Retro Wives and Witches!

Retro Wives and Witches, Oh My!

By Kristin Battestella

These eighties wedded dames and old school widows face ghosts and cult forces when not dabbling in a little something something black magic on the side themselves.

Beyond Evil – A one hundred year old ghostly possession interferes with John Saxon (A Nightmare on Elm Street) and Lynda Day George's (Mission: Impossible) tropical marital bliss in this 1980 tale complete with fine villa interiors, spiral staircases, and that seventies Spanish Gothic mood. The non-English prologue is a little hokey thanks to the cheap production values – the sound is poor and the picture often too dark – and though intense, the fire ceremonies and native rituals end up mostly irrelevant before the jet setting rich white people restart provides the phantom winds, killer accidents, and help too afraid to stay in this surprisingly affordable jungle castle. The shady BFF with suspicious loans, backdoor construction, and intrusive voiceovers also undercuts the Portuguese flashback detailing the past arraigned marriage, black magic, and pacts with the devil. Let the murdered mistresses, poisons, chanting, and creaking doors speak for themselves alongside the blue haze, green smoke, sinister music, nighttime whispers, and zooms in the bedroom. The pace falters when away from the scary, and the tense is better when the no electric, falls, and dangerous pointy statues are allowed to blossom with apparitions at the dinner table, sharp knives, household accidents, and candles that light by themselves. Our husband is not a disbelieving asshole as so often seen in horror – he knows there is something wrong with his sleepless wife and suspects a shady doctor with missing medical files calling the haunting merely mental or womanly over-emotional. However, he doubts the local healer and his hocus pocus as well, and the past horrors merge with the present strain as The Mrs. is violated by the demonic spirit and used to cause fiery vehicle crashes or building accidents. Despite neon eye laser beams and sound effects that stray into a more science fiction look rather than a haunting and crypt explorations that only somewhat explain the killer powers; the fatal kisses, premonitions, bruises, and blackouts create a foreign giallo horror eerie culminating in a fun spectacle and fittingly ghoulish finale.

Macabre – It's murder and passion via New Orleans in this atmospheric 1980 Italian swanky from director Lamberto Bava. The colorful locale is part of the plot with river boats, historic architecture, street corner jazz, and romantic melodies. The lush décor is both tacky seventies with velvet curtains and tawny patinas as well as of old thanks to gilded wallpaper, candelabras, and cluttered antiques. Cigarettes, cocktails, and pearls set off the easy to slip out of satin as illicit phone calls make mom leave the kids to babysit themselves during her dalliance. Moaning and heavy panting overheard by the white knuckled blind neighbor are intercut with child terrors, bathtub horrors, shattered glass, bloody beams, and vehicular shocks before an institution stay and return to the love nest becomes suspicious self love with altars to the deceased, ghostly footsteps, and unseen phantom encounters. Through the banister filming, windows, mirrors, and similar posturing add to the naughty mother and creepy daughter duplicity while our blind virginal musical instrument repair man must listen to the saucy and toot his own horn, so to speak, as the silent awkwardness and martini music provide emotion with little dialogue. The narrative may over-rely on the score, meandering on the pathetic situation too much, but there's enough weirdness balancing the mellow thanks to the cruel temptations and nasty bedroom suggestions as white negligees become black sheers and candlelit interiors darken. The effortless jazz switches to pulsing, scary beats as some serious unexplained ghost sex, undead voodoo, or other unknown witchcraft escalates the decapitation innuendo and like mother, like daughter warped. Our blind audience avatar hides to not be seen, others unseen can sneak passed him, and we're all unable to see behind closed doors – layering the suspense, voyeurism, and two fold bizarre amid bedroom shockers, ominous tokens, overcast cemeteries, and one locked refrigerator. The saucy, nudity, and gore are adult sophisticated without being vulgar in your face tits and splatter a minute like today, and tense toppers don't have to rely on fake out scares. Granted, there are timeline fudges, some confusion, and laughable parts. It's probably obvious what's happening to most viewers, yet we're glued to the screen nonetheless with ironic puns, turnabouts, kitchen frights, and titular twists. I guess edible and sexual horrors don't mix!

Play Dead – Furs and black veils help Lily Munster herself Yvonne De Carlo raise these dated television movie designs along with organ music, classic autos, antiques, and talismans in the casket. Our Aunt Hester stirs up the funeral before sipping her cordial by the fireplace with her rottweiler Greta – who is said to be a rare breed brought special from Europe to match the lanterns, candles, potions, Latin rituals, and animal sacrifices. Kind and never said to harm anybody Greta is sent to dog obedience school before being giving as a gift to Hester's grieving niece and nephew, but their father was Hester's lover before marrying her sister and Greta is really her Murders in the Rue Morgue revenge. However, the slow motion maulings, solo dancing, and shattered mirrors are unnecessary – mere filler slowing the picture down rather than helping create atmosphere. The supposedly tender sex scene is also ridiculously slow, and poor Greta's stuck watching amid the boobs, belt buckles, steamy shower, and ritzy elevator music meets porno melody. Understandably, there's a lot of talking to the dog or oneself, but the dialogue never explains the mystical connections as Greta hitches a ride in the back seat to cause hit and runs or opens bathroom doors to drop the hot curling iron into the tub. The strobe dog scenes are perhaps by animal filming necessity, but the intercut crimes, remote spells, pulsing heartbeats, and pentagram dog tags aren't used to full sinister advantage despite unique strangulations, poisons, and kills that don't immediately incriminate the canine. It's odd then that the crusty cops do suspect the dog because the plot says so – when our no alibi, stands to inherit everything niece has count 'em six people die in her vicinity. Some of the frazzled witness questioning also drags, detracting from De Carlo with some amateur over the top and poor procedurals. Viewers can see why this 1981 release was delayed and this giving the rottweiler a bad name is not for dog lovers, yet this can be laughably bemusing if you accept it for what it is.

