From Zombos' Closet

Movie Review: Ray Harryhausen Presents The Pit and the Pendulum (2006)

I was sick, sick unto death, with that long agony, and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me.

--Edgar Allen Poe, The Pit and the Pendulum

Zombos Says: Very Good

Having grown up on TV shows like Davey and Goliath and Gumby, stop motion animation is an enjoyable form of storytelling for me. From the simplicity and witty fun of Gumby, to the richness of design found in The Nightmare Before Christmas, the stories are often magical and the characters always imaginative. Stop motion techniques can be used with clay, puppets, and realistic-looking articulated models like Willis O'Brien's emotive King Kong or Ray Harryhausen's creepy fighting skeletons in Jason and the Argonauts.

Stop motion has been skillfully and shoddily used with many traditional and avant-garde horror and science-fiction films since around 1908, and lends itself to the short subject rather well, especially when the setting is simple, and the actions straightforward. Marc Lougee's stop motion adaptation of Poe's, The Pit and the Pendulum, is a good example of this. Poe's story is a straightforward narrative of despair, desperation, and horror. The anonymity of the villains, the delirium of the victim, and the increasingly horrific situations he confronts is ripe for a short film that captures this singular time frame of struggle against increasingly dire odds.

While Poe's story is required reading for many college kids, this visualization of the torments suffered by the unnamed prisoner of the Spanish Inquisition would be a welcome addition to the curriculum. While a bit of license is used for dramatic visual effect (the prisoner doesn't have a metal helmet locked around his head in the original story), the short seven-minute film adheres to and captures the essence of terror with vivid detail in its CG-enhanced miniature sets and stylized puppets.

There's an exaggerated character-movement inherent to stop-motion. It can either breathe dramatic life into the actions of its diminutive characters, or create a cartoonish-effect that hinders more serious storylines. Poe is deadly serious here, and animators Weiss and Fairley create movement that conveys much of the drama and tension without whimsical or absurd motions. The robed tribunal members, murmuring and motioning with their heads and hands in a condemning way, and the prisoner's halting steps, exhausted posture, and fearful exploration of the dungeon, visually portray the literary tone of the short story with their painstaking and time-consuming attention to detail.

Dwayne Hill narrates the inner thoughts and feelings of the confused and fearful prisoner, condemned to the dark dungeons, without maudlin overtones. His voice is of a rational man in irrational circumstances; a man trying to reason through his predicament in hopes of finding an escape from his tormentors, and their fiendish instruments of torture and death.

One ray of hope and beauty written into the film, and not in Poe's gloomy tale, is the entrance of a brightly-colored bird fluttering around the solitary window of the cell, high up out of reach. The cheerful scene contrasts with the somber browns and blacks of the walls and floor. It is a nice foreshadowing of hope as the prisoner looks up toward the feeble light, entering through the bars, illuminating the red feathers of the bird flying about carefree. It fortifies the visual storytelling in a simple but majestic manner.

Though not based on historical accuracy, the fictional pit and pendulum of the story heighten the fearsome depravity and inhumanity of the prisoner's death sentence. In true horror story fashion, death is not the worst part, but getting there is. While reason keeps the prisoner from succumbing to the razor sharp blade of the pendulum, it can't stop the heated iron walls of his cell from forcing him ever closer to that infernal pit in the middle of the room. What horrors await should he fall down into the deep darkness?

It's hard to capture Poe's narrative detail, the rush of terror-filled thoughts overwhelming the long-suffering prisoner in his final moments before succumbing to the foul-smelling pit, especially in a six-to-seven minute film. But the climax here, with its carefully framed arm darting down to rescue him as he descends into oblivion, pulling him back to sanity and safety, is thrillingly done.

The Pit and the Pendulum's stop motion artistry proves old techniques, when combined with creativity and a touch of new technology, still have much to offer.

Movie Review: Night Monster (1942)

Zombos Says: Very Good

"Do you hear that?" asked Zombos.

"Hear what? It's quiet," I said, puzzled by his question.

"That is my point: the quiet. The cicadas have gone quiet." He looked over his shoulder.

"By George, you're right. I wonder what..." I looked over my shoulder, though I wasn't sure why.

We had been walking the beach close to the mansion, enjoying the West Egg summer night's mix of sticky humidity and soft breeze coming off the water. With the sudden quiet, we had stopped and were now intently looking at the dense woods a few feet away on our left.

"I'm sure it's nothing," I reassured him. "Come to think of it, it reminds me of that movie...let me think...the one with that swami guy, Bela, and those croaking frogs that stop croaking in the middle of the night just before a murder happens."

"Oh, you mean Night Monster," said Zombos, not taking his eyes off the woods.

"That's it!" I said, not taking my eyes off the woods, either. "You know, we should retreat to the cinematorium for a showing." Zombos agreed wholeheartedly and we dashed back to the mansion, looking behind us every so often as we ran. Though I'm not sure why.

 

An old dark mansion, blood stains that keep appearing in the carpeting, and thick fog swirling off the slough; if that's not creepy enough for you, Night Monster, an unusual Universal B-horror movie energetically directed by Ford Beebe, also has Bela Lugosi, Lionel Atwill, and some thing—scaring the croaking frogs into silence—going around killing people inside the brooding Ingston Towers mansion and outside it.

Of the many B-movies that Universal churned out in the 1940s, Night Monster stands out as a tidy little exercise in country-gothic horror, and, while not truly a mystery, although it plays like one, it retains an eerie atmosphere with its fast-paced tale of grotesque preternatural goings-on, Hindu mysticism, and familial madness at the Ingston Estate nestled deep in the southern woods.

Curiously enough, while Lugosi and Atwill are given top billing in the opening credits, both have only supporting roles: Lugosi plays the persnickety butler, Rolf, and Atwill is Dr. King, whose mortal coil is shuffled off rather early in the movie. They make the best of their limited time onscreen with enough preening and posturing between them to satisfy any fan of the classic horror genre. Perhaps Lugosi was supposed to be the plot's red herring, but if so, that aspect of his role got lost in the translation from script to screen.

