Zombos' Closet of Horror

The Haunting In Connecticut (2009) Boo Who?

Since its inception in the field of spiritualism, the concept of ectoplasm has escaped to become a staple in popular culture and fictional supernatural lore. Notable examples include Noel Coward's 1941 play Blithe Spirit, and the 1984 film Ghostbusters, in which "ectoplasmic residue" secreted by ghosts is portrayed as viscous, cloudy and greenish-white, similar to nasal mucus, famously referred to in Bill Murray's lines "Your mucous", and "He slimed me!" (from Wikipedia).

Right before I drove to the theater last night, to watch a late showing of The Haunting in Connecticut, a lightning storm sparkled and boomed through Westbury, dropping pea-sized hail and fat raindrops by the bucketful. Perfectly horrid weather for, as it turned out, a not so perfect horror movie. While director Peter Cornwell and writers did manage to startle me twice, The Haunting in Connecticut has more in common with Tobe Hooper's energetic spookfest Poltergeist than the lingering, atmospheric scares in Lewis Allen's The Uninvited or Robert Wise's The Haunting--but not enough in common to make it as good.

The Snedeker family's travails with a reportedly true-life demonic haunting in Southington, Connecticut have been documented (I'll leave it up to you if you'd like to put quotes around documented or not) in an episode of A Haunting, which aired on the Discovery Channel, and in Ray Garton's book, In A Dark Place. Taking the cheerless funeral home ambiance and malevolent presence aspects of their paranormal experience, the movie embellishes it with necromancy, runic magic, angry earthbound spirits (earthbound spirits in horror movies always seem to be angry), and spiritualism. This backstory, involving seances run by the sinister Dr. Aickman and his reluctant medium, Jonah, would have made a more effective and terrifying movie entirely on its own.

The Victim (Phii khon pen, 2006)

ZC Rating 4 of 7: Very Good

"Maybe you can reenact the mystery?" said Lawn Gisland. He stretched his unusually long legs out in front of him and yawned. "Like Ting, 'cept less'n the melodrama a mite." He pulled at his cookie duster. "Say, Zoc, squeeze me 'nother one of those cappurino's, por favor."

"Sure pardner," I said, firing up the old cappuccino steam engine. The sound of pent-up steam escaping echoed through the cinematorium.

Zombos continued to look high and low for his eyeglasses, holding up our viewing of the Thai horror film, The Victim. We were half-way through it before Zombos needed to hit the toilet; three large mocha cappuccino's were a record for him. When he came back he realized he misplaced his second pair of eyes.

Lawn stood up, all six feet and three inches of him, and joined the search. Having starred in numerous Westerns on the big screen during the thirties and forties, he and Zombos went way back together. He hung up his spurs in the late fifties and retired to Florida to wrestle gators for the tourists. Getting bored with that, he had an itch and scratched it by touring as a circus cowboy, doing trick shooting and fancy riding. He was visiting the mansion while the Smith and Walloo Brothers three-in-one tent show set up in Long Island. For a man his age, he didn't show it. Zombos often joked that Lawn must have a decrepit looking portrait in his attic like Dorian Gray.

"Here. Wet your whistle while you search." I handed the cappuccino to him. He downed it in three gulps. Something crunched sharply under his right Black Jack Hornback Alligator boot heel as he handed me his empty mug. Zombos froze, his eyes widened.

"Found them," said Lawn. He stooped to pick up them up and handed the mangled pair back to Zombos.

After I hastily retrieved Zombos' second pair of eyeglasses from the library we continued our viewing of The Victim.

The Gravedancers (2006) Dancing on the Edge of the Grave

Step on a crack, break your back. Step under a ladder, fall with a clatter. Dance on a grave, get your ass kicked...

Zombos and I were out in the family cemetery, in the tepid air of a late summer night, prowling around for blurry apparitions to capture on film, and unintelligible but spooky noises to record on our digital voice recorders. He was so excited after watching the new episodes of Ghost Hunters on the Sci-Fi Channel, he went online and bought a bunch of spirit-busting gizmos from Ghost Village.

"Hey, I think I've got Uncle Clarence on the thermal imaging scope," he said with glee. He pointed to a pink blob in the lower left corner. It was bent over at an odd angle; Uncle Clarence was always bent over from the weight of his hunchback.

"That's your thumb," I finally said. He grunted his disappointment and moved his thumb out of the way of the lens.

"Hullo, what's that?" I pointed to a dark shape floating just above Cousin Shoemaker's tombstone. The Ghost-Mart EMF reader's numbers were jumping into the high digits.

We cautiously approached the globular shape that quietly hovered above the grave.

"Quick, ask some questions so we can capture its voice on the digital recorder," Zombos directed.

"Are you Cousin Titus Shoemaker? If so, where did you bury your fortune in the mansion? And how much is it worth? And is it true that Aunt Matilda hit you in the head forty-one times with that meat cleaver Chef Machiavelli still insists on keeping in the third drawer to the right of the triple sink just because you snored?"

"Oh, bugger!" Zombos said. He had gotten close enough to touch the floating shape. "It's not ectoplasm. It's a weather balloon."

"Damn." I turned off the digital recorder. "Well, perhaps we should just watch The Gravedancers instead?"

"Capital idea," someone said.

Zombos looked at me. I looked at him. We looked around the empty cemetery. We kept looking at it as we ran back to the mansion.

The Haunting (1963) Tap Dancing To Hell and a Pot o'Gold Part 4

ZC Rating 6 of 7: Classic

After searching and searching for Zombos, Iloz Zoc and Curly Joe the plumber find themselves lost in the great underground tunnels beneath the mansion. Pausing to rest, Curly Joe discovers an ominous message written on the tunnel wall...

"What's this?" Curly Joe asked.

"Find Zombos and Go Home," I read in the dim light of my flashlight. The large letters were written in script across the wall.

"Who the hell would want to write in pink chalk down here?" Curly Joe said.

"No, not chalk," I said, touching it with my fingertip and tasting it. "Like chalk, I'd say."

"I knew I should have listened to the other plumbers about this place. If I had, I wouldn't have wound up like a character in Zork." He sat on his haunches and put his head in his hands. "You realize you're going to get one hell of a bill, don't you?"

I ignored his comments. "You know, this writing reminds me of that stylishly effective ghost story directed by Robert Wise, The Haunting."

Curly Joe perked up. "Say, I remember that film; pretty scary, even though you never see any ghosts."

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.

Lady In White (1988) The Shudderites Attack Part 6

Part 5

Under cover of darkness, Iloz Zoc, Steve Brown and Glenor Glenda the maid make their way to the moat surrounding the ominous castle where Zombos is being held by the dastardly Shudderites.

"Now what?" whispered Steve Brown, motioning for us to crouch low in the foliage surrounding the moat. A sickening odor rose up from the murky water, stinging their nostrils.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"There's two people standing in front of the moat. One looks like a--"

"Oh, my god, is that a Werewolf?" gasped Glenor, putting her hand to her mouth in horror.

"Shh! They'll hear us if --" Steve Brown's cell phone started playing Grind With Me by Pretty Ricky.

The Werewolf and his companion looked our way. "Well, so much for lying low," said Steve Brown. He stood up as he answered the phone.

"I say, this is a bit awkward," I said, looking at the rather large Werewolf walking toward me. His companion followed. As they came closer, the full moon slid like a ghostly galleon from behind the sea of clouds in the sky. The illumination revealed the Werewolf's companion to be a --

"A giant chicken!" said Steven Brown.