Zombos' Closet

The Call of Cthulhu (2005)

 

Rain, rain everywhere, and not a drop to drink. Rain, rain everywhere, and all the roads did shrink. At least that's the way it felt as Zombos and I hustled along the Cross Bronx Expressway in a mad attempt to reach Chiller Theatre Expo before the dealer's rooms closed. It was raining heavily, and we were making slow progress over to New Jersey. Even the New Jersey drivers were driving with caution in the deluge. (Note to self: check list of signs of the coming apocalypse. I believe 'New Jersey drivers driving cautiously' falls between 'when hell freezes over', and 'belief that global warming is as real as Big Foot'.)

The Elder Gods were with us, however, and we made it with a little over an hour to spare. Going at such a late hour is rather beneficial as the dealer's rooms are actually strollable. Zombos dashed off to find Zacherley, as usual, and I carried along his list of things to pick up, as usual.

One item on the list was the DVD, The Call of Cthulhu. This silent movie is a competent showing of enthusiastic amateur filmmaking that brings H.P. Lovecraft's classic short story to cinematic life.

Not Dead Yet: Silent Film Returns

Silent Film has returned from the grave, and it's alive with the sounds of music! John Brownlee writes about the strong revival of silent film performed to live music. In his Filmmakers Seek Future in Past,  he discusses the revival of this poignant entertainment form that gave birth to a thousand flickering dreams.

In his enlightening article, Brownlee also discusses the recent silent horror film, The Call of Cthulhu, which I reviewed last year, and he astutely points out the main reason why the film worked so well:

A strong motivator of the revivalism is that silent film can convey material that would somehow be clumsy or compromised by sound. A good example is the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society's 2005 adaptation of The Call of Cthulhu. It takes Lovecraft's best-known tale of cosmic evil and interprets it as a "lost" 1929 silent film -- the makers were able to stay true to the text of a story that many had long considered unfilmable.

Click here to read John Brownlee's article over at Wired News.

The Abandoned (2006) Ghostly Evil In a Haunted Forest

ZC Rating 3 of 7: Good

Russian horror movies are a lot like those matryoshka wooden nesting dolls: the horror is nested deep within cultural metaphors that quickly open up, again and again, to reveal an allegory at the heart of it. I'm not very good with allegory. Looking over my notes for the film, The Abandoned, I have 'Why?' jotted down a few times. That's not to say these are bad in this case. It just means I'm not good with allegory — or metaphors for that matter.

Even if you're not good with metaphor and allegory either, director Nacho Cerda and writer Karim Hussain unfold an intricate and unrelenting story that looks like a ghost story until it opens to reveal something else. Inside this ghost story is another story about a wicked house deep in a dark, evil forest surrounded by water — looks like a metaphor to me. Inside the evil house are creepy, white-eyed ghosts — heavy on the metaphors, maybe toss in a little allegory here also. There is also a locked door in the flooded basement. Something waits behind it to be freed at the stroke of midnight on her birthday. But what is it and why?

 

"It's not a Russian horror movie," said Zombos, derailing the caboose in my train of thought.

"What?"

"Director and co-writer, Nacho Cerda...that's not a Russian name. Cerda is a Spanish director. Did that controversial film, Aftermath, back in 94." Zombos flipped to the next page in his magazine and crossed his legs.

"But it was filmed in—"

"In Bulgaria, not Russia." He turned another page.

"Even so, " I thought out loud, "there are Russian actors, art directors, production and second unit directors involved. And Spanish horror often is filled with metaphors and allegory.  Just look at Del Toro's The Devil's Backbone, or even Pan's Labyrinth. I think my use of the matryoska dolls simile is still valid."

Zombos looked up at me. "And those insufferable Higglytown Heroes are matryoska dolls, too. Why not use them, then?" He crossed his legs in reverse and flipped another page.

Vince Liaguno and The Literary Six

Vince A. Liaguno's The Literary Six is strangers meeting on a (terror) train. Think April Fool's Day from film meets The Secret History from fiction. And, like all good strangers, once these two get together, there's blood. Think Happy Birthday to Me or My Bloody Valentine or Prom Night or any of the other slasher-by-numbers from the Golden Age of Freddy and Jason and Michael, but don't (though you'll be tempted) try to shove this book into your VCR. Instead just let it play in your head, and with your head, and if you can keep from grinning, then you're a better person than me. As Liaguno shows us with this impressive debut, the slasher is far from dead - it isn't even tired yet. - Stephen Graham Jones, Author of Demon Theory

 

It was a pleasant surprise for us to find out that Vince Liaguno is a Long Island native. New York State Nursing Home Administrator by day, and devilish writer of horror by night — along with being a contributing editor to Autograph Collector magazine — he joins us to talk about his love for horror and his novel, The Literary Six.