Evil things are afoot at the old Ingston homestead. One look at Torque (Cyril Delevanti), the sour, hunched-over gatekeeper, and Sarah (Doris Lloyd), the starch-collared and tight-lipped housekeeper, is enough to see the household is not doing all that well. Margaret Ingston (Fay Helm) worries she's got hereditary bats in her belfry, so she invites psychiatrist Dr. Harper (Irene Hervey) to visit and bring a cup of sanity. Kurt Ingston (Ralph Morgan), her crippled brother, stews in his own juices, cynical of the modern medicine that failed him, and hating the three doctors responsible for his disfigurement. Yet he invites them to a little-dinner-and-a-lot-of-vitriol weekend to see a demonstration of something beyond their science, beyond the natural laws of nature, courtesy of his very own yogi master, Agor Singh (Nils Asther).

Surprisingly, the important Hindu mystic role is not played by Lugosi, who did wear a turban as Chandu the Magician in The Return of Chandu, and as psychic, Tarneverro, in The Black Camel. Instead, Asther, an actor born in Denmark, provides the foreign accent and dark features this time around, perhaps necessarily less than Lugosi would have mustered given his iconic gravitas.

It's when Agor Singh does his after-dinner demonstration for the guests, calling forth a skeleton from an ancient tomb far away to appear out of thin air, with blood dripping from its outstretched bony fingers, that the story takes a welcomed spooky detour from the usually more straightforward B-movie fare. Singh has been teaching Kurt Ingston the ancient art of cosmic substance control. With his mind properly trained, Ingston can replace his amputated legs with new ones created by his mind, enabling him to walk again; or instead, he could kill those incompetent medical bastards one by one with his new, cosmic stuff-filled limbs.

I wonder which way he'll go? A puddle of blood is found where the skeleton appeared; an odd byproduct of the arcane mind control, comments Singh. A quirky little toss away detail that adds a touch more to the weirdness.

Jack Otterson's (The Mummy's Tomb) art direction and Charles Van Enger's camera build a gothic atmosphere and slick gloss for Beebe's movie. Enhanced by moody, terror-tense music, some of it previously heard in The Wolf Man, the secluded mansion’s menacing shadows, secret passageways, and flickering, fireplace-lighted gloom, all surrounded by a miasma of swirling fog, show a hypnotic palette of images. Window-frame shadows play across daytime interiors, and ominous shadows cast by furniture give a noir-ish textural depth to ordinary scenes, showing unexpected creativity and artistic preference in this budget production. The sudden quiet of the boisterously croaking frogs, followed by the screech of a door opening in the garden, signals the approach of the monster, a clever gimmick to heighten the suspense. In the 2007 movie Dead Silence a similar technique is used to equal effect.

The air of dread and impending doom is sustained by the mansion's characters and their questionable intentions: Laurie (Leif Erickson) the chauffeur has nothing but dames and hanky-panky on his mind, but it's not clear what else he's involved in. Rolf acts sinister and supercilious until the bodies start showing up, and Sarah secretly has the hots for Kurt Ingston and looks guilty just standing around.

Providing comic relief are Constable Beggs (Robert Homans), who investigates when Millie (Janet Shaw) the maid is found strangled next to a puddle of blood, and Dr. Phipps (Francis Pierlot), the diminutive physician with a penchant for gland research. The more serious romantic roles are handled by Dick Baldwin (Don Porter), a mystery writer invited to the little gathering by Kurt Ingston (okay, why invite a mystery writer?), and Dr. Harper, who’s trying to get to the bottom of Margaret's fears.

The weird murders happen fast and furious. While Dr. King is strangled off-camera, the discovery of his body is shown through the reactions of others, followed by a close-up of his lifeless clenched hand.  Dr. Timmons is surprised in his room next as a silhouetted figure steps out of his closet, its shadow growing larger on the wall as it lunges toward him. A close-up of his lifeless hand is shown. Then timid Dr. Phipps is attacked when he opens his bedroom door, thinking it is Laurie come to take him away from the mansion. We see him through the killer’s eyes as he recoils in fear, unable to scream as death approaches.

In the climax, Dr. Harper and Baldwin make a dash for it as the frogs stop croaking and the garden door creaks open, while Margaret decides to throw a hissy-fit with Sarah and play with fire. Will the killer be revealed? Will Dr. Harper ever get her blasted foot unstuck from the rotted foot bridge that Dick insisted on fleeing across? Will we ever find out why the, up-till-now, very reserved and strong-willed psychiatrist starts screaming like a B-movie girl instead of concentrating on getting her foot unstuck before Dick gets his ticket punched by the monster?

I’m sure you’ll enjoy finding out.

Special thanks to HHWolfman at the Universal Monster Army. While at the 2007 Monster Bash, I mentioned I wanted to review this neglected film. He soon surprised me with a copy of it, hot off the back of a hearse. Thanks HH. Thanks also to Richard Scrivani, who screened it at the Monster Bash, rekindling my interest in it.

Interview: Richard Scrivani A Journey with Zacherley

 Zombos Says: Very Good

But most of all, for kids born under the bomb and black-and-white TV, the revolution that was the 1960s began with Zacherley. (David Colton, Preface to Goodnight, Whatever You Are)

 

We take a lot of things for granted. I don't mean all those little inconsequential things that we siphon from our daily wake through the great white waters of life, but the really important things like our relationships with people, the places we go, and the history we take part in. Living our lives takes so much effort, so much involvement, that we scarcely get a chance to look back and reflect before it's all, suddenly, too late.

Richard Scrivani did look back, and his reflections on those things he didn't take for granted back in the 1950s and 1960s are the stuff of history, and childhood culture, and all those really important things many of us, who grew up in those churning and yearning years, have tucked deeply, and absent-mindedly, into our back soul-pockets.

Now I know it would be narrow-minded of me to say that the '50s and '60s were a wonderful time for everyone who grew up then, but I can say with certainty that there was one wonderful part of it that anyone could share in, whatever you were: Zacherley. In Richard's book, Goodnight, Whatever You Are!: My Journey with Zacherley, the Cool Ghoul, he reminds us of a time when monsters ruled the nascent airwaves, and Zacherley reigned as the TV horror host with the most, and flaunted it to the horror of many parents and authoritarians.

