Sleepaway Camp: Where have you been all my life?

It's damned nigh impossible for me to fathom that I could have been a full-fledged horror fanatic in the 1980s, yet somehow managed to miss Sleepaway Camp. But I suppose it's for the best. Sleepaway Camp is a film best experienced in maturity. Had I watched it in my youth, my reaction would have been:

(Dismissively) "That was fucking stupid."

Whereas, when I watched it recently, my reaction was:

(With boundless enthusiasm) "That was fucking stupid!"

Sleepaway Camp is a film best enjoyed with a roomful of noisy, drunken friends, but is so over-the-top ridiculous that you can watch it solo and have a blast, provided you act as your own noisy, drunken friend.
In fact, you won't be able to help it. Even without access to alcohol, Sleepaway Camp is so intoxicatingly dumb that you'll feel like you've downed a sixer of PBR (the downside is that even if you're drinking good beer, you'll still feel like you've downed a sixer of PBR).

Sleepaway Camp is a bad horror film that is bad in all the right ways, so it becomes great. All the performances are amateurish and grotesquely over-acted, but you can tell everyone is completely giving it their all, which renders it charming.




Young actress totally going for it.

 The film begins with our heroes, cousins Angela and Ricky, enjoying a day on the lake with their loving father/uncle. But they haven't accounted for the deadly presence of teenagers driving speedboats. The minute the strapping young captain turns the wheel over to a girl, the vessel transforms into a deadly projectile headed straight for the happy family. The father/uncle is killed while the young water-skier pictured above gives the performance of her life.

Fast forward a few years and Angela and Ricky are teenagers headed to summer camp. Ricky's mother has become completely unhinged by her husband's death, as evidenced by her strange habit of commenting on her own statements and, more tellingly, her outfit.

Once at camp, we learn that Angela doesn't speak, due to acute quietness, which makes her an instant target for the mean girls clique, consisting of Ricky's busty last-summer-girlfriend and Meg (M-E-G) the bitchy camp counsellor. When Angela won't eat, a kindly counsellor takes her back to the kitchen to see if there is some food she likes better, and introduces her to the pedophile head chef, who promptly takes her into the pantry to molest her. Luckily, Ricky intervenes just in time. Mysteriously, some time later as pedochef is throwing corn into the world's biggest stockpot, someone pulls the chair out from under him, sending the pedophile and the stockpot tumbling to the floor and resulting in some nasty burns. Since, Ricky and Angela were the only two characters to have witnessed pedochef's transgressions, 20 minutes into the movie, the killer's identity is narrowed down to two suspects.

"I got something you'll like real good."



You play with chicken, you get fried.

 The surprising thing about Sleepaway Camp is that it crept up on me, and dumb as it is, before I knew it, I was emotionally invested in the characters. I pitied poor, silent Angela for the abuses piled on her, and found myself ridiculously happy when Ricky's friend, Paul gets her to finally speak.



Awww, ain't they cute?

The rest of the film follows a predictable pattern. Campers taunt and abuse Angela, Ricky freaks out and threatens to rip their heads off, then the killer catches them alone and takes them out. There are no scares whatsoever, and the kills are pretty tame, but somewhat imaginative. What's hilarious is the motivation behind each kill. While revenge for attempted rape makes a certain amount of sense, revenge for a water-ballooning is just plain awesome.



The aftermath of a vicious water-ballooning.

Cuidado - Spoilers anon.

Just when you think Sleepaway Camp is going to be utterly predictable, it flips the script and blows your mind. Don't get me wrong, it's fairly obvious that Angela is the killer, but it turns out to be for an entirely different reason than you'd been led to believe. In an atrociously asinine and offensive turn of events, it is revealed that is wasn't her uncle's death that warped young Angela's mind, but rather than her aunt was transgendered man who forced her young nephew to live as a girl. The final shot of the film, in which Angela's true sex (i.e. her wee-wee) is revealed is truly astonishing. Not only does she go from a seemingly normal, if painfully shy, teen girl to a raging psychotic cradling Paul's severed head, she also apparently turns into Sasquatch, if her unearthly growling sounds are any indication. The icing on the cake is the final line of the film when one of the counsellors says in disbelief, "How can it be? She's a boy!" Yeah, never mind Paul's severed head dropping into the sand and the fact that she's channelling Bigfoot while wielding a knife. For God's sake, she's got a penis!