When and how did you get the horror bug?

As a younger child, my access was pretty much limited to TV horror, and some of those creepy 70’s films still stick in my mind — Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, Gargoyles, Trilogy of Terror, those cheesy AIP films like Count Yorga.

When I was eight, my dad took me to see Jaws and I joke that it took four successive tries before I made it through the whole movie. Each time we’d go, I’d make it a little farther and then be like “Daddy, can we go?” through chattering teeth. Then, when I was ten, my dad took me to see Halloween. That was the defining moment for me. I was hooked on horror, especially the slashers, and couldn’t get enough after that. Horror became like a drug.

Zen and the Art of Ghost Rider (2007)

ZC Rating 3 of 7: Good

"Why's he staring at you like that?" Lea Persig asked. Her raven-black hair moved softly in the light breeze coming off the water. As our perky garage mechanic, she keeps the numerous vehicles Zombos never rides in tip-top shape. She turned again to look at Zombos sitting on the veranda, sipping his coffee while glaring at us.

"Oh, that's his Penance Stare. He's just sore I went to see Ghost Rider while he had to take Junior to see Bridge to Tilapia, or whatever it's called," I said.

"That's Bridge to Terabithia, you goof," she laughed. She has such a wonderful laugh. "Tilapia's a fish."

"Whatever."

"What's the Penance Stare?"

"That's the Ghost Rider's main weapon against evil-doers. He forces you to look deep into his empty eye-sockets and soon you feel all the pain and suffering you inflicted on others." I smiled and waved at Zombos. He glared more intensely, took a sip of coffee, and glared some more. I still didn't feel any pain.

"So what did you think of the movie?" she asked as I handed her another wrench. She was working on the 1960 Harley-Davidson Glide motorcycle to smooth out its ride. "I mean, was it any good?"

"Any good is a broad range that can cover a lot," I said. "I would say there’s some good in it."

"Like what?" She wiped the grease mark from her pale cheek, with a handkerchief she always carried in a back pocket, and took a breather.

"For one thing, the story’s a nice departure from the usual slasher and cannibalistic-serial-killer or psycho-mutants-among-us storylines coming out of Hollywood these days. It's always nice to see a return to the more supernatural underpinnings modern horror grew from. A well done good-versus-evil story can be inspiring."

"Was it inspiring then?" she asked, putting her handkerchief away.

"Well...no. Not very much so. I suppose because the movie lacks sufficient emotional punch."

"All right, then, what's it about?"

"Bloody, sell your soul to the devil pacts, an errant son whose evil can plunge the whole world into Hell, and a stunt motorcycle-riding, demon-possessed, flaming-skull, blazing-chain wielding innocent rube named Johnny Blaze, played by Nicolas Cage, who's tricked into playing bounty-hunter to bring back Hell's stragglers to ol’ two-horns himself. But he must play truant officer first."

"And that’s not inspiring to you?" Lea laughed.

"Why are Zombos' eyes bugging out?" Zimba's Uncle Fadrus asked as he walked up the path to us. He enjoyed taking early morning walks before breakfast, especially in the desolate woods surrounding the mansion. "Oh, wait. I seem to recall Zimba forcing him to take Junior to the movies last night. Never mind. What's this about, Ghost Rider?"

"We were discussing how uninspiring it was," I said.

"Yes, it does lack that essential emotional connection that would have made it a better movie. Certainly no lack of budget for the special effects, though. They were fairly good."

"So you’re saying a movie is good if it has good special effects?" asked Lea.

Fadrus shook his head. "No, no. I'm just saying part of what makes a movie good is the way in which special effects are handled, if the script calls for them, of course."

"The opening scenes in the Old West, with Sam Elliott's narration, are good," I said. "Computer-enhanced images embellish the action nicely. Then there's the scene between Johnny Blaze and Peter Fonda’s Faustian Mephistopheles. One bit of visual genius has Meph’s shadow appear as a gnarled, bent-over creature in a flash of lightning — his true self. Another is a drop of blood from Blaze's finger as he signs the devil's pact. It falls to the ground and splatters into a crimson glimpse of souls suffering in Hell. Very artistic use of CGI, especially with faces as the hideous demon appears briefly with more comely features, revealing the evil within."