Zacherley came on the scene when Screen Gems opened the cinematic vaults in 1957 to release the Shock! Theater and Son of Shock! films, unleashing many classic—and many spastic—horror and suspense movies onto the little screen, awakening the monster-lust in many a young fan with their arcane terrors. In the middle '50s, the first lady of terror, Vampire, helped open the crypt door to future horror hosts who put their bite on the jocular vein, in welcome contrast to their show's more traditional, or just plain godawful, fright offerings.

As TV stations around the country scrambled to market their Shock! package of films, Philadelphia's WCAU-TV came up with a creepy character named Roland to play host for their show. John Zacherle, already acting in a western aired by the station, was asked to play the surly, acerbic-witted, but humorous crypt-kicker.

Richard Scrivani documents Roland's creation, and the ghastly business-side antics that led to Zacherle's eventual move to ABC-TV in New York to become the nationally known ghoulish gagster, Zacherley. With lots of photos, and a clever interview format that continues throughout the book, this look at Zacherley's rise to notoriety provides a revealing look at early television, which was a roll-up-your-sleeves time when local stations created much of their own programming and broadcast live entertainment.

Scrivani pays close attention to the progression of Zacherley's career across TV stations up to and including the move to UHF and WNJU-TV 47, where pop-music and pop-horror meet in a broadcast-live dance show called Disc O-Teen, aired every weekday at 6 P.M. from the Mosque Theater in Newark, New Jersey, starting in 1965. He attributes his first meeting with Zacherley to luck; the cute girl he danced with, Sami, caught the attention of the camera men and Zach. His luck would lead to a return visit for a Halloween show, and many more visits that spanned the three years Disc O-Teen was on the air.

Notable rock bands and their music in this era of social transition, and the dancers that made Disc O-Teen a happening show week after week, along with Zacherley's uniquely wacky sense of "grumor," are vividly told. Against this backdrop, Scrivani writes about the  friendship that grew between him, a shy kid from New Jersey, and the palid punster whose iconic persona became the eternal poster child for monsterkids everywhere, whatever they were.

It's hard to describe a time in American culture when the word "plastic" was confined to model kits, and not used pejoratively, but Scrivani manages to capture the innocence, the angst, and the harsh reality of the black and white TV age. Along the way in this personal journey, his friendship with Zacherley hits its idle periods, but picks up as John Zacherle moves from horror icon to radio announcer and back again.

I was lucky to meet Richard at a little private soiree thrown by the Drunken Severed Head at the 2007 Monster Bash Convention. While I didn't have a cute girl like Sami to grab his attention, we were wedged in tight enough--small hotel room, many notable guests--that he couldn't escape my asking a few questions.

How did your friendship with TV horror host Zacherley get started?

It started with a visit to Zach's dancing show, Disc-O-Teen, in August, 1965. My younger brother's band, Herald Square, was competing in a contest on the show and the winning group was to be awarded a recording contract with World Artist Records. My dance partner and I were invited back for the upcoming Halloween show. That was the very beginning of what would become a friendship with Zach.

In your book, Good Night, Whatever You Are, you write about an era of television and culture that, sadly, no longer exists. Why is that?

Because there are no longer any local TV personalities like Zach, Chuck McCann and Soupy Sales to host live programming. Everything is tightly scheduled and sent out like mass-produced cookies. Videotape is also becoming a thing of the past because stations are now broadcasting with hard drives.

The days when you could walk into a studio where a show was being taped (like sneaking under the circus tent), sadly, have long disappeared.

What's your first monsterkid memory?

My very first "monster kid memory" has to have been the first time I saw THE BEAST FROM 20,000 FATHOMS in the movies with my father and younger brother in 1953. I remember the picture had a slight greenish tint to it!

What other monsterkid memories can you share with us?

I remember my first experience with a vampire film. I was about 10 years old and THE RETURN OF THE VAMPIRE was being shown on a local TV station long before the "Shock!" package was released. It was the scene where Nina Foch kisses her fiance and the camera swings over to reveal Lugosi as Armand Tesla hiding in the shadows. The female vampire was obviously following his command and it terrified me to think that a vampire could pretend to kiss you and instead drink your blood.

Also (probably on the same station around the same period) Glenn Strange changing into a werewolf and stalking an old man in THE MAD MONSTER scared the life out of me. But the most intense memory was Bramwell Fletcher's abbreviated scream in THE MUMMY after coming face to face with Karloff's reanimated Imhotep, followed by that insane laughter. I watched the rest of the film with the sound so low it was barely audible; I wasn't going to be frightened like THAT again!

Having grown up on the early horror movies, what's your impression of the current crop of movies?

Every once in a while I see one I really like, such as THE OTHERS or the remake of THE WAR OF THE WORLDS. For the most part, though, I'm not a big fan of current horror movies. I did actually like M. Night Shyamalan's  THE SIXTH SENSE and THE VILLAGE, and I don't know if this qualifies as horror, more likely fantasy, but I thought PAN'S LABYRINTH was one of the best genre films of all time.

What's the one question you'd love to be asked, and what's your answer?

The question would be: "What makes Zacherley so unique and appealing?"

My answer: To a kid my age (12) in the uptight, conservative, tow-the-line 1950s, there were no TV personalities who broke the rules by poking fun at the stations' programming and even their bosses. When Zach came on the scene he seemed to be speaking just to us and it felt like he was one of us. He also wasn't afraid to make himself a filthy, disheveled mess while doing his crazy "experiments" and that was very much like the behavior of another kid!  I think radio personality Pete Fornatale, who calls Zach a "televisionary", sums it up best -  it was like Zach was telling one big joke and we were all in on it.

 

Goodnight, Whatever You Are is a terrific trip down memory lane for anyone who grew up as a monsterkid. For everyone else, it will make you envious that you missed out on all the fun. But remember, it's never too late, whatever you are.

Comic Book Review: Papercutz' Tales From the Crypt 1

Zombos Says: Fair

Welcome, dear readers, to another unbelievably gruesome tale for your morbid delight. Pull up a coffin and sit for a spell, won't you? Tonight, we look at another vain and feeble attempt to resurrect the dead. What's that you say? No, it's not good old Frankenstein up to his old tricks, nor voodoo zombies dancing in the moonlight. It's more diabolical than that! It's Papercutz' Tales From the Crypt, Issue Number One!

