Mephisto's Castle

Meet The Horror Bloggers: Radiation-Scarred Reviews

2012-02-20T08:00:00.006-05:00

Horror writers are a curious and fascinating lot. Through fiction and research alike they cast a wonderful tapestry of words that continually entertain, fascinate, and provoke us. With a mixture of knowledge, passion, and wit they help remind us why horror continues to enthrall people of all creeds. In this ongoing feature, we bring these dedicated fans into the limelight to discuss the things that go bump in the night. And their desire to bump those things back.

In today's groovy-ghoulie episode, schlock film critic extraordinaire Bill Adcock from Radiation-Scarred Reviews spills forth his passion for all things monstrous and cheesy like so much thick, toxic ooze...

I’ve been a “Monster Kid” for as long as I can remember – and we have crayon drawings I did when I was maybe four or five featuring very definite skeletons and bats, and around that time I also had damn near every “Monster in my Pocket” rubber figure in existence. It was probably also around this time that I was introduced to two of my greatest passions; a TV screening of 1981’s Clash of the Titans introduced me to stop-motion animation and the works of Ray Harryhausen, while a month of Godzilla weekends on TBS (this was probably April 1991 or 1992, but don’t quote me on that) introduced me to Kaiju Eiga, those wonderful Japanese Giant Monster Movies.

Before long, I was also introduced to the Universal Horrors and the sci-fi/horror boom of the 1950s, through our local video store (actually, we rented from a little – maybe thirty feet square – section within our local Wegman’s, a grocery chain up here in the Northeast) and the Crestwood House Monster Series, which was a line of orange-bound books my local library carried, each book covering one monster and gave synopses of a couple movies they’d appeared in. My library must have had twenty of them, and I distinctly remember being about six or seven and trying to take out all of them at once.

With a background like this, I think it’s unsurprising that my interest remains primarily classic schlock and supernatural/extraterrestrial/weird science monsters. I think that’s the key – Monsters. I’ll let you in on a little secret – I didn’t see my first Friday the 13th film until 2009. Same with Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween. I still haven’t seen past the first Halloween, other than 3, which is much more a supernatural piece. I think that’s largely unheard of in our generation of horror fans – I had my first legal beer before I saw my first hockey-masked slasher. I haven’t seen past the first Saw, and I never bothered to watch Hostel. The way I see it, if I want to see Man’s Inhumanity to Man, I can turn on the evening news, you know? So I tend to stick to the inhuman monsters – vampires, werewolves, mummies, Bug-Eyed Monsters from Mars…

As far as blogging goes, well…I’ve been a fan of Andrew Borntreger’s work over at BadMovies.Org for years now. Around November 2008 I also discovered the blog Bearded Weirdo Reviews, whose author, William Weird, I’ve become pretty good friends with since then. In December 2008, it became clear that the relationship I was in was starting to fall apart, and I knew I was going to grieve hard when it did if I didn’t find something to occupy my mind. So I decided to try my hand at movie reviewing. I’m not sure quite where the name Radiation-Scarred Reviews came from; it just sort of came to me, though the site almost ended up as Toxic Atrocity Reviews! It was a bumpy start, too – my first “rating scale” rated films on the quantity, and quality, of Gore, Slime, and Boobs found within, a scale I quickly ditched when I realized most of my favorite classic films would end up with scores of zero!

I think the fact that I created Radiation-Scarred Reviews as a form of self-therapy puts me somewhat apart from a lot of other bloggers – not above, or below, just…off to the side, kind of. I’ve never really felt like I fit all that well in the mainstream horror community, and it’s definitely influenced my feelings towards the site. My focus has mutated from B-movies to straight-up horror (during a period when I really wanted to “fit in”) back to B-movies, and at times I’ve wanted to quit, especially as Radiation-Scarred Reviews expanded and grew in popularity. It’s been a long time since it was really about self-therapy; and because of that I’ve had days where I’ve thought about killing RSR and starting anew with a fresh blog, fresh reviews and even a pseudonym – possibly even hiding my identity behind a Luchador mask. In a way, Radiation-Scarred Reviews has kind of been my Frankenstein’s Monster at times.

Lately, though, I’ve made peace with Radiation-Scarred Reviews, and I think I finally realized where I was going with it the whole time. Much like Jenn over at Cavalcade Of Perversions, I’m here to showcase cinematic oddities, celluloid weirdness and filmic freakiness. I really don’t have anything new or valuable to say about the latest remake or new release – but I can talk you ear off about The Navy vs. the Night Monsters or Gamera vs. Zigra. Much like the Mole People, I’ve carved out my little niche, tucked away in a dark recess ready to spring out at the unwary, a copy of The Hideous Sun Demon clenched in my sweaty paw and a manic grin on my face that says, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

The Beast Within (1982): Your Monstrous Teenage Body And You

2012-02-17T08:00:00.000-05:00

Directed by Philippe Mora

Written by Tom Holland, Based on the novel by Edward Levy

Starring Paul Clemens, Ronny Cox, Bibi Besch, Katherine Moffat, R. G. Armstrong, Don Gordon, and L. Q. Jones

Three Stars

From the director who brought you Howling II: … Your Sister is a Werewolf (1985) comes something almost as equally ridiculous.

Young Michael MacCleary (Clemens) is a growing teenage boy who is suffering from a slight metabolic imbalance that could potentially kill him. But that’s really the least of his worries, because puberty’s having quite the effect on him.

Namely instilling a hunger in him for warm human flesh and making his body go through some interesting changes! Michael’s parents Eli and Carolyn (Cox and Besch) suspect it might have something to do with a sexual attack that occurred on their wedding night when Carolyn received a little nooky from a slobbering insect-creature.

Investigating the past of the town the attack occurred in, they discover a hidden crime full of scandal, torture, and corpse-munching. The crooked town officials try their best to get the duo off the scent but more and more evidence keeps piling up (including a batch of skeletal remains dug up from the bayou!). All the while Michael begins taking on the hideous form of his true father, and before the ordeal is over he will unleash the beast within him…

It goes without saying that this movie requires brains to be discarded to the side before it begins to ensure maximum enjoyment. The wackadoodle subject matter may indeed be a draw for some as this flick is a prime example of 80’s cheese.

Nothing is really restrained, from the acting to the oozing gore. Clemens in particular has an awful habit of screaming everyone’s name and spitting mercilessly upon the helpless masses as Teenage Angst grips him by the cajones. Cox and Besch nicely pull of the roles of concerned parents while the town mayor and undertaker delightfully ham it up as two insidious ne’er-do-wells.

The effects are not too shabby at all, thanks to monster maker Tom Burman. The transformation at the film’s climax seems to go on for just a bit too long, but the tearing skin and slimy goo that Burman employs look appropriately icky.

The kills are also messy and ferocious enough to please the gorehounds that seek this type of thing out. The foreboding score by Les Baxter is a wonderful addition to the gloomy events and is one of aspects of this creature feature that would ensure at least one more rewatch in the future.

This one goes down best with a healthy helping of buttery popcorn, beef jerky, and jambalaya. So invite the friends over for a little dinner and a movie to liven up this dripping drive-in ditty.

Trailer

Meet The Horror Bloggers: The Black Abyss

2012-02-05T08:00:00.000-05:00

Hard Rock Zombies (1985): For Those About To Rot

2012-02-03T08:00:00.000-05:00

Directed by Krishna Shah

Written by Krishna Shah and David Allen Ball

Starring E. J. Curse, Geno Andrews, Sam Mann, Mick Manz, Jack Bliesener, Jennifer Coe, and Phil Fondacaro

Two ½ Stars

A low-low budget and some genuinely funny scenes make Hard Rock Zombies an enjoyable view… just as long as you’re not expecting the next great “undead rock band fights group of crazies led by Adolph Hitler” masterpiece.

Maybe I should explain.

Jesse (Curse) leads a jammin’ hair band (more hair band in lock abundance than sound) and their next gig is in a backwater town called Grand Guignol. The local rubes don’t like the musicians’ ways, and if that weren’t enough, they get invited to a foreboding mansion to spend some time with a rather kooky family.

But when it turns out that the midget mutants and wheelchair bound werewolf women are eager to kill, the boys find their tour may be ending sooner than they thought! Never fear though! With the help of Jesse’s new jailbait girlfriend Cassie (Coe) the rockers are resurrected from their early graves by a diabolical guitar riff that Jesse had recently discovered to have reanimating powers. And they’re hungry for revenge!

After they take a bite out of the psycho family, the disease quickly spreads through Guignol and soon most of the inhabitants have become flesh-hungry slaves. With the very-much-alive Hitler (Bliesener) plotting mass destruction and the survivors looking to sacrifice Cassie’s nubile and virginal body to the dead, can Jesse and the gang rock out one last time and save the very world as we know it?

Shah directs the zany proceedings with a surprising amount of confidence at times and pulls off the more traditionally comical scenes with some flair. The bizarre plot elements (including a weird troll creature eating his own hand) ensure that Hard Rock Zombies will be one of the quirkier indie flicks you’re likely to see.

The acting is adequate enough and some of the best performances come from the bit players who mug it up for the camera in their small but memorable character roles. The songs that the band sing in the film (one to a wacky skateboard montage and the other an insanely cheesy love ballad called “Cassie”) are about as infectious as the zombie plague.

Be prepared to catch yourself humming these tunes for days to come. The finale is quite strong as well when the hard rock zombies face against the rotting townies in a flourish of garish green lighting and wailing guitars.

If you’re looking for cinematic viewing just off the beat and track and headed in the direction of Crazy, Hard Rock Zombies is just what the Nazi doctor ordered.

*Note: We need more Australian trailer spokesmen.

Trailer

Sinister Spotlight: The Fly with Matt House

2012-01-30T08:00:00.000-05:00

Good evening, castle visitors. You've dropped in at a most opportune time, because we're hosting another rousing session of Sinister Spotlight for your edification tonight! And be sure to bring the pesticide along with you tonight, friends, for this episode is bound to get massively sticky, icky, and all kinds of crawly very shortly...

For as you can see, we are examining the slimy horrors of David Cronenberg's body-horrors-abound remake of The Fly under the microscope tonight! And who better, I ask you, to have along for a discussion of disgusting things than the totally-not-icky and altogether kick-ass Matt House from the blog with a fistful of action and hilarity to spare, Chuck Norris Ate My Baby!

Make yourselves comfortable in those maggoty seats over there as Matt and I discuss his lifelong obsession with Brundle Fly, the dynamite trio that is our leading cast, and the surprising amount of restraint (gasp!) Cronenberg uses in depicting his Kafkaesque nightmare, among other things.*

*Other things being Stathis' amazing beard.

One thing's for sure, this show ain't no buzz-kill.

Mr. Swlabr: No Friends? Grow Some!

2012-01-24T08:00:00.000-05:00

Directed by Warner Shook

Written by Jule Selbo, Based on a story by Steven L. Nelson

Starring Robert Oliveri, Kate McGregor-Stewart, Danielle Ferland, and Rockets Redglare

From the television program Monsters (1988-1990)

Broadcast on January 28, 1990

Two Stars

This story from the Monsters TV series is just too sweet and kiddy-friendly for its own good.

In a plot that has been done to death, young Roy Barton (Oliveri) is the abused son of an overbearing mother (McGregor-Stewart) and a bratty blonde sister (Ferland). When Roy isn’t serving his family’s every whim, he preoccupies himself with a toy village and train set in the family basement. Getting a special prize inside his bowl of morning cereal, Roy places his toy in a glass of water which the ad promises will bring it to life ala Sea Monkeys.

Roy finds out there’s more truth to the blurb than he expected when the toy grows into a cuddly, green dinosaur-like creature called a Swlabr (voice of Redglare). The Swlabr (pronounced “schlobber”) enjoys drinking copious amounts of liquid which it gleefully calls “lick-‘em-ups.”

His size and thirst increase with each drink, but Roy is just happy to have a friend around. And when Mrs. Barton and Bratty Barbie begin to push Roy around, Swlabr shows them to play nice in his own distinctly disgusting way.

There’s nothing new or exciting to be had there and chances are if you’re a fan of the horror genre you’ve already been acquainted with the mistreated-child-gets-payback storyline a hundred times.

This one is just barely given life by the three performers; Oliveri is endearingly sweet in a Dickensian way while McGregor-Stewart and Ferland are properly obnoxious (theater geeks will probably recognize the latter from Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods).

The best part about this whole engagement is the little Swlabr puppet who looks cute enough to “lick-‘em-up.” The slime effects that the creature employs as his tool of vengeance are reminiscent of early Nickelodeon… icky and fun. Alas, this vignette seriously pales in comparison to the other creature-tastic episodes.

Watch only if you’re intent on viewing the entire series.

Meet The Horror Bloggers: Exclamation Mark

2012-01-20T08:00:00.024-05:00

The next summer, when I was 12, my little brother and I spent a weekend with my sister and brother-in-law, who lived in a nearby town. I had gotten wind that The Exorcist was playing at a local drive-in and I immediately started a campaign to get my brother-in-law to take us. After relentless begging, my brother-in-law agreed, under the condition we never told our mom. I remember trying to convince my sister that I was old enough to brave The Exorcist because I’d “watched Creature from the Black Lagoon all the way through without closing my eyes once.” I was in for a shock.

That night, my brother-in-law drove me, my sister, and little brother to the drive-in to view the infamous film. My trusting mother believed we were all going to Herbie the Love Bug Rides Again, and before the night was over, I wished that we had. I spent most of the evening in the back seat with my eyes closed and ears covered. The transition from “Eeeek, a monster,” to “Your mother sucks cocks in hell,” was too much for me. I was absolutely traumatized. My brother, who had a front seat vantage point, fared even worse and had nightmares for months. All these years later, neither one of us have taken the time to watch The Exorcist again.

After The Exorcist, my beloved monsters seemed a lot tamer and friendlier, and that was fine by me. I came to appreciate Boris Karloff’s sentiment when he stated, “The films I have made were made for entertainment, maybe with the object of making the audience’s hair stand on end, but never to revolt people.” I decided revulsion was not my cup of tea, and I championed the horror flicks offered by my local horror host.

Of course, with a little more age, I came to enjoy a certain amount of revulsion in my horror. During my high school years I appreciated films like Halloween, The Howling, and An American Werewolf in London (I’ve always had a soft spot for werewolves). Still, my passion was for the creature features of my youth. Those movies had something of charm and poetry to them, and I still cherish their memories.

My site, Exclamation Mark, is an extension of those memories. I am not so much a critic as I am a person who simply enjoys spouting off about the movies that have made such an impact on my life. In my mind, my page is just as much a tribute page as it is a source for reviews. Although I'm still interested in horror films, I find that I go to fewer and fewer each year. My devotion remains to the vintage horror that thrilled my boyhood imagination. It’s not a taste that everyone shares, but those who do, understand my fervor.

Eaten Alive (1977): Blood Bayou

2012-01-16T08:00:00.001-05:00

Directed by Tobe Hooper

Written by Kim Henkel, Alvin L. Fast, and Mardi Rustam

Starring Neville Brand, Mel Ferrer, Marilyn Burns, William Finley, Roberta Collins, Stuart Whitman, Carolyn Jones, and Robert Englund

Three ½ Stars

There’s no denying that this dirty little drive-in number is pure and simple fun from the word “go.”

Our mucky tale takes place in the thickest parts of the Everglades and begins when a down-and-out prostitute decides to spend the night at the Starlight Hotel, run by the odd and brooding Jud (Brand). What the poor lass doesn’t realize is that the innkeeper is homicidally inclined, he has a giant, flesh-chomping alligator on the grounds, and one of his legs is wooden! I know! A wooden leg! Suffice it to say the girl soon finds herself on the wrong end of a scythe and is promptly fed to the croc.

Enter the Wood family who are also looking for lodgings for the night. Father Harvey (Finley) seems like he’s two twitches away from a mental meltdown, mother Faye (the lovely Marilyn Burns) appears to have a wig fetish, and daughter Libby will have her childhood irreparably destroyed before the night is over. Things only get more complicated when the prostitute’s sister Carla (Collins) comes searching for her sibling along with her father (Ferrer) and they seek the assistance of the town sheriff (Whitman).

The Starlight Hotel is getting a little crowded, but that’s nothing Jud and his pet can’t fix. He eagerly slices through the guests and feeds them to his cuddly reptile. With the swamp waters overflowing with the blood of his victims, will Jud prevail at the end of the day? Or has he bitten off just a little more than he can chew?

Tobe Hooper, fresh out of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974), comes back with a fright flick that retains the same type of gritty atmosphere and odd touches that made his sweaty slasher a classic. Eaten Alive is by no means TCM’s equal, but it definitely shouldn’t be discarded to the side either.

None of the characters are really all that memorable, aside from Jud maliciously muttering his way through the film only to have random shouting outbursts whenever he gets his rage on. Finley conjures some truly hilarious faces and Burns must be given a medal for suffering at maniacal hands a second time in a row. Robert Englund makes an appearance as a rowdy country bumpkin named Buck (who is all-too-ready to… well, you know) that manages to lighten the mood.

The alligator is pretty hokey and ridiculous but Hooper is wise in keeping the creature (and the violence it creates) off-screen for the most part. We do get a wonderfully traumatizing scene that has little Libby witness the horrible slaughter of her pet dog. The parts with the poor child running around screaming her head off as Jud chases her down with murderous intent are sure to bring a smile to the face of many a sociopath (myself included).

Don’t be a snob about it; just set yourself down on a rickety chair and take this one in as you inhale the heady aroma coming from your corncob pipe. It’s no masterpiece, but Eaten Alive sure does have teeth.

Trailer

The Screaming Lord Sutch Playlist

2012-01-12T14:30:00.000-05:00

Let's be honest, people. There comes a time when we horror fans can no longer fill our neigh-insatiable appetites with the glowing, scarlet-streaked images of cinema or get perverse thrills from thumbing through the inky, yellowing pages of a paperback horror anthology. Sometimes, if you're like me, it's your ear that begins to crave the rebellious rhythms and the sinister strums that only MACABRE MUSIC can offer you in all of its growling, frothing, grimy, spidery, and downright freaky-funky glory.

If you're a fan of such good taste as this, might I direct you down the hall to our private Creep Club? If you've got an itch to scratch and some bad vibes to exorcise, be sure to order a muddy martini and sit back as we let the dulcet tones of voodoo rockers, charnel punks, and ghastly groovers soothe you into a hypnotic mood that would turn Mr. Valdemar green in jealousy.

For this evening's entertainment, we offer up some choice staples from British madman Screaming Lord Sutch, he of the top hat and Bedlam-lilting voice. Mr. Sutch's songs are the types of tunes that you'd expect Boris Karloff would have chosen to play during his Mad Monster Party, as there are enough vampires, boogeymen, and homicidal fiends featured here to shake an axe at. And not the guitar kind, either. But if you're of the slightly off-kilter persuasion, these tunes are ideal listening for skipping through the asylum meadows hand-in-hand (or head-in-hand) with your loved one. Play it again, Sutchy.

The Energy Eater: or, The Thing That Apparently Ate This Episode

2012-01-07T08:00:00.000-05:00

Directed by Alexander Grasshoff

Written by Arthur Rowe and Rudolph Borchet, Story by Arthur Rowe

Starring Darren McGavin, Simon Oakland, William Smith, Elaine Giftos, Tom Drake, Michael Strong, Robert Yuro, and Jack Grinnage

From the television program Kolchak: The Night Stalker (1974-1975)

Broadcast on December 13, 1974

Two ½ Stars

This entry in the spooky adventures of INS reporter Carl Kolchak might have to do with a monster that feeds on electricity, but the episode itself only manages a few sparks of interest before fizzling out.

A new hospital has just been opened in the heart of the Windy City, but already there seems to be things amiss as Carl notes the flickering lights and intense heat on a particular floor of the facility. Not to mention the cracks that develop in the walls and floor as if some invisible entity is clambering down the halls! Kolchak learns from Nurse Janis (Giftos) that several electrical workmen have been dying, their skin burnt and their blood thinned to basic plasma.

After hearing that two Native American workers were killed by a mysterious fall, Kolchak gets into contact with foreman Jim Elkhorn (Smith) who abandoned the project after the accidents. Elkhorn solemnly tells the reporter that he believes it was the work of Matchemonedo, an invisible “bear-god” that Elkhorn’s ancestors worshiped in the area and regularly fed bulls to as sacrifices.

But it seems Matchy has a hankerin’ for electricity and blood now, living off the two most natural forms of energy available in the hospital. Does our scrappy little ink-slasher have what it takes to tackle an age-old beast undetectable by the human eye? Or will the viewers find sticking with this one till the end is simply unbearable?

The great thing about this series is that no matter how poor the monster material, we will always have the frumpled charms of Darren McGavin to soften the blow. His fast-talking, snarky manners and bumbling antics are always a comfort, like seeing an old friend in a party of strangers.

If we’re lucky some episodes throw in a few memorable supporting roles to boot. William Smith as the womanizing Elkhorn is very enjoyable to watch and his smooth attitude acts as a great foil to the salty Kolchak. Giftos is pretty vibrant as well, but ultimately she doesn’t leave as big an impression as Smith’s Indian ladies’ man. There are the requisite “Small-Minded-Powers-That-Be” that every Kolchak episode needs, and Strong and Yuro as the disbelieving developer and detective fill the parts fine enough respectively.

The most disappointing asset of the piece is the beastie. Invisible creatures can be tricky to pull off and “The Energy Eater” just misses the mark, although it does provide a few effective touches. The shaking camera and crumbling structure effects nicely give the impression of a hidden abomination, and there’s a really cool moment when Kolchak and Elkhorn are able to piece together a series of X-ray shots from Matchy’s last attack that reveal the bear-god’s furious, staring eye.

But it all practically falls apart at the lame climax where poor McGavin is regulated to shooting a fire hydrant at the open air. Budget issues could be blamed, but the fact that other episodes from the series were able to pull off much more thrilling and chilling endings makes this one seem inexcusably bad and one of the more unsatisfying stories from this sadly short-lived series.

Meet The Horror Bloggers: Macabre Republic

2012-01-04T08:00:00.001-05:00

Keys Of Imagination: A Twilight Zone Countdown

2012-01-01T08:00:00.138-05:00

With the New Year comes a ringing of changes, but if you're residing with us in the castle, then you can bet your stopwatch that the television set has been finely tuned to the Scifi (or Scyfy or Sigh-Fi) Channel for their annual Twilight Zone New Year's marathon. For fans of Rod Serling's immortal classic, this is the last present resting underneath our tree. Few things bring more joy to me than getting the chance to sit down and watch some quality drama from one of my favorite, if not all-time favorite, TV series.

Luckily for me, the Internet has made my life shine a little brighter thanks to the ability to chat with fellow "Zonies," one of them being the inestimable and all-around fantastic fan of the dark side, Steven Phillip Senski. I met Steven through his wondrous blog Heart in a Jar (don't let the post dates fool you... there's a whole trove of fantastic writing on the genre there waiting to be found). Through Facebook Steven and I got to talking more, but our shared passion-cum-obsession with Mr. Serling was clearly made evident last July Fourth when the Sai-Fai Channel aired its TZ marathon for that holiday.

What you see before you is a fun little game Steven initiated over Facebook that I was quick to follow suit in. It became an invigorating exercise and just an overall blast, and with the bi-annual return to the Zone I thought I'd post our countdown here at the castle. Be sure to discuss the results and list your own favorites in the comments. This is something that you can find filed under "F" for "Fandom"... only in the Twilight Zone.

Jose's Top Ten

#10: Picking up the favorite TZ episode countdown started by my good friend Steven Philip Senski, here's my first entry. One of the best stories to come out of the mostly dreadful fifth season, "The Masks" is a neat little EC-style tale of dark vengeance with the vile villains getting their just desserts. Chances are you'll never think about attending a masquerade the same way again. What are your sins, friends?