Had the final scene not caused me to laugh convulsively for a solid half-hour, I might have been highly offended at the completely ignorant and hateful depiction of transgendered people. Were I a member of the LGBT community, the homophobic twist ending would have likely ruined the entire film for me. As it was, the offensiveness only added to Sleepaway Camp's schlocky charm. I definitely recommend this film to everyone with a highly-refined taste for terrible movies. 

Random Horror Shoutout: Jurian Hughes

Since I wanted to check back in at the Mancave, but haven't had time to write a full post, I thought I'd just throw out whatever has been on my mind. So here's a new feature for y'all: Random Horror Shoutouts.

I'm becoming a bit obsessed with Brad Anderson's Session 9.  As someone who has semi-frequent auditory hallucinations, the scenes where Simon speaks to Gordon terrify the crap out me. All I have to do to make myself shiver is think, "Hello, Gordon. You can hear me." It's that goddamn voice.

And so, this week's random horror shoutout goes to out to Jurian Hughes, the voice actress who played Mary/Princess/Billy/Simon. While the set design is stunningly creepy and the hospital becomes a character unto itself, I think the success of the film hinges entirely on Hughes's performance. There hasn't been a voice this freaky since Mercedes McCambridge made the world wet its collective pants in The Exorcist. While I'm at it, I should give credit to the sound designers who put the lo-fi warble into Hughes's voice-overs, making them sound like fifty-year old reel-to-reel tape warped by the heat of Hell's own Bar-B-Q.

I should really give this film a proper post, since it is definitely own of my favorites of the last decade. But for now, I'll just give kudos once more to Jurian Hughes, the black little heart and soul of Session 9.

Laid to Rest: A New Slasher Classic?

When you think about the big horror franchises of the 80's (which, I think we can all agree was the golden age of slashers), what did they all have in common? An iconic killer, of course. The big four: Freddy, Jason, Michael, and Leatherface all had either a trademark mask, weapon, or both. Who today can look at a goalie mask without immediately thinking of the illustrious Mr. Voorhees?  When you think of a chainsaw, does your brain say, "power tool" or "murder weapon?" Mine too. I may be jumping the gun on this one, but it seems to me that Laid to Rest has what it takes to stand up alongside the greats, and Cthulu-willing, Chromeskull will take his rightful place in the horror hall of fame.

When it comes to masks, the simpler, the more iconic. This is why Michaels Myers's featureless white mask is so effective. And Jason's is simpler still.  Chromeskull's mask is flashier and more elaborate, but the design is straightforward: a skull-the universal symbol of death, polished to a high shine so his victims can see their own reflections as they die.

Chromeskull's weapons are two huge, vicious-looking knives with fingerguards and wicked serrated teeth. They too are polished and shiny, glinting in the dark against the backdrop of Mr. Skull's classy black suit. Chromeskull gets more than a few creative kills out of those versatile knives, and the violence is way more intense and graphic than practically any 80's slasher. The special effects are top-notch and the gore is copious. Nearly every kill had me shouting, "That was so cool," at the screen.

Glorious kills aside, where Laid to Rest really shines is in its simultaneous adherence to and departure from slasher film conventions. Robert Hall takes a page out of John Carpenter's book and reveals no motive for the murders, keeping his killer silent and mysterious. There's a sort of "slasher purity" to the film that makes it work so well. There's no real plot to speak of, and it starts off scary and rarely lets up.

Where it departs from convention is in the characters. Rather than an obnoxious group of partying teenagers, Laid to Rest begins with a single woman trapped in a coffin who has amnesia and possibly brain damage. After her initial escape from Chromeskull, she hitches a ride with a big, tough-looking, bald dude who turns out to be the nicest, most endearing character in the film. He takes on the role of her protector and brings her home to his wife, played by the always fantastic Lena Heady, who comes off as gruff and abrasive, but quickly shows her kinder side. The couple are hicks, but Hall doesn't turn them into stereotypes who exist only to be mocked. Because they care about this mysterious young woman, you care about them, which always makes the violence so much more crushing.

