainly not An Officer and a Gentleman, Wishmaster ends up being a pretty sturdily constructed affair. The film looks great, with a vibrant color palette that really lets the gore pop off the screen. In a nod to old-school horror fans, Friday the 13th’s Harry Manfredini handles the score and it’s a typically good one, even featuring a few pieces that directly recall the “adventurous” music from the aforementioned Harryhausen films. Wes Craven produced the film and, in many ways, it’s pretty comparable to the latter-day Nightmare on Elm Street films, particularly films like Parts 4 and 5, which tended to be more special-effects showcases than the earlier entries. The djinn even gets a massively ooky regeneration scene that manages to give both NOES and Hellraiser a run for their collective money.

The acting, as can be expected from B-movies, is rather hit or miss. Andrew Divoff is a complete revelation as the djinn, playing the villain with just the proper amount of smarmy charm, deadpan sarcasm and dead-eyed seriousness. His quipping never really gets old (although it will get more tedious over the next few films in the series) and I’m constantly surprised that he never became a more prominent face in the horror world, similar to co-star Robert Englund. Englund is quite good as the slimy Raymond Beaumont and it’s also nice to get cameos from a couple other familiar faces: Candyman’s Tony Todd and original Jason Kane Hodder make appearances as a bouncer and security guard, respectively. They don’t get to do much but it’s still nice to see them.

More problematic, unfortunately, is Tammy Lauren. As the lead, we get to spend an awful lot of time with Lauren and her progressively hysterical performance makes this a bit unpleasant, after a while. She’s alright for the first half of the film or so but she sets the controls for the heart of the sun after that and her overacting even begins to compete with the special effects, after a while. A lesser, but still noteworthy, issue is the rather lackluster ending: while necessary to paint the film out of its corner, it comes across as a real head-smacker and more than a little uneventful.

If you can look past the film’s small handful of problems, however, I can see absolutely no reason why any horror fan wouldn’t love this movie. Here, at the very beginning, we saw the groundwork being laid for a franchise that had the potential to rival Elm Street for prime real estate on the horror map. If the series ended up dropping the ball and limping off the sidelines way too soon (Part 2 is merely okay, whereas Parts 3 and 4 are completely execrable), that does nothing to take away from the achievement of this first edition.

Sometimes, I just want to kick back with an old friend and kill 90 minutes: whenever Wishmaster comes knocking at the door, I’m always ready to party.