"The blazing skull and flaming motorcycle are well done, too — uh, no pun intended," smiled Fadrus. "Changing the colors of his cranial flames to reflect the Ghost Rider's mood — blue for sadness, for instance — is a thoughtful touch. And that transformation scene as Blaze becomes the Ghost Rider for the first time, it's painful to watch as red embers sear his flesh from underneath!"

"But in his characterization though, Nicolas Cage's toning down of the original bad-ass comic book character is probably due more to merchandising needs than any artistic expression," I added. "Just look at all those Ghost Rider toys in the stores. You wouldn't be able to sell them with an R-rated Johnny Blaze, would you?"

"So you're saying the movie isn’t very good because it worried more about merchandising toys than it did about telling the story?" asked Lea.

"Yes and no," I replied. "Merchandising toys works for movies like the Fantastic Four because the original characterizations are more family-friendly to begin with. But Ghost Rider was not, originally, a family-friendly kind of character."

Fadrus added, "and Cage's eccentricities for the character like eating jelly-beans from a martini glass and watching skits with monkeys dressed as humans, are too contrived. I mean, really, he's signed a pact with the devil for heaven's sake. And they'll be the devil to pay for doing it."

"Probably the strongest weakness in the movie is how the four elemental demon-boys summoned by Blackheart, Mephisto's errant son, are so easily brushed-off by Ghost Rider," I said.

"Yes," Fadrus agreed. "After Blackheart shows up at that Hell's Angel's biker-bar in the middle of nowhere, happily turning everyone to dark muck, and then summoning those nattily-dressed Goth demons to take care of Ghost Rider, not much action happens between him and them. So little screen time is devoted to their battles, and when they do fight it's a simple, unimaginative, knock-out punch that sends them back to oblivion."

"The love-interest also wasn't very strong, either," I said. "Roxanne, as played by Eva Mendes, just doesn't smolder."

Lea laughed. "Any more puns and I'll take a wrench to the two of you."

"What pun — oh, I see what you mean. Anyway, she's a reporter, but doesn't do much reporting, and when she confronts Johnny Blaze and he explains his hellish predicament, there are no sparks, there is no intensity in the revelation. You’d think a man living on the edge of damnation, well, you would think there'd be more fear, more emotional trepidation."

Fadrus said, "and the dialog didn't help, either. Come to think of it, the dialog was fairly poor throughout the movie. Here you have Lucifer, his crazy son, demons galore, and a quintessential fight between good and evil, and I can't recall any dialog stood out or was inspiring. Even Peter Fonda here--in the movie Race with the Devil he’s more energetic against evil--does little to hype his Lord of Hell role. He's too sedate. There’s no seduction to his evil even."

"So...so far, from what the two of you have said, the movie is not that good," said Lea.

"I wouldn't say that. There are some good points to it," I said. "For instance, while it lacks emotional-pull, witty dialog, and stronger fight scenes, the story is coherent enough, the acting sufficient, and the promise of a sequel provides a second chance for improvement. I think of it more as a work in progress. There’s also something endearing about the Wild West origins to the story, especially in the beginning and at the end. Sam Elliott brings it out and his presence lifts the movie up a notch.

"Don't forget this movie was done by Mark Steven Johnson, who also did Daredevil and Elektra, which were both disappointments. Even directors deserve second chances."

I corrected Fadrus. "Third chances, you mean."

"Quite!" he laughed.

Zombos ran up to us. "I've got Fandango tickets for Ghost Rider, matinee show. Who's with me?" he gasped in between breaths. We all said "I am" at once, and were soon off to see it again. Even movies — and Zombos — deserve second and third chances.

Quick Sip From The Cauldron: Horror Business

You think you know the horror business? Maybe you do, maybe you don't; but this DVD sounds like a blast.

Horror Business is an outrageously entertaining documentary about guerrilla horror filmmakers and the bizarre culture that drives them to pursue their dreams.

In 2003, filmmaker Christopher P. Garetano began what would become a two year journey to discover what possesses people to become horror filmmakers. Armed with nothing but a camera and a microphone, Chris traveled all over the United States to visit independent filmmakers on and off their sets.

In Horror Business you will witness that two year journey unfold, and meet some truly independent filmmakers including Mark Borchardt (American Movie) and Dave Gebroe (Zombie Honeymoon); along with monster movie personalities like Herschell Gordon Lewis (Blood Feast), Joe Bob Briggs (cult film critic & author), and Sid Haig (Spider Baby, The Devils Rejects).

Horror Business is a timeless essay of popcorn-generation nostalgia and behind-the-scenes moments that just may prove movie-making really is no way to spend a life.

Go to the Horror Business MySpace page for more information!

