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“Monsters do exist; in us and among us. They walk in our shadow. They can prey on us more as we fear them less. We should know. We created them.” --- George A. Romero

Horrorphile - March 2007

Altered States

March 30th 2007 05:00
Altered States DVD cover art
One for the neo-hippies, Ken Russell’s metaphysical, transcendental romantic horror flick Altered States (1980) caused a stir of excitement when it was first released for its colourful visual effects and experimental use of hallucinogenic drugs. It’s a love story at the end of the day, albeit an amorous mutation.

Eddie Jessup (William Hurt in his Golden Globe winning debut) is a medical scholar experimenting with sensory deprivation with the aid of his meek friend Arthur Rosenberg (Bob Balaban). It’s 1967. Everyone is turning on, tuning in and dropping out. Eddie meets Emily (Blair Brown), another medical student at a party. The first time she sees him he’s silhouetted in a doorway surrounded by white light, The Doors Light my Fire pumping away in the background. Later while having passionate sex with Emily Eddie sees God. Afterwards Emily states that she felt she was "being harpooned by a raging monk".
Get mushrooms, will travel
Seven years later and Eddie and Emily are married and living in NYC. She's still crazy about him, and he's still crazy. Eddie is very keen to revisit the isolation tank to further his theories on altered states of consciousness. He persuades his old friend Arthur into using a tank at the Harvard university where they are part of the faculty. But not before he travels to Mexico to indulge in a little of the native Indians mushroom soup, and bring a canister of the potent hallucinogen back with him.
William Hurt, Bob Balaban, Charles Haid
And so the experimenting resumes, but now Eddie is obsessed and experiencing more than just psychological separation from reality, his physical self is regressing. His mind and body is falling back through the ages, xenomorphing into a primitive, simian form. The experimenting is getting out of control. As Arthur admits to Emily, "Some of these tank trips can get kinda creepy".
Eddie experiences a mind-expanding moment
Maverick auteur filmmaker Ken Russell has always been interested in theological ideas, the sacred vs. the profane, the subversive and the existential. Working from a screenplay by multi-award winning screenwriter and novelist Paddy Chayefsky (who subsequently disowned it), Russell concocts a rather ludicrous story of love conquering all. It seems like just another excuse for him to throw all manner of religious, sexual, and mortal symbolic imagery at the screen, tenuously tied together with ideas about the power of the subconscious over the physical state.

The visual effects and they way they are edited together look mostly dated, but there are some neat bladder effects courtesy of prosthetic maestro Dick Smith (The Exorcist), and the Primal Man (Miguel Godreau) scenes are well handled. In fact that whole sequence when Eddie regresses and has morphed into this primal being, then running amuck is suitably suspenseful.
Miguel Gotreau as Eddie as Primal Man
However the support performances of Blair Brown and Charles Haid as a disgruntled professor are terrible (Brown’s best moment is when she becomes the Sphinx). I felt for William Hurt having to suffer for his art acting alongside these two half-baked flakes. You can see it in his eyes. Actually Hurt always looks that way. He just hurts. Look out for a very young Drew Barrymore and a young John Larroquette.

Here's Blair Brown turning into the Sphinx (a unique moment in cinema history):


The finale of Altered States pushes the boundaries of love. Poltergeist (1981) and Brainstorm (1983) followed similar paths. There’s a lesson to be learnt about subjecting your mind and body to such extremes; use in moderation! And make sure you have a lover/soul mate close at hand so you can reach out and grab that lifeline!
Emily (Blair Brown) wades into Eddie's primordial whirlpool
Altered States was definitely a strong vehicle for Hurt who followed it with Body Heat and the The Big Chill. It’s the archetypal Hurt performance and he milks it even when he’s under kilos of pulsating protoplasm. As does director Russell who writhes around in the orgiastic pyrotechnics and audio visual whirlpools. Russell even raids footage from Dante’s Inferno (1935) portraying Hell layering the imagery through some of the drug-induced sensory trips Eddie subjects himself to.
Eddie as SuperProtoplasmMan!
Some of the ideas on the conflict of science and spirituality, of de-evolution and subconscious states of primordial being are intriguing, but nothing is touched on with real depth. Russell is keener to return to the cinematic wallowing of his spectral freakshow. The movie was hugely successful winning two Academy Awards (score and sound).
Reach out!!! And I'll be there!!
If you’re keen for a deep trashy cosmic escapade with streaks of horror suspense and grotesque quasi-religious imagery, small doses of surrealism, and some sweaty and hirsute nudity thrown in for good scientific measure then Altered States is the drop you’ve been looking for. Enjoy it as a xeno-retro trip.

