From Zombos' Closet

LOTT D Roundtable: The Allure of Evil

Why are we attracted to and mesmerized by evil people in horror cinema and novels? Gloomy Sunday's Gothic-romantic, Absinthe, kicks off this round of commentary from the League of Tana Tea Drinkers to explore this question. From Bela Lugosi to Freddy Kruger, the league pokes and prods as only it can do, to unearth the answers, the assumptions, and the contradictions. 

Gloomy Sunday explores the bad boys of screen and novel...

Why are we attracted to villains? Why are we drawn towards characters we really should hate? Why do we sometimes find sex appeal in characters who are hideous or deformed? Is it we can relate better to people who have flaws, people who are more realistically human with their dark sides instead of the cookie cutter heroes and heroines we usually see in movies?  Or does it go deeper, to an instinctual level, left over from a more primitive time, when only the strong thrived and reproduced, drawing us to the powerfully wicked onscreen?

Pinhead from Clive Barker's The Hellbound Heart and the later Hellraiser movies--although I only speak for the first two because after that they suck--is one of my favorite villains and one I think has strong sexual appeal despite his skin being the color of a dead fish, with nails protruding from his head, and a strange, but kinky, sadomasochistic leather outfit hinting at damnation. If you wanted to, you could compare the premise Hellraiser is based on to a metaphor for sexual freedom by looking at the puzzle box, which involves a quest for something much desired, yet secret, dark, and forbidden to have. If Pinhead quickly came into scene and dispatched his victims, we would not be so drawn to him. Instead, he shows human characteristics we can relate to. In Hellbound, Hellraiser II he does not kill Tiffany when she opens the box because he knows that "hands did not call us, desire did." He seems fair even though he is a killer, and he continually lets Kirsty slip through the damning cracks by allowing deals and bargains. Is it his power we are drawn to, the relief provided by his human flaws that we can relate to, or the subtext of sublime sexual naughtiness he is the front man for?

Movie Review: The Dark Knight (2008)

Zombos Says: Excellent

Nobody panics when things go according to plan, even if the plans are horrifying. If I tell the press that tomorrow a gangbanger will get shot, or a truckload of soldiers will get blown up, nobody panics. But when I say one little old mayor will die, everyone loses their minds! Introduce a little anarchy, you upset the established order, and everything becomes chaos. I am an agent of chaos. And you know the thing about chaos, Harvey? It's fair. --the Joker in The Dark Knight.

 

Moral darkness permeates Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight. The Joker, Batman's antithesis, returns to his unsavory blend of homicidal insanity and nihilistic artistry, first seen in the 1940 Batman comic book, but softened in his subsequent appearances. Gone is the whimsically murderous trickster of precise origin, the clown prince of crime as portrayed in movies, the Batman television series, and many of the DC comic books. Replaced by Heath Ledger's chillingly amoral, incomprehensibly insane and powerfully corrupting scion of the Devil, no one, including us, is left laughing now.

Throughout The Dark Knight, one question propels the story with its increasing urgency for an answer: how can Batman and Gotham city combat the irreconcilable evil embodied by the Joker without resorting to evil themselves? Batman, Lt. Gordon, and District Attorney Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart), must answer it in their own way as the Joker forces them into an ever narrower space for dealing with his escalating chaos and body count. With his smeared makeup, stringy hair, cruelly scarred mouth--and ever-changing story as to how he received his permanent smile--Ledger's Joker is so evil, so anarchic, and so corrupting in his influence, there is no middle ground for goodness and morality to easily stand on. A human Thanatos unfettered by guilt, he makes Hannibal Lecter and the Jigsaw Killer look like Abbott and Costello. The only way to stop him is to murder him; at least, that's what he really wants. But will Batman put aside his moral code to do it? More importantly, do we want him to?

Remote Control Zombie of Your Very Own!

It's here, it's here! Run for your lives and grab one!

Now, if they'd only come in life-size...

From Archie McPhee:

THE REMOTE CONTROL MOANING, WALKING ZOMBIES!

That's right, you can finally control your own undead minion using a brain-shaped remote that toggles it on and off. No more breaking into graveyards and casting voodoo spells, technology will do it all for you! One push of a button sends your own personal zombie shuffling and moaning in whatever direction you point him! Use this remote control zombie to scare your office mates and torment your pets.