The office is quiet. The clock on the desk shows midnight as the sleepy-eyed artist finishes his work. Reaching for his long cold cup of coffee, he accidentally spills red ink across the freshly drawn page.

"Damn," he says out loud, but there's no one to hear.

Or is there?

"Hahahahaah!" cackles a mucous-filled throat.

"Who's that! Who's there?" says the artist, jumping out of his chair.

"Only us," replies another voice, as if clogged with fresh earth from a newly dug grave.

Gasp! The artist trips over his chair as he spins around. Standing behind him are two figures. They glare at him from the darkness his desk lamp can't reach. Their clothes hang in tatters, and moist earth drops in little clumps from their rotted limbs.

"Oh my god, you...you're..." The artist staggers backward in disbelief, raising his hands in horror.

"Yeah, I'm Feldstein, and he's Johnny Craig. Look, we're not entirely happy with what your doin' with our baby, the Crypt-Keeper." Feldstein's finger drops off as he points vigorously at the artist. "Not again, damnit! Now where did it go?" He motions to Johnny Craig while he looks for his finger.

"What he said," snarls Craig. "I mean, just look at that artwork for the first story, Body of Work. Are you kidding me? Jack Davis was so upset he went to pieces. Wally Wood's still back at the cemetery trying to put him together. Just look at these colors; bright, cheerful? And what the hell do you think you're drawing, a Picasso? And don't get me started on that storyline. Horror writer my ass! I'll admit it's kind of witty, and the tone of the story and art style work fairly well together, but that ending? C'mon, how original to use the old PG-standby, heart attacks. These are fiends, man! Thirsting for blood!"

"But I didn't draw the first story; I drew the second one, For Serious Collectors Only," pleaded the artist.

Feldstein stands up, grabs the tape dispenser off the desk, and tapes his finger back onto his hand. Then, in a fit of inspiration, he staples it for good measure.

"There, that's not going anywhere now. Now what was I saying? Oh, yeah. The Crypt-Keeper may be demented, but he's still educated. Who wrote those godawful word ballons for him anyway? You'd think he was a bit comic doing a dead vaudeville shtick the way he talks. Where's the puns, the biting sarcastic wit? From Ralph Richardson to this? I can't believe it. Even Kassir did a better job."

The artist cowered. "That's Salicrup. He did it. You can't blame me for any of that. I told him it was too juvenile, too pedestrian. All I did was draw the second story."

"That second story's a doozy, too. It's "250% more cursed" is right. How many times have I seen comic book stories about nerdy comic book collectors who live in their mom's basement? Gee, let me count those times on my fingers. Damn, ran out of fingers!"

Once more, Feldstein's overly dramatic hand gestures send another finger flying through the air. His pinky lands in the artist's coffee cup.

"Gross," says the artist, pushing the cup away in disgust.

"Damn, not again!" says Feldstein, reaching for the tape dispenser and stapler.

"He's right," says Craig. "These stories are so overly done and so predictable. Where's the witty but ironic endings, the twist of the fickle finger of fate? Tsk, tsk."

"There's no unique Tales From the Crypt look, either," says Feldstein. "No bold ink lines, or saturated morose colors, or salient looks of dread on fear-stricken faces. Where are the tombs, the crumbling cemeteries, the rotting zombies? Is this the best you got? All I'm sayin' is show the respect due, that's all. Don't just throw anything together and call it Tales From the Crypt. I want to see more effort put into the second issue or else."

Feldstein leans forward to emphasize his "or else." As the artist frantically jumps backward to avoid the snarling corpse, he trips over his own two feet, and cracks his head open on the edge of the heavy steel desk. His blood pours out from the large gash in his skull, mixing with the red ink already spilled.

"Damn, didn't see that coming," says Craig. "His artwork wasn't that bad, either."

Both Craig and Feldstein hurriedly stagger off. Light begins to enter the office windows. The clock on the desk shows 6 A.M., the time the artist usually goes to Starbucks for his morning cup of coffee. He won't be going to Starbucks today.

Well, dear readers, the poor artist has learned, only too late, that the comic book business can be murder. Perhaps he'll be drawing a pair of wings next. Hehehehehehe.

Movie Review: Silent Hill (2006) Dear Mr. Ebert

Zombos Says: Good 

Dear Mr. Ebert:

I am aghast that you, as mentioned in your review for Silent Hill, cannot describe the plot for this movie. I, as you, have not played the video game, but even so I think the plot woefully obvious. Allow me to illustrate it, with as much brevity as possible, so you can better appreciate the nuances of this gripping horror story.

But before I begin, I was wondering what you use for a light source when you take notes during the movie? I've tried various book-lights and pen-lights, but they're either too bright, annoying those sitting around me, or too awkward to position, or uncomfortable to hold for long periods of time. I was lucky with Silent Hill as there was an Exit sign which cast just enough reddish light for me to see what I was writing. Of course, I had to sit on the floor next to it, but it wasn't too uncomfortable; except for the occasional person stepping over me to go to the bathroom or concession stand. It's a good thing I don't review Disney movies as I'd have had the little monsters and their rude parents incessantly running back and forth, trampling me.

Getting back to Silent Hill, the plot is a simple one, often repeated in horror and science fiction movies. It even reminded me of the Star Trek episode, And the Children Shall Lead, where Gorgon, an evil alien who appears to children as a friendly angel (played by real-life attorney Melvin Belli), takes advantage of their naivety to further his evil plans. He uses them as a conduit for his nasty powers. Now instead of an evil alien, in Silent Hill we have a kid, Alessa, who's being used by a malevolent demon to exact malicious mischief and revenge on the titular (I always love using that word: it sounds so naughty) townspeople that did her wrong.

Now—oh, wait a minute—is it a demon that is using the girl as a conduit or is it actually the dark half of the girl that's taking revenge on the townsfolk? The convoluted explanation toward the last quarter of the movie, oddly done in an inappropriate grainy faux-home-movie-styled flashback, describes how badly the poor kid was mistreated, and how she eventually split into a dark half who curses and destroys the town and everyone in it, and a good half the dark half sends away, only to call it back after nine years.

But then why bother to send the good half away, only to have it return after nine years?