I couldn't resist - but a warning, it's a spoiler - here is the movie's hallway-bound "love conquers all" climax (with the imagery a-ha ripped off for their Take on Me clip!):



* images are courtesy of outnow.ch
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Deliver Us from Evil

March 29th 2007 01:48
Deliver Us from Evil poster art
I watched a most disturbing documentary yesterday. It’s not a horror movie, but it’s a film of utter abject horror. Deliver Us from Evil is ultimately about the rampant sexual abuse within the worldwide clergy, but it focuses on one monster inparticular; Father Oliver O’Grady, an insidious predator if ever there was one.

Socio-political producer Amy Berg has directed her first feature and it speaks volumes, like a vivid, no frills banner sprawled across a street at a demonstration. This is a film about destruction and loss of faith and humanity. There is hope, but the shroud of darkness that rears its ugly head in this doco is a massive all engulfing monstrosity that has been committing atrocities since the Middle Ages.
Father Oliver O'Grady
I’m talking about priests and pedophilia. Deliver Us from Evil delivers the chilling and appalling truth that there are literally tens of thousands of men of the cloth who are sexually abusing children, both boys and girls, and have yet to be exposed and disclosed. This might not be so surprising to some, but when the levels of corruption reach as high as Pope Benedictine and President Bush then the nightmarish reality of this invisible plague rains down hard.

Amy Berg had been investigating pedophile priests for four years. Her pursuit had led her to Cardinal Roger Mahony and the 550 priests under his jurisdiction within the Los Angeles Archdiocese who had been abusing children and had not been punished for their crimes. She had been documenting the Church’s unwillingness to release private files on these priests when she become acquainted with Father Oliver O’Grady’s offenses, which surpass all of his peers.
Monsignor Cain, O'Grady, Father Mahoney
Father O’Grady had been devoted to two activities for the past twenty years; leading his community … and planning his next molestation. He even seduced parents in order to gain access to their children. He violated boys and girls of all ages, including a nine-month old infant! Having seen this vile creature on camera in interviews my skin crawls with revulsion and horror.

O’Grady was eventually sentenced to 14 years, but only served seven before being deported to his home country of Ireland where he currently roams (and is still being paid by the Church). Berg contacted him and much to her surprise he agreed to be filmed and interviewed. But what both amazed and disgusted her was the little remorse he had. He understood he had a mental illness, but he expressed a firm desire to explain himself to his victims. He even went as far as to write individual letters to his victims (the ones who were brave enough to be interviewed for this doco) and invite them to come see him so that he could say he was sorry and that it should never have happened … and hopefully get to shake their hands. Ugh!

Adam, an abuse survivor
My God! The man is morally blind and deluded. Of course none of the victims were going to have a bar of him (he eventually withdrew the invitation). One of the victims, Adam, stated bluntly that he’d like to kill O’Grady’s mother instead.

Berg wisely doesn’t offer her own opinions and cleverly she doesn’t provide any narration whatsoever. She simply lets her subjects talk. And there is some outrageous disclosures made in the dispositions of Mahoney and his former second-in-command Monsignor Cain. While O’Grady has to be seen and heard to be believed. He actually smirks and smiles when he relates some of his actions. I have a strong belief that if there is a justly unhinged person in Ireland who sees this doco and knows of O’Grady’s whereabouts he’s a marked man.

The trajectory of O’Grady’s trail of destruction is a heart-breaking one. Meeting the parents of abuse survivor Ann Marie Jyono, now close to 40, who has never been able to marry or have kids due to loss of faith and insecurities. Her father Bob is a mess. Once a devout Catholic, now he doesn’t set foot in a church believing there is no God.
Maria Jyono, Nancy Sloan, Bob Jyono
Although the doco focuses on three victims (Ann Marie, Adam and Nancy Sloan), it paints a much bigger picture by film’s end. The level of corruption and cover-up within American churchs, and across the globe, is astounding. Cardinal Law is a powerful beast. They have lied to so many practitioners of high moral fibre, to parents, to law enforcement, to judges.

