Zombos' Closet of Horror

Splice (2009) Missing Some Genes

"Scientists push boundaries. At least important ones do." (Elsa)

ZC Rating 3 of 7: Good (but should have been better)

The Frankenstein brothers had it easier back in the day: just rob a few graves, swap a brain or two, dodge the villagers, and they were good to go. For Elsa (Sarah Polley) and Clive (Adrien Brody), two scientists splicing genetic material for the pharmaceutical company funding them it's harder: they need to quickly come up with a profitable benefit from their work for the company's board of directors while avoiding using human DNA in the process to help. There's all that messy ethical, moral, legal, and congressional-folk just itching to light those political-torches falderol if they give into temptation and cut that corner by doing so. But temptation is the bread and butter of horror, of course, and giving in to it is where Splice begins.

The movie cuts some corners also. It's not quite a horror movie, though we do have a metamorphic monster; it's not quite a character study, though there are glimpses into Elsa's troubled family life; and it's not quite a panoply for all those ethical, philosophical, and legal issues waiting to pounce when manipulations, creations, and terminations of human substance are involved; though fragments of this triplet codon are to be found here. This leaves Splice's horror and dramatic genes only partially joined, spread apart by inadequate dialog (thankfully devoid of too much scientific jargon) and a story that neither emphasizes its philosophical dilemmas or craftily avoids them, nor terrorizes us with their details.

Movie Review: The Burrowers (2008) Not Deep Enough

It came to this; a setting sun lingering at the warm edge of night, watched from three rocking chairs indecisively teetering back and forth on their compass tips, saddled by three bored and restless riders of the stiff slatted pines.

In between a dot and a dash rode Zombos, Lawn Gisland, and me, to nowhere in particular as we traded silences and hiccups on the terrace. The footfalls of summer could be heard bounding up the steps, bringing with them the sizzle of barbecues, giggly splashes from pools, and monotonous drone of air conditioners humming through hot, molasses-sticky, nights where forgotten candy bars melt in jean pockets, mosquitoes dance to the crackling of ice cubes in sweaty glasses of lemonade and iced tea and soda, and texting fingers Keystone Copp their slippery grasp on warm cell phones.

"I am not looking forward to estivating by the seashore or anywhere near a barbecue," said Zombos, absently swirling the iced tea around in his glass.

"Mind chewing on that a bit more for me?" asked Lawn Gisland, lazily swatting a fly off the pitiado floral rose on his right boot. He yawned larger than a barn door opens and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Former movie cowboy and now traveling circus rodeo star, he was never one for estivating in all his long ranging years.

"Pass the summer," explained Zombos. "Estivate means to pass the summer."

We stared off into the waters of Long Island Sound as it grew dark. Zimba brought us another round of iced tea. Lawn took the half-lemon, cut just for him, and squeezed it between his massive fingers. We often joked that if he wanted so much lemon in his iced tea he should be drinking lemonade.

"Oh, I almost forgot, this came today," said Zimba. She held up The Burrowers DVD.

I jumped up faster than Zombos. "Last one in is a really bad egg!" I said, snatching the DVD.

Zombos and Lawn quickly followed me as we hurried to watch this Western horror tale.

Lurking monsters spoil the tranquil Western Plains in J.T. Petty's The Burrowers; an almost refreshing mix of creature-feature, saddle-sores, and the American Old West. I say almost because, while Petty mines the bitter social climate between Indian and settler after the Trail of Tears and the demise of the bison--a once plentiful food source for both Indians and, more importantly, those monsters--he does not dig deep enough into his characters nor embellish their actions to make this the definitive terror on the range Wild West story.

Homesteaders are massacred during the night. A search party is quickly formed to go after the Indians who everyone assumes butchered the men and kidnapped the womenfolk. While you may be tempted to draw comparisons to John Ford's The Searchers, that would be a bad trail to follow. Ford composed an emotionally-charged journey that eventually forces one man to confront his prejudicial demons, and filmed it against sumptuous vistas of sky and land where the deer and the antelope play. While Petty uses his budget-lens quite well to show the desolation across vast distances and makes his assembled posse just as calloused, with similar prejudices, its riders and their intentions pale in comparison. No one worth a tinker's damn stands out from the tumbling tumbleweed to take the bull by the horns or, in this case, the ugly as a mud fence Burrowers by their withers in his video game deep direction.