#9: Why not make the next post about the episode that's currently on? "Nick of Time" is a sweet and simple story of a couple becoming obsessed by what the future holds... a vice that we all possess at times and a constant TZ theme, as seen in "The Fever." Shatner is nicely subdued here (I know, right?) and that winking devil-face is an iconic image not easily forgotten. Come on, just one more fortune. One more, I promise...

#8: Hot DAMN, that makes two episodes in my countdown airing on the marathon simultaneously. At this rate I'll have to catch up to Syfy's schedule. "The Dummy" has given me goosebumps since I saw it as an impressionable tot and aided in the development of my intense fear of ventriloquist dummies. Cliff Robertson turns in a great, terrified performance here and that cackling voice of Willie's will haunt your dreams FOREVER.

#7: I'm a sucker for TZ's more horror-themed episodes, and this hour-long episode from Season Four delivers some great chilling moments. "The New Exhibit" is a wonderful take on the age-old "spooky wax museum" theme and, like other episodes, keeps you questioning the bizarre events right up until the very end. Martin Balsam is always a welcome face and his turn here as a slightly unstable character is a real treat to watch, the longer duration never seeming stale. Just don't ever cross a wax figure.

#6: A great knockout of an episode from the first season with that tried and true TZ trope "Your life is falling to pieces and everyone thinks you're crazy." "And When the Sky Was Opened" is the ultimate experience in paranoia and predates the whole Death-coming-to-claim-the-ones-that-got-away concept well before the Final Destination craze. Wonderful chemistry and characterization by the three leads only makes us care that much more for their horrible, no-prisoners fate.

#5: Damn your apple pie to Hell, we gots aliens that needs killin'! The slice of Americana that is "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street" is tinged with the deep-seeded fears of Communism and the nuclear crisis and, as this brilliant story so aptly tells us, our ultimate enemy can be the guy who's on our bowling team or the day care teacher and not some bogeyman-like foreign invader. You want the TZ episode that will resonate all throughout time? Here it is.

#4: Perhaps not as profound as some of the series' best, but an endless source of entertainment for this fan. "Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?" isn't trying to convey any moralistic message (not THAT much anyway) but it is a tremendously fun Agatha Christie-styled whodunit... with aliens. The wonderful snowy cafe is a great set piece and it gives the episode a nice theatrical quality. Colorful characters, mounting tension, and a double twist ending only help make this one that much more cool.

#3: The legend. "Eye of the Beholder" is an episode that helped solidify TZ's timelessness... and rightfully so. It might be a cliche pick, but this surprising tale of ugliness's many forms is one that can still blow the pants off contemporary viewers. Its shadow play is extremely cunning and Maxine Stuart's emotionally wrought narration reels us in to the mind at work behind those mysterious bandages. Utterly captivating from start to finish and a damn fine lesson on how television can be as powerful as any medium out there.

#2: The devil with you! "The Howling Man" is an old-fashioned ghost story at its best. Penned from the dark mind of the amazing Charles Beaumont, this one could easily work just as well as a radio drama. But thank goodness we have the benefit of the realm of sight, because the stormy atmosphere and solid performances from H.M. Wynant and genre favorite John Carradine help to sell this story of Evil incarnate among us. This one always gave me chills as a youngster and taught me that the scariest things that howled weren't werewolves...

#1: Beware: here there be gremlins. "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet" might be remade and lampooned till the end of time, but nothing can match the intensity that this story packs into thirty minutes. Sure, Shatner might be a walking parody now, but when you sit down with him on this journey into the dark regions of the Twilight Zone, you're with him all the way. To this day I still get an electric charge every time that window curtain is pulled back, and the pulsing score that accompanies the adrenaline-fueled climax plays on a constant loop in my mind at times. Thank you, Rod Serling. Thank you.

Steven's Top Ten

#10 - "Night Call" - One of two from the generally lackluster final season. Gladys Cooper is marvelous in this tale of a lonely widow who receives eerie phone calls in the middle of the night. Richard Matheson changed the ending of his original short story, replacing the EC comic-styled one with a denouement that reminds us the Zone was a cruel, unforgiving place. Directed by Jacques "Cat People" Tourneur with chilling subtlety.

#9 - "The Obsolete Man" - What an astounding array of quotes TZ gave us, and among my favorites: "You are OBSOLETE!" Serling is firing on all eight cylinders dealing with his favorite theme - authoritarian societies. Librarian Burgess Meredith and jackboot Fritz Weaver are perfectly matched in a story that, sadly, is every bit as timely today. What would Serling think of the Tea Party? I can just guess.

#8 - "The Invaders" - One of the greatest actresses of the 20th Century delivers one of the Zone's finest performances in this wonderful game of deception and misdirection. After screening it for a roomful of teens a few years ago I'm happy to say the surprise ending still holds its surprise. Agnes Moorehead delivers a master class in how to sustain attention without a single word of dialogue. And why no dialogue? Not gonna tell ya if ya haven't seen it.

#7 - "Night of the Meek" - Because I'm an old softie at heart, this is mandatory viewing for me every Christmastime. The angry young man who was born on Dec. 24 contributes this holiday classic, with Art Carney unforgettable as a drunken department store Santa who discovers an inexhaustible bag of wonderment and joy. Some third season episodes were shot on videotape to save money; I think the slightly stagey atmosphere only adds to the charm. Bonus points for including the delightful John Fiedler. They don't make character actors like that anymore.

#6 - "A Stop at Willoughby" - Enough softie; transitioning back to cruel bastard. Serling got the opportunity to explore both sides of his fascination with middle-aged men in crisis with both "Walking Distance" and this companion piece, albeit with a very different ending. I can just hear James Daly's boss - "Push, push, push!" The longing for a slower, simpler way of life is universal...as is the outcome. Serling had yet to appear on camera, but I can imagine him standing off to the side at the finale, looking grim, smoking....

#5 - "Eye of the Beholder" - I feel so sad for contemporary audiences that must, in their cynicism, work overtime to stay one step ahead of creators. Better to relax and let small jewels like this TZ stunner unspool and leave their mark. Douglas Heyes turns in the series' finest example of direction that is so stylized as to dupe us into thinking it's not playing keep-away. And Maxine Stuart's viola of a voice draws us into her private world of darkness. If forced to show someone only one episode that summarizes the series, I might choose this.

#4 - "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet" - Few contemporary authors know how to turn the screws on poor schlubs better than Matheson, and few contemporary actors can turn stress & strain into a symphony like William Shatner. Included here is the critical element that the '83 film version omitted; Shatner is a mental patient, and if he says anything about what he sees outside his window, guess where he's going back? The simple production design adds to the claustrophobia, and the gremlin design is both cuddly and menacing. And may I say that I wish airplane windows still had curtains?

#3 - "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street" - Is that a Serling title or what? I encountered my TZ episodes in book form years before I saw the TV versions. Serling's prose version of urban paranoia ranks among the most horrifying pieces I've ever read, especially when a brick plows into the brain of one of the characters. The teleplay, slightly muted, packs no less of a punch. You can scarcely watch a month of Keith Olbermann without him referencing this as a lens upon our inhumanity to one another. I can only imagine how this played in the age of Ozzie and Harriet. And what would Serling think about the Tea Party? In Twitter parlance, THIS.

#2 - "Time Enough At Last" - The very first TZ I ever saw, and the one that's probably closest to my story - minus the nuclear holocaust, of course. My favorite character actor Burgess Meredith WAS the Twilight Zone, and he's heartbreaking in this story of a nebbishy little bank teller who only wanted to be left alone with his beloved tomes. This was also one of the first episodes aired; audiences accustomed to happy endings must have felt kicked in the gut. When the cruel vicissitudes of Kismet strike, it's hard not to let out a gasp. Which reminds me; time to get new contact lenses. Just in case.

#1 - "The After Hours" - For me, the best TZ episode is an inescapable nightmare, combining disorientation, paranoia and the mounting horror that no one - absolutely no one - will believe that you have entered your own privately-crafted hell. And I am old enough to remember department stores that looked EXACTLY like this, so there is also that element of childhood terror. Anne Francis gives a performance of arch, brittle perfection - and we find out later why she plays Marsha White that way. And the whispers "Marsha...Marsha?" will haunt your dreams. Bravo, Rod Serling. A half century later, your work lives on.

Sinister Spotlight: Night Of The Demon with Jack Veasey

2011-12-28T08:00:00.006-05:00

The skies have grown cold here at the castle and the sound of the last few jingle bells of the season are being carried away by the wailing wind. Or is that demonic chittering that we hear ringing in the frosty air? It could very well be, because we're discussing Jacques Tourneur's supernatural classic Night of the Demon (or Curse of the Demon for us Yankees) in this thrilling episode of Sinister Spotlight.

For my guest I have knowledgeable classic horror lover Jack Veasey from Lavender Lair of Horror to discuss this creepy chiller in all its shadowy, hellish glory. Tune in as we go into the differences between the cuts of the film, occultist Aleister Crowley's impact on the movie, and the need for a little ghostly ghoulishness to spice up the holiday season. Grab some cocoa, throw another log on the fire, and make sure that the dark form floating amongst the trees isn't searching for any runes...

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The Organ: Play It Again, Archie

2011-12-24T08:00:00.003-05:00

From the radio program Lights Out! (1934-1947)

Broadcast on June 8, 1943

Three Stars

The crickety Victorian mansion is a flat-out steal at $50 a month for rental, so the Cook family can’t wait to enjoy their summer vacation inside the stately house. The real estate agent cuts a hasty retreat after all the paperwork is signed… one would wonder why. Perhaps it has something to do with the crusty caretaker who saunters into the place, muttering of the fatal fate that befell the Reynolds family who previously owned the house.

But still… $50 a month. The place is worth its weight in war bonds.

Good ol’ family man Chuck apparently isn’t the biggest fan of horror films (or radio shows for that matter) because otherwise he would’ve been able to tell that the kooky old goat warning them of supernatural danger stepped right out of script by Wyllis Cooper. And yet they stay on, wife Anne alluding to the fact that the place may in fact be haunted by restless spirits. So is that what explains the eerie plunks of an invisible organ vibrating the floorboards?

Certainly not.

Maybe the organ playing really isn’t all that creepy. Nothing that can’t be dealt with. Perhaps the poltergeists take requests. But when little Billy is heard giggling to himself in the night, Mommy and Daddy go to check on him and are told that he’s been talking to a kindly old lady who’s inviting the lad downstairs. The little lady sitting in the corner of the room happens to be of the transparent persuasion. This might be an ideal time to start reevaluating the vacation.

What follows is a descent down into the living room (the irony) where the spectral music unveils a hidden past of jealousy and murder, all set to the dulcet tones of Fugue in C Minor…

Although Arch Oboler’s Lights Out is revered as being one of the greats in classic horror audio drama, a first time listener would be better off seeking out some of Archie’s other tales. Oboler just doesn’t seem to be as adept at handling the supernatural as his writing cohort Wyllis Cooper, original creator of the series who would later go on to develop the sublimely eerie Quiet, Please radio show.

While Cooper’s scripts are typically lightly perfumed with the paranormal and suggest a distorted dream-reality, Oboler’s campfire stories come off as much more hoary and clichéd than they deserve to be. Super-science seems to be Arch’s forte (check out Death Robbery, Chicken Heart, or Bathysphere, for example), his mad scientists and death machines metaphors for deeper themes such as totalitarianism and the barrier that separates life from death. When he tries to tackle the supernatural though, there’s a certain fire lacking in the end product. While I’m an avid fan of chain-clanking (or in this case organ-pounding) specters, I just couldn’t get into what seemed like a half-hearted production on the whole.

The performers are dedicated to their characters and the paranormal problem that vexes them, despite little Billy sounding distractingly like a woman playing a young boy. It’s a little clunky in areas too… the old man’s entrance is somewhat confusing at first, for instance. But still, the dusty story packs a few solid punches and includes one neat little twist of a horror convention that will crack a smile even on the most hardened fan’s lips.

With just a little more oomph this episode could have been really superb. Sadly it falls short along some of the other Lights Out luminaries. This is one instrument of death that could’ve used a bit more fine tuning.

Meet The Horror Bloggers: Lost Video Archive

2011-12-22T08:00:00.008-05:00

Fireside Fear: Lost Hearts by M. R. James

2011-12-20T20:00:00.002-05:00

No doubt by now most of us have felt the bitter bite of the black winter wind nipping at our heels, its ravenous breath forcing us to find solace in the warmth of our homes. We shrug off our damp clothes and draw the chair closer to the fire, the Yule logs snapping cheerily as the damned wind howls hungrily behind the window panes.

What, I ask you, makes for a good ghost story than an atmosphere such as this?

Perhaps you remember when some months ago, prodded by guilty pangs of boarder's long-thought-dead, I tried my hand at performing a recorded reading of Poe's classic chiller "The Tell-Tale Heart," following it up with a promise (threat?) that I might take the experiment up again someday. That someday has come, and it arrives in the form of a pair of singing children... but I do get ahead of myself.

For today's delectation, I offer up my attempt at translating the chills of "Lost Hearts," a grisly ghost yarn from the master of spiritual antiquity, M. R. James. It's a tale that has given myself a few shudders on occasion, and on this occasion I hope it can give you a few, too. Think of it as a necessary antidote to all the rosy-cheeked merriness that the sugarplum-sweet radio carols and tinsely TV specials beat over your heads during this most beloved of holiday seasons. Curl up with this one as you would with a lost lover; turn the lights down low and let the howling from outside (is it the wind this time?) lull you into a relaxed state.

On second thought, throw another log onto that fire.

Grab A Fistful Of Action With Adventurer Ace Kilroy!

2011-12-18T08:00:00.073-05:00

If you told me one morning over a cup of strong, black coffee that there would be a resurgence in the field of serial adventure, I would've advised you to substitute the optimism in your mug for some more cream and sugar.

But lo and behold, the recent turn of events that we've seen around the castle has proven that, yes-maybe-indeed, that long-thought dead genre of red-blooded intrigue that served as the crux for radio dramas and men's magazines is coming back, riding atop the talents of some dedicated fans and artists. So you can take your cup of dark roast positivity and throw its steaming contents right into my face.

Created by fellow graduates of The Joe Kubert School of Graphic Art, Rob Kelly and Dan O' Connor, ACE KILROY looks to be exploring some very exciting ground in a combination of high-flying action and monster mash-ups. That's right, kids, you heard right! MONSTERS! ACTION! And to top it all off, it's in the glorified tradition of a daily comic strip... think if the Escape radio series was filtered through the Dick Tracy format, and you have a pretty clear idea of some of the jolts and surprises that await you.

Is your blood boiling with eagerness yet? Here's a little backstory that should get you filing your machetes in anticipation!

In 1937, the United States government has learned two disturbing facts: One, that supernatural monsters--vampires, werewolves, and the like--are indeed real, not just figments of imagination. Two, the Third Reich, in preparing to start World War II, is trying to take control of these monsters and turn them to the side of the Nazis, making Hitler's plan for global domination unstoppable.

President Franklin Roosevelt commissions soldier of fortune, WW I veteran and all-around adventurer Ace Kilroy to head to Transylvania, where there are rumors of a real-life Dracula, and stop whatever nefarious plot is being hatched!

Ace will go on other missions (if he survives his first, of course) to face Frankenstein, the Wolf Man, the Mummy, sea monsters, zombies, giant killer spiders, and many, many more. Ace Kilroy will feature adventure, horror, thrills, comedy, political intrigue, and even romance, as Ace tries to rid the world of evil wherever it lurks!

Ace Kilroy will feature a new black and white strip every day, with an extra-large color supplement on Sundays, just like those great strips of old. Each day's installment will appear on AceKilroy.com, where you can access every previous strip, learn more about the characters, read what some critics have said, and sign up to become a member of Ace's Allies, a super-secret fan club! (Ed. note: I hope to God there are decoder rings someday).

I mean, yikes! Does this project not just ooze excitement? Square-jawed heroes facing down creatures of the night in all the bare-knuckled, bloody, Nazi-tastic brutality that any comic loving boy and girl in kid shorts could possibly crave for? It's more than apparent that Kelly and O'Connor, much like their intrepid agent, have stumbled upon some divine power that has been too-long buried in the temple of Nostalgia, and they are tapping it to bring forth some seriously neat-looking stories to you, the reader!

You can help donate to this wonderful strip by becoming a member of Ace's Allies, that super-secret fan club we just mentioned! Find out more info HERE. So come on, boys and girls! Join the allegiance and pledge yourselves to the fight for justice, freedom, and the all-American way. Oh, and monsters! Don't forget the monsters!

M. R. James: Supernatural Storyteller

2011-12-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

A ghost story for Christmas, anyone? The chilling dread of winter is the perfect time to relate tales to loved ones, stories that deal with frigid spirits that come calling from hungry graves and indescribable beasts that haunt the landscape of the mind. M. R. James is the one writer who is perhaps most associated with this type of icy terror, so it seems only appropriate to share this wonderful documentary put together by the BBC as the eve of Christmas looms ever closer.

So gather around the crackling Yule logs for an early fright feast detailing this master of the macabre. Hopefully tonight your dreams will be filled with sugar plums.

The Black Seagull: Night Cries Of The Dead

2011-12-13T08:00:00.000-05:00

From the radio program Inner Sanctum Mysteries (1941-1952)

Broadcast on February 7, 1943

Three ½ Stars

Peter Lorre, that slimy and wonderfully gruesome fellow, guest stars as Richard Blake, a husband grieving the loss of his wife after a tragic boating accident. Barbara’s last words are a promise to Richard that she'll return to him and always accompany him. Sorrow eats away at Richard's body and soul, worrying his physician friend Dr. Griffin.

What worries the good doctor even more is Richard’s insistence that his wife shall manifest somehow in their home on the Carolina coast. Richard fervently believes that he hears Barbara's voice amidst the cry of the seagulls and feels her tears on his cheek as the cold wind blows. Suffering from these visions to the point of madness, Richard runs out onto the beach one night to finally embrace his lost love...

Lorre gives a stellar performance as always, despite being constantly typecast as the lowly criminal or oozy schmuck in films. He's given a great dramatic role to sink his teeth into and, though he still has the wheezy voice, Lorre is really able to illicit some sympathy from the listener. You truly start to believe that Richard is going mad from the death of his wife.

The intimacy Lorre exhibits in his voice makes his obsession both touching and chilling. The episode has some pretty creepy moments, especially the part where the innocent mewling of a kitten suddenly transforms into Barbara's cooing voice. Chills! The ending is also fitting as well, though you may not be quite sure whether it could classify as a happy ending or not. We like it that way.

With a host of Inner Sanctum episodes dealing with men plagued by terrifying supernatural visions, “The Black Seagull” is an ideal, low-key creeper that’ll get you just in the right somber mood. Be sure that the tomb is sufficiently locked and that the covers are comfortably wrapped around you when give it a listen. And as always... pleasant dreeeeeams?

Horror Express (1972): It Blinded Me With Science

2011-12-10T08:00:00.001-05:00

Directed by Eugenio Martin

Written by Arnaud d’Usseau and Julian Zimet

Starring Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Silvia Tortosa, Alberto de Mendoza, Julio Pena, Helga Line, Alice Reinhart, and Telly Savalas

Four ½ Stars

Planes, trains, and extraterrestrials… Horror Express is not your average alien-goes-amok story.

After discovering a frozen Neanderthal in perfect condition within the snowy mountains of China, Professor Saxton (Lee) puts the great find on board the Trans-Siberian Express in order to take his discovery back to Mother England. Saxton is not very pleased when he sees his inquisitive colleague Wells (Cushing) is there for the ride as well.

But nothing could prepare the scholars for the inexplicable awakening of the ancient creature! With the incredible power to erase the memory and knowledge from each of its victims through the gaze of its one burning red eye, the creepy caveman makes short work of the passengers who are unfortunate enough to meet its sight.

All looks calm when the brave Inspector Mirov (Pena) guns the beast down. But not for long. Mirov is now possessed with the thing’s energy force. It turns out the creature is in fact an alien from another planet who has existed during the span of the human race jumping from one host body to the next. Now looking for a means to return to its home planet, the alien is intent on slaying anyone who gets in its way!

Can the two professors prevent the alien monster from sucking the brain juices out of everyone on board? Will the alien horror phone home and stop using everyone’s skull as a soup bowl? And will this train ever stop?!

For all the typical trappings of a Eurotrash feature complete with cheesy, rubber-suited monsters, this little chiller is nicely moody. Sure, the science may be hokey and totally off-the-wall, but the craziness only serves to make the film that much more fun and unforgettable. You can’t help but grin as the scientists calmly reason the possibility of an intergalactic mental vampire sucking passengers dry on the very train they’re on.

With the added benefit of having Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing in the film, it’s guaranteed to serve as a full evening of entertainment. The duo’s chemistry is spot-on as always, both of them playing rival scientists here. While they may be a bit competitive and pushy towards one another, they actually stick together and work as a team for the majority of the film.

It’s a delight to see them as partners instead of being at opposite ends of a wooden stake. Lee goes about with his usual somber and demanding presence, while Cushing lightens things up with his ever-affable and charming personality. He also gets probably the best line in the entire film.

When accused of being possible hosts for the galactic monster, Cushing responds with genuine shock: “Monsters? We’re British you know!” Telly Savalas pumps some sadistic energy into the piece when he shows up later as the iron-fisted Captain Kazan, rounding out an already impressive cast.

There are some pretty astounding musical pieces too. Especially awesome is the heavy bass that plays every time the creature’s eyes glow that ominous crimson as it prepares to kill. The pacing of the film is just perfect, each minute growing with more tension as the alien stalks about the claustrophobic aisles of the train. It all builds to an appropriately fiery finale that ends this terror from beyond the stars in a most satisfying manner.

If you haven’t already heard of this film, it comes with two Cro-Magnon thumbs raised high. One might be prone to just throw it away as another cheapie feature, but Horror Express is probably the most exciting and charming ride you’ll take into the dark realms of sci-fi madness for a while.

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Meet The Horror Bloggers: Wag The Fox

2011-12-08T08:00:00.022-05:00

The Lady Vanishes (1938): Next Stop, Suspense!

2011-12-06T08:00:00.001-05:00

Directed by Alfred Hitchcock

Written by Sidney Gilliat and Frank Launder, Based on the short story by Ethel Lina White

Starring Margaret Lockwood, Michael Redgrave, Paul Lukas, Dame May Whitty, Cecil Parker, Linden Travers, Naunton Wayne, Basil Radford, and Mary Clare

Four Stars

This early thriller from the Master of Suspense is a first class piece through and through and displays some of Hitch’s most beloved tropes in their finest form.

Lockwood stars as the beautiful socialite Iris Henderson who is heading back to her home of Mother England on a trans-European train from the snowy country of Mandrika. She meets some interesting people along the way…

Like the dapper Charters and Caldicott (Radford and Wayne) who are determined to discover the outcome of the latest cricket match. And the handsome yet roguish musician Gilbert (Redgrave) who keeps the entire inn up during his nightly jaunts. And who could forget the lovable if slightly dotty old Miss Froy (Whitty) whom Iris develops a companionship with as the train takes off?

But after a bump on the head mixes her senses up a bit, Iris finds that Miss Froy has seemingly disappeared from the train. And no one claims to ever having seen her! The circumstances are suspicious to say the least, even as Gilbert tries to help and the kindly Dr. Hartz (Lukas) diagnoses the problem as vivid hallucinations.

So what explains the presence of a strange woman posing in Miss Froy’s clothes? Or the biddy’s name etched in the dusty glass of the dining car’s window? And how does a slimy magician, international intrigue, and undercover spies figure into the grand scheme of things? Watch and find out, kiddies!

Playing on one of Hitchcock’s favorite themes of “you’re-all-alone-and-the-world-doesn’t-believe-what-you-say,” The Lady Vanishes is a masterpiece that deserves to be given as much attention by fans as Alfred’s later day visual symphonies like Psycho and Vertigo. The picture crackles with sharp British wit and humor, particularly in the snarky exchanges of Redgrave and Lockwood and the delightfully droll banter between Radford and Wayne. The comedy punctuates the nail-biting tension in all the right places and in just the right amounts.