O'Grady's hands of disgrace
The appalling justifications made by the Church in trying to protect its own are something to behold. They’ve even openly admitted they do not respond to complaints involving little girls, explaining this “abuse” as simply “normal sexual curiosity” among priests (even when the girls were as young as five!) Yikes! The clergy pedophilia is not strictly of homosexual origin, as the church superiors keep citing as a way of misleading the public.

There is one man who is trying to do good; Father Thomas Doyle, a canon lawyer and medieval historian who is trying against all the odds to educate and enlighten people on just how wayward and deceptive the Church is. He struggles.

Deliver Us from Evil is a sobering and very important film indeed. The protective shroud of the Church is torn apart, faith is destroyed and hope is a pool of tainted holy water. Yet so ingrained is the villainy here that this small doco will only really chip away at the very tip of this glacial behemoth. But chip it must. And perhaps one day, sooner than later, this whole chilling shelf of religious hypocrisy and poisoned morals will crack and sink down into the depths, never to surface again.

We hope and pray.

Deliver Us from Evil is released in Australia in May.
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American Psycho

March 28th 2007 04:35
“I like to dissect girls. Do you know I’m utterly insane?”

American Psycho poster art
I’ve been a fan of Brett Easton Ellis’s literary work ever since I first read Less Than Zero more than fifteen years ago. I read The Rules of Attraction while I was at university so I identified with the campus setting. I bought American Psycho shortly after it hit the bookstores in its R18 shrinkwrap.

Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman
It was a huge assault on my literary senses. The sheer audacity of its content and style amazed me. There was no way in hell this book would ever be turned into a movie. It was literally unfilmable. It would be pornographic in the basest, purest sense of the word.

The compulsion to kill is a dark alleyway
But film it they did. Nearly ten years after it was first published. Unlike the film adaptation of Less Than Zero which attempted to moralise about drug use and ignore the sexually wayward behaviour, the film adaptation of American Psycho (2000) managed to streamline the novel’s central themes honing in what the essence of Ellis’s pitch black satire was about: identity crisis.

In what must be an absolute rarity in Hollywood, American Psycho the movie actually transcends the book in capturing the utter contempt and snowballing madness of Patrick Bateman’s attitude to the world around him and his crumbling psyche. And most beautiful in its irony, the screenplay was adapted by two women, Mary Harron and actor Guinevere Turner, and directed by Harron (at one stage David Cronenberg was slated to direct, but his straight to the hilt intent was never green lit).
The steely cold reflection of a corrupt mind
The irony of two women at the helm is because the book initially - and then the movie when it was given the go ahead – was condemned by feminists as being deeply misogynistic. But that is mislabeling what is ultimately a far more complex film. The film isn’t misogynistic, it’s misanthropic. That’s the case in point. And that point is so sharp you could slice your tongue on it.

a little slap and tickle didn't didn't hurt anyone
It is the excessive, decadent 1980s. Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale) works on Manhattan’s Wall Street Pierce & Pierce - Mergers and Acquisitions (“murders and executions” as Bateman smugly jokes). He is filthy rich and filthy minded. So filthy minded that for release he mutilates and murders people, especially snub-nosed hardbodies and hookers. But is it all in his mind?

Killing Paul Allen ... (not work safe!):


Reese Witherspoon as thankless Evelyn
Bateman has a girlfriend Evelyn (Reese Witherspoon) who he is totally indifferent to. He’d rather screw his colleague’s Xanax addicted girlfriend Courtney (Samantha Mathis). Bateman is obsessed with appearance and the veneer of materialism, reservations at the most exclusive eateries is paramount, the sleek design of one’s business card is a sign of total sophistication. It is this vacuous vanity and the ingrained arrogance of Bateman and his peers which outstrips any of their female acquaintances. And therein lies The Rub. Bateman is desperate to fit in, to conform. Yet envy is eating his soul.

Hiding behind a mask of insanity
But his mask of sanity is slipping. He’s sliding down the surface of things. The real world is becoming icier; the lure of destroying all things human and false is steadily consuming him. Bateman seeks solace in the commercial façade of middle-of-the-road contemporary pop music such as Huey Lewis, Whitney Houston and Phil Collins, while he goes clubbing on the white line highway vibes of New Order, MARRS and other definitive 80s club rhythms.