Witchcraft – Period torches, hoods, cackling crones, and burning at the stake mobs open this 1988 eerie before a modern birth, a stay with the mother-in-law at her 300 year old Massachusetts mansion, and a woman sitting in the front seat of the station wagon holding the baby in her arms for the trip. That was how we rolled! Indeed, the bad music, shoulder pads, and hectic visuals are Made for TV dated, but the fiery effects are well done amid lightning, windswept nightgowns, rituals in the backyard, animal sacrifices, and suspicious tea. Grandma's taking over the nursery alongside red candles, blood, dark clothing, and old phones contrasting the yuppie fashions and big hair. Cobwebs, dust, covered furniture, and a mute butler add to the foreboding while blurry, distorted camera angles reflect the hazy dreams and drugged stupor. Our husband is giving the cold shoulder and mom's off exploring, but I'd never let that kid out of sight with these mysterious house fires, bloody bandages, and good old fashioned gaslighting about what's happening. The omnipresent movie music springs up just in time for the evil visions, because of course, but the ominous mirrors, boils, and fatal retributions set off the up close cutlery and meaty chewing in one eerie dinner table scene. The bloody flashbacks, dream cop outs, and shock vignettes, however, are disjointed – there are pieces of suspicion and frights, but the plot isn't anything new in the cult wants my baby sub-genre. Despite a lot of quality individual spooky scenes, not a lot actually happens and the audience knows what's going on even if the plot is somewhat eponymous lite before rushing into a heady finale. This is fun for the cheesy midnight movie that it is, but I can't image how there are sixteen of these movies, my word!

Retro Horror Girl Power!

Retro Horror Girl Power

by Kristin Battestella

Gather the girlfriends 'round and go back thirty years or more for this batch of foreign and domestic chillers steeped in murderous sisterhood, paranormal dames, and sexist serial killers.

Alice, Sweet Alice – Frantic Hail Marys, church bells, rectories, and crosses in nearly every scene steep this 1976 slasher in layers of iconography alongside matching yellow jackets, similarly named long hair lookalikes, sisterly favoritism, and saint versus sinner parallels. Little Brooke Shields (Suddenly Susan) is fond of her priest, goes to confession, and is gifted with a crucifix necklace while twelve year old Paula Sheppard (Liquid Sky) wears a mask to scare the cook. The ceremonial crown, veil, and white dress feel medieval bridal amid the Latin sanctity and old fashioned Sunday best formality – composed women in hats, gloves, pearls, and Jackie O suits are soon hysterical once murder blasphemes the sacred within its very walls. Creepy hints of the strangling attack, feet dragging beneath the pews, and a charred fate intercut the kneeling at the altar and passing wafer, turning the white confirmation into a black funeral. The uptight roosts point fingers, cast blame, and belittle husbands, but the parents are also too busy to notice the gluttonous downstairs neighbor obsessed with cats promising not to bite Alice if she visits him. Out of wedlock, divorced, and remarried taboos squabble while hidden periods and no long playing with dolls maturity layer the well done shocks and mask scares. Intense lie detector tests, cold yes or no questions, and scary needle movements add atmosphere along with thunderstorms, bugs, and basement hideaways. This murder acerbates a preexisting family strain, and such repressed attitudes would almost rather there be a grief approved death than admit to potential schizophrenia problems. Retro cameras, typewriters, big phone booths, classic cars, old school police, and formal psychiatrist interviews reiterate the mid-century rigid while prank calls, cramped stairs, and penetrating stabs invoke a frenzied response with violent twists. Do some of the victims get what they deserve? Confessions, warped revelations, mother madonna saintly and magdalene whore shaming cloud the case, and the children pay for the sins of the father indeed. This is a taut little thriller with fine scares, mystery, and parables made horror.