I missed something. I better start over.

 

Dear Mr. Ebert,

I'm surprised that you, as mentioned in your review for Silent Hill, can't describe the plot for this move. I, as you, have not played the video game, but even so, I think the plot fairly obvious. Allow me to illustrate, with as much brevity as possible, so you can better appreciate the nuances of this atmospheric horror story.

Alessa, born out of wedlock, is tormented by her classmates, victimized by the school janitor, and cooked like a hot dog by a wacky religious cult. The poor kid, amazingly, survives all this rude treatment and, naturally, develops an evil personification that can reach out from her badly scarred and bed-ridden body to maliciously destroy her tormentors. No wonder there.

Then again, you could look at it this way: a demon from hell takes advantage of the poor girl’s revengeful, hate-filled state of mind to kill everybody in town and lock their souls into a very imaginatively depicted hell-like limbo filled with endless horrific punishments. 

After wreaking chaos and horror on the townsfolk, she realizes she's been acting rather badly and decides to create a good version of herself—pre-nastiness and all that, which she then sends away to live with total strangers until precisely nine years pass. Demon Alessa—or just a hell-spawned demon along for the ride—then summons pre-nastiness Alessa (now Sharon) back to town to…to...what?

And what’s that weird, confusing backstory about a witch burned by townsfolk and the town being on fire for years and years?

Oh, bugger! I thought I had it this time. I have to start over.

 

Dear Mr. Ebert,

I'm not surprised that you can't describe the plot for Silent Hill. It can be confusing to those not all that familiar with horror movies. Allow me to explain, with as much brevity as possible, so you can better appreciate the nuances of this visually stunning and creepy movie.

But first, I must give kudos to the art direction.

It's a wonderful creaturefest of makeup, CGI-enhanced sets and coloration, and icky-monster costuming that's quite a treat to watch. The creatures are nightmarish, in that nifty damned-to-hell kind of way, and the sounds and music when Alessa's mom goes deeper into that cursed town—especially when the siren blares a warning that the town is going ‘into the darkness’—is goosebumps inducing, evoking quite a horrific mood; and those embers glowing on the damned creatures’ bodies, and all that falling ash and pall over the town—again, Dante himself couldn't have done any better.

The script is another matter entirely.

The dialog, for instance, is atrocious. Many of the lines are eye-rollingly bad. The acting also needed better acting, especially during the climactic Barkeresque Hellraiser-styled confrontation in the church between Alessa’s mom and those evil cult members.

Mom does manage to walk through a congregation of crazed, kid-roasting individuals with amazing ease, doesn't she?

And the verbal showdown between them is so contextually dry; I wish I had Visine to squirt in my eyes each time they rolled around those groaners.

While I'm at it, what's with the black, skin-tight, leather uniform on the female motorcycle cop: I mean really, could you get it any tighter? How DOES she get on the motorcycle dressed in those tight pants? All she needs to complete her ludicrous ensemble is a pair of stiletto heels. Her weak acting during her own barbecue scene in the church is also very disappointing, especially when she’s the one being barbecued. A little more Ouch! or Ooh! would have provided more drama.

But before I go off on a tangent, let me explain the plot.

Alessa, a poor kid born out of wed-lock and who winds up roasted like a turkey by an evil religious cult while HER mom puts up little resistance, takes revenge on the townspeople of Silent Hill.

Though I'm not sure if this occurred before the fires broke out in the mines or afterwards. I'm also not sure how the witch burning, thirty years beforehand, fits into the events with Alessa. There seem to be a few storylines going on here and little explanation to tie them together.

Anyway, from her hospital bed, the badly scarred and immobile Alessa, either through sheer malevolent will power, or by the assistance of a hellish demon (maybe the witch’s familiar?) destroys the town and its citizens, forcing their spirits to ‘live’ in a nightmare world that puts Dante’s Inferno to shame. They must endure not only the hellish Limbo they've been caught in, but also the Darkness that brings Pyramid Head (you need to have played the video game, but a guy with a pyramid on his head) and his agonies (give or take a few like in the video game) to torture them if they're unlucky enough to be caught outside their only sanctuary, the church.

Alessa, for some reason, sends off a good version of herself as a baby, now named Sharon, and then summons Sharon back to Silent Hill after nine years. Since Sharon sleepwalks and blurts out "Silent Hill" in her sleep a lot, her mom, casting caution to the wind, takes her to Silent Hill.

Not exactly sure why since Sharon’s scared sh+tless of the place. Perhaps her mom is just taking that confronting your fears thing a little too seriously?

Yes, Silent Hill! The one with all the well-known, evilly-cursed stuff attached to it. A place so notorious, Sharon’s father reads about it on the web at www.ghosttowns.com. This is the ABANDONED place that has had toxic fires burning beneath it for years, so much so that ash continually falls from the sky, and deadly fumes reek forth so badly not even a Glade Plug-in Air Freshener could cover it up.

So her mom takes her there, AT NIGHT, hoping to find out why her daughter keeps sleepwalking and saying “Silent Hill” a lot and seems so frightened of the damned place.

Along the way they're almost stopped by a dominatrix-looking motorcycle cop who dresses in impossibly tight leather motorcycle garb (minus stiletto heels, though), but her mom is determined to bring Sharon (really Alessa) to that deserted, fires-still-burning, town (that nobody else wants to go near)—in the middle of the night no less—so she puts the pedal to the metal, promptly crashing her car in the process.

Mom wakes up, finds her daughter missing, and heads into town on foot. The motorcycle cop follows them, promptly crashes her motorcycle, and heads into town on foot, too.

Now, Mr. Ebert, here is where the subtlety begins.

You see, Sharon (really Alessa), her mom, and the motorcycle cop are actually dead, but they don't realize it. They died in their respective vehicular crashes. This is why they can be affected by the creatures and hellish darkness of Silent Hill while her husband, and the others searching for her, walk through the town unaffected and unaware.

Now Alessa, as Sharon, has her mom and the cop go through quite a few trials and tribulations to find her so she can use them to get into the church to send those evil cult members to Hell—well, more Hell that is, seeing as they're all ready knee deep in it. Much gore ensues as Alessa gloats and tears them apart in a scene of ripping butchery that Pinhead would be proud of. Sharon as Alessa--or Alessa as Sharon--and mom then walk back to the car, buckle themselves in for safety—this time—and head home.