Willem Dafoe as detective Kimball
In a sub-plot enhanced from the novel a sly detective (Willem Dafoe) is pursuing the murder of Paul Allen (Jared Leto). This only adds further deliberate confusion over what is real and what may be imagined in Bateman’s twisted perception of events. Near film’s end Bateman’s secretary (Chloe Sevigny) leafs through his appointment diary discovering jagged sketches of carnage and sexual aberration. Is this as far as Bateman went, or did he slip further into madness and mayhem …?

Director Mary Harron has painstakingly captured a sensational ode to the trappings of the 80s. The production design and props, the look and feel of the film is bang on. The dialogue cracks like a whip and is endlessly quotable (the sign of a true cult film), with Christian Bale’s central performance one of the most blistering and compelling of its kind. No one else could have pulled off what Bale does with the role.

Bateman loses his grip
Opting for suggestive violence, rather than the novel’s overtly graphic descriptions, Harron still achieves a disturbing sense of brutality and moments of very dark intent, especially in the film’s last quarter as Bateman’s reality starts to implode. The scene where a hysterical Bateman is on the phone with his lawyer confessing to all his murders while police helicopter search lights scan the outside of his office building is pure brilliance.

Killing Christie ... (so not work safe!!):


Like Man Bites Dog (1992) American Psycho cleverly satirizes media, pop culture and the superficiality of relationships, and the huge influence these elements have on the way we choose to live our lives. Both films juxtapose the mundane with the extreme while injecting a potent dose of humour that shines like black gold. One brief scene has Bateman exercising furiously in his living room while The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) buzzes and screams beside him on the television monitor. To fob American Psycho off as being too cynical and deliberately nasty would be missing the point entirely.

American Psycho is essential viewing for the modern horrorphile, by no means a traditional horror flick, more an urbane post-modern horror of controlled retro excess and sardonic disposition. “I guess I’m a pretty sick guy,” Bateman splutters. Yes indeed, a very, very sick hush puppy. Yet at film’s end Bateman smirks nervously, “I’m just a happy camper, rock and roller …"

Y’see his confession has meant nothing. His true identity is still at large. The horror, the horror.

Whatever.


* images on this page are courtesy of www.filmhai.de
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May

March 27th 2007 05:12
May poster art
May (2002) was strongly and unreservedly recommended by fellow cinephile and Orble movie blogger John Doe. It’s the debut feature from writer director Lucky McKee and it’s a decidedly inky and highly quirky modern horror fable that resonates long after the final image fades.

Angela Bettis is May
May (Angela Bettis) is strange and lonely young woman. In the film’s early scenes we learn that her overbearing mother had a key role in shaping her daughter into the troubled adult she’s become. Afflicted by a lazy eye May lives alone with only her old fashioned doll incased in glass who stares mournfully into nothingness, a present of condescension from her mother


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a Qantas Boeing passenger jet with (one day) me and Cronenberg on board
This question often pops up in those annoying chain letter questionnaires. I immediately think of movies, and so the most obvious answer for me is Martin Scorsese. I think of him as probably the greatest living director: Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, The King of Comedy, After Hours, Goodfellas, Casino and The Departed.

His four hour documentary A Personal Journey Through American Movies is brilliant. The man knows movies. He could talk my ear off. But I’m not here to talk about Scorsese. He doesn’t make horror movies


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Wrong Turn

March 23rd 2007 01:39
Wrong Turn poster art
This is one of my Hollywood horror guilty pleasures; a highly derivative, but thoroughly enjoyable beasts-in-the-woods movie. A small group of attractive young people find themselves trapped in a West Virginian forest and are slowly picked off one by one by three hideously deformed inbred mountain men.
Produced by Hollywood special effects legend Stan Winston (Dead & Buried, Aliens, Predator, Island of Dr Moreau), Wrong Turn (2003) was a personal project of his, wanting to make a back to basics (for Hollywood) horror movie with a nasty menacing tone and numerous violent shocks. Think Friday the 13th (1980) meets Deliverance (1972)
Eliza Dushku, Desmond Harrington, Emmaneulle Chriqui, Jeremy Sisto
Chris (Desmond Harrington) in his gorgeous steel blue Mustang is driving long distance along the forest highway to a job interview and is stalled by a traffic pile-up, so he takes a back road and – whoopsadaisy! - ploughs into the back of a Range Rover. Jessie (Eliza Dushku) and her four friends have been heading camping but they’ve run over a booby-trap barbed wire