While not a perfect film, I was still blown away by it and beyond happy to learn a Robert Hall-helmed sequel is in the works. This is one franchise I'd like to see get huge.

But I do wonder how much of my excitement was due to having "discovered" the film on my own. I had never heard of it-just picked it up on a whim at the pawn shop because Lena Heady was listed in the credits. I'd like to know what you think-am I overblowing this thing, or is it really as good as I thought. Seriously y'all, blow up the comments section on this one.

Keepin' It Spooky at The World

Marvin the Macabre outside of the Haunted Mansion



It can be a chore to keep the horror in your heart at the happiest place on Earth, but I think I managed it. I introduced both my sons to the joys of the Haunted Mansion (they're now fanatical about it), dropped from the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror twice in a row (this time without an intense hangover), and faced giant spiders and animatronic dementors in a jaunt over to Universal (sadly, I was in the wrong part of the park for Monsters memorabilia).

I'll soon be returning to my regularly scheduled descents into depravity, but I thought I'd share with you all the warm glow of a vacation well-spent.



I picked up this souvenir book outside the mansion.

It details the history of the ride and includes

some great early production sketches.

The Original Haunted Mansion Poster

Artwork from Paris Disneyland's Phantom Manor

My Bellatrix Lestrange pin from The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

I can't help it. My love for Helena Bonham Carter,

particularly in this batshit crazy role, knows no bounds.

Sadly, Bellatrix's wand was not available in the park.

Voldemort's does look pretty bad-ass though.

What type of bone do you suppose it's made from?

For my shotglass collection.

I know whose head I'll be swilling liquor from this Halloween.

Okay, I didn't actually get this figure. The picture is from a book

I picked up in Epcot's Mexico pavilion. It has instructions

for making calaveras and other Dia de los Muertos crafts.

Here's the only piece of Mickey memorabilia I bought. It's another pin, and Mickey looks like he's about to rip out your trachea.What's cooler than that?

Bat Junk!

Never Say You'll Be Right Back

Okay, so I have been slacking yet again on the 30 Days of Horror Challenge. And you're right, I suck. And yes, I'm well aware that it's not that freakin' hard to write about one movie a day. But cut me some slack man. I've been gearing up for a vacation.

This, of course, means that I won't be checking in at the Mancave for another week or two. But I promise to send your regards to the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. And yes, of course I'll give the Haunted Mansion a big hug from you. And I'll definitely scour The Wizarding World of Harry Potter for any black magic artifacts I think you'd be into.

I have the feeling that when I return, I'll be more than ready to jump back into the darkness with you. So relax. Don't worry.  I'll be right back...

Mr. Daywalt, Your Shorts Scare Me

I came across an interview with Drew Daywalt over on Salon.com.  I had never heard of him, so many thanks to Drew Grant for turning me on to his micro-horror films.  Most of his videos are two to five minutes long, but they pack a mean punch. I highly recommend you check them out.

The only problem I had with the piece was its opening-a lament about how the current generation has "grown up in a period when the lack of good horror films is downright scary." And yes, this is the conventional "wisdom." But I've been hearing versions of that same statement since the eighties, and it's even less true now. Anyone saying there's no good, original horror coming out simply doesn't know where to look (Hint: It's probably not playing at your local 20-screen, stadium-seating cineplex. They need at least three of those screens for whatever Michael Bay just shit out).

So to Ms. Grant, thanks for the heads up about Daywalt Fear Factory. I'd like to return the favor. Here's my post on all that's right with modern horror. But don't stop there, click on any of the fine blogs listed in my sidebar and you'll soon find out where all the good horror has gone.

My Wonderful Nightmare

Do you ever have a dream so awesome you don’t want to wake up from it, but after you do, the warm glow of that dream makes you happy for the rest of the day? Has that dream ever been a nightmare?