Kim Paffenroth Speaks: Gospel of the Living Dead

"Let's see," Zombos said, "he likes The Prisoner, Xena: Warrior Princess, and Robot Wars?"

"Check," I said.

"And his favorite joke is what?"

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"

"Hmm. I don't know. Why?

"Because it was dead," I said.

"How sublimely Zen-like." Zombos put his hand on his chin. "Definitely, we must interview him."

"He loves cooking, too."

"Amazing," Zombos said. "What doesn't he do?"

"Not much, apparently," I said, shaking my head.

"And you say we don't need to click two pencils together?"

"No pencils needed," I said.

"Wonderful."

Kim Paffenroth — author, theology professor, zombie-film maven, and a man who knows a good Zen-like joke when he hears one — graciously consented to chat with us about his fascination with George Romero's zombie films.

In his thought-provoking book,the Gospel of the Living Dead: George Romero's Visions of Hell on Earth, Kim helps us put our scholarly thinking-caps on to discuss the underlying philosophy, sociology, and meaning so skillfully hidden under all that zombie — I-smell-a-buffet — horror, in an entertaining read that will make you a god among the chip-and-dip party circuit.

"Don't forget to mention the book has been nominated for the Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in Non-Fiction," Zombos said.

"I won't."

What brought you to theology and the study of religion?

I was raised as an atheist. But even more importantly, my parents always drummed into me to think for myself, not to settle for someone else’s answers. So, when I found that their atheism wasn’t working for me, I investigated Christianity and found it a much better fit for my outlook on life. Of course, I still apply that skepticism and that inquisitive nature to my Christian beliefs, and I know a lot of Christians find that disconcerting. A lot of non-Christians find it unusual, too, as though being a Christian means just not questioning anything and being a passive, blind follower. It’s a very unfortunate stereotype, to say the least.

Mala Carne (2003)

ZC Note: Reviewing the links, I see they are no longer available, so I've removed them. Not sure where you can get a copy or view this as of 05/28/2011.

Now playing on the Internet near you, Mala carne, or Carnal as it's now called, is Fabian Forte's low-budget, edited in-camera film about female vampires looking for a bite, two computer nerds looking for a snack, and some rather nasty business going on just down the street. Filled with close-ups, stark coloring and lighting, and quirky visual tid-bits that give you a warm and creepy feeling, Carnal is a fun romp from the less-is-more school of filmmaking.

That's the great thing about low-budgets: you either swim with cheap but creative ideas, or sink with an unimaginative and stifling cloche that fits the budget — and looks like it. I was pleasantly surprised to find Argentine director Forte swimming nicely with his low-key mix of off-kilter dialog and bizarre scenes that casually go by, causing you to wonder "did I just see what I thought I saw?"

Far From a Masterpiece Masterpiece Theatre's Dracula (2007)

ZC Rating 1 of 7: Poor

From the Journal of Iloz Zoc

Feb 11. Westbury— Oh, the horror!  In this age of reimaginings and adaptations based on mere fancy and egotistical hubris, to be subjected to this singular carriage-wreck of a teleplay is more than I can bear. What mind could conceive such a thing; to put pen to paper with such disregard, such wretched villainy in this version of Dracula, and to put Bram Stoker's name upon it? I hear the pounding now, like the beating of my racing heart, as he pummels the lid of his coffin, seeking retribution for this vile act. I feel faint. I must lie down.

Excerpt from the front page of Victorian Variety —
Who Do This Hoodoo? A Stinkeroo.

Feb 12. London— From the What-Were-They-Thinking social club comes this switch on the Stoker-coker pot-boiler, mangling Count Drac with so-called Brotherhood of Undead and syphilis shenanigans. Poor Van Helsing (David Suchet) is reduced to switcheroo role with Harker (Rafe Spall) and becomes head vamp's captive, set free in last half-hour to lead lackluster wooden-stake charge against is-that-all-you've-got? blood-sucker in a chamomile tea-paced climax.

Ninety minute walk-through-park story has Lord Holmwood (Dan Stevens) contracting syph from over-sexed Dad, forcing him to postpone nuptials with hot-to-trot Lucy (Sophia Myles) as he goes off to find cure from undead count using social ties with Brotherhood of the Undead, headed by a chap named Singleton, who dresses better than the count, clothed in simply gorgeous Freemason, secret society-style robe and hat.

Using Singleton (Donald Sumpter) as his go-between, Holmwood foots bill to have Dracula take longer than three-hour cruise to England aboard doomed ship Demeter. Due to minuscule budget, not much happens during faithful trip as weather doesn't get rough and the tiny ship doesn't get tossed. Why does every film miss potential, terror-filled carnage aboard the Demeter? Then again, why bother writing this snooze-fest?