The Hearse – Divorced teacher Trish Van Devere (The Changeling) deals with nosy realtor Joseph Cotten (Citizen Kane) not to mention ominous headlights, dark roads, phantom winds, visions in the mirror, and a freaky uniformed chauffeur in this 1980 spooky. There is an initial proto-Lifetime movie feeling and the picturesque Golden Gate Bridge vistas remain just another driving to the horrors montage as our jittery dame heads to the recently bequeathed home of her late aunt for the summer. The Blackford neighbors, however, are unwelcoming gossips, and the minister says any standoffishness must be her imagination. Of course, her shorts are very short and despite a flirtatious sheriff, cat calls while jogging, and compliments about the resemblance to her aunt, all the men must help her roadside and make women driving jokes while doing so. Those trees just jump out into the road! Thanks to whispers of past pacts with Satan, they don't expect her to stick around long, either. The then-edgy music knows when to be quiet, adding to the isolation, crickets, and woman alone creepy. Covered antiques, leftover fashions, period pictures, and attic relics invoke a museum mood – an intrusion by the living justifying the faulty electric, slamming doors, creaking stairs, rattling pipes, and ghostly faces in the window. A music box plays on its own while a mysterious necklace, ironic radio sermons, and the titular highway pursuits escalate along with footsteps, intruders, and shattering glass. The tracking camera pans about the house in an ambiguous move that's both for effect and someone – or something – approaching. Likewise, reading the diary of her devil worshiping aunt alongside a new whirlwind but suspicious romance creates dual suspense – which can certainly be said for that Hearse when it pulls up to the front porch and opens its back door. The black vehicle, white nightgown, and choice reds increase with candles, coffins, and funerary dreams. Pills and long cigarette drags visualize nerves amid bridge accidents, disappearing bodies, rowdy town vandals, and gaslighting decoys. The solo reading aloud and talking to oneself scenes will be slow to some viewers, and at times the car action is hokey. The mystery can be obvious – it feels like we've seen this plot before – yet the story isn't always clear with low, double talk dialogue. However, it's easy to suspect what is real with interesting twists in the final act, and the adult cast is pleasing. Well done clues keep the guessing fun, and several genuine jump moments make for a spirited midnight viewing.

Phenomena – Jennifer Connolly (Labyrinth) and Donald Pleasence (Halloween) star in this 1985 Italian production from director Dario Argento along with Walkmans, a giant computer, overhead projectors, retro school buses, huge headphones, big boob tube TVs, off the shoulder sweatshirts, and crimped hair. The horseshoe phones are so hefty one breaks through the floor when it falls, and top heavy metal names such as Iron Maiden anchor the score. Pretty but bleak Swiss scenery, foreboding roads, suspicious chains, and an isolated cabin speak for themselves with blood, shattered glass, cave perils, scissor attacks, and strangling violence contrasting the rural vistas and scenic waterfalls. The on the move camera tracks the scares, panning with the staircases, chases, and penetrating knives rather than hectic visuals working against the action – leaving heartbeats, ticking clocks, and rage music to pulse the frenetic dreams. Congested tunnels, dark water, and rotting heads build tension alongside sleepwalking shadows, blue lighting schemes, and saintly white symbolism. Insects, monkeys, and bizarre medical tests collide with missing teens, amnesia, and an old school sense of being lost in the foreign unknown. Despite the young protagonist, the horror remains R without being juvenile or nasty. Although necrophilia and rape are implied amid girls in short shirts, dirty old men, and killer penetrations, the innuendo isn't like today's overt teen T-n-A exploitation. Doctors and a strict headmistress suspect epilepsy, schizophrenia, or drugs before the otherworldly but friendly communication with animals – cruel schoolmates and religious extremists view such talents or swarming commands as demonic rather than embracing the literal fly on the wall fantastics. Would you follow bugs to the scene of the crime to see the decomposing victim through their eyes? The notion to be in tune with nature and commune with insects as allies is unique in a genre usually reserving such crawlies for scares, and cool bug eye viewpoints, covered mirrors, freaky dolls, and maggots accent the deceptions, twists, and escalating revelations for some gruesome surprises and a wild finish. And oh my gosh there is a classmate wearing a Bee Gees t-shirt. Want it!!

Tenebre – Onscreen book pages set the deadly state of mind for this 1982 Argento thriller as retro airports, phone booths, jealous dames in furs, and saucy innuendo give way to duty free shoplifting, vagrants, and daytime assaults – building intrigue that is both crime thriller and horror with killer vignettes, gore, and bizarre scenery. Pages shoved in the victim's mouths add warped personality as reporters cry sexism and cheap thrills inspired by the manuscript. Stylish nudity and slasher voyeurism raise tension as the camera peers through windows in search of the next victim while the pulsing electronic score peppers the clashing metaphors – disloyal literary agent John Saxon (Nightmare on Elm Street), male versus female cops, a feminine voice wielding a straight razor male weapon. Subtitles would have helped the low volume and off dubbing, but typewriters, record players, and flash cameras accent breaking glass frights, dark room developments, and pieces of the unseen killer's lair. Although murders in a book made real may be a common plot now, the slightly abstract lack of polish and low budget freaky adds to the American in Rome angst, threatening phone calls, shoe fetishes, and phallic parallels. The stark visuals mirror the cold, harsh detachment – something is hiding in plain sight with white clothes, red symbolism, beach-side sexual aggression, and gender bending encounters as our clues. Are young women flirting with older men asking for violence? The multi-layered life imitating art giallo expectations add commentary on such tropes with dual investigations, puzzling notes, and a detective reading detective novels but unable to solve what's on the page. Breaking and entering violations, symbolic penetrating attacks, and a whiff of Catholicism accent killer dogs, chases, double crossings, repression, and frazzled nerves as the quality deaths escalate into bold violence and visual confirmations. Despite a previous Nasty notoriety, this isn't torture porn for the sake of it and may actually seem tame compared to today's shocks. Fortunately, this remains an intelligent cross genre thriller and taut mystery with red herrings, insider psychosis, and wild film within a film veils. After all, who is the voyeur if not viewer?

Avoid!