Of course, there's the confusing sequelization-antic ending (my term for forcing a sequel: clever, huh?), where the husband is home as they return home, but he can’t see them and they can’t see him. The scene shifts between husband in his nice sunlit home and them in their bleak, ominous-looking home. Sharon-now-Alessa, or the demon posing as Sharon-now-Alessa, gives us that sinister, look, so common in horror movies these days, to tip us off that it isn’t over until the franchise says it’s over.

With them being dead, though, how, exactly, does dead Alessa benefit from taking over now dead Sharon’s body?

And they (the script writers, I mean) still haven't explained why the witch was burned or why the fires started in the mines in the first place.

Oh bloody hell. I thought I finally had it right this time. Crap.

 

Dear Mr. Ebert,

Never mind. You were right as usual.

Yours Truly,

Zoc

PS. We miss you. 

Interview: Sight Unseen

Zombos Says: Good

Robert Tinnell and Bo Hampton's graphic novel, Sight Unseen, is an American Gothic story that, in true style, keeps the evil all in the degenerate family. With tight pacing, shadowy, emotive art panels that read like a cinematic storyboard, and a premise that doesn't overwhelm the story but allows it to unfold, it delivers a tidy mix of eerie imagery and believable-within-context situations; along with a damned, J-Horror-styled spirit that simply loves to hurt people.

While seeing dead people through special optics like eyeglasses has been done in print and film before, that's not the focus of the story. It just so happens that Frank Byron, blinded in a lab explosion, seizes the "opportunity" to explore a different type of sight; one based on his observation that his seeing-eye dog apparently sees things that no human can see. Dead things.

In the course of his experiments he distances himself from his daughter while becoming closer with the dead. But the dead are not entirely the focus of the story, either, except for one dead person in particular, still residing at The Birches Estate, recently put up for sale. She's quite a handful as Frank gravitates to exploring the mystery with his newfound second sight when people start disappearing.

The artwork and story work well together, and the heavy line strokes combine with the shading and coloration across panels to sustain a morosely detailed and creepy sense of dread.

I met with director and author Robert Tinnell at the 2007 Monster Bash Convention, and took the opportunity to ask him a few questions.

How did Sight Unseen come about?

I met Bo Hampton at Wizard in Philly and we clicked. He read The Black Forest on the plane on the ride home and then called me and asked if I was interested in collaborating. I'm still trying to figure out why! He had ideas - the notion of a blind guy who could see ghosts.  I had a story involving the haunted house - and wanted to do the southern gothic thing - and we just sort of married the stuff...[Note: The last few pages in the book are devoted to the collaborative creative process involved in bringing Sight Unseen to print.]

With much of your creative work done in a horror vein, what is it about the genre that motivates you?

I think there are a number of factors, and while it may be embarrassing, there's no denying nostalgia's influence. Working in the genre brings to mind the things that inspired me in the first place - and the accompanying emotions. Of course, there's more to it than that. In general, I think horror allows us to explore other aspects of life - sex and death are certainly primary examples. I mean - how can you watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers and think it simply exists to try and scare you? Of course, I do love trying to scare people. Always have.

Tell us about your monsterkid background and when the horror bug first bit you.

I remember seeing an ad for Hammer's Kiss of the Vampire - it was going to be on CBS late night television, and I was immediately drawn to it - but forbidden to watch!  Later it was Dark Shadows and the Hammer films - still later the classic Universals. And in the seventies I was heavily into horror film fandom - did my own fanzine. I guess it was a cumulative effect of all that stuff...

Did your directing experience influence your writing in The Black Forest, The Wicked West, and Sight Unseen?

Not so much on TBF but definitely on the latter two. On TWW the book itself is certainly a rumination on film - at least one aspect of the book is. As far as Sight Unseen goes, I think even more as I was definitely tapping into cinematic methods of eliciting scares - and Bo was doing the same thing - drawing on his experience as a storyboard artist.

What was it like directing Frankenstein and Me?

Truly the best and worst of times. My personal life was in great upheaval. I don't think the film is what it should have been - and I blame myself. But on the other hand, I did get to make it and did get to pay tribute - however flawed - to all those films and people who inspired me. Just standing around on the Brides of Dracula set and the Night of the LIving Dead location (I should clarify - recreations used for the film) was fantastic. And there are moments in the film - like when the kids are watching Dark Shadows that are very rewarding for me personally. I just wish I could go back and redo it.

Which horror films are your favorites and why?

The scary ones! Although I am partial to some that aren't so much scary as they are beautiful to look at or thought-provoking. But here's a partial list - The Uninvited: a ghost story that really delivers the chills.  It's a very evocative little film - and I like the fact it doesn't try too hard. The Innocents: a ghost story that's about something, elegantly photographed, eerie in its simplicity. I'm a big fan. Night of the Living Dead: verite horror - this is a text book case about how to scare - and not because of the gore - which is actually the weakest part of the film. The Horror of Dracula - scary, sexy, economical, elegant, beautiful to look at, brilliantly directed. What more can I say? The Exorcist: you don't have to like it - but you have to respect it. Scary because it takes its time, building its case, so that once you are confronted with the actual supernatural events you have no choice but to believe. The Old Dark House: The original James Whale version - scary and fun and sadly under-appreciated.

The list goes on and on - and my hands hurt from typing - so I'll just note: THE CAT PEOPLE, FRANKENSTEIN, THE INVISIBLE MAN, DRACULA, DRACULA'S DAUGHTER, SON OF DRACULA, THE WOLF MAN, CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON, ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN, BRIDES OF DRACULA, DRACULA, PRINCE OF DARKNESS, THE DEVIL RIDES OUT, FRANKENSTEIN CREATED WOMAN, FRANKENSTEIN MUST BE DESTROYED, QUATERMASS FILMS, SUSPIRIA, DAWN OF THE DEAD - whew - the list is literally exhaustive...

What current and future projects are you working on?