 

Graphic Book Review: Zombie World Winter's Dregs

Zombos Says: Very Good

Summertime fun getting you down? Can't wait for the colder days, darker days, more depressing sunless days? Want to bury all sand-loving, beach-going, family members and significant others up to their necks close to the water's edge at low tide? Fret no more. Don't get mad, suicidal, or homicidal; instead, pick up Zombie World: Winter's Dregs and Other Stories from Dark Horse, and bring back your sanity with its two-hundred and forty pages packed with apocalyptic carnage.

These four stories, originally appearing in the Zombie World comic book series, bring us closer to those undead we all crave. Think surviving the glump at the gasoline pump is hard, try dealing with ravenous hordes of commuters who want to fill up on you. With writers and artists like Bob Fingerman, Kelley Jones, Tommy Lee Edwards, Pat Mills, J. Deadstock (how apropos), Gordon Rennie and Gary Erskine, you can feel secure in knowing that your hard-earned greenbacks are being well spent.

The title story, Winter's Dregs, kicks off the mayhem in a fast-paced panel by panel exchange between central characters caught up in their daily lives--and deaths. In a city overrun by rats, when people dying in reverse shakes up the routine run to Starbucks, cry havoc and let loose the zombies. Each page is drawn in a heavy, EC horror comics, over-inked style, bleeding black into the surroundings, the characters, and the action. The murky colors create a sense of constant dread which lets up only after you reach the last panel. The story takes time to set up its characters first, then introduces zombies in a subway smackdown after the mayor orders a full-scale assault on brazen rats vexing his administration. Involved dialog and social interactions sustain the buildup to zero hour, fleshing out the people whose mundane paths intertwine with the staggering undead in this day in the life--and death--of a city.

Movie Review: Diary of the Dead (2007) Another Day Unlike Any Other

Zombos Says: Very Good

It was a gloomy scene both inside and out. Gloomy inside because outside it was sunny-bright and barbecue-hot, and "perfect beach weather" as the saying goes, making it all the more depressing for those of us who cherish the cooler Autumn months.

Inside the library, not even the sombre and ominous strains of Midnight Syndicate's The Rage soundtrack could assuage Zombos' contortions across the various furnishings at regular intervals. For Autumn people like us, summer is that seasonal aberration, a temperate nuisance we must endure before the joys of the grayer October Country days take precedence.

The Fantasy Clock on the mantelpiece stuttered the slow passing of time. I put down the book I was reading, 41 Stories by O. Henry, to see if I could charge Zombos with enough energy to get him out of his summer doldrums. His latest contortion had him slumped across the emerald-green velvet upholstered Sleepy Hollow chair.

"How about watching Edges of Darkness in the cinematorium?" I asked. "It's got vampires fretting over their human food supply when zombies invade their home turf?"

Zombos moaned.

"Then how about we go to Adventure Land and we ride the Haunted House again and again?" I asked.

Zombos moaned louder.

I tossed over the scintillating premiere issue of Scarlet: The Film Magazine to him: no galvanic response. Van Helsing's Journal of World Fantastica produced no spark, either. Damn, this was more serious than I thought.

In the hallway, Zimba and Zombos Jr's going-to-Jones-Beach clamour chided us, by intention, as they rushed past the library door. Zombos Jr. made a point of banging his sand toys loudly, and Zimba clip-clopped more heavily in her flip-flops. A whiff of suntan lotion floated into the library causing Zombos' pearly-white skin to sneeze through his nose in allergic terror at the thought of hot sunlight roasting it in cocoa butter.

Chef Machiavelli, another beach-lover, happily joined them in their sandy debauchery. He stuck his head into the room as he hurried off. "Severese," he said with a wink, pointing in the direction of the kitchen.

Zombos sprung to action. The magic bullet had hit its target dead center. For an aging dilettante of horror movies, he sure could throttle into high gear when Brooklyn Italian Ices were in licking distance. His favorite is Jelly Ring, by the way, and mine is Pistachio. We raided the walk-in freezer and devoured large quantities of deliciously flavored ice like zombies chewing on a cornered victim.

"Speaking of zombies," I began to say, verbalizing my thought.

"What's that?" asked Zombos, going for thirds.

"Why don't we watch Romero's Diary of the Dead. Zombies and Italian Ices go together well, you know.

He looked at me for a second; I was not sure if out of perplexity or sudden brain freeze. "Capital idea!" he said. We loaded up with a generous round of Italian Ice flavors before heading to the cinematorium.