Don't Answer the Phone – Sweaty rituals open this 1980 bizzarity before a nurse in white, heavy breathing, strangulation fetishes, and sexual violence. Old radio designs, big headsets, giant switches, tape reels, pay phones, and chalk boards in the precinct add retro pastiche, however, a padding police research montage merely opens file cabinets, passes papers, and sighs over manila folders as our killer strolls along the Walk of Fame before finding the seedy side of town. We know nothing about him save for an army jacket, and the fake Spanish accent used in calling the radio psychologist is pointless. Snippy cops say this serial strangler is good overtime money, and hokey killer workouts/pep talks don't mix with serious patients and therapy sessions recounting abuse. Rather than sticking with the forensic samples, hairs, and bite mark clues or the female doctor who could solve the crime, every strong woman with a breakthrough dies. Such prey rather than empowered gratifies the violence – apparently it's not the killer's fault when he replays the abuse of an incest victim as sexy. Um, no. Prayers, candles, and warped visuals try too hard to be inside the scandalous when the detectives and radio host evidence should be the core. A crime thriller peppered with real world heightened horror moments is fine, but interesting police psychologist theories are ignored for a black pimp more upset at being called dumb than a racial slur – amid a supposedly comical raid where the cops bemoan filling out the forms for shooting said black pimp. o_O This needed either the investigation perspective with his prank calls alone or an unseen following of the killer. Hearing his cues at the photography sessions and luring models are enough fearful suggestion. Instead, all cops are wisecracking assholes one step behind what we've already seen because evidently we're supposed to feel sorry for the crying killer when he's selling his fetish photos of the victims. This is not PTSD from the Vietnam psychopath trope, as the murderer whines about the usual childhood killing of the dog, wetting the bed, and a step-dad who didn't like him, and the attempted gritty defending of this crazy racist vet rapist who's just getting a bad rap seems more like porn or snuff with the hardcore excised. I would say it's dated in this approach, but female exploitation used for manpain excuses is still onscreen today. I'm repulsed by this terrible film, least of all because nobody even noticed the killer never wore gloves.

More Bava Treats!

More Mario Bava Treats!

by Kristin Battestella

More than just horror, Italian director Mario Bava took on a variety of vikings, swords, sandals, and oh yeah, scares, too!

Hercules in the Haunted World – The late Christopher Lee joins Reg Park for his second eponymous 1961 Italian adventure, this time written and directed by Our Man Bava. Although the picture is a little flat now, the pleasant village, deadly raids, strong men, and tunics immediately set the Greco-Roman mood. So what if there's no real introduction until nameless bad guys comically flee at the name Hercules. Delightful colors and murky music shape the villainous scenes with red spotlights and green glows, complimenting the orange mists and colorful Styx storms. Such older entries in the sword and sandal genre are often perceived as hokey haha or Hollywood happy, so it's interesting to have the spooky amid a psychedelic oracle and this underworld quest to save an ethereal soon to be bride. The trials and task sequences, however, are uneven – some are more drawn out while others happen too easily and some are tedious, unnecessary side tracks with seriously bad looking monsters. Fortunately, pretty ladies in need of rescue fill the 90 minutes without resorting to saucy or nudity, and it's bemusing to go along with the mythical Theseus, Persephone, and Deianira for some unexpected conflicts. Lee is of course a suspicious guardian king with ulterior motives, a sly antagonist to the Buff despite his voice being dubbed. There doesn't seem to be English subtitles, either, which would have helped with the names or nonsensical dialogue. Obviously, this is more low budget than some of the earlier American epics and made for the visuals rather than the story, but the tone remains family fanciful even when the fantasy turns dark. This is a better He-Man than the Masters of the Universe movie and a poor man's Conan the Destroyer, however that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Besides, when was the last time we had purple special effects in a film, seriously? I wish modern films would forgo the absurd muscles, ridiculous CGI, and slow motion battles in favor of this kind of Bava lighting, shadows, flair, and mythological feeling.

Mario Bava: Maestro of the Macabre – Family, friends, and filmmakers including John Carpenter, Tim Burton, Joe Dante, and John Saxon recall the stylish and ground breaking flair from the Man of the Hour in this 2000 documentary. The childhood roots, bemusing anecdotes, and Bava's early camerawork move quickly with rare photographs and movie footage before setting the scene for the visual, violent substance and pushing the erotic horror envelope to come with the likes of Black Sunday, Black Sabbath, Baron Blood, Bay of Blood, and more. The lack of Bava respect stateside and later copycat stylings are also discussed – from poor dub jobs, chopped editing, artistic compromising, and watered down releases to the Lisa and the Devil versus House of Exorcism debacle and shot for shot similarities from Friday the 13^th and Alien. Bava's progressive special effects, film trickery, and metaphorical fears were precursors to the slasher genre, and his sword and sandal work, westerns, science fiction, and comedies like Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine are also given note. The time here, however, is unfortunately a little too uneven – we don't learn much about the man himself or even see Bava all that much because too much is spent on giving away great scenes from the aforementioned films. The narration is stiff, several accents and translators may be tough for some viewers to understand, and this career summary isn't anything die hard fans didn't already know. Thankfully, this hour fittingly recognizes Bava's legacy and gives some long due respect. Clip shocks and spoilers aside, this is a nice introduction in giallo education for budding scary enthusiasts.