I don't tend to have a lot of full-on nightmares. Usually my bad dreams are just sort of unpleasant, but last night's was horror movie-scary, and I flippin' loved it.

As with any dream, the beginning was hazy and irretrievable, but the first thing I remember is being in a dirty, dilapidated apartment building with extraordinarily long, steep, and narrow staircases. A sloppy, overweight, old man met me there and took me up to his apartment to give me something (I'm not sure what). Several trashy-looking people occupied the apartment, and while I was waiting for the old man to return, one of them became this weird zombie/demon hybrid with huge, sharp teeth and distorted features. He started attacking people, and as in any good zombie movie, those he bit became infected and went on the attack, while the rest of us escaped, banded together, and tried to get to safety.

I’m notorious for yelling at horror movies. You know, giving the characters some helpful suggestions for the proper course of action. My initial advice is always the same: once the immediate danger has passed, for God's sake find a weapon. I’m proud to say that in my dream, I heeded my own advice and grabbed the first length of metal I could find, a piece from some kind of industrial shelving. When the zombie-demons came back, however, every swing of my bludgeon was slow and powerless, and I kept missing by a mile. At this point, I must have been making some gnarly noises in my sleep, because my wife gently shook me and asked if I was alright. I remember answering “Yes,” and eagerly getting back to my nightmare.

I have no idea how long my dream was, but it seemed feature length to me. The other survivors and I fended off multiple zombie attacks while navigating our way through a labyrinthian industrial landscape. The freakiest scenes took place in those narrow stairwells, where my companions were picked off one by one until I was left as the Final Dude. Eventually, I found my way out of the maze of buildings and staggered out into the street, expecting at any moment to be overtaken by legions of zombies. To my surprise, the hoardes awaiting me were shoppers and business people on their way to work. Then my zombified companions reappeared, smiling and removing their fake teeth. In that moment, I had two realizations: A) the attack was actually a Zombie Holocaust Preparedness Drill, and B) I was not actually experiencing this firsthand, but was watching a really good zombie movie with a twist ending I never expected.

From there, the dream shifted perspective, and I was watching this movie when my wife walked in and I started raving about how good the movie was. Then I restarted the movie and made her watch it with me from the beginning.  This time the movie was slightly different and started with my wife and I watching the very movie we were simultaneously living. We were in that creepy apartment building, and for some reason I needed I change of clothes.  The movie had scared me so much that I didn’t want to be anywhere near the staircases, so instead of heading home for my own clothes, I started searching around in the old man’s dresser for some clothes I could borrow. While I was riffling through the drawers, the zombie attack began anew, and played out pretty much the same way as the first time.

For some reason, I was under the impression that I was watching the 2009 French film, Mutants. I haven’t actually seen Mutants yet, so I was stoked that it was so good that I watched it twice in a row (just yesterday I wrote that Dead Alive is the only movie I’ve done that with). But as soon as I thought about this fact, I realized I wasn’t watching a movie at all, but dreaming one. I was really disappointed because I knew that the real Mutants could never be as good as the one in my dream.  Shortly after this realization, my alarm went off. I hit snooze automatically and went right back into the dream.

This time the story had started over, back at the sleazy apartment. My wife said, “Let’s try something different this time,” and before the zombie attack started, she led me to a well-hidden corner of the industrial complex, where we would try to wait out the drill in relative peace. It seemed like an okay hiding place, until a bum showed up and wanted to know why we were in his favorite drinking spot. We left promptly and found an identical hiding place around another corner. This time, however, the spot was crowded with other people who had the same idea. We squished in anyway, with me right next to the only entrance. And sure enough, a zombie popped her head in, practically in my lap. But instead of attacking, she said, “Is it cool if I hang out in here? I don’t have the energy to do this again.” Punchline delivered, I woke up with a big smile on my face.