I am writing two graphic novels - EZ Street for artist Mark Wheatley, and Bo and I are co-writing and he's drawing Demons of Sherwood. I just finished the graphic novel, Eagle: Legacy, for Neil Vokes and once he's done drawing that he starts our monthly comic, THE VOICE - which is my first foray into Mexican horror. I'm writing a big horror adventure screenplay and at the same time writing another more mainstream screenplay. After that I'm going to adapt Lee Maynard's novel Crum - which is a brilliant book about Appalachia. I'm preparing to direct the movie version of my graphic novel, Feast of the Seven Fishes...I'm sure I'm forgetting something...Oh yes - writing the book, Jump Cuts, with Mark Clark - which we hope will serve as a interesting study of how horror movies have tried to scare us...

What's the one question you'd love to be asked, and what's your answer?

What are some dream projects?

I'd love to direct the movie version of The Living and the Dead, the graphic novel I wrote with Todd Livingston that Micah Farritor drew. I'd love to adapt Fritz Leiber's Conjure Wife, though apparently that will never happen thanks to some convoluted rights' issues. Tim Lucas wrote a marvelous novel, The Book of Renfield, that would be a joy to adapt as a screenplay.

Movie Review: Primeval (2007) What a Croc

Zombos Says: Fair

Director Michael Katleman's Primeval is a film filled with monsters. There's Gustave, the four-legged, meat-eating kind, and Little Gustave, the two-legged and hungry for power kind. Both do not help make Primeval a good horror movie. The story's tension and scares are lost in the flip-flops between social commentary, which requires lingering and thoughtful scenes, and horror, which requires the exact opposite.

Based on a real-life crocodile that's been attacking people along the Rusizi River in Burundi, Africa, you'd think the story would pretty much write itself: the largest man-eating crocodile in history, born out of a genocidal civil-war raging in Burundi. With so many bodies floating around in the river, it's no wonder Gustave develops a taste for human flesh. Yet, Katleman's film misses the real horror of this human tragedy.

Book Review: Apple of My Eye

"The corpse plants are blooming," yelled our groundskeeper, Pretorius.

It was a rare day when any one of our amorphophallus titanums bloomed, and to have them all opening their fetid inflorescence at once is quite a red letter day.

Zombos poked his head out of the window. "I thought I detected a whiff of their potent fragrance. Excellent." He took a deep breadth. "It will make a perfect centerpiece for our Fourth of July party."

He noticed I was still in my doldrums.

"Haven't you finished it yet?" he asked.

"No. Lost, lost, simply lost. I'm not sure why I've been so writer's blocked on this."

"My word, this is the longest time you've spent hemming and hawing on a simple review."

"That's the problem," I said. "It's not that simple."

"Well, then, perhaps if you think it aloud, that would help." He sat down by the window, closed his eyes, pressed his fingertips together, and took a deep breadth.

I looked at my empty cup of coffee with a sigh. Times like these required strong coffee, and lots of it. I sighed. "Well, after reading Amy Grech's thirteen-story collection, Apple of My Eye, I can safely say she has a fetish going for coppery-tasting, bright red blood, shiny sharp implements in dangerous hands, and bad relationships built on—usually terminal—masochistic tendencies. I can best describe her approach if I liken it to walking down a Brooklyn tenement alleyway late at night. Lined with shaded windows, I imagine her standing tiptoe on shaky garbage cans to peak into the rooms beyond. Not all of her clandestine observations are as clear as we voyeurs would like, but there's a hint of the darker side of human nature in many of her stories that makes reading them an unsettling experience. Her characters tend to act a little out of kilter with our reality, giving them a dreamy, or nightmarish tinge of behaviors that don't quite make sense if you only take them at face value." I paused.

"That's good. Make sure to write that down," Zombos said without opening his eyes. "What else?"

I thought about it. "Her work is somewhat vexing because she has a habit of ending her stories much too soon."

"Like waking from a dream without getting the full sense of what it was about?" Zombos observed.

"Quite. That's a good way of putting it. I find her dialog a little off, too. Sometimes it's too pat in places," I said.

"I sense another thought on the verge of discovery," Zombos said quietly.

"I'm not sure what...well, now that you mention it." I picked up Apple of My Eye and paged through it while I collected my thoughts. "I'm not really into very adult dark fiction. Her stories can be erotically-charged. Take the lead story, Apple of My Eye for instance. The main character is a nightmare in red heels, cruising the darker watering holes of Greenwich Village. She hooks up with some schlub who's looking for a good time in private, but she has ulterior motives that are unsavory."

"And you were aroused by Grech's prose?" Zombos asked, rather astutely I might add.

"Why, yes, I found the story very effective in that regard. But it's a weird vignette. Why would any man go back to her apartment knowing her daddy's a psychotic, mother-killing, incestuous fruitcake who doesn't like seeing her with other men?"

"But you did find the story evocative?"

"It's creepy as hell, yes. Just out of kilter with my normal expectations for—"

"But dreams and nightmares have no expectations, do they? They just create a mood which can often be disturbing, but rarely does any of it make sense at face value." Zombos crossed his legs and leaned further back in his chair.

"I suppose that's true," I said.

"Which story is your favorite?" he asked.

"It's a close call between Rampart and Damp Wind and Leaves. Rampart reads like some P.G. Wodehouse's evil doppelgänger's bizarre sense of humor. It's a Tales from the Darkside-like episode about a very rich man going very very bonkers as he's trapped in a castle whose walls are not content to remain still. The narrative is cucumber sandwich-flippant, and the characters and tone light and breezy. The story reminded me just a little of Charlotte Gilman's more serious The Yellow Wallpaper. In Damp Wind and Leaves, which is also available from Amazon Shorts, Grech uses a masterful touch of understatement to describe one very special Halloween in a horror fan's life. It's a precisely measured story of loneliness and love, and like a soft gust of cool air on an Autumn day, that rolls over your cheek, it's there and gone in a moment; but the feeling lingers. The imagery is vivid, as are the characters and their feelings.

"Then there's Ashes to Ashes," I continued. "A story that's reminiscent of Bradbury's Dark Carnival in tone and imagery. The very idea of a husband's ashes no longer silently resting in his burial urn is wonderfully Gothic, but she writes it with a modern touch. The story seems to end too soon, but the mood it leaves you with, like many of her stories, is similar to the feelings you have after waking from a dream as your dream-emotions linger, leaving you with a curious feeling that's hard to describe.