The Ruins (2008) When the Vegetation Turns Non-Vegetarian

ZC Rating 4 of 7: Very Good

A better tagline for The Ruins would have been "What's Eating You?" That "Terror has Evolved" line is so predictable, so yesterday. I am not saying that The Ruins, directed by Carter Smith, is predictable or yesterday's terror, but it does contain some old, some new, and some very intense gore-toned frights; especially for the man sitting next to me in the theater who was so excited during one bloody, bone-crushing scene he had to stand up and shake it off. I could empathize. As for me, I just got cold sweats and tried to keep the squishing, tearing sounds from making me even more nauseous. I'll be the first to admit it: I'm a wimp when it comes to meaty scenes embellished with nasty sound effects.

Novelist Scott Smith adapts his story for the screen leaving it essentially the same, though he shuffles his characters a bit, placing more emphasis on the girls, Stacy and Amy, and less on the sentient, flesh-eating vines that mimic human voices and drip corrosive sap that burns like hell. And instead of Eric becoming infected with the hungry plants, as he does in the novel, onscreen it's Stacy (Laura Ramsey) who's driven to madness and self-mutilation. She looks better in underwear than Eric would have anyway (at least for me).

Cloverfield (2008)

Cloverfield: Death, Disaster, and Love in Our Age of Unreason
by John Cozzoli

In 1954's classic horror movie, Gojira, the atomic age of mass destruction spawns the monstrous reptile Godzilla, a prehistoric creature rising from the depths of the Pacific Ocean to wreak havoc on Tokyo. As city buildings crumble to dust and thousands of people die, a humbled military fights back in a futile attempt to stop the destruction. A renegade scientist is finally convinced to use his weapon of mass destruction to destroy Godzilla, but he takes his own life to make sure the weapon will never be used again.

Now comes Cloverfield, a new generation horror movie, more suited to our age of unreason, in which a monstrous creature of unknown origin comes from the depths of the Hudson River to destroy New York City. With no conclaves of nodding scientists struggling to understand why and no military strategy sessions to explore best options for defense, it's not clear where it comes from or why it's destroying everything in sight; but its sudden appearance leaves no time for thinking or planning or making sense of it all. As Manhattan crumbles into dust and people die, a desperate and  equally ineffective military fights against it, and the many smaller--but hungry--multi-legged beasties tagging along for the ride.

This isn't the first time New York City's been laid waste by a giant monster that comes out of the harbor. In 1953's The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, another prehistoric reptile, also awakened by nuclear radiation, stomps and chomps down on Coney Island until a radioactive isotope, shot from the high-point of the Cyclone roller-coaster into the creature's bazooka-induced neck wound, stops it cold; but not before a virulent germ, spread by the blood oozing from that neck wound, takes it's devastating toll on the population. The Manhattanites in Cloverfield don't fair much better, either.

Snakes On a Plane (2006)

ZC Rating 3 of 7: Good

"When I say snakes, you say plane," yelled a giddy fellow in the front of the theater.

"Snakes!"

"Plane!" everybody yelled back.

As we waited for the 11:59am showing of Snakes on a Plane, the audience was euphoric. Again and again, he yelled "Snakes!" and we - I mean they - yelled back "Plane!"

Another roar went up when the lights dimmed and the trailer for Black Snake Moan, which also stars Samuel L. Jackson, brought a rousing cheer. So what is it about Snakes on a Plane and the in-your-face mother-f**ker acting style of Samuel Jackson that has this audience so hyped?

House (1986) Tap Dancing To Hell and a Pot o'Gold Part 6

ZC Rating 4 of 7: Very Good

When we last left Curly Joe and Zoc, they conveniently paused long enough to discuss the Dutch horror film, Slaughter Night, then continued their search through the vast basement of the mansion to find Zombos and Chef Machiavelli.