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Messiah of Evil

March 22nd 2007 03:19
Messiah of Evil poster art
A few years ago my girlfriend and I saw a sensational documentary at the Sydney Film Festival called Los Angeles Plays Itself, about how the City of Angels has been featured and portrayed in movies over the decades. There was a very creepy and resonant film clip which stayed in our minds for days and nights after set in and around a shopping mall. The movie was Messiah of Evil (1973), a horror about the undead in a small Californian coastal town.
I tracked the movie down and found an el cheapo DVD edition (coupled with another obscure B-horror) from the States. I’d kill to find a decently transferred version in its original 2.35:1 ratio (director’s commentary would be fantastic!) This is one rare blood-red gem.

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The human eye showing iris and pupil
I’m back True Believers! I’m alive! I haven’t been trapped in some hellhole by a crazed psychopathic cannibal killer fattening me up for the slaughter. Or been slowly torn apart and eviscerated by some putrid flesh-eating zombie. Or had my life force sucked dry by some demonic, blood-thirsty vampire.
My apologies for not having posted the last couple of days, I’ve been afflicted by a ghastly eye infection. Actually I had it last week as well (caught at an alfresco music festival), but in a less crippling state (that’s why there was no post last Monday either). I thought I had come right by the end of last week. And so I started to wear my contact lenses again, but that was a foolish decision. I had a large weekend (djing a private house party and my own demo cd launch – music is my other passion) and this resulted in two back-to-back late, late nights.

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Grindhouse
Fangoria online (a great horror movie magazine I used to collect religiously in my geekier days) have run a short article on the current censorship rating woes plaguing Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez and their double whammy exploitation horror opus Grindhouse. The horror magazine have pointed out a report from the The New York Post speculating how the specially-designed double feature may have a tough time securing a wide release in the States, due to the high level of sex, nudity and ultra-violence.
Tarantino's Death Proof carquake
Doh! It’s an exploitation flick, made in the style of the infamous adult flicks that used to play NYC’s seedy cinemas in downtown Manhattan during the late 60s and well into the 70s. Grindhouse even sports trailers to non-existent features, such as Machete, which play between the two main movies, Rodriguez’ Planet Terror and Tarantino’s Death Proof.
What in hell were the executive producers thinking? “Um, Quentin … um … Robert, kinda hoping you might deliver us a pleasant little PG-13 version we can push out over the school holidays …? Y’know, something where the girls are actually wearing brassieries and panties and instead of using an axe or shotgun, the bad guys could perhaps throw an insult instead, like “Go jump in a lake!” or if they have to they could make a soft slap to the face?”
Sheeeesh! I can just imagine the expressions on the directors’ faces


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An American Werewolf in London

March 15th 2007 02:14
American Werewolf alternative poster art
The first in my essential viewing series; An American Werewolf in London (1981) directed by John Landis is considered by many to be the best lycanthrope movie ever made. Only a couple others come close in the challenge (I’ll deal with those in good time), but American Werewolf's howl is long and hard.

So what are the elements that make this movie work so well? Well, in all honesty, it’s a flawed masterpiece, but sometimes it’s those rough cut diamonds that glint more fiercely in the mind than those which appear to be flawless. Another werewolf movie was released in 1981; Joe Dante’s The Howling. It too is a comedy, a black one, but it has a hairy elbow nevertheless (there was also another flick, Wolfen, but that was played as a drama


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Zombies (Wicked Little Things)

March 14th 2007 07:08
Original poster with Tobe Hooper's name still attached
Back in November of last year I wrote a post about a horror film festival screening in the States called "Horrorfest – 8 Films To Die For". I bagged out the entire thing as being nothing but a tenuous platform to showcase a bunch of low-budget flicks that should’ve gone straight to video.

One of the main reasons I scoffed at this whole line-up was the tagline that these eight films were too horrific and disturbing for theatrical release. Pull the other one ... puh-lease! This whole straight-to-DVD, so the producers can tag it "unrated" or whatever is a load of hogwash


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The Return of the Living Dead

March 13th 2007 03:20
Return fo the Living Dead DVD cover art
There is a die-hard legion out there who adore this 80s rule-breaker. The Return of the Living Dead (1985) may appear dated now, but it still works well, mostly due to its brisk pace, referential humour and cheesy punk-rock-pop soundtrack.