Oh, and believe that there is plenty of suspense served on hand here. From the portents of danger and revelation (watch out for those glasses of wine!) to the a nicely orchestrated scene where a streetside singer is overcome by a pair of shadowy, murderous hands, the audience will surely find themselves delighting in all the stirring adventure as the sordid story unfolds to a dynamite ending far ahead of its time.

We’re talking the prime rib of thriller flicks here, folks. Don’t miss the chance to catch this vintage shocker. Excellent performances and an electric pacing ensure that The Lady Vanishes will remain timeless for years to come. Highly recommended.

After Sunset: The Bad Thing Cometh

2011-12-03T08:00:00.001-05:00

From the radio program Nightfall (1980-1983)

Broadcast on April 29, 1983

Four Stars

There’s something out there that’s killing people when the sun goes down. Ben Hartman feels it, and so does Madge Courtlin, even before reports of the little Roberts boy being found savagely torn to pieces become known by the public.

This isn’t the first time something like this has happened in town. When Ben and Madge were just entering adulthood, a series of vicious killings struck terror in everyone’s hearts. They all feared the night when the thing with the hellishly glowing eyes came out to feed on their terror.

This ancient and wicked spirit had possessed the body of Jimmy Pearson, a young man Madge had fallen in love with. But Jimmy was killed, shot to death by a vengeful mob.

But that hasn’t stopped the spirit from awakening again. It tears through its victims with tooth and nail, and there’s nothing that Ben’s granddaughter Ellen or Police Chief George Cole can seem to do to stop it. Intent on ending the beast’s reign that began years ago, Ben and Madge decide to imprison the immortal spirit in its fleshy confines forever. Will they succeed, or with the monster’s lustrous eyes be the last thing they see?

One of the more chilling stories to come from CBC radio’s horror program Nightfall, “After Sunset” is an engaging drama that brings to mind the age-old, flesh-hungry entity of Stephen King’s IT. The scenes depicting the monster’s approach and slaughter of its victims (with the typical prompt of “Oh, it’s you!” by the soon-to-be-deceased) are actually fairly spooky as the creature grunts and snarls to the accompaniment of screams and ripping flesh.

The cast plays the matter straight and with honest enough performances to really invest your care in the grim events. It helps to make for a tender but not overly-sweet ending that brings the curtain down on all the grisly goings-on that preceded it. A good, solid starting place for anyone interested in the series.

The Visitor: Your Past Would Like To Catch Up With You

2011-11-30T08:00:00.000-05:00

Directed by John Newland

Written by Larry Marcus

Starring Joan Fontaine and Warren Beatty

From the television program One Step Beyond (1959-1961)

Broadcast on May 10, 1960

Three Stars

Recovering alcoholic Ellen Grayson (Fontaine) summons her husband Harry (Beatty) to their mountain cottage one wintry night to tell him that she’s ending their long-suffering marriage. Flustered, Harry drives off only to crash his car and suffer a concussion. In the meantime, Ellen is met by a troubled motorist back at her house who asks for help. Ellen grudgingly aids the man… only to see it is a replicate of Harry’s younger self!

As the conflicted youth discusses his marital woes (these mirroring events from Ellen and Harry’s own life), Ellen finds her heart opening as she is confronted with this spirit from the past. But is it really a vision from years gone by? Or is Ellen slipping off the wagon and having hallucinations? Whatever the cause of this impossible manifestation, these two misguided souls will find hope in their lives by the end of the night…

A charming tale of love and redemption, “The Visitor” doesn’t really touch upon any horrifying elements at all… minus a somewhat unsettling moment when Past Harry vanishes in a blink, leaving poor Ms. Fontaine screaming her head off.

Our two players buoy the story with great characterizations. Beatty is a little gritty at first, but he flexes his thespian muscles quite nicely during his extended “expecting father” monologue. Fontaine is quite ravishing (even with silver hair) and her extreme finesse at convincingly portraying a woman struggling with the forces of addiction and the unknown is nothing short of beautiful. The episode is worth a watch simply for her performance alone.

Throw in a nice snow-covered setting and this one makes pleasant viewing, though its fluffy content may not be quite the thirst-quencher terror fans are seeking.

Sinister Spotlight: The Last House On The Left with Missy Yearian

2011-11-27T08:00:00.002-05:00

Lock the doors! Hide the children! Pray to Cthulhu! Because another installment of the Sinister Spotlight is here again to tickle your eardrums with forbidden horrors and scintillating stories of the horror genre's most loved (and disputed) contributions.

This description is none the more adequate than for today's feature: the controversial 1972 grindhouse shocker The Last House on the Left from Wes Craven. And I couldn't think of a more perfect person to talk about this film with than the hilarious and highly insightful Missy Yearian whose writings have appeared in places as diverse as Classic-Horror, FusedFilm, and her own blog Chickapin Parish. Tackling this film is no easy task, as Missy and I discuss the real-life horror of death and violation, the chemistry of exploitation cinema, and our own growing love for this remarkable little rape-revenge flick.

Stuff your pipes, everybody, because we're about to get all intellectual and Inside the Actor's Studio-like. If you feel yourself growing faint during the grueling duration of this episode, just keep repeating: it is only a podcast, only a podcast, only a podcast...

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Meet The Horror Bloggers: Horror Movie A Day

2011-11-25T08:00:00.011-05:00

Horror writers are a curious and fascinating lot. Through fiction and research alike they cast a wonderful tapestry of words that continually entertain, fascinate, and provoke us. With a mixture of knowledge, passion, and wit they help remind us why horror continues to enthrall people of all creeds. In this ongoing feature, we bring these dedicated fans into the limelight to discuss the things that go bump in the night. And their desire to bump those things back.

Brian, cinematic adventurer extraordinaire from the essential blog Horror Movie A Day gives us all the grave details on how his passion was shaped by countless horror films, the undertaking of his massive site, and his opinion on how all things creepy are looking today...

I was a lucky kid: my mom let me watch horror movies. She enjoyed them to a degree herself so she'd actually rent some unprompted, always a nice surprise. She even took me to see Poltergeist II (I was 6!), which is hilarious when I hear about parents wondering if it's OK to take their 7 or 8 year old to Harry Potter. Kids today are being raised to be lamers, if you ask me.

Needless to say, I've been a fan for quite a long time. Like a lot of horror fans, the awful early to mid 90s reduced my interest; I missed Lord of Illusions in the summer of 1995 but saw Under Siege 2 and Judge Dredd (the latter of which actually received coverage in Fangoria because there wasn't much else to talk about). But thanks to Scream and From Dusk Till Dawn, my interest quickly returned, and shortly after that I got a car, which meant going to horror cons and driving around to flea market/dirt malls and buying up old movies on VHS, vastly expanding my "expertise".

Course, back then the internet barely existed, let alone the idea of having my own website where I could "review" a horror movie every day. Horror Movie A Day's origins actually lie in a common problem: not watching Netflix discs. I remember realizing one day that I had the same three rentals sitting on my coffee table for like 4 months, which meant I basically could have bought the three movies for less money. I also took stock of my daily schedule and realized that there was no reason that I couldn't find the time to watch a movie every day. So I started "forcing" myself to watch a horror movie every day, and once I realized it was doable I started writing down a few thoughts on each, thinking maybe it could be a little feature on Bloody Disgusting (which I had recently begun working for, mainly as an editor for the video interviews).

Can't remember exactly when I made the blog, sometime in March or April of 2007 though (which is why those first bunch of reviews are so short, if they're there at all). And eventually I got better at writing them; I look at some of those older ones and cringe, but after a few months I started taking it a bit more serious, and in turn I think the writing/insight improved. And that's good, because the site also started getting more popular and every now and then I'd catch wind that someone I really respected had read the site - nothing more terrifying than knowing one of your idols had checked it out, even if just once or twice. At any rate, I've been at it for four and a half years now, and later this year I'll hit my 2000th review, which is pretty crazy.

It's also helped me get into genres I previously hadn't cared much for and/or just didn't bother with all that often. Asian horror in particular; I had only seen a few prior to HMAD and didn't really love any of them, but there have been quite a few over the past couple years that I really dug, such as The Eye 2, Bloody Reunion, and Marebito. And I'm still not crazy about werewolf movies, but I've been able to find a few gems, like Ginger Snaps 2 and the wonderfully gonzo Big Bad Wolf. Also, it's given me an excuse to watch a lot more slasher and zombie movies, which have always been my favorite sub-genres and continue to be so.

My favorite movie of all time (all genres) is Halloween, and a few other slashers can be found in my top 20-25 amidst all the action flicks (Die Hard) and comedies (Fletch). I try to mix it up as much as possible, so I'm not watching a bunch of vampire movies in one week, but as you can probably tell by looking at the genre tagging list on the site, slashers outnumber most of the other genres by double or more; only the rather generic "supernatural" tag has more entries, because it covers such a broad spectrum.

The goal of the site was to inspire a sort of discussion on each film (which is why I usually skip doing a synopsis and often include spoilers); at first I didn't intend anyone to read the reviews until they saw the film. And I have comment filtering turned on, which is not to censor but to ensure I read every comment that I get and reply if possible/necessary. Unfortunately that never truly panned out; people tend to just reply as they would on any other talkback - it's rare that someone offers up a lengthy rebuttal.

Also once I started getting screeners and review discs for movies that weren't out yet I couldn't really assume everyone had seen the movie already, nor did I feel it was appropriate to spoil things (at least without a repeated warning, if there was no way to avoid it). So the goal of the site sort of changed; I still encourage talk-backing and interaction, but I no longer assume everyone reading has seen the movies and thus I try to write something closer to a traditional review, at least for newer films.

Ironically, those newer films often don't deserve any lengthy sort of analysis, because so many are just lazy cash-ins without a lot of merit anyway. I just saw Fright Night 3D, and while technically competent and even mildly entertaining at times, it has absolutely nothing new to say. There wasn't a single point in the movie where I understood why they wanted to remake the movie in the first place, as it lacked character and any new ideas of note. Even a failure like Rob Zombie's Halloween had some sort of personality to it; this thing was evaporating from my mind even as it continued to play, because there was just nothing there. Obviously there are a few studio releases that "save" horror (2009 in particular was terrific: Drag Me To Hell, Orphan, Zombieland, etc), but it's been largely dire as of late, with some great stuff coming from independent filmmakers, though they produce just as much (if not more) garbage - the worst films I've watched this year have been indies, in fact.

So I think we're in a bit of a rut right now, but hopefully there will be another out of nowhere surprise like Saw or Paranormal Activity (independent films given a chance by a major studio) to give the other guys a chance. In a world where the first John Carpenter film in a decade barely gets released, and Joe Dante can't find US distribution at all for his movie, we need another movie like those to keep the theatrical horror experience alive and safe from an all remake/sequel environment.

The Final Reckoning: The Ballad Of Boris Karloff

2011-11-23T08:00:00.017-05:00

From the radio program Creeps By Night (1944)

Broadcast unknown

Five Stars

I began to squirm as I sat on the ripped cushions of the barber's chair. I rolled up the stained cloth that was draped from my neck like a cartoonishly large napkin and glanced down at my watch. Just a few minutes till midnight.

Oh jeez, I thought. There's no way I'm going to make it to the party in time. And Stephen had been preparing the cake since that afternoon. For a creature with opposable thumbs and the power of speech, the guy sure had a tough time wrapping his head around the whole concept of baking. The fact that he probably had Sapphire "helping" him (probably by reading the life lines on the eggs) and Creighton and Gus Rot guzzling down any non-poisonous tonic they could find in the fridge, the task was even more vexing. And here I was, trying to get a shave and haircut in the middle of the--- where was that barber?

I cleared my throat, a note of impatience in my phlegmy-gurgle. "Excuse me," I called. "You there Todd? I don't mean to be a pain but the party's about to start soon." I heard hollow footsteps slowly coming in from the back of the room.

"It's kind of a special occasion... we're celebrating the 124th birthday of..."

I saw the veiny hand grip the side of the chair and soon I was spun about, transfixed by the darkly-rimmed eyes of a slightly mad-looking but altogether charming British barber. I swallowed. "...Boris Karloff," I squeaked.

The barber smiled, a line of gleaming knives. "Boris Karloff, you say?" came the elegant lisp. "I'm quite the fan myself, young man. Far be it from me to detain you any longer than need be. This shall be quick and relatively painless."

"Uhh, w-where's Todd?" I stammered. "He is the usual guy isn't he?"

Get your ass out of here, my brain wailed. But the sight of this gentleman sharpening the straight razor upon its strop two feet from where I sat made the notion of sudden movements make like Amelia Earhart and vanish.

"Mr. Todd had to take the night off." The barber gave a sardonic smirk. "I'll be taking care of you for the time being."

"That's what I was afraid of," I muttered.

"What was that?" asked the barber, blade glinting.

"I said that's what dreams are made of." The barber lifted his eyebrow quizzically and a few seconds of blushing awkwardness passed. Clearing his throat, the barber grabbed a grimy coffee mug and began whipping up the cream with disturbing vigor.

Lying back in the chair, my eye twitched at each precise swipe the barber made with the brush across my throat. I bent back further, hoping to sneakily perform a back flip off the chair and run for high heaven without the serial shaver noticing. My head dangled over the edge and my eyes roved the landscape of the upside down world. That's when I spotted the prostrate pair of legs sticking out from the back door, a pool of what I hoped to be Karo syrup oozing across the floor boards.

Face fully lathered, I peered back at the barber to see his hair falling wildly about his face, a sickening grin scissoring across his jaw as he held the straight razor in his sweaty palm. "Now for the shhhhave," he said, relishing the word. "Please hold still. I wouldn't want to cut you..."

I felt the cold steel press up against my cheek, and the next few words flooded from my lips in sweat-drenched terror and confusion. "Dear God, look! That small child has just lost their balloon!"

The fire that had begun burning in the madman's pupils was instantly extinguished as a wet sheen took their place. "Oh my heavens," he cried. "I do so love the children. Where has the lad's balloon gone off to?"

If the barber had turned back around to the chair he would have found it spinning about crazily, an imprint of my screaming face fresh in the pile of shaving cream that was left in my place. Sure, Stephen and the gang would probably never let me down for barreling into the kitchen looking like a rabid dog that was just told it was going to be fixed, but I think an un-slashed jugular was worth it. Some way to celebrate Karloff's birthday...

***

Boris Karloff delivers one of his very best radio performances in this stellar tale of vengeance from the near-extinct series Creeps By Night.

George Miller has spent nearly his entire life within the wretched walls of prison, serving a life sentence for a crime that he didn't commit. But George has gotten a break. His sentence is commuted and he will soon be a free man. And all the better, because Miller has some unfinished business he needs to take care of. And his newly acquired knack for handling a straight razor he learned as the jailhouse barber’s apprentice is going to help him do just that…

Meanwhile, things aren't looking so hot for big-time gangster Ace. He isn't happy about the news of Miller's release and the dead rats that keep appearing on his doorstep and in mail packages don't seem like harmless accidents. Sensing that Miller has returned to settle a score from the past, Ace retreats to a mountain cabin hideaway with his gal Miss Caroll to elude Miller's grasp.

But wouldn't you know it, the cabin has a new caretaker, a fine old chap named Walter who recently replaced the old guy (how convenient!). Ace’s nerves are pushed to their breaking point as the slain rats keep showing up, signs of the fate that he will eventually meet. But Walter's there to soothe Ace's mind, and what better way to help him out then by offering a nice, relaxing shave?

“The Final Reckoning” bears more than a passing resemblance to the Sweeney Todd legend, the beloved tale of psychos and shaving cream that haunted the cheap paper of the penny dreadfuls. What’s interesting is that this episode incorporates the wronged-prisoner-seeking-vengeance storyline that would later be popularized by Christopher Bond's stage play adaptation of the tale (which would later go on to serve as the basis for Stephen Sondheim’s bloody musical) thirty odd years before it's inception.

Listening to this drama can't help but conjure up images of Karloff on the Broadway stage, singing his heart out in that marvelous tenor as he slits the throats of his unsuspecting customers. That would have been a wonder for the ages.

Karloff shines like a super(natural) nova in this episode as George Miller. His soothing, crisp tone is so devilishly eloquent that he sounds as if he's reciting poetry even as he's threatening someone's life with a razor. As in many of his most famous roles, Karloff manages to gain our complete sympathy for his wronged character. Miller is a tragic figure in a predicament that could've warped any one of us. And Boris never yells; his rage boils just under the surface of his skin and the tiny flourishes of madness that he instills in his speech really stick with you.

“The Final Reckoning” was part of a radio series entitled Creeps By Night that premiered in 1944. Despite starring such terror luminaries as Mr. Karloff and Peter Lorre in various episodes, the show has fallen into obscurity over the years. Like the fate of many other radio shows of the day, the majority of episodes have become lost with only a handful still remaining in circulation on the web and in disc format.

This is one vignette from the golden days of radio drama that could convert anyone into a died-in-the-wool audiophile. By the time you’re through with this tense thriller, you’ll be singing its praises to the furthest corners of the underworld. All together now: swing your razor high, Boris!

The Ghost Of Sorworth Place: Master Of The House

2011-11-20T08:00:00.000-05:00

Directed by Ralph Senensky

Written by Alvin Sapinsley, Based on the short story by Russell Kirk

Starring Richard Kiley, Jill Ireland, Mavis Neal Palmer, Patrick O’Moore, and John D. Schofield

From the television program Night Gallery (1969-1973)

Broadcast on January 19, 1972

Three ½ Stars

Good old fashioned supernatural creeps make this ghastly ghost story a solid vignette from Night Gallery’s second season.

Ralph Burke (Kiley) is backpacking through the forests of Scotland when he comes upon the impressive mansion of Sorworth. Even more fetching is the castle’s gorgeous mistress Ann Loring (Ireland), a blonde beauty who instantly steals the traveler’s heart. But as Ralph soon finds out from the town’s aged innkeeper (O’Moore), strange things have abounded the estate since the mysterious accidental death of Ann’s husband.

Ann’s sole servant Mrs. Ducker (Palmer) goes so far as to warn Ralph away from the cursed grounds, but to no avail. The backpacker is thrown for a loop though when he begins seeing the shadowy form of the Lord Formerly Known As Mr. Loring stalking about the house. Ann realizes that her husband’s restless spirit has come back to take her on the anniversary of his death and pleads Ralph to protect her from the lecherous wraith.

Does Ralph stand a chance against the dead returned? Will a similar untimely demise befall him? Everyone’s destiny will be determined when the grand old clock strikes the hour of midnight within the empty, echoing halls of Sorworth Place…

“The Ghost of Sorworth Place” is no great shakes but it’s quite a moody piece that gets you in just the right mood for a ghost story with its chilly atmosphere and strange sightings. The Sorworth Mansion is an effective set piece that elicits a tangible feeling of doom, though it looks to be located in the woodsier parts of California as opposed to the sprawling forests of Scotland.

Richard Kiley is good as the put-upon hero despite a slight hamminess creeping into his delivery during the second act. Jill Ireland enchants with a misty beauty and plays the part with a nice hint of danger lurking behind her eyes.

Most of the scenes are shot well by director Senensky, particularly the moment at the inn when the innkeeper sits Kiley down and explains the turgid history of Sorworth Place in true campfire story fashion. This is one that fans of creeping spirits and haunted houses shouldn’t miss out on.

The Hellbound Heart by Clive Barker: Guest Post by Camiele White

2011-11-18T08:00:00.006-05:00

Do you ever get the feeling of a sticky creep slithering its way up your backbone? That clinching sort of unease that gnaws at the flesh until it escapes through your pores? It’s this piercing agony that sketches the foundation of Clive Barker’s The Hellbound Heart, a novella that takes a more intimate look at our most carnal desires and amplifies them to a state of hypersensitivity that drips from every page.

We’re introduced to Frank, a man who’s reached a point in his life where earthly pleasures no longer slake his lust for deep touch. He stumbles upon what is described simply as “Pandora’s Box,” an exceptional piece of craftsmanship that’s as much a puzzle as it is a marvel. His nihilism has taken him to the very edge of darkness in the waking world and has nullified the worldly sensations that he once craved. However, upon unlocking the cryptic puzzle that is Pandora’s Box, his flesh becomes a part of a new slither that not even his appetite for the hedonistic can handle.

When Frank dares to explore the deepest caverns of carnal pleasure, he’s bombarded with sensations that would surely break any human being into pieces. All his senses were not only pricked on edge, they were thrown into utter chaos, being given the gift of the Cenobites to feel everything at a level of infinity that threw him into utter despair. When the Engineer, a creature with a vile coolness of demeanour that underscores the vicious nature of the Cenobites, grants Frank access to a realm of never ending sexual sensations, he realises, too late, that his perverse gluttony has caused him to sacrifice the sanctity of his own flesh. He has now become forever encumbered by the weight of living an eternity as an unworldly creature’s plaything.

Without going into great detail about the synopsis, Frank finds himself conspiring with his brother, Rory’s, wife in order to reanimate himself on the other side of the proverbial (and, in this case, literal) wall between earth and the hedonistic hell in which he’s bound. As is the case in stories of the flesh, the only way to distract and ultimately sate the Cenobites baying at his ankles is the blood sacrifice of other human beings. It’s in this shredding of skin that we as readers are intrigued. Ultimately, those things that frighten us the most are those things that seem to appeal to our senses of adventure and fantasy. If it can be touched, if it can be tasted, if it can be broken into and splayed, we want to know it, want to at least get a glimpse of the very act of falling apart in someone else’s hands.

In this we all possess a level of hedonism --some more than others. If we were all more honest with ourselves we’d be able to identify and come to terms with the darker half of our psyches. Yes, Frank is a nihilist in the most violent sense, seeking pleasures that walk the line between eroticism and perversion. However, there’s a very dark corner in everyone’s soul preserved for the freakish. Why is it that in all of western civilisation there’s this primal fascination with carnage and the suffering of others? It’s because a small part of us wishes to be destroyed in order to feel the sensation of being put back together. In this way, Frank can be understood. His senses numbed to the frailty of humanity, he sought out a craving that he couldn’t scratch, and therefore turned to something he didn’t fully understand.

When it comes to the darkness in each of us, we are all hellbound. We are as much afraid of the thing that lurks in the shadows as we are fascinated by its freedom and its fearlessness. What Clive Barker does with The Hellbound Heart is more than entertain (or repulse). He inspires us to bend ourselves inward and explore those things that perhaps we would keep silent otherwise. He educates to the point of nagging curiosity. Through the innocence of the other characters (however flat they may seem), he is able fold back the layers of our own humanity, giving us a glimpse of the desires tattooed into every fibre of our breakable bodies.

There is pure beauty and raw sex in everything. I have a keen interest in all things that shed light and colour in this dark and, at times, uninspiring world. I love film, all film --ranging from Japanese and Korean horror, to nonsensical action films. The one qualification is that it must, must entertain me. As much as I love watching film, I love even more to write about it. Right now, I get my jabberjaw jollies writing for Star Costumes. If you want to give me a buzz, I can be reached at cmlewhite [at] gmail [dot] com.

Art Of Horror: The Warren Illustrators

2011-11-16T11:00:00.001-05:00

During the Monster Kid craze that reigned supreme in the 60s, the horror comics put out by Warren Publishing (of Famous Monsters of Filmland fame as well) were required reading by all fans. Picking up the bloody torch that fell from the hands of E. C. Comics during the morality war headed by witch hunter Frederic Wertham that took place in the 1950's, the three Warren horror lines (Creepy, Eerie, and Vampirella) were eagerly gobbled up by horror heads longing to feed their incessant hunger for graveyard humor and creatures of the night.