Bat-man (Marc Warren), smitten by Harker's snippet of Mina's (Stephanie Leonidas) hair, decides to woo said Mina while chewing on Lucy's neck as an aperitif. Lucy, who's not been getting any lately, is only too anxious to oblige, sending would-be paramour Dr. Seward (Tom Burke) into spasms of impotent rage; or something like that, as his acting is a shade past monotone.

Meanwhile, at the Brotherhood of the Undead's office, Singleton and another member profess their adulation for the undead guy, only to have him wring their necks. He keeps pining for Mina, while Holmwood and Seward pine for Lucy, and this reporter pines for the big stake-o' pine in Drac's chest to end this unbelievable tedium.

In the basement, Seward finds Van Helsing--cowering un-Van Helsing-like--in a corner. David Suchet plays Helsing like a man running for the bus. Wisely choosing to hide his features in a white wig and beard, he routinely pulls out the crosses and stakes for the big showdown.

Gearing up for the anxiously-awaited--by this reporter--ending, Helsing, Seward, and Holmwood head over to Lucy's vault in order to test the sharpness of their stakes. Puzzlement here as to why Holmwood doesn't just let Lucy bite him in the neck to cure his syphilis--the whole reason for this mess--but why bother with good scripting so late into the story? With amazing ease, Holmwood plunges a large stake into Lucy's chest and she goes down for the count.

Speaking of the count, next stop is Drac's place of unrest, and after a little polite mayhem, Drac and Holmwood wind up dead (with Drac presumably deader than he was, that is), mercifully ending this life-less version of Bram Stoker's classic. Or does it? In a sequalization-antic, Drac appears to not be really dead after all. Lord help us all if there’s a sequel.

Memorandum to David Suchet from his agent, undated.

Hollywood.— Look David, if you insist on appearing in these things, you better wear a white wig and beard to hide yourself. As your agent, I only want what's best for your career, and believe me, this ain't it. But go ahead, do whatever you think best; I can only recommend what I believe to be a saner course of action for you.

Journal of Iloz Zoc, cont.

Feb 12. Westbury.— I feel much better now. Chef Machiavelli brought me a nice cup of chamomile tea to calm my nerves. The life of a movie reviewer is not an easy one, and there are moments of real terror as well as joy. Why attach Bram Stoker's name to such a cinematic detour as this version, nay, this base use of his characters in such a folderol? Dracula himself is nothing more than a mercurial, long-haired rock star impersonator, showing no cunning, no evil wisdom garnered from living for centuries. And where is his accent? And how can you relegate a novel, full of terror and action, to a mere ninety minutes? Sadly, commercial interruption here would have been much appreciated.

Worst of all, key dynamics of Stoker's masterpiece were removed entirely, or presented in abridgment. Harker is dead, and does not return to lead the fight against the count, and the sweep of action, from Transylvania, to England, and back to Transylvania is gone. Van Helsing, once the self-assured powerhouse, the catalyst for action, is nothing more than a shell of his former incarnations. Subtexts of vampiric sensuality and Victorian prudeness are lost against the flagrant syphilitic-focused plotline. Dracula himself is relegated to a supporting role, and displays no charisma, no depth, no fear-inducing terror. More effort was spent on his hairdo and self-conscious preening than playing an undead creature that has survived for centuries, knowing only the lust for blood. Curse the day I started using TiVo, and the ease at which one can watch such an abomination, unsuspecting. 

Rondo Hatton Classic Horror Awards

Once again, classic horror is celebrated with the likeness of that ugly, but lovable, bald guy — with the huge, misshapen head, and massive hands. Rondo 'The Creeper' Hatton thrilled me as he tried to twist Basil Rathbone, as Sherlock Holmes, into a pretzel in Pearl of Death, and chilled me as he murdered off a bunch of annoying critics in House of Horrors.

His unmistakable visage graces the Classic Horror Awards, affectionately known as the Rondos, which are given in recognition of outstanding achievements in the classic horror genre.

Being a member of the super secret Universal Monster Army has its perks. I keep meeting rabid fans of the horror genre. One such person is David Colton, one of the instigators for the Rondos. He was kind enough to talk about the award that everyone in classic horror craves.

Lugosi: Hollywood's Dracula (1997)

ZC Rating 4 of 7: Very Good

In spite of a disheartened director, and a greatly reduced budget, the 1931 film, Dracula, remains a classic for various reasons. For one thing, it was the first speaking horror film, although music was not used except for the opening credits. For another, it had indelible performances by skillful actors.