Groggy as I was, I briefly thought, hell, maybe I’ll adapt my dream into a screenplay. Of course, as I went through the details of the dream in the shower, I realized its ridiculous dream logic would never work as a film. But in a way, it was better than a movie. It was a vicarious experience that delivered all the fear and violence in a way a movie never could. Who cares if it made no damn sense? Besides, I got to watch zombie movies all night long, and still got a full night's sleep.

Best.

Nightmare.

Ever.

Dollar Bin Horror's 30 Days of Horror Challenge: Catch-Up Session #3

Day 13: Favorite Horror Comedy

Peter Jackson’s epic gorefest, Dead Alive (aka Braindead) has the special distinction of being the only movie I’ve ever watched twice in a row. Back when I was first exposed to Dead Alive, I made it my personal mission to show it to everyone I possibly could. On one occasion, I had brought my unrated copy (it is essential not to watch the R-rated version by mistake) to a friend’s house, one who happened to be a hardcore Christian. Needless to say, it blew his effing mind. When the movie had around 5 minutes to go, another of our mutual friends showed up and wanted to know what in Hell we were watching. I convinced my Christian friend to sit through the whole bloody mess all over again. Good times.

I also screened scenes from Dead Alive in a college literature course entitled “Comic and Tragic Visions.” I paired the “I kick ass for the Lord” scene with the murder scene from Peter Jackson’s Heavenly Creatures to illustrate how a shift in tone makes all the difference between comedy and tragedy. The splatterfest of Dead Alive is more violent by a power of ten, but it doesn’t seem that way because it is played for laughs. Meanwhile, the single murder in Heavenly Creatures manages to be deeply disturbing, even though little of the violence is actually shown.

Also, raise your hand if you spotted the Sumatran Rat Monkey crate in the cargo hold of the ship in King Kong.

Day 14: Favorite Zombie Movie

I could easily have swapped my #13 and #14 picks, but Shaun of the Dead seemed more of a traditional zombie movie, so it gets this spot. While there are plenty of excellent walking dead films out there, and I had to think long and hard about placing Shaun above Romero’s seminal Night of the Living Dead, there’s simply no other zombie movie that I could watch any time, no matter what mood I’m in.

Another reason Shaun gets the zombie, rather than horror comedy, distinction is that it pulls off that rarest of feats: it manages to be funny and scary in equal measure. Even more amazing than that, it gives you a good dose of the tragic and romantic as well. The scene where Bill Nighy bites it is heart-wrenching, even though he has been depicted as an overbearing jerk until that moment. And you can’t help but root for Shaun to save his relationship through heroism in the face of zombie holocaust. In short, Shaun of the Dead has everything you could possibly want from a film.

Day 15:  Favorite horror film involving serial killers

Now, if you restrict this category to movies about actual serial killers, I’d have to go with none of the above. I don’t watch those films, fascinated as I might be by the subject matter. The problem I have with serial killer biopics is that they cash in on genuine tragedy and exploit real human deaths at the expense of the loved ones of the victims. Imagine being the parent of someone murdered by the BTK killer, then going to the video store and having to stomach the presence of a cheap flick profiting from the worst thing that has ever happened to your family.

Luckily, there are plenty of fictional serial killers to choose from, and my favorite among them is the debonair yet unhinged yuppie scumbag Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. In adapting Bret Easton Ellis’s novel, director Mary Herron wastes no opportunity to viciously skewer the empty-suit Wall Street parasites that populate this 1980’s period piece.  Bateman is all surface with no depth, constantly reiterating that he is empty inside and while he looks the part of a human being, he has no human emotions. The film goes to great lengths to illustrate that he could be speaking for any one of his equally soulless colleagues and be right on the money. The difference: he’s a serial killing sociopath just clinging to the last vestiges of normalcy. (Spoiler alert) Or is he? Herron ends the film with a perfect sense of ambiguousness over whether Bateman’s killing sprees have actually occurred, or if he’s just lost his ability to distinguish fantasy from reality.

If you like your horror with a dose of social commentary, American Psycho is the way to go. And while you can argue that the yuppie-bashing gets a little heavy-handed at times, to me it never gets old.

Day 16: Favorite Childhood-Themed Horror Movie

Poltergeist. No contest.