And like the genre boom in comics that came before it, the Warren titles assimilated some of the greatest artistic talents to fill their pages with lovingly detailed zombies, witches, devils, and fiends. The new talents emerging in the industry along with treasured veterans combined to make some truly unforgettable imagery that still haunts the minds of fans to this day.

How many can recall the gruesomely cartoonish skill of Richard Corben? Who here has experienced the classically trained line work of Reed Crandall's story adaptations? And who could suppress the memory, try as they might, of Vampirella's erotic curves courtesy of Jose Gonzalez? This expertly made video brings together a visual profile of all your favorite Warren artists in one snazzy set. Accompanied by demonic chorus.

Naturally.

The Face At The Window (1939): Crazy Like Le Loup

2011-11-13T08:00:00.000-05:00

Directed by George King

Written by A. R. Rawlinson and Ronald Fayre, Based on the play by Brooke Warren

Starring Tod Slaughter, Marjorie Taylor, John Warwick, Aubrey Mallalieu, Robert Adair, Wallace Evennett, Margaret Yarde, and Harry Terry

Four Stars

I was just about to take a sip of the deliciously cold mango smoothie in my hand when I heard the wretched scream. It was high-pitched and desperate, like that of an old woman from an episode of Casper. It must have been Creighton.

Sighing wearily I set the glass down and hurried from the kitchen as the wails intensified. Suddenly I heard an equally terrified second scream join the first in chorus. "That sounds like Sapphire!" I exclaimed. I quickened my pace towards the front entrance of the house in the direction of the shrieks.

When I found them in the entryway, they were two huddled balls of sweating fright. Creighton could only point a gangly finger at the front door, his cracked lips moving in slow, robotic clenches. Sapphire was gripping her dreads with her fists, pulling at each side as if she was an orchestra member producing frenzied music. I was speechless for a few good minutes. Their socks had been completely scared off.

"What is it?" I finally managed.

"The face... the face..." I heard Sapphire mumble.

"What? Who's face?" I asked.

"At the door!" Creighton wailed. "A hideous FACE is at the window." His teeth sounded like busy tap shoes. "It's waiting. It wants to come in. It wants... TO KILL!" He delivered these last words with a Shakespearean flourish before crumpling into a flack heap.

Gulping, I edged a little closer to the bat wing windows to see if I could sneak a peek at the dreaded caller. Thankfully no gruesome visage loomed at me from the glass, but I did catch sight of a flapping band of cloth from the front stoop. A flash of coiffed hair edged into view soon. I stopped, puzzled. It seemed... familiar.

"Wait a minute..." I uttered, realization creeping on me.

A few confident strides to the door and a mighty twist of the knob revealed the sight that had frightened my friends so. A young lad in pressed shirt and tie beamed up at me with a $50 smile and a little book clutched in his hands.

"Good afternoon, sir. My name is Elder Bates. How are you doing today?" A blue jay gracefully flew across the hill and landed on the lad's shoulder, singing a merry tune all the while.

I turned around to the quivering forms behind me. "Is this the face you two were speaking of?"

Sapphire frothed. "NO! Don't let it come near us! That face means DEATH!"

I turned back to the caller. I held up a hand when his smile caught a glare from the sunlight. I started smiling too.

"If you don't mind, I would like to tell you the story of Jes--"

"You know what this reminds me of?" I laughed, cutting the lad off. "This is just like that movie with Tod Slaughter..."

At the mention of this name, I saw the caller's face grow the shade of ripe fungus and with a great sprint he took off running in the direction of the front gates, screaming all the while. The blue jay had died instantly and fallen unceremoniously onto the stoop.

I shrugged. "Guess it takes certain kinds to be a fan." Nodding my head, I closed the door.

***

Merry melodrama, Batman! This flick starring that loathsome yet lovable star of stage and screen Tod Slaughter is perhaps the most fun and fast paced of his cinematic outings (even rivaling that cherished businessman of Fleet Street, Sweeney Todd!).

There’s a string of hideous murders occurring in 19th century Paris, all of them perpetrated by a shadowy figure known only as Le Loup. What’s worse is that the last thing each victim sees before biting the big one is a hideous, snarling face leering at them from a window. What a way to go!

Young bank clark Lucien Courtier (Warwick) has found himself implicated in the crime and it has cost him both his job and the hand of his beloved Cecile (Taylor). Certainly it has nothing to do with the presence of Chevalier Lucio del Gardo (Slaughter), a well-valued member of society who also seeks the affections of the young woman and slums in the vilest parts of town with people of questionable criminal backgrounds. Perish the thought!

Surprisingly enough, Lucio is a rather slimy fellow given to kidnapping pretty maidens and committing a homicide or two. He has framed Lucien to remove suspicion from him of being the secret identity of Le Loup. And he’ll do anything necessary to keep that fact a secret! Will the law nab this ne’er-do-well before he can strike again? Or will Lucien meet his end the next time Le Loup howls in the night…?

Notorious for playing black-hearted scoundrels, British thespian Tod Slaughter is at his best here. He perfectly blends high society righteousness with flat-footed villainy in a potent combination that simply tickles the viewer’s spine with depraved glee. Suffice it to say that the ham steals every scene he’s in and enraptures us with the simplest sweep of his cloak or guttural chuckle.

These creepy quickies were produced in a relentless succession from small British studios in order to capitalize on Tod's fairly recent but still rampant notoriety as being the go-to man for portraying lower-than-low thieves and killers to the horror of theater audiences everywhere. Though the low budget of the films tended to show through in cardboard-looking sets and acting even more wooden in some cases, Slaughter was always able to bring his own brand of black magic to the proceedings.

The Face at the Window is distinguished by its completeness; unlike other Slaughter vehicles, this film has a steady musical score that amplifies the constant action on the screen and a concise script that never seems to lose direction. It's perhaps the most accessible of the Slaughter films in that modern viewers will find its stagy aesthetics and overwrought acting easier to adapt to than, say, the penny dreadful romance of Murder in the Red Barn or the Victorian morality-play of It's Never Too Late to Mend.

The kitchen-sink method of the storyline creates some great horror mash-ups; we get everything including mad doctors, heartless murderers, resurrection of the dead, and drooling monsters in a movie clocking in just a little over an hour. Its Gothic trappings will be sure to delight all fans of old school terror. If only the titular beastie had been an actual lycanthrope with Toddy making the monster perform his bidding... then we would have really been cooking!

Depending on one’s sensibilities, they either take to the theatrical acting and overripe suspense or they don’t. But films like The Face at the Window deserve a chance to be seen at least once because one thing is certain: either way you’ll have a helluva good time with it. Catch this glorious piece of classic horror gold before it’s too late. Before… no… the Face… the FACE!

Help Curse Of The Phantom Shadow

2011-11-10T08:00:00.044-05:00

Holy jaw-busting heroes, Batman! It looks like there's a hot new project on the crime-riddled streets of our fair city, and it's got spunk and homespun charm to spare. It's Curse of the Phantom Shadow, a rip-roaring adventure yarn that emulates the grand serials of yesteryear, right from its tough-as-rusty-nails good guys to its badder-than-sour-milk villains!

The whole shebang is being put together by Mark Ross, an inspired software developer/game designer/author/filmmaker/superhero based in Las Vegas. He's sending out a rallying cry to his fellow defenders in the dark, asking them to pledge their steel to bring Curse of the Phantom Shadow to full, breathing life.

If you're intrigued (and how can one not be with skull-masked fiends involved), take a look at the story behind this exciting action-thriller:

"The year is 1948 and the United States has a new enemy, The Phantom Shadow. This dark figure has diabolical plans for captured scientist, Dr. Hammond, and his War Department weapons of mass destruction. Upon the Phantom Shadow launching a treacherous missile attack on key locations in the United States, the government takes action.

There is only one man to call, Agent 236, an elite government agent. Agent 236 has been dispatched to launch a rescue.

Along the way, Agent 236 is befriended by a spunky, sarcastic, gas station attendant who just happens to have pinup girl good looks. She also just happens to be looking for a little action and excitement. Luckily, Agent 236 is the man of her dreams. Agent 236 puts the station attendant and her tow truck into service in pursuit of the Phantom Shadow."

As Mark describes it, the film is an homage to (among other things) "Radio dramas, B movies, Dick Tracy, Batman, The Shadow, pulp novels..." With a list of influences like THAT, how can the keyboard of any dweller of Mephisto's Castle not be soaked in a waterfall of anxious saliva?

As mentioned though, this brave venture needs the help of dutiful citizens like YOU to make it a reality. The crew has put together a Kickstarter fund that you can find HERE detailing you on what you can contribute and get in return for your heroism. Don't be a ninny. Make your Uncle Sam proud! Find it in your hearts to help these filmmakers who are keeping the traditional spirit alive. That's a cause that even the nefarious Phantom Shadow himself would want to get a piece of.

The Belfry: For Whom The Bell Tolls

2011-11-08T08:00:00.000-05:00

Directed by Herschel Daugherty

Written by Robert C. Dennis, Based on a story by Allan Vaughan Elston

Starring Jack Mullaney, Patricia Hitchcock, Dabbs Greer, and John Compton

From the television program Alfred Hitchcock Presents (1955-1962)

Broadcast on May 13, 1956

Two ½ Stars

The bell tolls for murder in this homely little tale from the Master of Suspense’s great television series.

Alfred’s own daughter Patricia stars as Ellie Marsh, the one and only schoolmarm in a small Southern hamlet. Ellie’s a wholesome and pretty young woman, so it comes as no surprise that Clint Ringle (Mullaney) has become so smitten with her that he’s gone out of his way to build a house with his bare hands as a wedding present for her. Perhaps he should’ve told her this a little sooner since Ellie is already engaged to Walt Norton (Compton).

When Walt protects his woman from Clint’s spurned affections, the good man gets a fatal hatchet blow in his chest for his good deeds. Now with blood on his hands, Clint hightails it into the woods where the requisite Group O’ Roughnecks’n’Lawmen™ goes after his killin’ hide. Getting a flash of inspiration, Clint climbs into the belfry of the schoolhouse and waits patiently for his moment to strike down the woman who broke his heart.

Though it’s more or less ho-hum for the duration of its runtime, “The Belfry” does possess a few artful touches that hearken back to Hitchcock’s tension-fueled filmmaking. Standout sequences include the guilty Clint staring down at the deputies who stand nary a few feet underneath him and the moment when a schoolboy clambers up the roof to retrieve his baseball from the belfry with Clint anxiously gripping his hatchet. Also noteworthy is the sequence where Ellie finds the cryptic message Clint leaves on the class blackboard.

Mullaney and Hitchcock both perform well enough in their lead roles. Hitchcock drums up a good amount of grief to make us sympathize with her, though admittedly her character is rather uninteresting most of the time. Mullaney fares slightly better as Clint. His infantile thumb sucking and naïve but violent thought process is somewhat similar to Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates in Psycho.

It’s his show for the most part, but Clint (like everyone else in town) just doesn’t seem to spark with any amount of energy. Dabbs Greer in particular as the sheriff is a stone-faced, humorless sort that just drags the action down. It’s this stilted execution that makes it tough to deem “The Belfry” worthy of a rewatch anytime soon when stacked against the series’ other wonderful episodes.

Meet The Horror Bloggers: Phantasmagoria Photography

2011-11-06T08:00:00.020-05:00

As the project continued to develop I found a travel companion in my now-wife. She enjoyed the travel and loved the idea that I would begin to share the legends that accompanied the images. She also likes the dark and mysterious, but probably not to the degree I do. (Case-in-point: she only decorates for Halloween in October. I decorate year-round.)

The blog that my wife and I write came about as a way for us to share these travel experiences to haunted places, along with serving as a forum to share other interesting oddities. We add to it now and again, never having enough time to cover the many locations we have documented.

We continue to search out new stories and legends as Phantasmagoria Photography grows. Through scouring the Internet and reading many books, we constantly remain on the lookout for places to visit, some famous, others not so well known. I revisit my work nearly daily and look for opportunities to change angles, frame images in different ways, and bring about the mysterious aspects I want to convey to the audience.

The Dark Boy: Night Classes Only

2011-11-04T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by John Astin

Written by Halsted Welles, Based on the short story by August Derleth

Starring Elizabeth Hartman, Gale Sondergaard, Michael Baseleon, Hope Summers, and Michael Laird

From the television program Night Gallery (1969-1973)

Broadcast on November 24, 1971

Three ½ Stars

In Montana circa 19th century, the recently widowed Judith Timm (Hartman) fills the position of the town schoolteacher in a quaint little farming province. But the job comes with some ominous portents, such as the note Judith received from the last schoolmarm that simply pleaded “Don’t come!” The off-putting behavior of elderly sisters Abigail and Lettie (Sondergaard and Summers) whom Judith is rooming with don’t help to ease her mind either.

Add to that the presence of a quiet, dark-haired boy (Laird) who makes nightly visits to the schoolhouse and Ms. Timm finds herself neck-deep in a weird mystery. Why is everyone so afraid to talk about the strange child with the scarred forehead? Does it have something to do with rugged farmer Tom Robb (Baseleon)? And whose grave is that in the middle of the field…?

Although the tale starts out as a slice of American Gothic, it begins to become a touching story of the supernatural by its end. Hartman is genuinely sweet and charming as Timm, emitting a warmness and kindness about her that makes it seem like she truly is a nurturing schoolteacher.

Sondergaard is rather grand as Abigail Moore and is allowed to nibble at the scenery when she turns on her full “frightened” mode. In all honesty her scenes with Summers are slightly comical since the two sisters have to be the most conspicuous people ever to be tasked with hiding a secret. Perhaps modern jadedness is to blame, but it just comes off as completely obvious that the Moores are hiding something and makes you wonder how Judith has the patience for such shenanigans.

Still, even this does little to deter from the atmosphere that director John Astin pulls off in this homespun horror. Baseleon hits the right notes as the tortured farmer and Laird (who is as far as it is able to tell not actually related to series producer and writer Jack Laird) commands attention through his secret, solemn gaze that seems to say more than any lines of dialogue could depict.

The charming Americana set pieces can be equally eye pleasing and sinister at just the right moments. “The Dark Boy” will only bring on a slight chill in the viewer’s heart but it ends on a nicely warm moment that doesn’t come off as too sweet or precious. It may keep you on the watch for whistles past the graveyard though.

The October Game: Keeping The Spirit Alive

2011-11-02T08:00:00.002-04:00

The pillow cases are nothing but discarded husks, their once bulging frames now only filled with empty candy wrappers and sugar-coated memories. The neighbors have brought in the slightly pungent remains of their jack o' lanterns, blowing out the candles until the time will come for them to guide eager children down leaf-strewn sidewalks. The laughter and the screams can still be heard echoing in the chilly air, caught in the scraggly fingers of the bare trees.

Halloween is over. But that doesn't mean we have to stop celebrating.

For those of you who, like us, can't help but feel like one of those discarded pillow cases at the passing of the holiday, here's an extra treat for you. It's a sour little tart from the putrid pages of E.C. Comics' Shock Suspenstories #9 that has a story adapted from that master chronicler of the autumn time, Ray Bradbury. But beware all ye who enter here: this story bites back.

Hope you had a Happy Halloween. And please, don't turn on those lights.

The Evil Dead (1981): A Night In The Bloody Wood

2011-10-31T08:00:00.002-04:00

Directed by Sam Raimi

Written by Sam Raimi

Starring Bruce Campbell, Ellen Sandweiss, Hal Delrich, Betsy Baker, and Sarah York

Five Stars

I ran.

Perspiration clung to me, the chilly night air turning it into a thin layer of ice on my skin. The trees seemed to be alive with a queer force. Their whipping branches blew in the wind, making grabs for me, their ivies longing to wrap themselves around my throat.

And still the monsters pursued.

I was almost at my breaking point, ready to collapse face first into the piles of fire-hued leaves that were tossed about by my flying feet and just wait for the beasts to overcome my body with their grasping claws and wet fangs.

Even now I could hear them, their hideous voices a breath's distance from my ear but seemingly coming from some long, dark and forgotten world simultaneously. "Join us," went the demonic chitter. There was a universe of terror behind those words, the implication of them reaching unfathomable depths that would drive most men mad.

They were relentless and deep in the back of my exhausted mind I knew they would not stop. But still I dared not look over my shoulder, out of fear that the very sight of the infernal beasts would turn my eyes into the consistency of porridge and leak from their sockets in a puddle of gooey broth. "Join us! Join us! Join us!" the monsters wailed. I could feel them right behind me, just grasping the back of my soaking T-shirt.

"Noo!" I cried in delirium. "Never! I'm too old to be trick-or-treating! You'll never take me alive you heartless creatures!" I waved my fist in the air and in the preoccupation of my frenzy I failed to notice the scarecrow hanging on his pole in the middle of the woods. I felt the powerful jab of a haymaker knock the last remnants of wind from my lungs and I was sent spiraling into the foilage below.

My senses stunned, I only had a few moments to process my terrible predicament. And then... they were upon me. Through a daze of swirling pictures, I could just make out the creature who wore the Dracula costume, a triumphant sneer turning his painted red lips into bloodcurdling fright mask. The Frankenstein monster look alike glared at me from under the brim of his shaggy, scarred forehead cap with devilishly luminous yellow eyes. And, worst of all, the fairy princess that stood at the center held not a magical wand, but a No. 2 pencil that looked as if it had been plucked from a fresh ankle wound.

"Join us!" the fairy princess growled. A line of black spittle had been collecting at the corner of her mouth and now dribbled onto my new sneakers.

"Yes, join usss," hissed the miniscule Vlad in an impeccable Bela Lugosi voice. Why he had a Hungarian accent I don't know.

"Uhhh errrgh!" assented Frankenstein's creature.

I might have been down, but I wasn't out. "N-Never," I stuttered. "I told you little bastards. I'm too old to be begging for food door-to-door. I don't even like candy!"

This proclamation made the fairy princess let out an ear-piercing shriek. "Heretic!" she cried, pointing the blood-smeared writing utensil at me. "If you refuse to trick-or-treat, we have other plans for you." Her two cohorts snickered as they gripped me by the legs and proceeded to drag me across the woods.

"You vile animals! What unspeakable tortures do you have planned? What infernal machinations will you subject me to? Has your depravity no end?!" It was safe to say I had lost it.

The Frankenstein monster turned back to me. "Naaagh raah!"

"What he means to say," Dracula translated, "is that you're in for a midnight viewing of Sam Raimi's classic creepfest... The Evil Dead!"

I ceased my schoolgirl screams and took a few moments to process this. "Oh, okay. Should I make popcorn?"

Without answering, they dragged me back to the castle.

***

Join us!

Raimi’s cult classic is one of those marvelously rare miracles in horror: a film that has not lost an ounce of its frenzied power since its release. This movie helped reinvent the very genre itself, inspiring a league of imitators and rip-offs to shamble after it in a half-dead gait.

A group of college students seek a little R&R at an abandoned cabin in the woods, the perfect getaway from their normal humdrum lives. Ash (Campbell) is looking to make things serious with his girl Cheryl (Sandweiss), while Scott and Linda (Delrich and Baker) are perfectly fine enjoying their little romps in the bedroom. But Ash’s sister Shelly (York) can’t help but notice an unholy atmosphere hanging about the place.

The bad vibes only get worse when the boys retrieve a few items from the cellar: a recorder, an ancient dagger, and a crusty old volume apparently bound in human flesh and inked in blood that goes by the name of Necronomicon. After hearing the book’s weird incantations chanted on the recorder by a professor, the group inadvertently awakens a dark spirit lurking in the forest.

The next thing you know girls are being defiled by trees, demons are taking possession of their souls, and friends are forced to hack each other to death! So much for a vacation. Who will survive and who will be dead by dawn?

This fun, gory little number is just pure deranged delight from its Candarian-demon-POV beginning to its melting Claymation orgy finale. The picture’s meager budget (under $400,000) is outshined by the innovative camera work and direction Raimi employs. His sweeping shots and inventive angles can at times even mask the cardboard-looking walls.

The film’s effects are spectacular as well. Along with the camera work that Raimi uses to make us see through the eyes of the dark forces, the makeup design by Tom Sullivan brings the demons to full gruesome light. The corn syrup blood that sprays upon our hapless heroes and the decaying visages of the reanimated corpses have a warm, homespun quality to them. The picture is worth the price of admission alone for the aforementioned messy ending. Demon hands burst through bodies, cattle-like skulls appear under dripping skin, and flesh erupts with volcanic intensity. Gorehounds be sated.

Despite a few touches of absurd black humor, The Evil Dead is the grimmest and most serious of the three films that comprise the trilogy. This somber mood might make fans overlook this one in favor of its two decidedly more comedic sequels, but The Evil Dead remains practically unmatched in its grisly glory. Special mention must be given to Bruce Campbell as our put-upon hero. A far cry from the Three Stooges-inspired antics from Army of Darkness, Campbell sweats, screams, and loses his mind in full view of the camera. It's a layered performance with equal parts tragedy and bravery, rightfully making Ash the iconic defender that he remains to this day.

Perfect for Halloween viewing, The Evil Dead is an immediate crowd pleaser that will have fans joining together in a hellish chorus for more blood. But more importantly than that, it's a true testament to the wonders that can be done when all a filmmaker has is a camera and a whole lot of crazy ideas.

Trailer

Rude Awakening: You Can Rest Now

2011-10-28T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by Peter Sasdy

Written by Gerald Savory

Starring Denholm Elliot, James Laurenson, Pat Heywood, Lucy Gutteridge, Eleanor Summerfield, and Gareth Armstrong

From the television program Hammer House of Horror (1980)

Broadcast on September 27, 1980

Four Stars

Have trouble sleeping at night? Your nightmares aren’t probably half as bad as the ones in this stellar episode from the Hammer House of Horror series. But chances are they will be after you sit down to watch it!

Norman Shenley (Elliot) is a fine how-to-do real estate agent who is both committed to his work and his lovely secretary Lolly (Gutteridge) who he passionately pursues while not-quite-keeping his wife Emily (Heywood) in the dark.

Norman’s world is flipped upside down when a strangely mannered man (Laurenson) brings the agent’s attention to a little piece of property named Lower Moat Manor. But Norman finds out there are horrors awaiting in the rotting house, like shambling suits of armor, disembodied voices accusing him of murder, and Emily’s corpse falling out of dumb waiters. Oh my!

Or so it seems. Turns out it was all a dream. That explains why Lolly looks so different at work today and why there IS no house at the address of Lower Moat Manor. But that’s not right either. Because when Norman goes to the estate the next day after he was previously trapped in a telephone booth turned death chamber, he sees the house in excellent condition… minus the fact that the cheery residents are in fact all dead.

Seems Norman can’t get a grip on just what is reality and what belongs to the realm of dreams. This is particularly dangerous for a man who is considering doing some rather naughty things, namely getting his wife permanently out of the picture! Very dangerous indeed…

The script by Gerald Savory mustn’t be underestimated here, as it is his story elements that compose this wonderfully weird view of a world operating completely by nightmare logic. There are plenty of delicious moments that seem to be straight out of a genuine night terror, the least of which is Laurenson’s voice drolling out its dire warning and the mansion filled with the smiling, dancing dead.

Director Sasdy has a powerful handling of the dream sequences… perhaps most chillingly in the operating room sequence when his camera leers up at the fanged grins of Norman’s three phantoms. Brrr.

Denholm Elliot is equal parts slimy in his moments of lechery and sympathetic during the utter helplessness he exhibits for his supernatural dilemma. Gutteridge is cute as a button in her many versions of Lolly and her scenes sparkle with a nice vitality. Heywood and Laurenson perfectly round out the cast, the former giving a welcome blustery performance as Norman’s nagging wife and the latter bringing a dark charisma to his scenes as the all-knowing and mysterious Mr. Rayburn.

One of the strongest episodes from the consistently creepy series by the legendary British film studio, "Rude Awakening" should be a tale that Hammer fans make a beeline for upon receiving their luridly green DVD box set.