One performance stands out above the rest, and has left its mark on subsequent impersonations of the aristocrat of the undead, and ushered in an era of monsters that continues to this day.

Perhaps it was the oddly-inflected voice, with the thick accent, that hinted of wolves baying in the moonlight and fear-inducing evils-by-night, living in dark forests; or  maybe it was the slow, determined mannerisms of a person, undead for centuries, for whom the urgencies of mortal time held little meaning; or it could have been those eyes that pierced right through you from under that furrowed brow. For whatever reasons, Bela Lugosi's performance of Dracula is the image of the vampire count that has stood the test of time.

In Lugosi: Hollywood's Dracula, writer and director Gary Rhodes explores Lugosi's amazing career using rare film clips and onscreen interviews with Lugosi's son, and others that knew Lugosi. What makes this documentary stand above the rest is its use of living history — people — to talk about the man and actor, providing us with an insightful glimpse into this iconic actor's professional and personal life. Combined with previously unseen footage and stills of Lugosi's early silent work, this two-disc DVD set clearly shows the broad range of talent and indomitableness of Lugosi as Hollywood ignored him, and squandered his acting in films well beneath his abilities.

Clever additions to the set are some of Lugosi's Old Time Radio 'appearances,' including the creepy, The Thirsty Death from Mystery House, 1944, and an Easter Egg! The funny mockumentary of Gary Rhodes' quest to sit in Bela Lugosi's chair can be viewed by going to the last page in the DVD Notes section until "Back" is highlighted, then pressing the Up arrow on your remote (or keyboard, if watching on a PC), followed by pressing "Enter."

In the Deleted Scenes section, you will find more film footage and discussion on White Zombie (one of his creepiest performances) and Lugosi's Poverty Row films of the 1930s.  From Murder Legendre in White Zombie, to Ygor in Son of Frankenstein, Lugosi's performances were always masterful and uniquely different, and created memorable characters in horror cinema.

Director Gary Rhodes steps into the closet for an interview.

Jonathan Maberry On: Writing

"What's the matter?" Zimba asked.

"My muse is not amused today," I said. I sipped my third Dunkaccino in my doldrums, and sharpened a few more pencils. I had been alternately doodling and sipping, trying to get my story down on paper; or, at this stage, anything down on paper.

"There's more to writing than just waiting for inspiration, you know."

"I know. But it's so hard trying to juggle time, things that need to get done, and writing. Like juggling balls, it's easy to get them into the air and not so easy keeping them there.  To make matters worse, you have writers like Jonathan Maberry blithely juggling literary rings, non-ficion pins, and graphic novel buzz-saws while taking bites out of an apple, all at the same time. It's demoralizing." I took a long sip of my Dunkaccino.

"Jonathan Maberry?"

"He wrote Ghost Road Blues, a first novel that's already received a preliminary Bram Stoker Award nomination. Makes me sick." I took a hopeful sip from my empty Dunkaccino cup. Damn things are never big enough.

"Well, why don't you just ask him how he does it," she said.

"You can't just go and bother a writer because—"

"Why not? It's easy. Just click your pencils together three times and say "There's no writing like my writing, there's no writing like my writing, there's no..."

I looked at her. She was serious. I clicked my pencils together and repeated those words. In a poof of light and smoke Jonathan Maberry appeared.

"Damn, not again! You neophyte writers are a pain in my — what? Oh, sorry." He adjusted the bath towel around his waist.

Zimba exhaled.

"Well, I see you two have lots to talk about." She left the room with rosy cheeks.

I was speechless.

"Well?" Maberry said, toweling-off his hair. "I'm waiting. Make it snappy."

 

With the Ghost Road Blues trilogy, the Joe Ledger series, other fiction and non-fiction books written or in the works, comic books, teaching duties, and an 8th degree black belt in jujutsu, how do you do it? Lots of coffee? 

I never sleep.  No, actually I multi-task well and I plan things out before I do them.  Unlike a lot of novelists, my background is in journalism rather than creative writing. At Temple U  I learned the reporter’s trade--get your hook, do your research fast, writing quickly, always nail your deadline, and move on.  I don’t believe in writer’s block--I think that’s an excuse for poor planning or a lack of discipline. If it existed, reporters would be telling their editors that “the muse just isn’t with me today”...and the next day they’d be working at McDonalds. 

Real pros write, and they write every day. They set goals and meet them. This doesn’t mean, however, that they have less passion or less of an appreciation for the more artistic aspects of writing, it’s just that they can get the job done. I have a lot of friends who are professional writers, and they all pretty much agree.