When you watch Poltergeist as a kid, it goes straight for all the classic childhood fears: evil clowns, things under the bed, scary trees, ghosts, being abducted, and the presence of demonic forces. It’s like Tobe Hooper and Steven Spielberg set out to traumatize an entire generation. The beauty of this film is that when you revisit it as a parent, it is ten times worse. There’s an instinctual thing that kicks in when you have kids, and your greatest fears suddenly shift off of yourself and onto your offspring. You no longer fear being abducted; you fear your kids will be.  And when Zelda Rubenstein tells you the abductor is “The Beast,” the chills are convulsive. JoBeth Williams gives the outstanding performance of the film, and I can no longer watch her most emotional scenes without tearing up myself. 

On the downside, some of the special effects are incredibly dated. I’m sure members of the younger generation encountering Poltergeist for the first time will find much of it laughable (the tree eating the kid, the researcher tearing swathes of bloody latex off his fakey-looking skull, etc.). Fortunately, the most chilling sequences don’t rely heavily on special effects (the stacked chairs, Zelda Rubenstein’s speech, skeletons in the unfinished pool). It seems like a film about due for a remake, but I hope they think twice. We don’t want any more dead children on our hands.

Day 17: Favorite Horror Film Remake

It seems like everybody’s main complaint about modern American horror is the dominance of remakes. And I’ll admit, it is getting annoying. But in general, I’m pretty open to remakes and don’t mind if they stray significantly from the source material.  For instance, I found a lot to like about The Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake. It strayed so far from the original, I think it could have held up as its own film with no ties to the original franchise. All they would have had to do was put Leatherface in a Luchador mask or something, and voila, you’ve got a new horror franchise. That said, the movie is pretty uneven, and for every scene that works, there’s another that falls completely flat.

The TCM remake I’d classify as a reboot, because the filmmakers set out to create a new vision of familiar material. There’s another form of remake that generally pisses me off to no end. That is the American remake of a foreign film. But I kind of understand the phenomenon—Americans as a rule simply don’t watch foreign language films (and thus deserve what they get when the remake falls laughably short of the original). Oddly enough, my favorite remake falls into this bastard category. Matt Reeves’s Let Me In preserves everything that was good about the original Let the Right One In, and somehow manages to improve it.

I do admit I like the way the swimming pool scene was done better in the original, but the addition of the car crash scene more than makes up for it. Since I’ve already written about this film on my other blog Films My Spouse Made Me Watch, I’ll direct you there for additional thoughts on the film.

Day 18: Favorite Foreign Horror Film

This is a tough one, because most of my favorites from the last decade have been foreign (specifically European). But one film does seem to stand above the rest as an example of next-level, game changing horror. For me, Pascal Laugier’s Martyrs lived up to and surpassed all the praise that horror bloggers have piled on it. I tried not to read too much about it in advance, because well, that’s the advice I was given. So forgive me if I write mainly in generalities—I simply love Martyrs too much to ruin it for anyone.

The little I read about Martyrs had me expecting a film that was terribly disturbing, but not scary. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The movie starts out pants-wetting terrifying, but becomes something altogether different in its second half. It is a film that brings a strange kind of beauty to its brutality. Martyrs ends up being one of the most thought-provoking films I’ve seen in any genre, and perhaps someday I’ll try to do it justice with a proper discussion. But for now, I’m content to just caress the DVD case and stare at it in awe.

Are we there yet? Not quite. But my hands are cramping up. I’ll be back for a triple entry tomorrow, then see if I can’t keep up for the rest of the challenge.

Dollar Bin Horror's 30 Days of Horror Challenge Catch-Up Session #2

Considering that this challenge involves discussing one horror favorite per day for 30 days, I hereby declare myself a resounding failure.  But heck, that’s never stopped me before, so on with the countdown I say…

Day 10: Favorite Psychological Horror Film

I was having trouble coming up with anything in this category until I reframed it as “Favorite Mindfuck Film.”  Then the choice clearly had to be a David Cronenberg film, and what film is more exemplary of his particular brand of madness than Videodrome?  Aside from James Woods and Deborah Harry at their best, what I love about Videodrome is the way it lends itself to endless readings. The movie was made in the early days of home video, but its themes apply just as easily to our current web-dominated world—Themes such as the blurred line between media and reality, thought-control, and violence as entertainment.