Meet The Horror Bloggers: Kindertrauma

2011-10-26T08:00:00.002-04:00

Unkle Lancifer, the diabolical genius that makes up half of the dynamic duo behind the incomparable Kindertrauma, discusses how horror constantly called him back to its dark shadows and the strong bond it creates in its loving fans...

Television introduced me to horror at a young age. Thanks to a litany of now notorious movies, the only thing more frightening than what I was being exposed to on TV were the things I was being told in church. Horror and I were not exactly simpatico from the get-go. I spent nights without sleep wondering who would get me first, a Zuni fetish doll or the Devil himself. Strangely though, as I fretted about how I would survive my imagined threats I found myself returning to the source of my worries again and again. A seed had been planted and a part of me would forever be searching for a comparable adrenaline rush.

I found that after the dust had settled in my brain that I had become slightly addicted to the procedure of scrambling to reassemble my peace of mind. Stranger still, because my ordeal had been so privately my own, I felt an awareness of myself that previously eluded me. My siblings may have excelled at sports or school but I began to see myself as a special type of person who was able to look into the abyss and come back to tell the tale. I was a card-carrying coward for sure but the more horror movies I subjected myself to the braver I felt.

Where my early experiences with the genre were a sort of endurance test or a way for me to grapple with and get control of my fears, John Carpenter’s Halloween brought me to a new plane entirely. It was scary certainly, but it was also poetic and inspiring. The figure of Michael Myers seemed to be an embodiment of all of my previous bugaboos and the survival of Laurie Strode seemed to suggest that perhaps I too could come out on top. I was head over heels fascinated by Halloween’s troika of outsider characters; Laurie who was so unlike her friends, Loomis who was largely dismissed as a kook and Michael who either by birth or his own actions could never be normal. It sounds odd but for this awkward teenager, Halloween was my Rebel Without a Cause. It was at this point that my horror fandom went into overdrive and it was good timing too because somebody had just invented something called a VCR. I was about to be slammed by a landslide of glorious crimson mayhem. I would not trade being a teenage horror fan in the eighties for all of the normalcy in the world.

Remember that weird pasty guy who worked at your local video shop? That was me. My friends and family were vocally mortified by my lack of initiative but I saw myself living in a castle whose bricks were clamshell VHS cases. Didn’t they get it? I could take the movie posters home for free! Hadn’t they ever heard of screeners? Synchronicity had it that I was a video store’s buyer just as the Internet started crawling about which meant I could grab nearly every film I desired without my own pockets feeling the pain.

As much as I would grow to miss rummaging through bargain bins for titles, the new reality was that everything was now at my fingertips. The eventual arrival of DVDs meant certain death for my beloved tapes but it also meant that once obscurities were now suddenly ubiquitous. I set about devouring all the movies that had previously eluded me; amazed by the realization that the more I learned about horror the less I seemed to know.

Then blogs began to catch my eye and crusty reference books were made obsolete by singular voices and approaches to the subject matter that matched my enthusiasm. At some point I discovered a site called Retro Slashers and finagled a gig contributing to that amazing institution. I didn’t know what I was doing but I knew I loved it. I was so excited after my first review was posted that I printed it out and hung it on my wall. I’m proud to say my first experience writing about horror was for a site that I still admire greatly today. Eventually though I had to move on, as much as I loved slasher films something about those weird movies from my childhood kept rapping against my bedroom window.

The very first thing I ever did on a computer was look up the films that haunted my youth. I was flabbergasted to read stories that echoed my own. I couldn’t help noticing that the topic sparked the same kind of excitement and passion in others as it did in me. I could read about people’s early experiences with horror all day if only there were a designated place for such a thing…

Thank God I met my partner John Powell because together we were able to create Kindertrauma.com. I say that not as one of the operators of Kindertrauma but as an avid reader. Sure, I get to spout off my views every once in a while on the site but the real meat and potatoes; the thing that keeps the place alive is the contributions from our readers. Kindertrauma is a joint where everyone can store and share their original fears and where horror fans can explore the catalysts of their obsession. It can be a hard sell at times, the juxtaposition of childhood themes and bloody horror to many seems like a sick joke, but I believe we are delving into something universal. We were all children at one point and we all got scared. If you’re a horror fan, chances are you grew to like it. In other words, Kindertrauma is not for everybody, just for anyone who used to be a kid.

I know it is a bit unseemly to enjoy my own website as much as I do but I can’t help it. It covers a theme that I have always been interested in and I am happy to say continue to become more interested in each day thanks to submissions from around the world. Kindertrauma.com brings my horror fandom full circle and I only wish I could tell that scared as crap earlier kid version of me hiding under his covers that one day the terror he is experiencing will transform into something positive; that ironically that feeling of being so alone is exactly what would connect him to others.

Sinister Spotlight: He Knows You're Alone with Richard Schmidt

2011-10-23T08:00:00.003-04:00

That groovy guitar can only be summoning the approach of the Sinister Spotlight once again, surfacing once more to bring you dark discourse on subjects both strange and sublime on this October day. Up for dissection this time around is the underrated slasher from 1980 He Knows You're Alone, a killer chiller dressed in wedding white stained with the blood of victims.

Who better to discuss such a film with than the always entertaining Richard Schmidt, he king of macabre moviethons from the aptly named Doomed Moviethon site and Cinema Somnambulist blog. LISTEN as we go over the simple but scary charms of this homey horror. THRILL as we dare to divulge the importance (and hilarity) of horror clones. GROAN at the sound of us making terrible zinger-style jokes.

But most of all, ENJOY as we bring to you a ball-busting, sweat-soaked, heavily-mustached creepy classic that'll sneak its way into your heart. We're going to the chapel, folks.

Trailer

The Amazing Mr. X (1948): We The Living

2011-10-21T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by Bernard Vorhaus

Written by Muriel Roy Bolton and Ian McLellan Hunter

Starring Turhan Bey, Lynn Bari, Cathy O’Donnell, Richard Carlson, Harry B. Mendoza, and Donald Curtis

Four Stars

My hands began sweating on the torn tablecloth. "I really don't think this is such a hot idea, Stephen," I said under my breath. My eyes did not leave Sapphire as she donned an orange ceremonial robe. A quick glance at the crystal ball resting in front of us made my small intestine twist into a bow tie.

"Come, come now, Jose. Sapphire assures me that she is perfectly in tune with the astral realm. What more could you ask for?" My friend cracked his hairy knuckles as we waited for our medium to join us.

"She also told me she could cook a mean burrito. It was mean alright."

"Brothers and sisters of the Order of the Light," Sapphire began, "gather into the circle of trust so that we may make contact with the spirits..." Her voice trailed off and she spun her head around in a whirl of herbal-scented hair. She stopped, letting her eyes assume the size of saucers behind her spectacles. "Of the dead!"

A hideous groan made me shudder until I realized that Gus Rot was lying prostrate on the couch, attempting to massage the remnants of his skull from the hangover that was currently plaguing him.

"Seriously," I whispered to my companion. "We have enough freaking dead people around this place. Why do we need to invite more?"

"Silence!" Sapphire had moved to the head of the table, her palms exposed and revealing the twin pentagrams that were etched across them in permanent marker. "The souls are restless tonight. Contact shall be made!"

Poor girl, I thought. She is trying way too hard. Been watching too many horror movies from the looks of it.

Stephen turned to me. "Shhh!"

I blinked. "Hey, how did you hear--"

The sound of Sapphire's decorated palms slamming against the table snapped me back to attention. "O Spirits of the Weather Elm, let me hear Thy Voices!" Sapphire stuck her tongue out between her pursed lips and let out a long, wet raspberry.

If I wasn't gripping Stephen's hands, I surely would have slapped my face. "Oh Jesus--"

"Ah-ah-ah!" I looked up to see the misty visage of a bearded man staring me down from a pale fog that had drifted up from the crystal ball. He wagged a disapproving finger at me before disappearing into the darkness.

"Wait a minute, was that--"

"Hear me Forces of the Weather Elm!" Sapphire shrieked. "Bring to me He Who Must Be Tamed! The Recently Deceased! The Last Member of this Accursed Castle!"

The fog turned from a marshmallow white to a sickening green and a twisted face was gradually distinguishing itself from the putrid smoke. My heart beat faster. "Is that...? Can it be...?"

The statuesque face of a devilish man glowered from the mist. A ghastly grimace could be seen underneath the spirit's pointed goatee and his arching eyebrows furrowed in an expression of some unspeakable torture.

"Yes!" Sapphire shouted. "It is He! He has returned!"

Stephen gasped. "It's-- Carl!"

The expression of fear dropped from my face. "Carl?!" I breathed.

"The castle's last janitor," Stephen explained. "Poor chap passed away after eating one of Sapphire's burritos."

A sudden retching noise caught my attention and before I could fathom what was occurring before me, a chilly wave of ectoplasm spewed forth from Carl's withered lips and sprayed my frame in cold ghost vomit. Dripping with regurgitated Mexican food, I let out a passive sigh.

This would never have happened to Turhan Bey, I thought. Things seemed so much simpler (and much less sticky) for him in that wonderful horror/noir hybrid from the 40s...

***

This little supernatural sleeper effectively blends the moodiness of film noir with the unknown terrors of a fright film to surprisingly great results.

Poor Christine Faber (Bari) is having a hard time forgetting about her late husband Paul. But it’s kind of hard to move on when the man’s voice constantly calls out to her from beyond the rushing waves and blowing sea wind outside of her palatial mansion. Christine’s spunky little sister Janet (O’Donnell) and her loving new boyfriend Martin (Carlson) do the best they can to alleviate her mind, but thoughts of the dead keep lurking back on ol’ Christie.

Enter Alexis (Bey), a smooth and practically clairvoyant spiritualist who begins to consult with Christine over her psychic dilemma. The medium puts on a good show as he channels Paul’s spirit from the Other Side, but we soon find out he’s nothing but a small-time operator out to score some fast cash on the gullible minds of the bereaved. But it soon comes to pass that even Alexis is in way over his head and that the past can indeed come back to endanger the lives of those in the present…

Neither spookfest nor straight crime thriller, The Amazing Mr. X (a.k.a. The Spiritualist) is something of a completely unique creature to emerge from 40’s cinema. It has more in common with the shadowy dramas of Val Lewton than the monster shows associated with Universal Studios; the tenebrous edges of the unknown just barely impinge on the reality of the action. Think if Hitchcock had decided to film a ghost story (barring Vertigo) and you have a pretty good idea of this one.

The small cast of players that occupies these shadowy corners is rather strong and not one weak link can be found in the chain. Bey tends to steal the scenes as the devilishly charming Alexis and the Grinch-like growth of his heart during the film’s progress only endears him more to us. Bari and O’Donnell have a wonderful chemistry as sisters while Carlson fills in the shoes of the dedicated hero well enough despite his character being rather boring compared to the others (the fate of all straight-laced squares it would seem).

Don’t let this one fool you either. It packs a few impressive twists in the mix that may take you by surprise. The tension-filled pursuit in the cellar is the perfect capper to this dark drama of smoke, mirrors, and the dead returned.

A Few(dio) Faces Of Fear

2011-10-19T08:00:00.000-04:00

With the days darkening and the air becoming thick with the scent of pumpkin innards, one can't help but have that Halloween spirit rekindled inside of them as it is every year in ritual-like fashion. What helps me get my Hallow-groove on is a good dose of fear extract and the fine folks at Fewdio are always a group I can turn to when I want my gooseflesh nice and clammy.

Certainly not new to the Internet by any means, these videos are simply personal highlights that I think conjure up the darker, scarier side of the holiday quite effectively. Whether it's through blatant jump scare or haunting suggestion, these short films deliver the gruesome goods. So pull up the Casper blanket and nibble on some candy corn if it'll help absorb the shock.

But it probably won't.

Eerie Interview with Filmmaker Bjørn Egil Eide

2011-10-17T08:00:00.039-04:00

As the wind howls its mournful tune and the wet leaves press up against the cracked panes of the castle, we sit down with Bjørn Egil Eide, creative force behind the short film Volkodlak, and talk of the magic of film and tales of the North...

Q: Have you always had a fascination with the horror genre?

A: Yes, pretty much. When I was very young my grandmother read me traditional Norwegian fairy tales, many of which featured trolls, sorcery, castles and were often quite dark. It was scary but strangely enthralling at the same time. I began to feel drawn to anything with monsters and spooky settings.

Whenever I came across a cartoon or comic book of that nature you couldn't pry me loose from it. When I was a bit older and my parents were away my elder sister would often be my sitter, and she and her friends would rent some kind of horror-flick that I also badly wanted to see. Of course I wasn’t allowed to watch and had to go to bed. But early the next morning while they were sleeping I used to get up, track the tape down -- and watch me some horror films!

Q: When did you decide to get into filmmaking? Did a certain moment spark that decision?

A: There was definitely a moment, and fittingly enough it also had to do with horror films. Thought I started making short animation-movies and some short “films” (more like playing in front of a static camera) together with a few buddies around the time I was about ten, I had no actual interest in film-making back then. It was just a fun past-time. But one summer evening in ‘94 I happened to catch a TV-documentary about horror movies.

It showed plenty of clips from the early films, and I was totally spellbound. These worn and scratched old black and white films with their eerie music, spooky settings and monsters really appealed to me. They captured my imagination, and I really wanted to make something just like them. From ‘96 to about ‘99 I made some attempts at this, but something always hindered me from completing a film I was satisfied with.

Q: What would you say are your favorite creatures of the night?

A: I have to say vampires. With them you have the ability to go from something as simple as rotting corpses to really complex and intelligent characters with supernatural abilities. It’s no wonder they’ve been around for so long and are still popular. And as long as they remain in the darkness of the night and retain some mystery they work well. But the downside, I feel, is that due to their range and popularity they’ve become overused (and badly used), and due to modern settings they lose much of their efficiency. I've never liked vampires in the modern world and I can’t stand the teenage-stuff, like Buffy the Vampire Slayer for example. That's why I decided to place Volkodlak in the past, before the advent of electric light, when darkness reigned and the supernatural seemed much more fitting.

But the final straw for me in terms of vampires was Twilight... In my opinion it's going to take a lot of hard work from some very clever artists to undo all the damage that series did. Kids now think vampires should sparkle in the sun, damn it!

Q: What was your reason for going the route of filming an atmospheric silent film?

A: Well, ever since my encounter with silent films of a dark nature I felt that this kind of film had a factor that modern films simply lacked. A surreal, dreamlike mood created by the aged, colorless picture and the absence of sound. I guess it has a lot to do with the fact that it felt ancient, and unnatural, like a window into another world. There was a certain magic within that frame, and it projected an atmosphere where haunting places and creatures of the night fit in so well. And the right musical score only heightened the mood.

I wanted very much to do a project that had this intact, but I developed the philosophy of dropping what I saw as the cons of the early horror films; things like an overall slow pacing, the tendency to tell and not show, safe protagonists, love-story subplots, no chance for evil to triumph, strict morals, comic relief, happy endings etc.

And although the years passed I was never able to shake off this obsession. So in early 2003 I decided that making such a film was something I just had to do, even if it had to be done with next to no resources and I’d be the only one who’d end up watching it.

Q: Was it a conscious decision to give the story a fairy tale-like tone?

A: Not at all. I was working on some kind of a story where I could use very classic horror film elements (Transylvania, a mysterious Count, etc.) and features from Gothic Fiction, like a remote castle and ancient bloodlines, and then use these in a way that did something different and hopefully original. I wanted the story to be a bit vague, and to use few characters with sparse dialogue. When the script was done I found that I needed a prologue and epilogue in text form in order to add certain key-information.

Based on the stuff I knew I needed to add, I just started writing, and when the text was completed it dawned on me that this felt like the opening and closing of a dark fairy tale. This lead me to see the story element that you mentioned in your review (“the brave knight penetrating the monster's fortress to save the imprisoned princess”), and I was very happy about this. Not only had I achieved my goal of capturing the essence of both an old horror film as well as Gothic Fiction, but unconsciously some aspects of the fairy tale - which I had had a lifelong interest in - had snuck in too. The mind is wonderful that way.

Q: What were some of the biggest challenges you faced filming and completing Volkodlak?

A: Oh man, there were so many. The biggest was of course finding the time to work on it. I had to sacrifice an extreme amount of my spare time and often much of my social life for the project. And the crew, which consisted of a couple of my best friends, had to spend a lot of their spare time on it too. Finding dates when people were available was always a struggle.

The shooting itself was marred by camera-issues, and we only had one lens so capturing what we wanted while on crammed locations could be a real pain in the ass, and often just barely possible.

The fact that we really didn't have any money, about $ 1000 in total, meant that we had to make a lot of the props and effects out of whatever we had lying around in our cellars, garages or sheds, which wasn't easy.

In order to shoot at locations far away from electrical sources we made a light-unit driven by an expensive battery. So we were forced to work quickly, and often use flashlights while preparing scenes in order to conserve the actual shooting-light.

The camera also had only one battery. If either of the batteries went out during filming we just had to stop and go home, and often continue the shoot weeks later. Work was done mostly during autumn and winter which was damned cold, also on locations indoors since we didn’t have a heating oven on site. There wasn’t even any oven in our studio!

During post-production the worst thing that happened was that a hard drive containing the first edited version actually crashed. I lost most of the files and had to start editing the entire movie all over again... That was a bloody nightmare.

Q: If you don’t mind telling us, how was the “death by sunlight” scene at the end accomplished?

A: I take that question as a personal triumph. During planning an associate said to me "You want someone to decompose on screen? No problem, just use this or that computer software." But CGI doesn't fascinate me and it certainly didn't belong in this kind of a movie.

So I insisted on doing every visual effect for the film in a way that could have been accomplished in the 1920s. These effect shots would of course have been way harder to pull off back then, but possible.

I don't want to describe exactly how we did the “death by sunlight” sequence, but I will tell you that it involved cardboard, black powder, crackers, an aerosol can, a smoke machine, flour, white makeup, fake skin, black shoe-polish, cellophane, polish wool, hair, spirit gum, 13 year old taco-sauce (oh the things you find when cleaning out the garage...) and a full size body prop. With those details you’ll probably get the picture, and if not - well - then some magic still remain!

Q: Was the castle featured in the film an actual location the crew shot at?

A: Sadly, there are no castles like that in Norway. So what do we have instead? We have many traces of World War II and a thousand years of Christianity. So the castle is a combination of dilapidated Nazi-bunkers for the indoor shots, and old stone churches for the outdoor shots, combined with a small studio and a miniature-model.

When we finally had all the outdoor location-shots we knew what Castle Griigor had to look like, and then we built the miniature-castle. Since bunkers were the easiest way to do indoor-shots we designed the castle interior as a place partially located inside the mountain itself.

We ended up using four different bunkers, but only after the largest one suddenly - shall we say – “disappeared.” Yes, one day I drove by the entrance and there was a huge hillside of compressed dirt there instead. I think what had happened was that we’d been seen entering the bunker a couple of times on late evenings. We had been carrying our equipment and props like swords, torches and suchlike, through an open and lit up area, so I’m quite sure someone in the neighborhood saw us. They must have though we where performing Satanic rituals or something in there to go through such lengths as to have the entire entrance blown shut, ruining an historic structure that had stood for over 60 years... So if we hadn't had those other bunkers to fall back on, the film would probably have been a lot shorter.

Q: Do you have any plans for future projects?

A: Not any film projects for the moment, no. I'm currently in the process of finishing a Prog-rock album I've been working on for a couple of years.

It dawned on me some time ago that as long as you’re doing creative projects on your spare time you can’t get every idea done. There’s just not enough time. So I pick the ones that are most important to me. Volkodlak was one of those.

But movie making is an incredibly demanding medium because it incorporates many different art forms. When you do most of these things yourself it just takes up too much time and energy, so I've taken sort of an indefinite leave of absence from filmmaking. I do however have a couple of finished scripts, and I’ll return if a good opportunity should present itself.

Q: Is Halloween (or a spooky equivalent) celebrated in Norway? What’s it like?

A: Back in the 80s and early 90s when I was a kid, Halloween was just something we’d see in American movies and in Donald Duck comics. And let me tell you; we were all jealous. The closest thing we had were carnivals, but that didn't have a focus on spooky creatures as well as people handing out free candy(!). But during my early teens some other youngsters started having Halloween-parties, and in the last ten-twelve years or so it has caught on. But it’s a long way to go before it reaches the scale of what you have in the US, I’m sure.

Q: What are some of your favorite fright flicks?

A: This will not come as a surprise, my favorites are all pretty old films; The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919), Nosferatu (1922), Frankenstein (1931), White Zombie (1932), The Black Cat (1934), Night of the Demon (1957), House of Usher (1960) and The Mask of Satan (1960).

The segment “The Drop of Water” from Black Sabbath (1963) is one of the best horror-shorts I've seen. I'm a fan of the Italian Barbara Steele horrors from the 60's, mostly The Horrible Dr. Hichcock (1962) and Nightmare Castle (1965), and I also like parts of Suspiria (1977) and The Shining (1980) a lot.

Modern horror films I usually steer away from since there’s way too much torture-porn, extensive gore, and of course - modern settings - in them. So I’ve seen less and less horror films over the last decade, and I suspect that trend will continue until filmmakers start placing more of the films in settings somewhere back in time, and focus more on mood and atmosphere. The right people would still manage to make something frightening. Maybe I just really suck at finding new films that do have these things, but I’m tired of sitting through disappointments. I think the newest horror film that I was pleasantly surprised with was The Others (2001). That was ten years ago.

Q: Do you have any cinematic influences that inspire you?

A: Sure, probably a lot more than I can pinpoint. I think it’s stuff from the films that I grew up with that continue to inspire me the most. The sets of many of the early Universal horror films for example. They are so beautifully done.

Many of the special effects in the original Star Wars trilogy, and the dragon in Dragonslayer (1981) continue to fascinate me although I know how they did it. Not to mention the visual work on the early animated Disney films, especially Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937).

The structure, extreme close-ups and epic wide shots in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966) stay with me, and the way the music was used during entire scenes or certain shots in that movie is something I think about whenever I’m working on a script.

I loved the visual style of Sleepy Hollow (1999) and Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), the latter was also a very good movie. But today I think I draw more inspiration from literature, drawings/paintings and even music than I do from films. What inspires me the most though, is taking a walk alone on a moonlit night, preferably near the woods. That’ll get the ball rolling.

Q: If you had unlimited resources at your disposal, what would be your dream project to complete?

A: Great question! I would definitely have produced my finished Cold Grave Studio script called Black Cloak – which is not a vampire film, by the way. It would be a sort of spiritual successor to Volkodlak in that it would follow the same philosophy of filmmaking, but be like an early 1930s sound film instead. However the inclusion of sound would be there mostly for the sake of effects and not dialogue.

The story is set in 18th century Britain, and the film would have required the building of a large set as well as location-shooting in Britain and maybe Central Europe. I’m convinced that it would have become a pretty creepy short. So that's what I would have made, and since there are still many fans of old horror films/dark fairy tales/dark fantasy out there it proves that there’s still a place, or a market, for new films like this. I hope other filmmakers see that too.

Drive-In Horrorshow (2009): Slaughtered At The Drive-In, Branded A Ghoul

2011-10-15T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by Michael Neel

Written by Greg Ansin and Michael Neel

Starring Luis Negron, (Pig) Judith Kalaora, Matt Catanzano; (The Closet) Chris Fidler, Michaela Reggio, Elizabeth Rose, and John Cleary; (Fall Apart) Larry Jay Tish, Nadia Delemeny, and Joe Limieux; (The Meat Man) Trevor Fidler, Jimmy Flynn, and Jonathan Donahue; (The Watcher) Jenna Morasca, Ethan Zohn, Rydia Vielehr, Nathaniel Sylva, and Robert Hines

Three ½ Stars

Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the local drive-in, five terrifying tales come to life on the horizon of the Apocalypse, hosted by a ghoulish Projectionist (Negron) and his rotting, oozing staff.