Freddy (Thom Matthews) is the new stock-boy at the Uneeda medical supplies warehouse. Frank (James Karen) acts like his uncle, showing him the ropes, making bad jokes, then takes him down to the basement to show him the real deal: large canisters containing zombified infected corpses in a dead limbo. Apparently Night of the Living Dead (1968) really happened


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Where the Wild Things Are
It’s an impressionable period in our lives: childhood. But then so is adolescence. And as adults we start making the same mistakes our parents made. The damage has come full circle. So does that mean that because my father was a serial killer I’ve become one too?

As an innocent, guilt-free child everything has possibilities. Everything has the potential to invoke fear or provide joy, particularly books and stories. So what were the stories that invoked fear in you


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This particular knife is great for flaying or eviscerating pretty girls

... Because I’m actually a serial killer at large.

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Torso video cover art
Italian exploitation maestro (can a sleaze director be capable of an aria??) Sergio Martino directed this film in 1973 and it since went on to gain a worthy cult following. The original Italian title translated as Bodies Bear Traces of Carnal Violence (wahey!). For other parts of Europe it was shortened to Carnal Violence, while the American distributor re-titled it as Torso (obviously a word play on “bodies” as both objects of sex and death).

Several murders occur on a Rome campus (and a very attractive campus it is too). The women are strangled and then horribly mutilated. The police are baffled. Everyone looks wary or suspicious. Four female students decide to retreat to an isolated cliff top villa overlooking a village to escape the obvious threat, but the killer has followed them and so the carnage continues


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Rest Stop (Dead Ahead)

March 6th 2007 06:41
Rest Stop DVD cover art
“Too shocking for theatres … Only available on DVD!” These are the taglines that the trailer uses to sell this straight-to-video release from new horror and sf production company Raw Feed. So many titles, especially the horror genre resurgence, are released on video, by-passing the theatres. Generally the movies are terrible, sometimes bad, occasionally mediocre, and rarely above average.

Rest Stop (2006), written and directed by John Shiban, who was one of the writer/producers behind The X Files and Supernatural television shows, falls into a limbo somewhere just outside of mediocre edging toward the above average … but it never quite makes it


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Fade to Black

March 4th 2007 23:53
Fade to Black original movie poster
The last in my theatre of blood review quartet, this quirky stalker flick (the slashing is hardly worth mentioning) featured the geeky Dennis Christopher (superb in the classic 1979 coming-of-age flick Breaking Away) as a troubled orphaned teenager living with his grumpy, overbearing wheelchair bound aunt, and escaping constantly into the world of movies and make-believe.

Fade to Black (1980) directed by Vernon Zimmerman is a character study dressed in the dark-hued threads of horror, but smirking comically at the camera. It’s a black comedy, emphasis on the black, as much of the action takes place at night and/or in the shadows, or the action is simply under-lit


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Opera

March 2nd 2007 04:04
Opera movie poster artwork
This is the third selection in my theatre of blood review quartet; horror movies which stem from theatrical pretensions, superstitions, allusions and deceptions … and lots of blood. Dario Argento’s flawed diamond, sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone, but still too rough and milky to warrant being called a clear cut masterpiece.

I first saw Opera (1987) many years ago on VHS under its Americanised title of Terror at the Opera (you can hear the Stateside distributors panicking; “We don’t want libel cases thrown at us by scores of the elderly who were expecting the latest interpretation of Verdi or Puccini!”). Although it wasn’t letterboxed, most of the extreme violence was left intact. It was also one of my earliest Argento experiences, as at the time precious few of his flicks were available on VHS down under


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Stagefright

March 1st 2007 05:43
Stagefright DVD cover art
This is the second review in my theatre of blood quartet, the first being Curtains (1983). Stagefright (1987, original title Deliria, aka Aquarius and Bloody Bird) was Dario Argento protégé Michele Soavi’s directorial debut. And an accomplished first feature it is. Produced by legendary exploitation filmmaker Aristide Massaccesi (aka Joe D’Amato) it’s a full-blown slasher flick with all the excesses and trappings.

A group of twentysomething actors are rehearsing an “avant garde” musical, The Night Owl, about a masked killer on the streets of New York (or some city like it). There’s a pretty hooker, an ingénue, Marilyn Monroe on sax, several dancers who seem to have been plucked from an early Madonna video, and the killer in black with an enormous owl head mask. Yup, this is pure Italian horror nonsense delivered in spades


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