On the other hand, sometimes time evaporates and I feel like I’m driving three cars at once. Aside from writing a novel a year, I also write one or more nonfiction books a year, I write articles, I’m writing a pilot episode for a TV series; and I own or co-own a few businesses. 

I’m a founding partner of the Writers Corner USA (in Doylestown, PA), which is a writers education center, and I teach a bunch of classes there--which I love; I’m co-founder of The Wild River Review, a literary e-zine, and I just wrote a long serial feature on the ‘thriller genre’, which included interviews with Lawrence Blocks, Steve Hamilton, Barry Eisler, and others; I own Career Doctor for Writers, which provides editorial, proofing and career counseling for writers; and I’m president and chief-instructor for COP-Safe, which provides cuff-and-arrest and risk management workshops for law enforcement. I sit on a couple of boards — Philadelphia Writers Conference, etc.; and I’m the president of the New Jersey/Pennsylvania Chapter of the Horror Writers Association.

So...where do I find the time?  The real answer is that I have no freaking idea. Stuff gets done and I stay happy doing it. Coffee and meditation help a lot.  

What's Ghost Road Blues about, and why is it shaking up the Bram Stoker Awards?

The success of Ghost Road Blues took me a little off guard. After thirty years as a magazine and nonfic book writer I took a shot at a novel--a trilogy of novels, actually--and hoped it would have at least modest success. I’d never written book length fiction before and simply sat down and wrote the kind of book I would read. I love epic stories, I love stories with ensemble casts, I love exploring the psychological cause and effect of ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. Fiction allows me to explore that. 

Ghost Road Blues has racked up something like 107 Amazon reviews, of which nearly 100 are 5-star. Publishers Weekly compared it to Stephen King, and even though I don’t think I write like King, that was a helluva nice thing for them to say.

I think some of its success comes from my public appearances. I have so much fun with the horror genre, and people tell me that they love my enthusiasm and passion. When I do a talk or appear at a signing, I don’t just sit there and blab about my books...I talk about the whole genre, about the marvelous books--both classic and recent--that keep horror vital and alive. 

Having the book recommended for two Stokers--Novel and First Novel--floored me. It absolutely floored me. I had no idea that I’d get even a single recommendation, and yet at the end of the initial phase I was in first place for recs for First Novel, and sixth in Novel! If I make it all the way to the official ‘Nomination’ phase, which happens around the middle of February, I think I have my strongest shot in First Novel. But even if I don’t win...just being included in the short list is a real buzz. I’ve read all of the other books, and I don’t see them as ‘competing’ books. These are books by friends and people I really admire. It’s excellent company no matter what happens, and we’ve all been joking that the winner has to buy the others the first round of drinks at the Stoker Banquet.

Why do you use the horror genre as your writing voice?

Horror allows me to take the brakes off. Horror isn’t safe and writing shouldn’t be safe.  In horror you can address the darkest, most dangerous parts of the human heart, and that’s where you learn about the true nature of each character. Some of our most profound pieces of literature have used the supernatural as a vehicle for telling stories of great cultural, literary, or psychological worth. Shakespeare loved the supernatural — The Tempest, Midsummer Night’s Dream, Hamlet, Macbeth; Dickens’ A Christmas Carol is a pretty damn scary ghost story; Dracula and Frankenstein are enduring classics. Go back further and look at Dante and Milton, at Homer. Monsters, ghosts, demons. Most people want to believe in a larger world; and even for those who don’t, the horror format allows you a structure for telling a tale that otherwise readers might not try.

You see the same thing in SF and fantasy. The Twilight Zone and Star Trek were really morality tales, social or political commentary, even farces about the human condition--and if they had been done as straight dramas on TV would we even have watched them, let alone remember them all these decades later?

There is such a grand tradition of horror writers speaking in a voice that is unafraid of telling the truth about what goes on in the twisting corridors of the human mind. Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend tells you just about anything you’ll ever need to know about how we deceive ourselves by accepting the propaganda that supports our biased vision of the world; The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson is a short course on the dynamics of psychological disintegration; Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes speaks eloquently about the devastating effect of the choices we make, and about the ordinary heroism latent in the human soul. The list goes on. 