In the first story entitled “Pig,” a college frat boy (Catanzano) discovers the horrible price he must pay after a hot’n’heavy night with a girl (Kalaora) he had slipped roofies to. With his chauvinistic hide glued to a tub and the water getting higher every minute, can the jerk escape the clutches of his shattered victim/captor?

Jamie (Chris Fidler), the protagonist of “The Closet,” doesn’t fare any better. With two scolding parents (Rose and Cleary) and a perfect, bratty sister (Reggio), Jamie is eager for a better life. Even if it means luring his family into his bedroom closet where a flesh-hungry creature waits. But is life sans family and plus gluttonous monster really the good life?

“Fall Apart” involves good-hearted doctor Patrick (Tish) who finds that he may have met his match in the form of a strange illness that has befallen a patient. But Patrick finds that he has contracted the bug himself, and right when he was just getting reacquainted with his separated wife (Delemeny) to boot. With the presence of shadowy figures and a worsening condition of the flesh rot, will Patrick be able to keep himself together?

Who said childhood was an innocent time? Brothers Tommy (Trevor Fidler) and Oakley (Flynn) discover the ugly truth of family in “The Meat Man.” When a cannibalistic serial killer strikes the neighborhood, the boys begin to suspect that it could be their squeaky clean, vacuum-selling Dad (Donahue). Are their imaginations getting the best of them or do their suspicions have some meat to them?

Any extra from an 80’s slasher film would tell you it’s a terrible idea to visit an isolated lake, but that’s exactly what the four partying characters do in the final tale, “The Watcher.” As they booze and smoke it up, they are watched by the hungry eyes of a hillbilly mutant (Hines). The group finds out that his idea of fun and games includes munching on their innards and mercilessly hunting them down. Do the campers live to see another bonfire? I think we all know.

Judged as a whole, Drive-In Horrorshow is a wonderfully fun pastiche of anthology horror films the likes of Tales from the Hood and Creepshow, with a nice does of Tales from the Crypt thrown in for good measure. Some of the most enjoyable parts are the wraparound segments that occur at the drive-in with the ever-gracious Projectionist introducing each story and emitting ghastly puns in true TV horror host fashion. The other colorful characters like Billy Troll and Frank the undead ticket taker are a gruesomely inspired touch and add to the spooky, feel-good atmosphere.

The stories on average are all executed with surprising finesse, though they do range from the exceptional to the middling. On the polar ends of this spectrum are “The Meat Man” and “The Watcher.” “The Meat Man” is a more blackly humorous story and progresses in a very Hitchcockian manner, right from the suspicions of murder to the string-heavy orchestrations. “The Watcher,” on the other hand, is an obvious and lukewarm call back to the stalk’n’slash pictures of yore and does nothing to spice things up. The fact that it comes after a series of inspired vignettes only makes it seem worse by comparison.

The film features a really impressive score (especially for being independently made) and some gooey effects that are pulled off nicely (ex: check out that sticky ending to “Fall Apart” with Patrick lying in a mound of his own deteriorating flesh).

Drive-In Horrorshow is just plain cool viewing and it beats with the black heart of macabre passion that Neel and Ansin show for their material. It’s a melding of old and new that ensures pleasures for fright fans of all ages. Serve this one with buttery popcorn and nachos and call it a night.

Trailer

Volkodlak (2010): Dark Ages And Darker Shadows

2011-10-13T08:00:00.030-04:00

Directed by Bjørn Egil Eide

Written by Bjørn Egil Eide

Starring Michael L. Berg, Bjørn Egil Eide, Amir Kreso, and Selvi Engesseth

Three ½ Stars

If you're anything like us here at the castle, ~~we pity you~~ then you probably feel a certain nostalgic joy when viewing images of chiaroscuro specters flitting through fairy tale landscapes to the sound of stirring instrumentals that play a symphony of horror for our antiquarian pleasure. Or to put it succinctly, you really dig silent horror films.

So what a joy it is to discover that in our modern times, the likes of which have seen everything from cancer-riddled serial killers meting out Grand Guignol-justice to a host of low-low-budget films determined on pitting one bizarre CGI hybrid creature against the other, there are filmmakers willing and passionate enough to re-open the crypt of crackling terrors by using the Expressionistic influences of German chillers like Nosferatu and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari to serve as the visual cue for their new ghost stories made in the old horror tradition. The former film informs a lot of the imagery present in today's offering, being that we're dealing with those bloodsucking demons of the night that are the bane of the Carpathian villagers' existence. Or, as they're more commonly known to us internet folk, vampyres.

Deep within the frigid heart of the Dark Ages and in the woolly wilds of Europe, a cloaked Stranger (Eide) travels through the twisting mountains, sword at the ready to dispel of any evil beast that might come his way in true Solomon Kane style. On his way to a decaying castle he sees in the distance, the Stranger runs into a bit of trouble when he runs afoul of a blade-wielding Ambusher (Kreso)... except that this assailant also has an impressive set of canines to boot. The Stranger quickly dispenses of the undead guard with the only sure-fire method of bloodsucker extermination: decapitation.

Making his way into the castle, the Stranger meets the keeper of the house, the long-haired and ember-eyed Count Griigor (Berg). The slithery host guides the Stranger into his parlor, paying no mind to the poor sap who has just fallen to his gory death in the castle's spike pit. It comes to pass that the Stranger has arrived to free the blonde beauty (Engesseth) that Griigor has locked away in his keep. But the Count is not willing to give up the vixen that easily. And before the next morning's sun rises over the snowy peaks, both the Count and the Stranger will have to meet their destinies in this land of impenetrable shadows...

As an homage to the silent cinema of bygone years, Volkodlak really gets it right. It doesn't go out of its way to bloat its running time with grainy footage or highly theatrical acting in its mission to make the movie that much more "authentic." The slight scratches are actually rather subtle and could go unnoticed if one isn't watching for them, and the acting is on the whole very subdued for a film lacking in any audible dialogue. Both Eide and Berg should be given a good deal of the credit here. It's their conflict and stand-off that serves as the main dramatic crux of the short film, and the two actors sell it by radiating intensity and tension through their use of determined movements and stony stares.

Eide's influences can be seen throughout the film, particularly in the shots when the creeping darkness nearly devours the characters whole as they traverse through the spindly forests, and Count Griigor's entrance and demeanor recall the powerful menace of the rat-faced Graf Orlock.

But Volkodlak isn't merely a laundry list of pastiches and references. It's a neatly fleshed out fable that works very well in its abbreviated running time, and the story elements present (the brave knight penetrating the monster's fortress to save the imprisoned princess) lends the film a distinct Grimms fairy tale-quality that allows the story's deep folkloric roots to become that much more potent.

You shouldn't be fooled by the description either. Volkodlak packs a few nice turns (including a rather impressive FX meltdown) that will grab your ocular orbs in its taloned fists even if you're a devout follower of "classic" horror cinema beginning in the vintage year of 1981.

As an early Halloween treat for your jack o' lantern buckets, here's the short film in its entirety for you to file your fangs over. As far as we're concerned, if more independent filmmakers feel the need to fashion their shudder tales after the golden silents, we're all ears here.

Black Sabbath (1963): Tolls Of The Midnight Mass

2011-10-10T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by Mario Bava

Written by Marcello Fondato, Mario Bava, and Alberto Bevilacqua, Based on stories by F. G. Snyder, Aleksei Tolstoy, and Ivan Chekhov

Starring (The Telephone) Michele Mercier, Lidia Alfonsi, and Milo Quesada; (The Wurdulak) Boris Karloff, Mark Damon, Susy Andersen, Glauco Onorato, Rika Dialina, and Massimo Righi; (The Drop of Water) Jacqueline Pierreux, Milly, and Harriet Medin

Five Stars

Master of color tones and suspense, Italian auteur Mario Bava creates one of the best and most sumptuous horror anthologies that has ever been committed to the screen. Three tales of horror are told by our eerier narrator Boris Karloff in a realm of phantasmagoric nightmares.

In the first, entitled “The Telephone,” Rosy (Mercier) returns to her apartment one night for some rest. But it’s the last thing she gets when she begins receiving telephone calls from a whispering stranger who is threatening to kill her. Finding out that it is her ex-lover Frank who has escaped from prison, Rosy desperately calls best friend Mary (Alfonsi) and the two endure a hellish evening of deceit and death.

In “The Wurdulak,” a Russian count (Damon) discovers a headless body and traces the knife used to kill the poor soul back to a cottage in the country. The family informs him that the weapon belonged to Gorca the patriarch (Karloff) who set out to hunt down the evil Wurdulak. The family fears that Gorca might have fallen prey to his enemy when the old man returns a few scant minutes after his set arrival of midnight.

Gorca is now highly irritable and acts in a most brutal manner, save for his love for little Ivan. The Count, who has fallen in love with the young Sdenka (Andersen), witnesses Gorca kidnap the young boy and flee with him into the woods. With Gorca possessed by a mad lust for blood, Count Vladimire escapes with Sdenka to a deserted chapel to elude the grasp of the undead, but finds this is not so easy a task.

And in “The Drop of Water” nurse Helen Chester (Pierreux) is asked to prepare the body of a spiritualist for her funeral. Though the grinning cadaver sends chills down her spine, Helen decides to steal the sapphire ring that adorns its pale finger.

In the process she knocks over a glass of water, the reverberating sound of its drip plaguing her conscience. Later in her apartment, the echoing sound constantly resonates and haunts her until she is finally confronted by a vengeful spirit of the dead…

While the first segment is somewhat passable as an average thriller, it's the unforgettable stories with Boris Karloff as “The Wurdulak” and the smiling corpse from “A Drop of Water” that will haunt your dreams for years to come. Try sitting in a dark room after watching the last story. You’ll be fumbling for the light switch in no time!

As horrifying as bloodthirsty vampires and vengeful spirits are, Bava somehow manages to make the entire film appear to be a lush, beautiful piece of art overflowing with stark shadows, deliberate camerawork, and enough creeping Gothic terror to shake a fog machine at. The color palette is rich and lends each segment the air of a frenzied, fantastic dream.

The actors don’t play one moment for laughs; they are all deathly serious in their roles. Interesting to note since it seems that anthologies generally tend to stick in at least one segment that’s slightly humorous at least or downright comical at most to alleviate the tension from the other tales. The only relief we get is at the very end when we see Karloff filming the chase scene of his segment, crew members laughing as they dance around him in a show of “It’s okay—it’s only a movie!”

Truly one of the most visually stunning horror films ever made, Black Sabbath is a crowning achievement of Italian horror cinema. It's best to watch this one during the witching hour on a chilly Hallow's Eve, each story counting down the minutes to the feast of the dead.

Trailer

Meet The Horror Bloggers: William Malmborg

2011-10-08T08:00:00.000-04:00

People are often confused when I tell them that I was bred to be a horror fan. They just don’t understand what I mean by it. Truth is the horror fan part was just a side effect. I was really bred to be part of a mother son serial killer team. In order to achieve this my biological mother used to put headphones on her stomach while I was still in the womb that projected the recorded screams of her earlier victims into my developing ears. Fortunately her plan was foiled by police and I was eventually adopted by a wonderful family, one that had no idea my love of horror came from a much deeper and darker place than that of the average kid, and thus never tried to guide my interests elsewhere. Kind of makes you wonder what would have happened if they had? Would their constant attempts to shield me from the horror genre have led me to seek out another outlet for my macabre cravings? We will never know . . .

Now, being a horror fan most people assume that I love blood and guts, and are often surprised when I tell them that I can’t stand excessive gore and will often turn something off if I decide the goal is to gross the viewer out rather than terrify them. The reason for this is unknown to me, but I have a feeling it stems from the types of movies I watched as a kid with my mother and grandmother, things like The Haunting, Halloween, The Blob, Invasion of the Body Snatchers and Psycho. Most were bloodless, and achieved their scares through character development, camera angles, and music, which is what I began to seek out when searching for my own titles to view once I had acquired a driver’s license. At some point I also became very fascinated by an article I read that talked about how people often considered The Texas Chainsaw Massacre as one of the bloodiest movies of all time, yet in truth it had very little blood in it, which made me realize how effective horror could be when certain things were left to the imagination. It was something I thought about often once I began penning my own horror stories and screenplays.

All of this was back in the early days of the new millennium when people were still struggling to write 20 rather than 19 in date headings and the idea of having a blog devoted to horror, let alone publishing fiction anywhere but in print magazines was pretty much unthinkable. Back then one also didn’t have to worry about accidentally picking up a torture porn flick when renting from the horror section in the brick and mortar video stores, and could still enjoy horror themed programs like Monster Vision every Saturday night. By 2008 all that had changed and like many others that loved the horror genre I jumped on the blogging bandwagon and began writing about all the obscure titles I had been able to easily see thanks to the DVD by mail programs.

At the time I had no desire to be viewed as an actual movie reviewer (still don’t), but instead just wanted to share my thoughts on those films I was able to experience with anyone who would read it. The same was true with the novels I wrote about, most being old out of print titles I found through Amazon for a few pennies, as well as any random thoughts I had on the genre itself. Occasionally I would upload some of my own stories, usually ones that had seen print in a magazines or anthologies. In time I realized the blog might be a good place for all my stories regardless of whether or not they had already seen print because I got sick and tired of sending them out to magazines that would either go out of business before replying to the submission, or accept the submission but go out of business before printing it. That isn’t to say I don’t send stuff out still, I am just more selective in the markets I submit too and would rather focus my time and energy on getting novels into print rather than my stories.

And that my friends is the origin of my horror interests and blog, one which I plan to keep adding too in the future as I view more movies, read more books, and write more stories. I also hope to slowly rewrite some of the earlier reviews from 2008 and 2009 because when looking back at them I am disgusted by how poorly written they are, and shiver at the thought of someone being introduced to my writing through them.

The Devil's Number: From The Pulp Returned

2011-10-06T08:00:00.000-04:00

From the radio program The Witch’s Tale (1931-1938)

Broadcast on May 2, 1938

Four ½ Stars

The bubbling contents of the punch bowl stirred a primordial revulsion at the base of my bowels. It was a thick orange substance, and the sound of its movements were like the noise a slug makes upon being torn up from the ground.

"I don't know, Stephen. Are you sure this stuff is good?"

My friend peered at me through gold-rimmed spectacles from his New York Times. "Sapphire is trying a new recipe. If it's anything like her other dishes, you better pack your Pepto." He pinched a flea between his two forefingers and flicked it into his mouth.

I sighed. Ahh yes, Sapphire. Creighton's New Wave hippie sister. Fortunately she didn't have a hunched back like her brother, but the culinary concoctions that she whipped up in the kitchen as self-appointed cook were monstrous enough. Creighton himself had had a good five glasses of the ember-hued stuff in the bowl and he was now singing a hearty tune with Gus Rot in the corner of the Radio Wing.

"Go oon an' try some, mastah," Creighton hiccuped from the sagging couch. "It's some of the best stuff oy've ever had in me life!"

"You said it, brother!" growled Gus. He tilted his rotting head back and shoved his glass towards his mouth. The punch dribbled down his throat and poured out of the gaping hole in his neck onto the moldy shirt of his business suit. "Damn did that hit the spot!" He crashed the glass against his exposed skull and began chewing on the broken bits.

Just then Sapphire walked through the door, carrying another bowl brimming with the toxic liquid. She shook her dreadlocks as she set the bowl onto the table and when she looked up at me she flashed a toothy smile. "What do you think of the punch, Jose? I think I might have outdone myself this time around."

"Yes, you've certainly done something," I said. Creighton was rummaging through a closet at the other end of the room. He squealed in delight as he removed a large mannequin out from the stacks of radio recordings. "Oy, look at dis everyone!"

No, not a mannequin.

Stephen looked up from his paper. "What do you know. A skeleton in a closet." He returned to his reading. "How awfully cliche."

I returned my attention to Sapphire. "Say, uh, Sapphire. Where exactly did you come up with this recipe?"

"Oh!" She rummaged through the folds of her multi-colored blouse before she produced a red bound book. With a gold symbol on the front...

"I found this lying around the kitchen. It's got some really groovy writing in it." She flipped through the pages. "I think this one was called... oh yeah, Alchemist's Delight!"

"Drinky drinky for Mr. Bones!" I whirled around at the sound of Creighton's drunken lilt. He was pouring his glass of punch into the skeleton's parched mouth. Before I could utter the words I saw the skeleton's bones begin to shimmy and shake in a mad tango of resurrection! And then...

"Yeeeeeah, man! It's great to be back!" The skeleton spun on its little ivory toes. "What is happenin', people? What's new? What's the 411? Gimme the down-low. What's crack-a-lackin?"

The bone-man stopped his tirade as he noticed we were all standing around, lower jaws caressing the floor.

He cleared his throat. "Uhh, where are we?"

Sapphire was the first to speak. "This is Mephisto's Castle... dude." A shock of thunder resonated in the air.

"How cliche," Stephen muttered.

"We happen to be in the Radio Wing. To be precise," Creighton added. He had been shocked sober.

The skeleton's grin grew wider. "The Radio Wing, you say? Well bust my casket, why didn't you say so? I love radio dramas!"

Now it was my turn to speak. "You do...?"

"Of course I do, fool! What ya'll listening to today?"

I coughed. "Well, uh, I think we were gonna sit down for an episode of The Witch's Tale."

"Hell yeah! That's one of my favorite shows!" The skeleton sauntered over to the great radio and sat on the stone floor Indian-style. The rest of us took a few seconds to stare at each other, not sure what to do. Finally we all shrugged and I went to go get the record.

***

Everyone knows that Friday the 13th is an unlucky day, but just why is that anyhow? The Olivers are a couple who are willing to find out, and Mr. Rockwell, their eloquent host for the evening, gives them a ghostly history lesson on the dark beginnings of that most despised calendar day.

It’s in his brooding 16th century mansion that Rockwell explains that Friday was the day of Christ’s crucifixion and, as he puts it, was the one occasion when the Devil had won over God. Fear and superstition of the dreaded 13th day has plagued mankind ever since.

After the mood is set, it only comes natural for the trio to journey deep into the family crypt for a little midnight tour. They’re paying a visit to one of their host’s ancestors, Erick Rockwell, alchemist extraordinaire. The old bloke gained infamy since he had a bad habit of murdering young girls and collecting 13 drops of blood from their bodies in order to fix up a mean cocktail that had the power to rejuvenate!

As crazy as the old wizard might have appeared, it seems his elixir actually worked, being that he was over 100 years old at the time of his execution in 1623 and didn’t look a day over 40! Not appreciating Rockwell’s recipe for health shakes, the courts saw it fit to burn the devil at the stake for his odious crimes.

But apparently even that wasn’t enough, as a few choice bones from Erick’s body made it through the inferno and are now being held within the family vault. Unfortunately, wife Judith can’t help but be entranced by Senor Erick’s grinning skull. So much so that she cuts her finger on the iron chest that houses the bones and an exact thirteen drops of plasma smack against ol’ Erick’s parched teeth. Uh oh.

The next thing you know the skull-faced Erick has kidnapped Judith and shuffled off to the forbidden wing of the castle to complete his mad experiments. Only Rockwell and Harry can bring an end to the evil ancestor’s plot. Can they destroy the sorcerer before he has drunk deep of innocent blood, or will this Friday the 13th prove to be their unluckiest of all?

“The Devil’s Number” is pure pulpy fun from one of the very first pioneers in audio terror. This broadcast comes to us by way of The Witch’s Tale, the demented brainchild of Alonzo Dean Cole who invited his regular listeners to the howling hut of Ol’ Nancy the witchy-poo her ownself and her incessantly yowling black cat Satan (voiced by Cole himself!).

“The Devil’s Number” is a deliciously grotesque episode from Nancy’s cauldron that seems to have taken inspiration from the countless pulp magazines and “weird menace” titles that stared lividly out at salivating young readers from the drug store racks of 1930’s America. “The Devil’s Number” throws all the insidious ingredients of those stories into one bubbling brew to create 30 minutes worth of auditory unpleasantries just dripping with foggy atmosphere and dusty antiquity.

The heroes are daring, the damsel is modest, and the villain is so wickedly evil that you won’t be able to keep yourself from cracking a twisted grin at the sound of his guffawing skull. Radio fans shouldn’t miss this one for the world; it’s that classically spooky type of yarn that we relish more than all the rabbits feet and horseshoes in the whole world.

The Casavin Curse: Creepy Cousins

2011-10-03T08:00:00.001-04:00

Directed by Frank De Palma

Written by Edithe Swensen

Starring Joseph Cortese, Catherine Parks, Scott Lincoln, Julie Ariola, and John Brandon

From the television program Tales from the Darkside (1983-1988)

Broadcast on July 13, 1986

Three Stars

Everybody needs a little love, but the poor Casavin family finds out the hard way that with love comes untimely, horrific death! Would Tales from the Darkside have it any other way?

Pretty Gina (Parks) has no trouble finding guys, but keeping them alive until the morning after is a harder task. Her latest beau ends up being strangled to death and then sliced into like a Christmas ham. This hasn’t been the first time that this has happened, but the Casavins’ connections to political hotshots keeps the investigating Lt. Wright (Brandon) from booking the socialite.

Enter feather-haired psychologist Jeffrey Webster (Lincoln) who seeks to relieve the disturbed gal of her delusion that an age-old family curse is the root of the murders. It seems great-grandfather Casavin spurned the affections of a gypsy woman, thus causing the mystic to place a blood curse on the family to ensure that all of the romantic pursuits of his descendants would end in death. Jeff doesn’t get any help from Gina’s reptilian cousin Nicholas (a handsome Joseph Cortese) who insists that the curse is indeed real and that the good doctor butt out.

Of course Jeffrey digs on, finding out some juicy info from the family maid (Ariola) that may pinpoint Nicholas as the true criminal. Nicholas however is convinced in the curse and makes creepy incestuous moves on Gina so that they can marry without actually loving each other (thus keeping both of them alive). More truths are revealed, lip locks are exchanged, and before the night is over everybody will see the frightening face of the Casavin Curse…

A potboiler of an episode that’s only enhanced by a few noteworthy performances and some unexpected creature makeup. Cortese is too cool for school as cousin Nicky and looks to be an Italian variant of Gordon Gekko from Wall Street. Lincoln is a bit annoying as the heroic psychologist but Parks is downright comical as she tries to channel some genuine emotion as the tortured Gina (although she just kind of manages to look like a startled rabbit most of the time).

The episode plays a bit on the sexual repression terrors of Cat People, though the curse here is not quite as lycanthropic as Simone Simon’s dilemma from the Val Lewton film. Parks is actually more enjoyable as her demon-faced variant and the story ends on a nice downbeat (?) note. An episode that can stand on its own two legs, but one that certainly wouldn’t make a “Best Of…” compilation.

Sinister Spotlight: Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 with Bryce Wilson

2011-09-29T08:00:00.001-04:00

The Sinister Spotlight is back at the castle, this time putting the limelight on one of the most loved (?) black comedies to ever be a sequel to a horror classic. Of course I'm referring to Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, that rip-roaring oddity that combines the feel-good vibe of the 80's with the demented charms of Leatherface dry humping his weapon of choice (listen to that joke overstay its welcome in record time!).

For this excursion into the wild and woolly world of horror cinema, I invited the esteemed and eclectic Bryce Wilson over from his usual scratching post Things That Don't Suck for a little one-on-one. Topics included but not limited to: the entrepreneurial tactics of the Sawyer family, the bizarre biology of the entire TCM franchise, the grim horror that resurfaces here even in the face of whacky humor, the powerhouse that is Dennis Hopper, and many other unrelated topics.

Grab a pulled pork sandwich and give a listen as the horror-heads breathe heavy on the gas fumes from power tools...

*Note: Please don't let that horribly off base trailer fool you.