Shock – Director Mario Bava's 1977 final film opens with a fresh start in old house – but of course, a second husband and happy family times can't compete with dangerous clutter, dusty antiques, and leftover first husband messiness. Though some kid aspects are a little annoying, the psychic tuning, ghostly possession, and scary required for this seemingly aware villa with a spooky basement, creaking doors, claustrophobic brick walls, mysterious objects, and strange occurrences is pretty heavy. Daily child's play and household accidents with glass shattering, crashing shutters, piano slams, sharp scissors, and nasty rakes take on voodoo doll precision as the deadly intentions toward our parents mount. Previous abuses and breakdowns endured, however, cloud whether this supernatural seeing and feeling is real or all in one's mind. The picture quality is somewhat flat, dark, and drab, too, which makes the production look bad or lower budget than it was. Fortunately, there is still a fine color design alongside trademark Bava styled mirrors, lighting, stairs, and shadows with ominous piano music and record players to match. Intercut editing parallels swings, a ticking metronome, and dangerous piloting while moody dreams and hazy past memories add uneasy ambiguity to the nudity, showering, Oedipal shade, icky hands, and beneath the sheets bizarre. This near forty year old familial plot seems ahead of its time and recent attempts on the theme aren't always as good. Yes, a slicing and dicing switchblade flying about is hokey, but we don't have in your face ghosts destroying the illusions here. A frenetic, stressful unraveling contributes to the final unexpected revelations, and the small cast and minimal locations do quite well with the escalating human fears and paranormal hysteria.

A Skipper for Me

Knives of the Avenger – Epic scoring, coastal pretty, Odin worship, prophecy, pillage, and vengeance set the spirit for this 1966 Bava helmed viking adventure starring Cameron Mitchell (also of Blood and Black Lace). For an hour and a half picture, things are slow to start with a lot of padded time before anything actually happens. Confusing anglicized names, uneven dubbing, and contradictory exposition make it tough to tell who is who despite a simple western designed plot. The titular slicing and violence spices up several battles, but this would be good guy defending an exiled mom – who's peasant disguise and regal secret are obvious – and her son ingratiates himself too quickly and conveniently compared to the doom and gloom introduction. Flashback battles with critical backstory should have been fully shown rather than snippet told and narrated. Naturally, this isn't the spectacle of today, but the small scale and low budget is much more hampered than usual. Guilt ridden voiceovers don't gloss over the expected but no less upsetting violence against women, and plot twists make it tough to like the supposed hero even if he is trying to rectify past wrongs. Is it meant to be endearing or quaint if a boy takes to a man who may be his father from a rape or if the queen can't recognize her masked rapist? Would she be interested in her new protector and conflicted over waiting for her husband if she knew he was her past attacker? This isn't romantic – actually, it's repulsive that her violation and point of view are treated as inconsequential plot points. It's tough to enjoy Bava's nuances in color, zooms, and camerawork for the big battle finale when the eponymous avenger is avenging the death of his family by raping another and calling it love. This could have been a sweeping, fun tale, but the story and pace are at best muddled and at worse offensive.

Just Vamps 2!

Just Vampires II! 

By Kristin Battestella

Because who can’t get enough vampire movies, am I right?

Queen of Blood – Roger Corman (House of Usher) and Stephanie Rotham (The Velvet Vampire) produced this 1966 AIP science fiction meets horror tale from writer/director Curtis Harrington (What’s the Matter with Helen?). Though the borrowed footage and stolen special effects don’t really match the primitive explorations of the moon, Venus, and Mars, the old-fashioned sci-fi sounds and empty sets with blinking lights are mid-century charming. Granted, most of these “1990” space stylings look like toys and dated artwork, but silhouettes, shadows, and colored lighting help hide the hokey. The unscientific old jargon and constantly interrupting intercom pages, however, are simply laughable. These attempts at high tech and the supposedly cool alien footage are actually more confusing than establishing because today’s viewer can’t tell what’s happening. The slow, time wasting, goofy effects should have been done away with in favor of more drama from John Saxon (A Nightmare on Elm Street), Basil Rathbone (Sherlock Holmes), a very young Dennis Hopper (Blue Velvet), and the blink and you miss him Forrest J Ackerman (Kentucky Fried Movie). Fortunately, the cast and story are quite intriguing – an alien message, contact with Earth, a crash on Mars, and our ill-prepared rescue attempt. The suspense rises thanks to a stranding on Phobos, three passengers for a two-person pod, and of course, the creepy, hypnotic, titular, green – yes green – Florence Marly (Tokyo Joe). Between the now standard SF action and the freaky, cynical ending, one wouldn’t expect the aliens to turn scary, much less be vampires, but the sensual, scary mix works. Is it preposterous? Heck yeah. Is this an entertaining space horror delight? For sure.

Scars of Dracula – Roy Ward Baker (The Vampire Lovers) takes the helm for this 1970 entry in the Hammer series once again starring Christopher Lee as the eponymous count. The plot kind of sort of picks up from Taste the Blood of Dracula with the pre-requisite resurrection in the first few moments and sets the mood with booming orchestration, outdoor scenery, wild carriages, and cool castle interiors accented by red décor and bloody, pecked, and stabbed victims. Yes, the period design is cheap and the plot standard – a young village girl is attacked, angry townsfolk and the clergyman head off for Dracula’s known lair, one person doesn’t heed said village’s advice, a couple pursues him to the castle… The tale starts several times and takes too long with seemingly random players before the vamp action, and most of this set up could have been abandoned for an in medias res cold open. Expected series inconsistencies and a plodding lack of panache detract from the Stoker touches, but Lee looks good, mixing both violent and torturous intensity with suave and delicate mannerisms.  From casual dining and conversations to a seductive vampire bride and slightly hokey bat control, Lee has much more to do with these developments, and it’s wonderfully creepy. Likewise, Patrick Troughton (Doctor Who) is a seedy, hairy, hatchet wielding, and conflicted henchman. Though the nudity and bed hopping are a little more risqué, there could have been more and subtitles would clarify a lot! Yes, it’s somewhat typical with nothing new on the vampire theme, but Lee’s presence anchors the spooky iconography here.