Sadly, in recent years horror’s gotten a bad rap. All of the major publishers, including the one that does my books—Pinnacle--have stopped using ‘horror’ on the spines.  They’ve started calling their books ‘fiction’.  Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Peter Straub are known as ‘suspense’ writers. Maybe it’s backlash because of torture-based films like Saw and the spate of slasher films we had over the last couple of decades, the whole industry has been labeled as trash. That’s amazingly unfair...especially since most of the slasher flicks were not written by horror writers, or even writers of adequate literary chops. When a real writer takes a shot at writing something like a serial killer story you get a Silence of the Lambs. 

I’m going to rant a bit here, so bear with me. When real horror writers--whether they call themselves that or not--take a popular genre and give it their all, you get books that can stand as literature by anyone’s standards. You want a ghost story? Try The Shining, or Matheson’s Stir of Echoes; Wither by John Passarella, or Peter Straub’s Ghost Story. 

You want to read about the social and psychological effects of the apocalypse, a genre with a lot of great books, take a look at The Stand, Robert McCammon’s Swan Song, Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. 

You want a good monster tale that actually has story rather than just shock? Pick up Charles Grant’s The Pet, Phantoms by Dean Koontz, Hellbound Heart by Clive Barker.

There are marvelous cross-genre works, like the Repairman Jack novels by F. Paul Wilson, and the mysteries with a touch of the supernatural that John Connolly and Peter Straub write with such elegance and insight.

Novels about culture clash? Try Dan Simmons’ The Song of Kali or Iain Banks’ The Wasp Factory. 

Or, how about coming of age? That genre doesn’t begin and end with To Kill a Mockingbird and Catcher in the Rye.  Take another look at The Body by Stephen King, A Boy’s Life by McCammon, Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman, and Bradbury’s Something Wicked this Way Comes and Dandelion Wine.

We even have slasher stories that strike right to the heart--Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris; and Jack Ketchum’s legendary Off Season.

And this is just scratching the surface. For every book and writer I just named there are dozens and dozens of others in the horror genre who have written-- and are still writing--books of literary merit that also display deep insight, subtlety, and the power to both encourage and compel deeper thought on the part of the reader. Horror does this because to a large degree that’s what horror literature is all about.

 

"Hey, these Dunkaccinos are good," Maberry said, sipping his second cup. Glenor was kind enough to make a sustenance-run for us. "You could raise the heat, too, you know. I'm freezing my ass off." He pulled the towel tight around his waist as I turned up the thermostat. "Now where were we?"

 

The Messengers (2007)

ZC Rating 4 of 7: Very Good

There is nothing worse than having skeletons in your closet, unless you have vengeance-seeking dead people in your cellar, too. In The Messengers, both skeletons and dead people come together in a fusion of Japanese Horror and American Gothic images for its effective PG-13 scares.

The tragedy--there is always an instigating tragedy in J-Horror-- sets the tone for mayhem to come as one family reluctantly moves to the cellar of their old, dark farmhouse, stuck out in the middle of nowhere--with no coffee shop in screaming distance--of a North Dakota sunflower farm.

Reluctantly taking up residence in the gloomy house is the Solomon family. Something happened in the city that has caused a lot of tension between them and they need a place to work things out. There's something to be said for the peace and quiet of the countryside to work things out, but since this is a horror movie they don't get it.

The original tenants, now bluish-gray with morbidity set in, play with Ben (Evan Turner) in the dead of night and get on Jess' (Kristen Stewart) nerves. Their clickety-clack scampering along walls and ceilings, and annoying floating, gallows-style, above the floor ruins the peace and quiet for Jess. A nasty black stain on Ben's bedroom wall keeps getting bigger no matter what mom does. This J-Horror imagery works well with the fusty Gothic farmhouse and the ever-present black crows hovering around it (like the pigeons in Pigeons From Hell). A nerve-rattling scene has Jess being dragged by an unseen force down the long hallway and through the open cellar door, then grabbed at by cadaverous arms shooting out of the darkness behind her, trying to pull her down. Old, dark farmhouses have scary cellars just perfect for scenes like this. More subtle American Gothic elements move to the forefront when Burwell (John Corbett) shows up at the farm.

Toting a shotgun to scare away the increasing number of crows, he stays on to help bring in the crop of sunflowers. Those skeletons keep rattling as Jess tries to make her family believe in them. John lends a sympathetic ear, but Jess realizes she must find out what happened to the previous family--the ones doing the rattling--in order to save her own. While she goes off to find help, her Mom gets to intimately know more about the large black stain on the wall, and John confronts his past. Both families eventually meet, though I'd hold off on the dip and chips.

If you're looking for gore and sprays of arterial blood go elsewhere. The Messengers is better than that. Using shock cuts, good acting, and enough time to unfold the terror along with the tragedy, it delivers less bodies with more suspense.