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Werewolf Of London (1935): The Importance Of Being Lycan

2011-09-26T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by Stuart Walker

Written by John Colton, Harvey Gates, and Robert Harris, Story by Robert Harris

Starring Henry Hull, Warner Oland, Valerie Hobson, Lester Matthews, Lawrence Grant, Spring Byington, and Clark Williams

Four ½ Stars

My foot just barely missed the creeping vine of one of the Hades flowers growing in the garden as I made my way down the flagstone path.

“Stephen!” I called. The ape had sauntered off to God knows what forbidden corner of the castle’s grounds. I had been looking for him for the better part of an hour.

“Where’d you go, dude? I’m going to start Werewolf of London without you if you don’t get your hide back in the Film Foyer.”

Just as I was about to head back, I heard Stephen’s hearty guffaw from just around the bend. I stomped around the corner only to stop my march immediately.

Stephen was sitting at a small clothed table in the gazebo, cheerily sipping at a tea cup (pinky up, of course). Across from him sat what looked like an old woman dressed for bed, nightcap and all. Taking a few steps forward, I immediately realized that the rosy-cheeked biddy chewing at a crumpet was a furry-faced werewolf. Who was also wearing a false moustache.

I guess as an extra disguise.

“Uhhh, Steve. I think we should head back to the castle. We have that… that, uh, thing we had to do.”

“Oh Jose, my good man! Won’t you sit down? Valerie was just telling me all about her days as an Avon lady. Fascinating stuff. She’s been very eager to meet you.”

The false mustache was dripping with saliva. “Mhmm, I’m sure she is. But we have that appointment with the, you know, the Henry Hull, the Mariphasa…”

I jerked my head towards the house, but the ape wasn’t getting the hint. I grabbed him by the arm just as “Valerie” began sinking her surprisingly sharp French tips into the wooden table.

“What the devil has come over you? Valerie was just about to give me the recipe to her famous chili con carne!” Stephen protested.

“Yeah, were you one of the ingredients? Your companion there was of the lycan persuasion.”

“Well who ever heard of a werewolf eating a gorilla?”

I stopped pacing, stumped. “That doesn’t matter,” I continued. “We have a movie to watch anyway.”

Stephen frowned. “A shame, too. She seemed like a proper Englishwoman.”

I sighed. “Just because she has good manners doesn’t mean she won’t eat you!”

***

Before Lon Chaney ever set his furry paws on the misty moors of Wales, Universal Studios offered another version of a pure-hearted man carrying the curse of the full moon in this exemplary lycanthrope picture.

While journeying into the snowy peaks of Tibet to retrieve the rare Mariphasa lupina lumina flower, botanist Wilfred Glendon (Hull) is attacked by a ferocious creature that takes a yummy bite out of the scientist’s arm before Wilfred can ward it away with a knife.

Returning to London, Glendon’s intense devotion to his work causes him to neglect his wife Lisa (Hobson) who seeks comfort from an old beau, Paul (Matthews). At a botanist social, Glendon meets the mysterious Dr. Yogami (Oland) who knows of Glendon’s discovery and warns the doctor of the werewolf’s curse, a stigma whose only antidote is the moon flower.

Glendon refuses to put stock in superstitions, but he finds out the true nature of his condition later that night as he completely transforms into a ravenous monster of the night. Now with his blood tainted by the ancient curse, our doomed hero attempts to cure his disease as the beast inside of him seeks to quench its thirst with the blood from the one it loves best.

Werewolf of London is a spirited romp into hoary adventure, sprinkled with an eccentric streak of British humor similar in tone to The Invisible Man (1933). Henry Hull gives a fine performance, displaying the pathos needed for the tragic werewolf character while retaining the prim and proper characteristics of an English gentleman (wonderfully illustrated when the snarling monster feels the need to dress appropriately for the damp weather in heavy coat and cap before heading out on his killing spree!).

Valerie Hobson gives an adequate turn at playing Glendon’s distressed wife. Her lines come off a little stilted at times, but her lovely set of vocal chords make for some nice bloodcurdling screams later on. Warner Oland is a familiar face to genre fans, having made himself a household name in the 30’s as Oriental sleuth Charlie Chan. He hands in a fine performance here, each restrained line of his is perfumed with a slight air of mystery and foreboding, going from droopy-eyed weirdo to cackling fiend quite nicely.

The makeup design by Jack Pierce is unique and distinctive, a fearsome creation that could sit amongst his other wonderful creations for Frankenstein (1931) and The Mummy (1932). Pierce originally wanted to apply the legendary Yorkshire terrier makeup later used in The Wolf Man (1941), but Hull wasn’t pleased with the time-consuming application and declined on wearing it. To appease the actor, Pierce concocted a design that was less hairy in comparison, thus giving us the sleek werewolf we have all come to recognize.

Usually considered the runt of the cinematic shapeshifter litter, Werewolf of London has some bite of its own and never fails to please as both historical artifact and pure entertainment. Confident direction, fine performances (ranging from the solid to the kooky), a fog-choked London backdrop, and an intriguing storyline all blend together to make this ferocious beast a must for all lycanthrope lovers and genre admirers. Just don’t go for a moonlit stroll through the flower beds after watching it. You never know just what you might run into.

*Note: I like to think that's Yogami screaming at the 1:11 mark.

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Meet The Horror Bloggers: Dread Carcosa

2011-09-24T08:00:00.000-04:00

I guess the best excuse I can give for why I am what I am – and by extension, why my blog Dread Carcosa is what it is - is that I just plain and simple never grew up. If a story or a movie has a monster or demon or shambling corpse terrorizing some young beauty who can’t quite keep her top on, well, you’ll probably find me there. I can’t say I take the high road at all when it comes to horror, and that really isn’t a good thing given some of the stuff that’s currently sitting on my shelves or clogging up my brain.

Stories from the late 1800s and early 1900s in the same breath as Italian splatter movies from the eighties and cheap, sleazy pulp fiction from the current era. All horror, granted, but very little to connect any of it beyond an overwhelming love of blood, beasts, and boobs – yeah, this humble blogger is cheaper than one of Richard Laymon’s female characters sitting on her “rump” watching Monstervision with a bucket of candy from the Dollarama.

Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad…

Anyway, where exactly everything began I can’t say for sure. I distinctly remember owning far too many issues of Fangoria as a child far too young to have even the one, so there’s a good chance that those black and white pages – usually with a few color inserts or a cool poster if you were lucky – had a hand (or claw) in defining the weirdo I would turn out to be. Well, that explains the movies anyway. Where the century-old pulp fiction comes from…that’s anyone’s guess, but I’m guessing it comes from living my entire life in Lovecraft country where the threat of fish men from the Atlantic is ever-present and there are always rats in the walls.

What else do you want to know…

The current state of the genre? With a butchering of Fright Night on the way, what can you really say?

Most of what passes for horror these days (be it film or fiction) seems to have taken its cue from Dario Argento – at least in style. It’s pretty to look at, and it’s flashy as hell, but once you get past the blood and the spinning camera angles and pigeon point-of-views there really isn’t a hell of a lot to sink your teeth into. Everything seems to be a variation on one theme or another that was beaten to death in the eighties with little more to offer than crude sexuality or an overdose of poorly done gore (lets be honest, it’s been all downhill in that regard since Giannetto De Rossi’s work in Fulci’s Zombi 2).

There are a few highlights though, but they have been glossed over in favour of a lot of the trash. Brian Keene and Edward Lee are still doing some really cool, really original things, and Richard Laymon has finally gotten the respect and audience he deserves (in North America anyway) with the new releases of his back catalogue from the now defunct (or close enough) Dorchester Publishing. On the movie side of things the independent scene is still good and getting better as filming continues to get cheaper, but as for the major studios, well, how many more remakes do we really need?

So there you have it: a few brief thoughts on a few of the topics I was asked to write about. I don’t normally ponder on much beyond the dusty and cobweb-covered, so I apologize if this whole thing seemed a little stilted. But hey, you can’t talk about David H. Keller, Weird Tales, and the Cthulhu Mythos all the time, right?

Count Yorga, Vampire (1970): Deep Throat

2011-09-22T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by Bob Kelljan

Written by Bob Kelljan

Starring Robert Quarry, Michael Macready, Roger Perry, Michael Murphy, D. J. Anderson, and Judy Lang

Three ½ Stars

The Old World meets the New as a vampire straight from the heart of Europe relocates to Los Angeles circa 1970. Can you cats dig it?

That bloodsucker goes under the guise of Count Yorga (the distinguished and handsome Robert Quarry) who slowly integrates himself into a circle of friends who first come to know him when he serves as a medium for a little late night séance.

But Yorga’s allegiance with the Dark Side is greater than any of them could suspect, as poor Paul and Erica (Murphy and Lang) find out when the bloodsucker breaks into their shaggin’ wagon for his share of sloppy seconds.

Everyman hero Mike (Macready) and his smoking physician friend Hayes (Perry) realize the terrible supernatural danger at hand when Mike’s girl Donna begins showing signs of the vampire’s bite.

The duo have a lot to face against though, including Yorga’s pack of snarling she wenches who are all too eager to take a few bloody nips out of any unfortunate victims. Do the two mortals stand a chance against the age-old monster and his mission to start an undead brothel of terror?

Originally planned to be a pornographic film under the name The Loves of Count Iorga (the title card of which can still be seen in the MGM Midnite Movies release), Count Yorga, Vampire is the American equivalent of the bloody Hammer films from across the pond that were successfully mixing their horror films with ample amounts of bosom flesh.

There’s a strange sexuality to the picture, especially seen in a random moment when Yorga seemingly uses his mental powers to command his bloodsucking brides to perform naughty (but unseen) acts upon each other. And in a clever reversal of the seductive midnight visit, we see Quarry bare revoltingly yellow fangs as he slurps and smears blood across his face from Erica’s throat in a completely animalistic fashion.

The action does hit a few snags along the way, possibly due to the film’s small budget. This creates several scenes where the characters are either aimlessly walking through the city streets or sitting plaintively in the kitchen while talking about the weird goings-on non-stop.

The saving grace that director Kelljan delivers (and what elevates this one from a simple popcorn flick to a genuinely haunting experience) comes in the form of a few well-placed disturbing segments, namely the ones dealing with the sinister vampire brides. The episode with the transformed Erica screaming through a plasma-streaked mouth over the mangled body of a kitten in her hands is particularly freaky and an image that is guaranteed to burn itself in your retinas.

A refreshing fright flick to watch amidst all the over-sexualized, angsty Nosferatu that haunt modern cinema, Count Yorga is a healthy reminder as to why opera-cape vampires kick ass and just how disgusting it is to really be one of the undead.

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Anniversary Of A Murder: Guilty Record

2011-09-19T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by John Newland

Written by Collier Young

Starring Harry Townes, Randy Stuart, Amzie Strickland, and Alexander Lockwood

From the television program One Step Beyond (1959-1961)

Broadcast on September 27, 1960

Three ½ Stars

Creighton had begun sweating profusely. I rolled up my sleeves and folded my arms, showing him I wasn't moving an inch. He yanked at his collar.

"Come on Creighton, let's hear it. I know you're keeping something from me. Where is it?"

The hunchback managed a feeble, yellow-toothy grin that was barely distinguishable under the prickly scruff that grew over his face. Wringing his dirt-smeared hands, he said in a slightly shaking British accent "Woy, I don't know what ya mean, Mr. Jose. Oy never did no harm to ya."

I tried my best Clint Eastwood, squinting my eyes to give them that rock-hard bite. Creighton stifled a giggle. He probably thought I lost a contact.

"Don't give me the run-around. I know you've done something with that episode I got from Mephisto's TV Tomb. Is it because I caught you drinking that god awful Wolf Blood stuff?"

The mention of Mephisto's name and Creighton's addiction seemed to rattle him a bit, but his stubbornness came back as strong as ever. "Whut's ooll this nonsense about a telly terror? And ooh ever said oy have a drinkin' problem?" He shifted in the bat wing recliner, looking as if hungry ants had made their way up his torn pants leg.

I licked my lips, sensing my foe was caving in. I managed my best innocent schoolboy smile. "Now now, no one's here to judge. I just happen to know a little about that episode, Creighton. It has to do with guilt and the awful pains it can give you. Do you have awful pains, Creighton?"

I moved in, keeping a safe distance from his maggoty ear but close enough to intimidate. "Some times it's best to get rid of all those secrets. And maybe if you get that guilt off your chest, I can get rid of that monkey off your back." I heard Stephen cough in the next room over but I paid no mind. In one swift motion I went to the cobwebbed doors of the liquor pantry and lovingly strummed my fingers against it.

Creighton's eyes had assumed the size of basketballs and I could detect a small line of thick saliva collecting in the corner of his mouth. Gasping as if from drowning, Creighton let out a maniacal shriek and began tearing at the floorboards beneath his feet with his sharp fingernails. Within seconds I had the One Step Beyond collection in my hands, a brand spankin' new hole in the floor, and a hunchback who was drinking himself into oblivion.

I shook my head. "Why do they always hide it under the floorboards?"

***

Townes stars as Gerald Simms, a down-to-earth businessman who finds that world of his flipped upside down one afternoon while dictating a letter into a recorder. When he plays the tape back, instead of his measured, official tones he hears the helpless voice of a teenage boy screaming repeatedly “Help me! I can’t see. It’s all black. I wanna go home!” Only Gerald and one other person know the dark significance of that voice and he’ll do anything to keep it a secret.

That other person just so happens to be another one of Gerald’s secrets, a mistress by the name of Frances Hiller (Stuart). It was with her that the dreaded event occurred; while slightly tipsy and hot for his blonde beauty, Gerald ran down a bicyclist one night while driving back from a club.

The poor, dumbstruck boy was dead before any help could be gotten. Now Gerald and Frances have been bound by their crime for an entire year, the guilt visibly eating away at their minds. Murder will out, as the saying goes. And before our story’s end, both of them will get their dues.

An all-too-familiar plot still doesn’t sink this solid production from John Newland’s One Step Beyond. Kudos especially to Townes and Stuart for being able to play the many dimensions of their respective characters. They go from being flirty to serious and then to absolutely tortured with great ease.

Townes especially gets some great parts, particularly when he calls his wife the night of the murder to provide an alibi for himself. We see all of his pain and helplessness in his eyes and feel ourselves sympathizing (if only for a moment)… great stuff.

Poe fans will probably see the shattering ending coming from a mile away (too bad that boy on the bike couldn’t do the same for the car!), but that doesn’t stop it from leaving the sweet taste of justice in your mouth.

Fireside Fear: The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe

2011-09-15T08:00:00.001-04:00

Although this may be a surprise to absolutely no one, I've always had a soft spot in my heart for audio theatre and dramatic readings. And when you pair that with the horror genre, whose stories have a long oral tradition that predates those flickering pictures on the big screen by thousands of years, then you have a creepy-crawly combination that typically succeeds in bringing on a set of goose pimples. Especially when one listens to them alone. In the dark.

In an attempt to emulate that treasured tradition, I've given a whack at producing my own delivery of one of my favorite stories: Edgar Allan Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart." It's my first attempt at something like this and I hope that it inspires maybe a shudder or two and not a fit of giggles as it did in my simian companion. Depending on reception I may do more of these. But for now, settle in a comfortable spot, put your headphones on, and listen to Poe's masterful words.

Oh, and don't forget to turn off that light.

Spawn Of The Subhuman: Till The Fat Monkey Sings

2011-09-15T08:00:00.000-04:00

From the radio program Dark Fantasy (1941-1942)

Broadcast on February 27, 1942

Four ½ Stars

There are few things that we enjoy more than the mad-scientist-with-evil-ape-assistant sub genre, whether it be in film, comics or, in this case, radio. One can imagine the demented glee that possessed us when we heard that there was an episode from Dark Fantasy, a radio show broadcasted in the 40’s, that involved said monkey shenanigans.

But then it got even better.

Michael Brock and his wife Adelaide, a famous opera soprano, are on board a private airplane headed for the star's latest concert. Adelaide is plagued by a premonition of evil during their trip. She thinks back to a fellow opera singer, Stephan Wilder, who had mysteriously disappeared five years previously.

After a short layaway at Scintilla, Adelaide begins to fear something is amiss. Getting up to question the pilot, Michael notices something else is not quite right. Why, the pilot isn’t a pilot. It’s a gorilla flying the plane! And faster than anyone can say “Charles Darwin,” the ape demonstrates its power to speak coherent English.

The couple is then taken to the laboratory of one Dr. Luther, a cuckoo for Coco Puffs scientist who has some nefarious plans in the mix. Boasting his primate assistant, Luther shows Michael and Adelaide that his chimp can not only speak, but he can SING as well! It soon becomes apparent that Luther has surgically implanted the vocal chords of Stephan Wilder into the buff body of the ape!

What is Luther’s demented scheme, you ask? Well what else than to take his monkey on tour so that they may astound the world with his robust, operatic tones? Now with Adelaide in his clutches, Luther is determined to graft her pretty little voice into another specimen and it all ends in a climax that needs to be heard to be believed...

This is undoubtedly one of the most fun episodes it’s been a pleasure to listen to. In spite of the nearly ridiculous plot, all the actors in the episode play the matter incredibly straight. The only bit of hamminess we get is from Dr. Luther, who sounds like he could've been voiced by that British actor of villainous infamy Tod Slaughter.

The images that play out in one’s mind while listening to this story are guaranteed to inspire a time of good ol’ fun and hilarity. The sound quality is in crystal clear shape so you can hear every last minute of it in its ludicrous entirety. Don't miss this one for the world. If you don’t have a side-splitting great time with this delirious drama, then I'll be a monkey’s uncle.

Night Gallery: The Art Of Darkness

2011-09-12T08:00:00.000-04:00

The Twilight Zone might have been the pit of Man's fears and the summit of his knowledge, but that dark den of horrors known to viewers as the Night Gallery was a destination all together different. The shadows were darker there and the creatures that haunted its halls were more likely to have come from beyond the grave than from beyond the stars. Rod Serling, our guide into the misty realms of the fifth dimension for TZ, became our funereal host and curator of this museum of the outre and forbidden.

Despite even getting a long-awaited release on DVD in recent years, Night Gallery's luridly painted terrors tend to get overlooked in favor of Serling's magical morality plays from his black and white days. Still, there is a number of fans who fondly remember the series as one of the finest in television's host of horror anthology shows. What follows is an entertaining (if sadly a little breezy) overlook of the show with interviews with actors and directors, including some background on what went into the creation of each screaming canvas that served as a portal to the frights within each episode's vignettes.

Watch your step and don't touch the paintings. For as our curator was prone to tell us, they have a bad habit of touching back.

(For some odd reason the third segment is not embeddable. Click HERE to watch Part Tres!)

The Cabinet Of Dr. Caligari (1920): Certain Shadows On The Wall

2011-09-07T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by Robert Wiene

Written by Hans Janowitz and Carl Mayer

Starring Werner Krauss, Conrad Veidt, Friedrich Feher, Lil Dagover, Hans Heinrich von Twardowski, Rudolf Lettinger, and Rudolf Klein-Rogge

Five Stars

I was just beginning to doze off in the overstuffed leather chair, copy of Revenge of the Lawn Gnomes spread across my lap, when a loud rap at the front door instantly snapped me out of my lurking slumber.

"Pork chop sandwiches!" I looked around nervously, hoping that no passing specter had heard my surreal outburst, and cautiously dabbed at the line of spittle that had begun oozing out of my mouth.

I looked at the face of the grandfather clock ticking away in the corner. It looked back at me. "Why don't ya take a picture, bub?" it grated in a Brooklyn accent.

"Sorry. I just wanted to see what time it was."

"Time for you to get a room!" it rasped. "Who the hell is Isla Fisher anyway?"

"Uhhh..." I began fidgeting when a second pound at the front door resounded through the castle. "Woops! Look at that. Guests to be answered." I shuffled quickly out of the room, the grandfather clock's snickers tittering in my ears.

Stepping across the royal purple Turkish rug in the entryway, I undid the iron bolts and gently eased the door back on its rusty hinges, producing a wonderful Inner Sanctum-esque creak that Stephen worked hard to maintain in his offtime.

Glancing up at the porch, I was singularly startled when I saw the full moon playing off the waxy complexion of the clown standing in front of me. He wasn't dressed in the rags of the lovable tramp or the gay colors of the jester but in the perverse garb of a birthday party buffoon. But why was it his costume was perverse?

It was because he didn't belong there, standing with that grin on his face in front of the castle, a batch of pale balloons gripped in his gloved hand like a funeral bouquet. The shadows turned him into something else, something dark, something... mad.

Silently he pulled out his other hand from behind his back and I saw that he was holding a DVD case. Undaunted by the bizarreness of the situation, I grabbed the movie without looking at it. "Thanks," I said simply.

Giving a wink, the clown did an about face and sauntered down the front courtyard and was soon out of sight. Haunting painted faces, carnivals, shadows. It all seemed so familiar. I looked down at the movie that lay in my shaking hand...

***

From the very beginning, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari was a tale born in shadows.

According to famous legend, the idea for the film came to screenwriter Hans Janowitz one evening while he was attending a carnival.

Amidst all the fun and revelry, Janowitz noted the figure of a strange man skulking about the grounds.

It was only the next day that the terrible implications of the man’s presence made themselves known. A young girl was found murdered in the very area that Janowitz had noted seeing the man.

But it wasn’t quite over after that. Attending the girl’s funeral, Janowitz was alarmed to see the very same man standing amongst the graves. Watching. It was from this macabre life experience that one of cinema’s greatest and most visually bizarre films was brought forth from the darkness of a writer’s mind to the glittering screen of 1920’s Germany and, later, the world.

A film that remains not only a horror essential but a classic of the entire cinematic medium, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is a visual spectacle that should be seen by all followers of film.

A young man named Francis (Feher) narrates his tragic tale, the beginning of which occurred when the annual carnival rolled into his mountain town of Holstenwall. Within this fair was a sinister mountebank by the name of Dr. Caligari (Krauss), a proposed magician and hypnotist who possessed the ability to enchant and command his sleepwalking slave Cesare (Veidt).

When Francis and his friend Alan (Twardowski) journey into Caligari’s sideshow of horrors, the clairvoyant Cesare gravely informs Alan that he shall be dead by dawn. And sure enough the young man is found murdered the very next morning.

Sensing that Caligari’s hands are bloody with guilt in the matter, Francis sets out to expose the madman and his slave as the killers they are. What results is an unforgettable race through the shadowy landscapes of the village to the local insane asylum that reveals one horrifying truth after another.

Perhaps the film’s most endearing aspect, the nightmare geometry that makes up the crooked angles and warped spaces of the set can never be forgotten once they are seen. The production design by Walter Reimann, Walter Rohrig, and Hermann Warm has stood the test of time and continues to be a disturbing and perverted view of what a world gone completely mad would look like.

The dark atmosphere is only heightened by the frightening performances of its two leads. Krauss pulls off a real air of menace as the cracked Caligari, glowering intently at all of his victims with a look of contempt that really chills the blood. To know that this power-hungry loony is the puppet master can't help but unsettle us. Veidt is just as powerful as the lumbering servant Cesare, his haunted eyes, corpse-like face, and zombie gait a creepy combination that serves to make him appear as an unstoppable killing force.

On a deeper level, the film (like many horror pictures) can almost be seen as a social commentary, this one concerning the post-WWI world in which it was created. The battered German land with its shell-shocked soldiers at the command of mad powers seems to play into Caligari's world too easily. The two-dimensional landscape is not only a portrait of a madman's perspective but an exaggerated depiction of the disarray and chaos that reigned in the country. War connotations aside, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is one of the first movies that makes it clear that the most terrifying monsters to fear are ourselves.

The twist ending may seem tame by today’s jaded standards, but within the context of the film itself it’s the perfect way to end this tale of murder and madness. Its images are like the twisting shadows of a dark carousel, dancing across our mind's eye and rooting themselves deep into the pit of our nightmares.

*Note: Not an official trailer, but fantastic nonetheless.