  

Vampyres – Late Spanish director Jose Ramon Larraz (Symptoms) gets right to the unabashedly naked lesbian soft-core action and slobbery kisses for this 1974 blood and spicy.  Despite our contemporary love of sex sex sex, one might initially groan at this potentially unnecessary boobs before violence – yet the kitschy mood and sensuous gothic tone works with the blended British seventies style and Old World, cluttered Victorian creepy. Outside of some great cars and sparse electricity, the viewer may not know when this takes place, and the Oakley Court estate and churchyards are perfectly isolated eerie. Couple Sally Falkner (Doctor Who) and Brian Deacon (The Feathered Serpent) give the audience a likeable believer and a relatable skeptic to set up scares and shocks while Murray Brown (Dan Curtis’ Dracula) learns the dangers of picking up beautiful hitchhikers in dark capes Marianne Morris (Lovebox) and Anulka Dziubinska (Lisztomania). Though the foul afoot is certainly suspected, the simmering, alluring build doesn’t reveal the juicy all at once. Sure, some plot points don’t make much sense – sharper editing or script clarifications would have helped – and the seventies sex and kinky lingerie strip teases can be laughable, I grant you. However, the strong titillation provides comfort, rough, or bemusement ahead of the bloody kickers. The predatory approach is traditional but there are no fangs and quick, demented, near cannibalistic feminine twists keep the pace unconventional. Viewers who prefer their gore, language, and sex fast and furious may find the action slow or the plot lame, but the meant to be hazy and dreamy mood belies an intense finish. Although the volume and sound are soft, the new blu-ray release has commentaries, interviews, and by golly makes this movie look brand spanking new.

 

Confusing Decisions

Count Dracula’s Great Love – Co-writer and star Paul Naschy (Fury of the Wolf Man) adds sexy plottings to this largely standard 1974 Spanish vampire tale. Moody fog, menacing carriages, Bram Stoker and Vlad the Impaler references, and good old fashioned grave robbing do start off well. Add crazy sanitarium history and the mysterious, suave undead Doctor Naschy nearby, and you have the perfect Transylvania weather for our stranded ladies to shack up in the hospitable vamp’s run down castle and then go for a naked swim! The extremely colorful, garish frocks may not be period authentic and it’s tough to tell our buxom guests apart beyond said boobs, hair color, or virginity and promiscuity status. However, the nightgowns, wispy robes, and nighttime bedroom visits are all in gothic good fun. Thunderstorms, candles, cats jumping out, and howling wolves keep up the traditional vampire retelling – I wouldn’t spend the night in this place! Dreamy ultraviolet filming, blue lighting, and neat vampire eyes work when we see the scary action, but slow pacing, lengthy exposition, and sudden love hamper the girl on girl attacks, blood smeared breasts, meaty blood rituals, and dungeon chains. Poor video quality doesn’t help, and the Elvira’s Movie Macabre DVD edition from her 1982 first season contributes to the cheap production and camp atmosphere – lovely as Cassandra Peterson is with an apron that covers everything but her rack! Bad dubbing and no subtitles are part of the charm here, and the serious approach on Dracula seeking a virgin to resolve his curse could work wonderfully. This film is bemusingly bad to see and has some germs of possibility, but it’s too short, slightly limp on the bites, and feels tame compared to other vampy sexploitation of the era.

The She Beast – I really wanted to see this quick 1966 Barbara Steele vehicle from director Mike Reeves (Witchfinder General). Though I’m not really sure what the “vampire witch” description on the sleeve actually means, I’ll go with it, the Transylvania connections, and Van Helsing hobnobbing! Despite too many starts and a tough to see opening execution, the mayhem and titular nasty are dang creepy against the swanky clothes and sexy Steele voice – so often not heard thanks to international dubbing. She’s almost topless, too, but there really isn’t enough of Steele for her fans to enjoy here. The action kicks up with a car accident and disappearing bodies, but the people and plot are too nonsensical to root for anyone. The rapacious, voyeuristic, nasty hotel clerk is too sleaze ball foul to enjoy; he’s sloppy and serves no purpose in the film as far as I can tell.  Not only do the English subtitles not work on the cheap Netflix DVD, but the print is absolutely poor – the color is so faded that it looks black and white! Though a campy, fun viewing, I can’t tell if this is a bad movie that flops itself or if the crappy video butchers all coherence. I suspect it’s a little of both!

Black Christmas (1974)

Black Christmas Still a Frightfesting Good Time

By Kristin Battestella

We watched this original 1974 holiday horror classic this past Halloween as part of our yearly October horror fests. Regardless of the calendar, however, this wintry slasher heavyweight still offers plenty of fright to any festivity.