"I tell you I smell popcorn," Curly Joe said.

I sniffed the air again. My stomach grumbled. "I say, I think you're right. And smothered in butter with lots of salt." My stomach grumbled louder.

Curly Joe started sniffing the wall. "Over here; I think it's coming from this crack in the brick."

As we leaned against the tunnel wall to get a better sniff, it pushed inward and around. We tumbled into a brightly lit room filled with ornate furniture and the smell of freshly popped popcorn. Zombos was sitting in the corner with his feet resting in a basin of water, and Chef Machiavelli was applying liberal amounts of salt to a big bowl of steaming popcorn as he tossed the kernels high into the air. Smoking a church warden, a little bearded fellow puffed away, watching us as we pulled ourselves off the ground.

"You!" said Curly Joe. "That's the little creep I was arguing with."

I restrained him before he wound up prone again. That little creep appeared to be a leprechaunis-mischievous, and prone to wicked—but funny—pranks.

"Oh, Sebastien's alright," Zombos said. "He was actually quite happy to get his tap dancing shoes back. They took off the minute they were freed to find him."

"My wife, god-bless her, hates my tap-tap-tapping, so she hid my pride and joys. I've spent years searching for them. They missed me, too," Sebastian said, polishing his beloved shoes. They clicked together in agreement.

I stared at our diminutive host. "Forgive me for asking, but—"

"I know, I know, Sebastien's not an Irish name, and I don't have an accent," he said. "I grew up in France. Long story. You've been watching too many Barry Fitzgerald movies, I take it."

Chef Machiavelli let us know the popcorn was ready.

"This is wonderful. I've not had this much company in a long time. My wife hates visitors. I only married her because she looks and sounds like Barbara Steele, my favorite horror movie actor," he sighed.

"So she's the one I heard calling to me," Curly Joe said.

"Yes, she's a bit of a flirt, but I still love her. Sorry I conked you one, but she gets me so jealous and angry when she's off and dallying around. But she's away to her mom's—nasty witch there, too—and I've got guests and popcorn and this new plasma TV hot to trot. "

"Do you get cable or satellite down here," I asked.

"Cable."

"Hey, you've got an extensive DVD collection here," Curly Joe said, looking over the titles. "I haven't seen this one in ages." He pulled out House.

"Ah, you've found my pot of gold. Yes, I can't get enough DVDs. Let's watch it," Sebastien said.

In Steve Miner's wickedly quirky House, William Katt (Greatest American Hero) plays Roger Cobb, a Valium pill-popping, flashback-plagued Vietnam veteran and popular author who's lost his son and is separated from his wife (Kay Lenz). He's also suffering from writer's block as he tries to finish his book, One Man's Story: A Personal Account of the Vietnam War. With his agent on his back, and unresolved conflicts simmering in his subconscious, he's guilt-ridden and close to a nervous breakdown. What happened in Vietnam that's causing the flashbacks and making it difficult for him to write his book, or get on with his life?

Adding to his unstable state of mind, his eccentric Aunt goes and hangs herself, forcing him to return to the titular house where his son vanished—under bizarre circumstances—from the center of the swimming pool years before.

Unlike the current trend for darker lighting and queasy, ichor-drenched interiors for malevolent houses and creepy apartments, Mac Ahlberg, who also did the cinematography for Re-animator and From Beyond, takes a more natural approach and bathes the oddball house in warm colors and tones, giving it a deceptively cheery atmosphere.

Nice and cheery until the clock strikes midnight, that is.

Something not quite right about the house is hinted at in the opening when the grocery delivery kid enters, hears odd noises coming from upstairs, and goes to investigate.

As the camera follows him through the house, we see the quaint furnishings and old-fashioned rooms bathed in sunlight. Wait a minute; those Night Gallery-esque paintings on the walls, painted by Cobb's Aunt, don't quite match the more staid decor. His Aunt, who could easily double as Grand Mama from the Addams Family, painted bizarre landscapes and creatures that spooked the neighbors.