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Meet The Horror Bloggers: The WGON Helicopter

2011-09-04T08:00:00.000-04:00

Through all these years, I've had the chance to label several genres and subgenres as my favorites. I'll give just about any horror film a chance, but there are certain ones that I gravitate towards more than others. Probably tops on my list is infection horror, which includes zombie horror. I mean, zombies are walking infections, the way I see it. It ties in with apocalyptic horror, which I also enjoy. There's something haunting and intriguing about seeing our world empty and decaying as a handful of dysfunctional survivors try to navigate it. It can be sad, funny, touching, and maddening all at once. Supernatural horror is a lot of fun, too. Subtle or in-your-face, either way, it's good to me. Give a bunch of average people struggling against a powerful, supernatural evil, and you've got the classic story element of David vs. Goliath. Supernatural horror such as is often produced in Japan or Korea is beautifully creepy and feature what I think are some of the greatest ghosts of cinema.

In 2009, I remember reading up on some horror and I came across Brian Solomon's fantastic The Vault of Horror. I loved - and still love - reading what Brian has to say about the genre. I thought it might be fun to begin writing about what I thought about certain aspects of horror, and so The WGON Helicopter was born. It honestly started as a way for me just throw out a light-hearted look at the darkest genre, and keep my writing skills polished. I don't know if it's popular, but apparently I have a few readers. It's fun to think that somewhere in Sweden (where I spent a year as an exchange student in high school), someone is enjoying one of my reviews and is on their way to rent or buy the movie. I've really enjoyed meeting many of my fellow horror bloggers out there, and in an interesting note, I've shared a few entertaining and thought-provoking lunches with Mr. Solomon as we're practically neighbors. I always look forward to meeting other fellow horror aficionados out there!

When people come to The WGON Helicopter, I hope they leave entertained and informed without an ounce of stress. I got the nickname "Zen Master" from being able to keep a cool head among friends' heated arguments. I think a lot of that attitude goes into the blog. As for my writing, my goal is to publish fiction - horror or otherwise - and writing the blog keeps the wheels greased.

Most important of all, though: it's just plain fun.

There Was An Old Woman: A Spoonful Of Poison

2011-09-02T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by Robert Stevenson

Written by Marian B. Cockrell, Story by Jerry Hackady and Hal Hackady

Starring Estelle Winwood, Charles Bronson, Norma Crane, and Dabbs Greer

From the television program Alfred Hitchcock Presents (1955-1962)

Broadcast on March 18, 1956

Three ½ Stars

Eccentricity and sweet justice are served up by the heapings in this modest but thoroughly fun addition to Alfred Hitchcock Presents’ first season.

Old Monica Laughton (Winwood) is an aging biddy who rents the rooms of her house out to anyone seeking her warm comforts. But dang it all, it just seems like there’s a funeral held in her parlor for some unfortunate guest practically every other week! This morbid little bit of news doesn’t damper Frank Bramwell’s (Bronson) mood one bit… especially when he overhears that the old gal keeps about a million dollars in cold hard cash lying about!

Eagerly he takes his put-upon wife Lorna (Crane) to Laughton’s residence, posing as distant cousins to the recently deceased. There’s no need to worry about room either; there are many visiting family members, but all of them are in Monica’s head (including the dearly departed who is merely represented by a pair of folded gloves and spectacles)! Realizing that the dotty bat is senile, the Bramwells use this to their advantage in order to find the hidden loot.

But the two crooks will discover this is easier said than done. After days of being served invisible food and their mad search through the house only turning up dust bunnies, the scheming couple is just about at the end of their rope. When Frank decides to get a little rough with the old gal, the Bramwells find out that payback is a dish best served with vanilla icing.

A blackly humorous storyline and kooky characters played to the hilt make this one a memorable episode. Bronson and Crane have great chemistry as the penny-snatching villains, Bronson bringing the menace to an effective low boil and Crane delighting as the ever-grieving accomplice.

Top honors go to Estelle Winwood as Ms. Laughton. She’s an absolute hoot as the bug-eyed maiden and steals every scene she’s in. From scolding her kitty to making places at the table for her imaginary dinner guests, Winwood hams it up mercilessly… and we couldn’t love her more for it.

Tune into this one if you’re looking for a good hearty chuckle. And maybe some yummy dessert.

Sinister Spotlight: The Forbidden Zone With Ron Scott

2011-08-31T08:00:00.000-04:00

On this windswept, moon-luminated evening, we're introducing a new regular feature here at the castle: Sinister Spotlight!

After sending out invitations via messenger bat to fellow bloggers, I've guided them into the western atrium of Mephisto's domain in order to conduct challenging, extensive, and just plain whacky discussions with them on a film of their choice.

For our very first episode, Stephen and I were pleased to have Ron Scott, he being the creator of the wonderfully weird and amazing Strange Kids Club,* over for a creepy correspondence concerning Richard Elfman's musical-comedy cult hit The Forbidden Zone. After a dinner of Count Chocula and Red Bull, Ron and I dug into this freaky flick with the zeal of experienced weirdos. Listen on...

*Not to mention the designer of the superb layout you see before you. Seriously, is there no end to this guy's awesomeness?!

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Mad Monster #1: Falling In Love With The Monster Mag

2011-08-27T08:00:00.005-04:00

Believe it or not, the opportunity has never occurred for me to delve into the sinister sinews of a horror magazine before. Okay, okay, the opportunity has come up.* But fear has gripped me by the heart and real life expenses have gripped me by the financial genitals, so even divulging in one terror periodical has seemed to be a scream-worthy task up until now.

*Stephen keeps staring at me as I type this. I hate it when he does that. You'd think talking apes would have better things to do.

I say up until now because a few months ago I took a chance on purchasing not just a single issue, but a whole six month subscription of this new creepy kid on the block called Mad Monster. And after taking that leap of faith and getting the chance to read my wonderfully illustrated issue by flickering gaslight, I'm screaming for a whole different reason.

In today's technology-infused world where electronic books and magazines are becoming the norm more and more each day, the printed medium seems to be ever more obsolete in turn (or at least "old fashioned"). The fact that anyone would dare attempt to get their printed product on the market seems dangerous enough, what with even a horror powerhouse mag like Rue Morgue offering a mobile version of their new issues to keep up with the times. But Mad Monster has awoken whole and intact from a dusty tomb, the sound of its first breath rattling the bones of genre fans in demented glee at its arrival. For Mad Monster is not your average magazine... it is a creature's delight of intelligent writing and beautiful artistry!

Retaining the sense of fun and adventure inherent in horror fandom (a trait seen in the grand Monster Kid daze of yore in such magazines as Famous Monsters of Filmland), Mad Monster is a smorgasbord of scares whose pages constantly catch your eye with delicious designs and awesome articles. Right from the Mad Monster Party?-inspired artwork that adorns the cover with famous horror film characters to the last page featuring a humorous look into Jason Voorhees' wardrobe, every single page is covered from top to bottom with tentacled, fanged artwork.

Inside you'll find not only a tribute to the haunted hotrod body of Christine, but enough cardboard cutout figures (including a replica of the Psycho house!) to shake a pair of scissors at. It's this sense of participation that the magazine utilizes through its arts and crafts approach that separates it from other genre periodicals... and ensures that you'll need two copies of each issue!

The writing within is not to be undermined either. Collecting works from such great writers as Joe Moe and Unkle Lancifer of Kindertrauma, the pieces describe their subjects in loving detail whether they be discussing the gooey melting effects used in The Devil's Rain, the weird science of real-life mad doctors, or the creeping chills inherent in British puppet shows. There are even some whacky "What If?" type articles that ponder questions such as "What would Lon Chaney Sr.'s version of Dracula had looked like if he lived to play the part?" which in turn serves as the source for some highly amusing monster makeup scenarios.

One of the most spectacular things is that the magazine goes out of its way to make it clear that both the classic and modern ages of horror films warrant the attention of fans and serves to bridge the gap between the two groups. Too often do we see forums, blogs, and magazines geared towards one school of the genre when this approach only divides the fans even further. That's why it's so genuinely heartwarming to have a publication that makes a statement by saying "Hey, we're all fans of this stuff. It's healthy that we acknowledge and appreciate (not simply tolerate) where horror first started as well as where it's headed in the future. It's our love that keeps us together, so let's have some fun already!" And what a beautiful message that is.

With enough games, intriguing stories, and good old fashioned creepiness oozing between its pages, Mad Monster is a sure-fire hit for anyone who considers themselves a genre admirer. It certainly helps knowing that my first foray into the world of macabre mags is going to be one helluva ride and I await in patient anticipation (bear trap by the mailbox notwithstanding) for issue two to make its way to the castle's doorstep.

The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971): The Avenging Science

2011-08-24T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by Robert Fuest

Written by James Whiton and William Goldstein

Starring Vincent Price, Joseph Cotten, Peter Jeffrey, Virginia North, Terry-Thomas, and Hugh Griffith

Five Stars

"Now now, what do we have here?"

I picked up the battered old book from its place on the shelf. It was a dark red in color and had a faded gold symbol on the front cover, something that appeared to be star in a circle of fire.

"That was the master's diary." I nearly jumped out of my skin and whirled around to see Stephen peering over my shoulder.

"Make some noise the next time you decide to lurk up on somebody!" I shouted.

"Well surely that would defeat the purpose of lurking, now wouldn't it?" he quipped.

I glowered at him. "Talking apes..." I flipped through the book's thin pages, a peculiar odor wafting up from the volume. "Is that..." I sniffed the air. "Tana tea and Irish Spring?"

"Good nose," Stephen complimented. "That was one of the master's favorite recipes."

"You mean the High Lord Count Mephisto?" I detected a slight shudder ripple up Stephen's frame. I cleared my throat. "Well, uh, this was a... a cookbook?"

"Among other things." Stephen lifted his foot as a mouse carrying a battle axe scampered back into its hole. "The master drew inspiration from his obsessions. He was convinced that with his dark powers he could duplicate the things he saw in movies or read in books."

"Imaginative fellow," I said.

Stephen began sauntering down the hallway. "You have no idea."

"Well, what was this dish from?" I inquired.

Stephen scratched his head as the shadows cast by the torches mounted on the walls danced along the vaulted ceiling. "The recipe involved grasshoppers or something. From a Vincent Price film, if I'm not mistaken. The Intolerable Mr. Feebes, I believe."

I beamed. "You mean The Abominable Dr. Phibes?! Man, I love that movie!"

"Or was it The Annoying Sir Fabio?" Stephen was lost in the land of Deep Thought.

I grabbed him by the arm and yanked him out of his revery. "Come on, I know we have that in the Film Foyer somewhere. It's a classic... one of Vincent's very best."

"The Horrible Duke Phoebe?"

***

Vincent Price strikes another chord of terror in this delightful tale of a mad doctor’s revenge.

Horribly disfigured, Anton Phibes (Price) goes about executing a team of nine surgeons, physicians whom he blames for the death of his beloved wife (the always lovely Caroline Munro in an uncredited appearance). But plain homicide doesn’t meet Phibes’ macabre standards; instead, he draws inspiration from the Biblical Ten Plagues of Egypt.

One by one the doctors drop off like flies, whether they have their heads crushed by frog masks, their faces eaten away by locusts, are impaled by golden unicorn statues, or have all the blood drawn from their bodies in agonizingly slow fashion. Can the combined efforts of the intrepid Inspector Trout (Jeffrey) and head surgeon Dr. Vesalius (Cotten) put an end to the mad organist’s schemes? Or will Phibes claim the day by bringing doom and darkness to those who have done him wrong?

This movie is a ghoulish delight for those who are connoisseurs of the weird and demented. Price is at his best as he revels in the delicious villainy of his role, able to emote the subtlest expressions even under the ghostly mask he wears of his own likeness. Not to mention getting a few laughs when he nonchalantly pours a glass of champagne down a slit in his neck so that his mangled mouth can get a taste of the bubbly!

The eccentricity and black humor are played to the hilt in a manner that only the British can seemingly pull off. Director Fuest (he of And Soon the Darkness, The Devil’s Rain, and The Avengers television series) has marvelous control of the sharp script by Whiton and Goldstein, demonstrating an ability to play both humorous scenes of wisecracking banter and grim moments of murder to equal effect.

The cinematography and art deco scenery are a feast for the eyes and compliment the gory proceedings in an absolutely diabolical fashion. Phibes’ lair in particular with its odd combination of wind-up band stand robots, ballroom floor, and looming organ will not easily be forgotten as they practically scream from the celluloid in vibrant whites, reds, purples, and blacks.

Not to be missed by fans of old school horror.

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Meet The Horror Bloggers: Cavalcade Of Perversions

2011-08-22T08:00:00.000-04:00

Day Of The Dead (1985): Apocacorpse Now

2011-08-20T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by George Romero

Written by George Romero

Starring Lori Cardille, Terry Alexander, Joseph Pilato, Jarlath Conroy, Anthony Dileo Jr., Richard Liberty, Gary Howard Klar, Ralph Marrero, and Howard Sherman

Four ½ Stars

This underrated third entry in Romero’s legendary Living Dead series tends to go unnoticed even by fans, though it does packs a few solid punches and has what are perhaps Tom Savini’s best gore effects in the trilogy.

The apocalypse is in motion. A small group made up of military officers and scientists may be the last shreds of humanity on the planet as the reanimated dead mindlessly troll the streets for their fleshy sustenance. The brave and independent Sarah (Cardille) seems to be the only one with a solid head on their shoulders as everyone else seems to be losing their minds in the claustrophobic confines of the subterranean bunker they eke out a minimal living in.

Captain Rhodes (Pilato), he of the iron fist and hot head, has taken over control of the ragtag bunch and is becoming mighty impatient with the scientists as they seek out an alternative method of dealing with the dead other than blowing them to Kingdom Come.

And things aren’t made any easier with the slightly deluded Logan (Liberty) performing bizarre experiments on the walking cadavers, despite his great success in humanizing his pet project zombie whom he’s named Bub (Howard). With tensions between everyone reaching an ultimate high, it’s only a matter of time before everyone is at each other’s throats… and so are the mass hordes of the hungry dead too!

Although Romero’s original, no-holds-barred script was pared down due to budget constraints, the film as it is still remains quite the spectacle and its action holds up well even after all these years. The conflict crackles with electric energy, but not being so overblown that it drowns out the more intimate and quieter moments.

The characters become people we know, thanks in no small part to the great performances the cast turns in. Lori Cardille truly shines as Sarah; she is a beautifully complex and tough woman, one who is instantly likable from the moment we meet her. Pilato is appropriately loathsome in his role as Rhodes, swearing and hollering as if it’s going out of style. Although Pilato can get almost a little histrionic at times, his character’s unpredictable and practically psychotic nature can really get you on the edge of your seat.

All the other roles no matter what their size, from Klar as the cackling brute Private Steel to Sherman as the epitome of the tragic zombie, are fully realized and given life by the actors. One of the strongest assets of Romero’s filmmaking is his ability to make a realistic cast of sympathetic (and detestable) characters, and that power truly shines in Day of the Dead.

Savini is in particularly fine form here. Who can forget that incredible moment when one of the lab zombies reaches out to Cardille from its stretcher only to have all of its slimy entrails pour out onto the floor in a messy heap? We also get a nice gorefest at the climax as the zombies rip heads, tear faces, and perform all manners of grisly acts upon our poor survivors.

John Harrison’s pulsing electronic score should be given some definite kudos for being equally isolating and adrenaline-pumping. Overall, Day of the Dead is a wonderful mixture of a thinking person’s picture and all out splatterfest. And how could you possibly go wrong with a combination like that?

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The Universal Monsters Videos

2011-08-17T08:00:00.000-04:00

During my burgeoning years of becoming a horror fanatic, I was obsessed with the classic Universal Monsters after I had been introduced to the genre through the 1943 version of The Phantom of the Opera (a film I still consider a strange "first").

Well before the boom of the DVD market, I remember seeing these gloriously illustrated VHS covers lining the shelves of Blockbuster and mom'n'pop video shops. I could stand there for hours staring at them. I recall watching this commercial on said tapes possibly more frequently than the films themselves. If only retailers would sell DVDs with shuddersome monsters and fiends leering out at you like this...

Dracula by Bram Stoker (1897): The Red King Dreams

2011-08-13T08:00:00.000-04:00

Four Stars

“Shhh!”

Eckels the librarian lifted a long, crooked finger to the gaping hole in his cravat where his head should have been. I shot an angered look at Stephen, whose mouth was still sputtering like a boat motor.

“Keep your mouth shut!” I whispered. “Eckels is in a testy mood today. I haven’t seen him this flustered since the goblins drooled all over his set of Pan Horror anthologies!”

My friend the gorilla couldn’t shut up. “I can’t believe I just heard you say that!” he sputtered.

“It’s really not that big a deal,” I retorted, trying to bury my nose in the book in my hands. Partly to block Stephen’s flabbergasted face from my field of vision. Mostly because Eckels was facing us from the circulation desk, tapping a wooden ruler against his gloved palm.

“Dracula, the original Dracula by Bram Stoker… pretty good?!” Spittle flecked the pages of my book.

“Yes,” I said testily. “That Dracula. And I think you’re overreacting. I really loved the book. I simply said there were parts in it that struck me as a little…” I searched for the words. If I said the wrong thing, Stephen would surely overturn the table and re-enact the “Apeshit Dance” he made infamous at our last New Year’s party.

“Slow,” I finally said, satisfied that my choice was specific enough to convey my opinion but moderate enough to keep Stephen in check. Apparently not.

Stephen ripped the volume out of my grasp, leaving me with only two sheaves of paper in my hand. All I could do was heave out a sigh.

“I hope you’re prepared to explain yourself!” Stephen was wagging his hairy fist at me, in full patriarchal mode. “Go ahead, mister. Let’s hear it. Tell us just what you think of Mr. Stoker’s horror classic!” He crossed his coarse arms over his thick chest, a challenging grin staring me down. I wasn’t up for it.

“Look, Steve. I really don’t feel like…”

I stopped when I saw that Eckels was now on top of our table, kicking aside the pile of books we had lined up. He was retrieving a thick rope from his back pocket and quickly fashioning it into a noose with practiced precision.

“Oh, what the hell is this now?” I exclaimed.

“Oh dear, I do believe today is the anniversary of Eckels’ suicide,” explained Stephen. “He reenacts it every year.”

“And just how did Mr. Eckels kill himself?” I asked, growing apprehension lurking into my tone. The noose was complete and Eckels was now securing it to a wooden beam on the ceiling.

“Well I think it’s pretty clear Eckels hung himself. Sadly a rather rude corpse snatcher made off with the poor chap’s head after he passed.”

“So just how exactly can he hang himself then?” I shrieked.

Eckels’ body came crashing onto the table, breaking it into many ectoplasm-smeared splinters. Countless pages flew up around us like little sheeted wraiths.

“He can’t,” Stephen said simply. “Poor delusional fool…”

I felt kettle steam blowing from the recesses of my brain. “Alright!” I raved. “I’ll tell ya what I thought about the damn book already!”

Stephen was busy looking down at Eckels’ prostrate body on the ground. “You know, it makes you wonder how he was able to make that “Shhh!” sound.”

“Agggh!”

***

As previously mentioned by my simian companion, Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel is a classic, perhaps even a revolution in the eyes of some historians and fans. No one can doubt the indelible imprint the Irish author’s Count has left on our culture as a whole.

The plot itself is familiar enough: Jonathan Harker, a real estate agent from England, travels to the craggy mountains of Transylvania where his journey to Castle Dracula is filled with superstitious warnings and portents of doom.

Nevertheless, the intrepid businessman travels on to the brooding castle to conduct his business with the equally decrepit Count. After gaining possession of the molding Carfax Abbey estate in London, Count Dracula promptly feeds the solicitor to his bloodthirsty brides and sets off for the new country to drink deep of Mother England’s life fluid.

Once there, Dracula begins to haunt the lives of the beautiful Lucy Westenra and Mina Murray, Jonathan’s fiancée. The monster is only threatened in its foul existence when a team of supernatural exterminators led by the learned Van Helsing dare to take on Dracula before his dark seed can be fully germinated. A breakneck race back to the European wilderness caps off this wild adventure into the depths of Gothic gruesomeness.

Dracula is an entertaining novel above all else. Its images of brave heroes battling creatures of the night and dark gentlemen seducing innocent virgins in seaside cemeteries perfectly blends the sensibilities of the adventure and romantic genres while seasoning them with the dank and distinct scent of nightmare fuel.

There are many standout scenes to be named, one of the most powerful and evocative being the imprisoned Harker watching helplessly as the stone-hearted vampire summons a pack of ravenous wolves to devour a village woman mourning the loss of her slain babe at the castle gates. Stoker knows what his audience is hungry for and (ahem) goes straight for the jugular.

What hampers the tale is the killer of all potentially great horror stories: the length of the novel. Many have said that the genre is best exemplified in the short form, and that sentiment isn’t too far off here. When we aren’t thrilling to the adrenaline-packed pursuit of the vampire master across snowy mountain roads or being aroused in another manner by the weirdly sexy scenes of Jonathan’s seduction by the undead maidens, there’s a lot of thick space to move through to get to the “meaty bits.”

Many chapters pass by where we’re simply listening to the main characters (who, to add to the trouble, all sound frustratingly similar) hash out their problems in a stiff, drawing room-mystery manner. In essence this is a trivial gripe; the gems, scattered as they may be, outshine the duds by a long shot. Still, a novel such as Frankenstein (invariably the nocturnal blood brother to Stoker’s book) manages to maintain a sense of constant motion and continually captures the reader’s attention in a way that Dracula seems to falter with at times.

When you get down to it though, Dracula is still (and probably forever will be) considered a milestone of the horror genre no matter which way you cut it. Modern readers might feel a shade of disappointment at the lack of physical presence the Count has in the novel after being immersed in images of Lugosi, Lee, and a funeral procession of other wild-eyed gents stalking across the screens for the past 80 years.

But Stoker’s book continues to beat with a strong black heart just as resonant as it was upon its publication. Fear fans owe it to themselves to tear into this one with slavering fang and bloody claw. There may be a chapter or two that lags in action, but always remember that the dead travel fast.

Un Chien Andalou (1929): Ants In Her Trance

2011-08-10T08:00:00.000-04:00

Directed by Luis Bunuel

Written by Salvador Dali and Luis Bunuel

Starring Simone Mareuil and Pierre Batcheff

Three Stars

There is one image that this film is most remembered for: that of a smoking man (played by Luis Bunuel) sharpening a straight razor on a strop and then nonchalantly using it to slice a woman's eye in half as she calmly sits on a moonlit balcony. Indeed, that sequence alone is enough to be burned into one's memory for quite some time.

But that is only one of many unforgettable and downright bizarre images that fill this experimental and fascinating film. Almost every still of the film could be an individual warped piece standing in a museum of the outre. This makes sense when one takes into account that Salvador Dali, a master of surreal art, was the other creative force behind this picture alongside Luis Bunuel, who would later go on to make beautifully strange movies such as The Exterminating Angel and The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie.

Un Chien Andalou is really just a set of slightly related pieces held together by the wispy fragments of dream logic. Some of these vignettes include ants crawling out a hole in a man's hand (giving the actor an almost indescribable, insectoid look of crawling evil) and a street walker poking at a dismembered hand with his cane. There are also oddly hilarious moments, such as when Batcheff, enraged at his female companion Mareuil, drags a piano not only carrying a dead donkey atop of it but also two priestly-looking gents who talk to each other in an absurdly mundane way.

At only 16 minutes long, Un Chien Andalou succeeds in putting the viewer through an experience almost like no other. It’s like watching a night vision that has actually been put to celluloid, events happening just because they can and making little to absolutely no logical sense in the process.

The tango music that accompanies the film is a lovely complement to the outlandish proceedings. It gives Un Chien Andalou the feel of a mad dance, the steps being completely random and the end of the lunatic song no where in sight.

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