I won’t even pretend to understand what Videodrome is all about, and I’ve never been able to decipher a coherent message from the film. That, perhaps, is its brilliance. Each time I think I’ve grasped a clear message, I find another way that the film subverts it, which leads me to endlessly puzzle over the enigma that is Videodrome.

I realize I’ve been discussing the film almost entirely in the abstract, so for those who haven’t seen it, Videodrome deals with a television station that airs programs appealing to people’s baser instincts (mostly softcore porn and violent content). James Woods plays the president of the station who is looking to find something even edgier and sleazier, and finds it in a pirate broadcast called Videodrome. The program consists entirely of torture and murder, which he mistakes as being staged, but is actually real. When he begins pirating and airing the broadcast, he eventually learns that watching Videodrome causes brain tumors in viewers. These tumors cause them to hallucinate weird crap like beta machines forming in their chest cavities. One could read this as symbolizing the destructive nature of violent entertainment, but that reading is undermined as Woods delves deeper into the mysteries behind Videodrome and discovers a government conspiracy at the heart of it all.  The halluncinatory sequences make the audience question how much of this conspiracy is real and how much is paranoid delusion.

I suspect that the film sets out to pose intriguing questions rather than to send any clear message. Regardless, Videodrome is a fascinating piece of work that is meant to be experienced rather than understood.

Day 11: Favorite Sci-Fi Horror

First off, props to Brandon for his pick. Hardware is one-of-a-kind and very effective. But it’s been so long since I’ve seen it that I have to go with Event Horizon. I know, neither Event Horizon nor its director Paul W.S. Anderson have exactly a sterling reputation, but damn it, I can’t help loving them both. The atmosphere that Anderson and crew give to the Event Horizon (the titular starship of the film) is oppressive and sinister. The hallucination sequences are creepy and effective, and the cast delivers on the gravity needed to sell the premise.

The premise is this, the Event Horizon,  a ship was designed to open a gateway in spacetime (and thus travel faster than lightspeed), but ended up opening a gateway into another dimension, one that is pretty much synonymous with Hell. While the premise is nothing spectacularly original, the film presents it with style and an overwhelming sense of dread. The action and suspense sequences work well, and I’m puzzled as to why so many people disliked it. But dislike it they did, and it ended up being a huge box office bomb (Videodrome bombed too – why is it my favorite movies tend to be box office failures?)

It’s too bad that DVD technology was just starting to be introduced when Event Horizon was released, because apparently the original cut of the film was much more violent and test audiences were too disturbed by it (a sure sign of a good horror movie), but the studio saw no real reason to preserve the cut footage. These days directors shoot footage they know won’t make the theatrical cut, because they know they can give you the real deal when the Unrated DVD comes out.

Day 12: Favorite Occult-Themed Horror Film

While there will always be a special place in my heart for cheesy Satanic/occult flicks, I had to go with a sincerely awesome one.  Alan Parker’s Angel Heart is just about perfect in every way. Mickey Rourke at the height of his coolness, Lisa Bonet at the peak of her hotness, and Robert DeNiro when he was still menacing. There’s also an indescribable quality about the cinematography that I love. Everything looks gritty and sweaty and dirty—just the right atmosphere for an occult-themed neo-noir film.

The outstanding sequence of the film is the notorious, blood-soaked sex scene between Rourke and Bonet that earned the film its  X-rating. Yes, Angel Heart is so old they still used X. The other aspect of the film that may be a bit dated is the ending. Don’t get me wrong, the ending is great and perfectly suited to the film, but these days it might a little predictable. Back in 1987 though, it was fresh and surprising.

Well, it seems I’m starting to run out of steam with this entry, so I’ll break it off here and tackle the next three films tomorrow. Adieu