"I also have a soft spot for Raven's Revenge. How can you not love a haunted Brooklyn apartment with a restless spirit looking for revenge? I'm not sure about Snubbed, though. It reads more like a woman's revenge fantasy rather than a realistic portrayal of a woman's revenge on her ex-boyfriend now rapist. Say, you know, this has helped me a great deal in..."

Zombos started snoring. His head had sunk to his chest, but his fingertips remained steadfastly pressed together, and his legs still curled tightly around themselves. I stood up, stretched, and finished my review. It was getting late. The guests for our Fourth of July party would soon be arriving so there was much to do. As I picked up my empty cup of coffee, looking for a much needed refill, I thought about Sanchez in Perishables, one of Grech's very short stories that didn't need any more words to convey its horror. Funny, I thought to myself, as I wondered what perishables we had in our pantry as I bounded down the stairs. Our guests would be hungry.

Movie Review: The Return of the Vampire (1944)

Zombos Says: Good

Bela Lugosi's career didn't fare well after his initial fame withDracula. Having apparently failed the makeup screen test forFrankenstein—though he wasn't overly found of playing the monster anyway—his reserved and aloof demeanor kept him from ingratiating himself with the Hollywood in-crowd. That, and the rapidly rising stardom of Boris Karloff after his noted portrayal of the Frankenstein Monster, put Lugosi in a deteriorating career position.

Although he created intensely unique and effective characters such as Dracula, Murder Legendre in White Zombie, and Ygor in Son of Frankenstein, he spent much of his time acting in lesser roles. After Dracula, he portrayed a "real" vampire onscreen only two more times; as Armand Tesla in The Return of the Vampire, and as the more comedic count in Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein.

Lew Landers' The Return of the Vampire plays like a Brothers Grimm fairytale. You have your evil villain, the occultist turned vampire, Armand Tesla (Bela Lugosi), his reluctant servant who is tragically caught between good and evil and lycanthropy, and a wartime beleaguered, bomb-ruined London as backdrop seething with revenge creeping in the foggy night.

The story begins as the first World War ends. Lady Jane (Frieda Inescot) and Dr. Saunders (Gilbert Emery) must come to terms with a vampire in their midst. After he attacks a child, Dr. Saunders convinces Lady Jane that their problem goes beyond scientific understanding, and the two set out to find the blood-sucking fiend. But not before Dr. Saunders reads up on the annoying supernatural pests, written by one Armand Tesla, noted authority in the field.

It is an ironic, somewhat foreboding comment Dr. Saunders makes regarding the limitations of science to convince Lady Jane of the existence of something not analyzable under her microscope; only a few years later, the inexplicable horrors of the supernatural world will be supplanted by the inexplicable mutant horrors wrought by science and radiation. After World War II and the atomic bomb, vampires and werewolves would appear less frightening compared to the threats from giant ants, giant spiders, and giant blobs.

The shift from personal destruction to mass destruction has begun.

As night approaches, Lady Jane and Dr. Saunders find Tesla in his coffin and drive a steel spike into his heart, freeing Andreas (Matt Willis), Tesla's werewolf servant, from his evil grasp, and ending Tesla's reign of terror. Years later, in the aftermath of a World War II Nazi bombing raid, civil defense workers mistakenly remove the spike from Tesla's heart, freeing him to seek vengeance on the family that stopped his vampiric-evil many years before. The scene is reminiscent of a similar scene inFrankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, when Larry Talbot is freed from his tomb by two similarly bumbling, but not very civil-minded, grave robbers.

Andreas, whom the good Lady Jane took in as her laboratory assistant, once again succumbs to Tesla's evil mind control and turns back into his rather huggable werewolf form, gleefully killing people in order to help Tesla assume a new identity and execute his nefarious plan of vengeance against Lady Jane and her loved ones. Andreas' hirsute persona is more Jekyll and Hyde than a straightforward, rip-out-your-throat, bay at the full-moon, kind of werewolf. He's fully conscious of what he's doing, but simply loves killing people and being downright nasty when under Tesla's control.

Against the backdrop of bombed-out London—the aftermath of real horror brought about by the "Jerries"—Andreas and his undead master walk quietly amid the ruins unnoticed, anachronistic folkloric monsters in a tableau of a larger monstrosity, the death and destruction of war. It is an eerie composition; dark spookshow theatrics of cemeteries and fog mingling with scenes of carnage and black-out curtains.

The film moves well and Lugosi, while older, still plays the vampire with a sufficient touch of malice. The addition of his werewolf servant is an odd touch, especially since his servant doesn't act like a werewolf—he talks a lot and wears a suit—but it does provide a unique aspect to the storyline and the need for redemption as Andreas fights for his salvation at the end. Why he becomes a werewolf when Tesla takes control of him is not explained, but Andreas retains his tie and voice whether he's hairy or clean-shaven, which is either sublimely ridiculous or deeply meaningful.

I vote for the former as it's more fun to watch than try to explain.

After Dr. Saunders dies in a plane crash, his manuscript, detailing the exploit with Armand Tesla many years before, falls into the hands of Sir Frederick Fleet of Scotland Yard (Miles Mander). Lady Jane is warned she may be implicated in a murder if Tesla's body is found, but Lady Jane takes up the good fight as she tries to convince Sir Fleet that body is still above ground and a vampire is prowling London. In true stiff upper lip fashion, she pouts in calm determination as Sir Fleet tish-toshes the notion politely, but both still work together to stop Tesla for good. As a woman of science and reason, Lady Jane's strong-willed professionalism foreshadows the career women that will soon grace many a sci-fi horror film in the decade to follow.

The Return of the Vampire is a good B-Movie that got lost in the transition from the Gothic-horror cycle to the scientifically-induced horrors of the 1950s. By 1944, Lugosi, the talking movie screen's first great monster star, exchanged his opera cape for a lab coat in Voodoo Man, and again in 1945 in Zombies on Broadway, playing a mad scientist. In the emerging world of science gone amoral, mad science became all the rage.

For poor Bela, his return was short-lived. He got lost in the transition also.

He deserved better.