With her departure comes Cobb's arrival to the place he last saw his son. Of course, the police never bought Cobb's bizarre explanation of how his son disappeared. Should we? Is Cobb suffering from delusions, or is there something about the house that isn't normal. If you’ve read William Hope Hodgson's House on the Borderland, you already know the answer.

The first night he's in the house, his Aunt pays him a visit to warn him. It seems the house likes to play tricks on people. Cobb soon realizes it's not merely haunted, it's possessed; and it stands on the crossroads to the mundane and supernatural worlds.

The following morning he meets his pesky but good-intentioned neighbor, Harold, who recognizes the famous author now living next door. George Wendt (from TV's Cheers) is perfect in the role as the bumbling neighbor who begins to suspect that Cobb is losing his grip on reality.

As Cobb continues to write his book, his flashbacks fill in the backstory of his time in Vietnam. He's trying to work through a particularly traumatizing event, but faces resistance from his own mind and the bizarre events that begin to plague him in the house; like the War Demon that pops out of the closet at the stroke of midnight.  The fused bodies of napalmed victims that make up the body of the War Demon attack him as he scrambles to escape. He does, and when we see him next, he's dressed in army fatigues and ready with lights and cameras to film the creature. But just as midnight strikes, Harold shows up with some brewskies to shoot the breeze. When Cobb asks Harold if he believes in ghosts, Harold swipes his phone book. Placing a quick call to Cobb's wife, he implores her to speak to Cobb before he hurts himself.

More grotesque beasties start popping-up to bedevil Cobb, along with some sharp lawn and garden tools with a mind of their own that start flying through the air in his direction. The foam and polyurethane creatures created by James Cummins are similar to his designs in 1991's The Boneyard. While they lacked a sense of real terror in that film, their humorous edge is an advantage here, creating an off-beat fun to the dangerous weirdness Cobb is experiencing.

One surreal and humorous encounter has Cobb trying to bury the headless, but still very animated purple, Morlock-looking monstrosity in his backyard, only to be interrupted by his comely neighbor taking an uninvited dip in his swimming pool. She ingratiates herself while he quietly steps on the monster's dismembered hand before it can grab her bare ankle. He finally gets rid of her and hacks up the monster, burying the pieces to the tune of Linda Ronstadt's You're No Good. 

His neighbor shows up again later that night, with her son in tow. She wants him to babysit, but he declines the offer until he discovers, to his horror, that the pesky purple monster’s hand is back and holding fast to the boy’s shirt. Scrambling to remove it while she blithely hurries off to her date, he manages to flush it down the toilet. But he's soon off on another adventure when two troll-like creatures snatch the boy up the chimney.

Trying to get a handle on all the creepy happenings, Cobb coerces Harold into joining him in a midnight romp with the War Demon in the closet. Harold, naturally, isn't much help, and Cobb gets sucked into the closet and back in time to when he was in Vietnam. It’s here we learn the reason for Cobb's flashbacks as he confronts Big Ben, played by six foot, nine-inch Richard Moll (TV's Night Court).

But what does Cobb's missing son have to do with all this? It takes a journey through the medicine cabinet mirror to find out. In a Lovecraftian-esque encounter with a stop-motion winged nightmare and other nasties, Cobb must fight for the answers, and to save himself from guilt and an EC Comics-looking Big Ben who's out for blood.

Will Cobb find his son and stop the nightmare? Or will Big Ben finally get the payback he's been looking for all these years? Don't let the sequels fool you; they didn't continue the storyline started in House.

Of course, that did not stop them from making House II, and III, and IV, though they really should have stopped after II.

The special edition DVD from Anchor Bay Entertainment has an informative commentary track with Katt, Miner,  and the authors. Though they joke off topic a bit too much, they do manage to discuss some interesting information about the film, including the design of the two-story interior set, done at Desilu Studios. Miner felt it would be easier and cheaper to film that way. In the Making of House featurette, the twelve minutes is well-spent with the actors and special effects team. There's also a stills gallery and trailer.

House is one of those 1980's B-Movies that remains a quirky, weird excursion into horror-comedy. It has top-notch actors, fast-pacing, and classic stop-motion and polyurethane monsters adding to it's sense of off-beat, dry-humored terror.