College roommates Jess (Olivia Hussey), Barb (Margot Kidder), and Phyllis (Andrea Martin) are remaining at their sorority house with Mrs. MacHenry (Marian Waldman) as Christmas is fast approaching.  Amid the drinking, carolers and parties for the kids, the girls receive repeated prank phone calls from someone named Billy. When sorority sister Clare (Lynne Griffin, Wind at My Back) is reported missing by her father (James Edmond), Lieutenant Fuller (John Saxon) and Sergeant Nash (Doug McGrath) investigate the disappearance in connection to the increasingly obscene phone calls. Unfortunately, the police’s suspicions are automatically directed at the girls’ boyfriends Peter (Keir Dullea) and Chris (Art Hindle) as the body count rises.

Well here’s a melancholy holiday viewing for you! Director Bob Clark (A Christmas Story, Porky’s) very smartly uses perspective camera work, shadowed and claustrophobic scenes, sharp angles, and foreboding tracking shots to build scares and sustain the suspense and peril through the well paced picture.  Some contemporary movie makers do use these tricks, but anymore the smoke and mirror effects are more about the sake of using them or for the shock of the effects themselves- and as a result, the scary just isn’t there.  Writer Roy Moore (She Cried Murder) creates drama and character development for another often-underutilized horror layer, too.  Yes, we’re in a sorority house, but its not naked silicone pillow fights or heavy sex scenes as we define sorority naughty today.  Unexpected real life issues and then taboo topics such as abortion, marriage, unplanned pregnancy, and alcoholism are weaved in nicely.  Most of the gore in Black Christmas actually happens off camera or is all talk in nasty phone calls, leaving a lot of the juice, kinky, and disturbed speculations up to the audience. Of course, some of the mystery elements and police investigations will have you screaming at the television, but I like the notion that folks in seventies horror films were unaware of the budding rules of the genre and at worst, act damn stupidly.  Even with these hiccups, this is a finely told, steady thriller that will keep you guessing until the end and then some.

While it doesn’t seem as though she is that prolific an actress, we all seem to know who Olivia Hussey is thanks to Romeo and Juliet- or if you’re really a horrorphile, Psycho IV.  Of course, she is lovely as always here. Even if Jess is a little snotty to start, she’s a likeable and easy to get behind heroine thanks to her honest portrayal of relationship issues- not to mention these crazy holidays and killings happening all at once!  Today, there will be some who might think the boozing Barb is merely Margot Kidder (Superman, The Amityville Horror) just playing herself, but no no no. Kidder looks damn good, sexy, and effortless, and Barb adds both seriousness to Black Christmas with her drinking and levity thanks to her fun and wisecracks.  Likewise, Marian Waldman (Deranged) is a riot as the liquor stashing, cranky old lady who’s supposed to be in charge of this crazy house. Of the boy toys, I have to say Keir Dullea (2001: A Space Odyssey) and Art Hindle (Invasion of the Body Snatchers) are nothing that special. Like the wasted Andrea Martin (SCTV), they serve more as assisting foil or red herrings as needed, and one very hokey hockey scene doesn’t even make the cut for me.   It’s not that they weren’t developed or done poorly; just the male plots are dropped aside for the scream queen action.

Thankfully, John Saxon, now of A Nightmare on Elm Street fame, is excellent as the caring cop hoping to provide support and safety for the ladies.  On the job, he technically isn’t helped too much by Doug McGrath’s (Pale Rider) idiot sergeant. However, McGrath provides several critical scenes of incredible wit and total detective foolhardy. It’s not all out Dewey from Scream or full on Scary Movie Doofy spoof, but again, the holiday humor and real world stupidity add more grim entertainment to Black Christmas.  We shouldn’t laugh at the seasonal ignorance, sexual implications, or failed law enforcement, but it is real and freshly handled here in a demented and humorous way. He doesn’t seem to have done much else, but James Edmond as Mr. Harrison is also delightfully well played.  He’s a bit of a prude, a stuffy relic compared to the sorority girls, but we don’t often see the fear and tragedy consequences in horror films.  It’s a nice touch of sympathy that the audience can completely understand, a solid to hold on to as the slasher hysteria rises.

But my gosh does that wallpaper look so bad!  While the seventies long, straight hair and breezy, peasantry costumes look almost medieval revival lovely, the men in huge fur coats and white folks trying on Afros are, however, just…no.   Fortunately, the Christmas décor, I have to say, is near awesome. The big, great old wreaths, that tacky white seventies tree, those big old colored bulbs- an underlying sprinkling of holiday music and carols are also present in unexpected, even disturbing ways. This nostalgia of the sights and sounds of an older Christmas celebration adds heaps of atmosphere.  Not only are there no cell phones, computers, gadgets or crafty but useless holiday themed deaths, but there is also no shop shop shop and bland Xmas obsession. Black Christmas is old fashioned and traditional, even homely to us like grandma’s apple pie. So when the murder and mayhem elements do kick in, it furthers the twistedness of it all. Many folks find the holiday season as the most depressing time of year- all the visual and oratory cheer should have us thinking happy thoughts, right? No, this is a horror movie, without a doubt.  Black Christmas can be watched anytime of year, for sure. It just happens that there are extra scares and spices because this horror movie takes place at Christmas.

You would think more horror films would take place during the holidays. Not perils with winter and snowscapes- we get plenty of those, especially recently it seems- but with the idleness of the season breeding scares or the violation of December sanctities causing terror.  Only one other example immediate comes to mind, and that is the also exceptional “….And All Through the House” segment of the 1972 anthology film Tales from the Crypt.  Perhaps only adults or wiser youths can appreciate the mix of retro holidays and scares, but there’s actually little to deter Black Christmas from any audience.  There are a few vulgarities and drinking innuendos, but today’s tweens and up are probably already aware of all that. Again, the audience suggestion and what you take from the film is paramount here.  The blu-ray is also quite delightful, with features and restored magic.  However, there are no subtitles, which could go a long way in helping hear the exact naughty in Billy’s phone calls. But alas, that might also be the point in not having captions, too.

Even with some plot confusions or character inconsistencies, and doubtless Black Christmas’ conclusion will also anger some viewers, this vintage slasher is unlike any subsequent slice and dice drivelry thanks to its telephone twists and Christmas charisma.  Ring in the season with Black Christmas or get nostalgic any time of year.

(You’ll also notice I didn’t mention the 2006 remake.  Pfft!)

Nightmare on Elm Street

Nightmare on Elm Street Still Scares The Sleep Out of You

By Kristin Battestella

Yes, sure we all know of Freddy Krueger and the dozen of Nightmare on Elm Street sequels. Wes Craven’s 1984 slasher classic has spawned countless spoofs and imitation cut ‘em ups, but when was the last time you saw the original that started it all? Younger folks may not appreciate A Nightmare on Elm Street but there’s no time like the present for a horror introduction.

 

Robert Englund stars as Fred Krueger, a child killer who has returned from the grave by stalking teen’s dreams. Tina (Amanda Wyss) dreams she will die, and soon her friend Nancy (Heather Langenkamp) also dreams of death from Freddy. Their boyfriends Rod (Nick Corri) and Glen (Johnny Depp) are also on sleepless vigils, fearful of Freddy Krueger killing them in their sleep.

 

It’s a simple enough plot, but it is unusual and tough to explain without spoiling everything. At the time, Craven’s idea hadn’t been played to death. The thought of sleep, rest, dreams-the exact necessities for fighting evil- would be where our horrors come from gives the original Nightmare its edge. Even if you aren’t scared out of bed like you may have been twenty five years ago, the idea of sleep being the enemy is enough food for thought to keep you from dozing.

 

Writer and director Craven also confuses the viewer by blurring the line between dreams and reality in A Nightmare on Elm Street. A few transitions are obvious with time and repeated viewings, but you’re on the edge of your seat if you don’t know when Freddy may appear. Some of the boiler room sequences can still offer a jump or two. Again Craven uses smart sets like a dirty, dark, hot boiler room where numerous pains and dangers can come into play-contrasted with our teens’ upscale houses and cozy bedrooms. Where Freddy is concerned, all can be used to his advantage. Several eerie scenes will stay with you long after viewing, ad that creepy rhyming song still echoes in my mind decades after first hearing it. Whenever you want to be funny, spooky, morbid-just sing the first phrase: One, Two. Freddy’s coming for you….

 

Some of the effects for A Nightmare on Elm Street have not stood the test of time. On the other hand, some are still being copied today; the blood flow on the ceiling, that quicksand bed. The sequels had much to top, some areas they did, and others they didn’t. Technically Kruger isn’t the star of the film, Heather Langenkamp is. Craven smartly delays the introduction of Krueger and instead scares the teens with his creepy dream voice and nails on a chalkboard claw. The excellent early dream sequences twist and turn around the girls. ‘Tis better to show a person in fear than a monster of which we may or may not be afraid. Psychological impact far outweighs effects. Nancy’s parents take her to a doctor for tests. Is she crazy? All she wants is for someone to believe that Freddy is real. Langenkamp fits the role of the smart fighter teen perfectly. Not a bombshell, but not a nerd. Former fifties teen idol John Saxon has made a second career in slasher flicks like Hellmaster and From Dusk Till Dawn. The cast may seem unstellar or unimportant, but they help sell the idea that this clique could be yours. These could be your friends or honeys that Freddy’s after.

 

Two stand outs are of course Johnny Depp and Robert Englund. I still think of Englund as good lizard Willie in V before Elm, but look in stores now that it’s nearing Halloween. You still find Freddy masks, knives gloves, and even that ugly striped shirt. The tongue in cheek nature of his performance helps Englund keep Freddy scary. He enjoys what he’s doing-especially with girls who make the mistake of having sex in a horror movie. Englund actually has little onscreen time, but the seed is planted here for further developed throughout the film series. Likewise Johnny Depp shows his talent in his first movie. Sardonic lines, aloof yet precise looks, and a still cool final scene ensured Depp’s cult status before his recent macabre and Pirate work.

 

Subsequent films in the Nightmare on Elm Street series-namely Freddy’s Revenge, Dream Warriors, Freddy’s Dead, and Wes Craven’s New Nightmare have moments that touch the original, but none is as complete. Series fans and horror buffs will eat up every minute of course, but casual fans might not want to invest in the pricey collector’s set. A Nightmare on Elm Street and all its sequels are also available individually for an affordable price. I picked up the original for my honey, but thought he would find it dated and hokey. Not so! I wouldn’t say A Nightmare on Elm Street will be around as long as people have dreams, just nightmares.