From Zombos' Closet

Zombos' Closet...a vast trove of endearingly cheap thrills, including movie and book reviews, and scans of his collections of cinema pressbooks, goofy paper-cutout Halloween decorations, and his amazing collection of Mexican lobby cards from B-grade films. If you have time to descend into a serious rabbit-hole of marvelous trash-culture nostalgia, visit that site just as soon as you possibly can. (DangerousMinds.net)

about this blog From Zombos' Closet...

My Gun is Quick (1957) Pressbook

I bet his gun is short too. My favorite Hammer movie (no, not THAT Hammer) is Kiss Me Deadly. I guess most men would love to have million dollar dames, a gun, and an attitude to make the other two work well together, but that age of movie mystique, with girls swooning over a macho macho man who hits as hard as he can take it, doesn't quite work with today's audiences unless the name is Bond, James Bond. The "Spillane Dames" are no longer a natural for excitement, and I can't say that's a sorry-to-see-that-go thing. As a period piece, it's engagingly "huh, they got away with that?"; as a plot enticement for today's audiences, it no longer has any worth or should have. But I still like to watch Mike Hammer bust it up with his fists and red hot lips.

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The Gay Ranchero (1948) Pressbook

I'm not sure how gay the ranchero can be when crooks try to take over the local airport, but I'll let you determine that when you see the movie. What I like about cowboy movies in the 1930s and 40s is how they meshed home on the range with planes, trains, and automobiles on the tarmac. Most of us forget the transitional time between the wild wild west and the mild mild urban and suburban sprawl that moved America past the plains and into the asphalt age. If you haven't caught the movie serials, The Phantom Empire and Undersea Kingdom, they take the technological swing to meld the more mechanized cowboy with an ancient civilization that itself was mechanized with cheeky robots and death rays. And a cool wheeled-ride that purrs like a dinosaur.

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Abbott and Costello Jack and the Beanstalk (1952) Pressbook

One of the best parts about my growing up was watching Abbott and Costello movies every Sunday on WPIX Channel 11 in New York City. That was back in the 1970s. I miss the 70s. It was a wonderful time for pop culture fans, with conventions and the rediscovery of movie serials, meeting with comic greats, and participating in a growing fandom. You could say it was our low-tech methods for streaming and social media. Interesting items in this pressbook include the tie-ins to poultry and the glamazon hunt. While I didn't realize it at the time, women in many movies back then seemed to only be there for eye-candy. Pressbooks would hype their fashions, their makeup, and their bodies, but not much else regarding their talent or character development in the story (though with exceptions, of course). Film noirs deviated somewhat from that mold when it came to storyline characters, but just about everything else was guy-focused with a helping of woman in distress, woman in need (of a man, usually), woman clinging on a guy's arm, woman fainting, tripping, screaming, or arguing, woman watching guy(s) get beat up, woman being manhandled, woman doing the manhandling, and bunch of woman doing any of the previous stuff. Fee fie fo fun, indeed.

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Rovin' Tumbleweeds (1939) Pressbook

You can't get more American than singing cowboy Gene Autry in a Republic picture. Add Smiley Burnette for comic relief and your Saturday matinee is complete. Westerns and horror movies have been a staple popcorn machine's worth of box office tickets for many studios, helping to pay the bills that made some of those A-listers possible, even though they may not have been so capital A with audiences.

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Rove on over to the pressbooks in Zombos' Closet, pardner.

 

Rock, Paper and Scissors (2019) All in the Family

Zombos Says: Good (Though it unfolds like a slow pull on a rubber band that's suddenly let go).

Macarena Garcia Leniz and Martin Blousson's Rock, Paper and Scissors is a psychological horror movie. It unfolds like a long group session with a distracted therapist where little backstory tidbits play out in the current moments as the patients act up for attention, with both past and present thoughts mixed together as if they were one and the same. The pacing can be slow for Americans who are used to fast food cinema, but the performances razor-line on a mounting sense of odd behaviors, and the slow pull on a rubber band storyline builds the tension and guesswork as to who is being truthful and who isn't, then suddenly snaps when let go toward the end. Warning! One scene made me close my eyes. It happens with little forewarning. You may need to close your eyes, too. It brings new meaning to the saying "if the shoe fits."

In this story there are three patients: Jesus ( Pablo Sigal), Maria Jose (Valeria Giorcelli),  and Magdalena (Agustina Cervino), and their group session begins when Magdalena pays a visit after a long absence.  Unfortunately for Magdalena, she doesn't fully know what she's in for. Their father has died and she has come to put the estate in order and sell off shared assets like the house that Jesus and Maria have isolated themselves in. Of course, Magdalena's unexpected arrival is not really welcomed, but they smile and invite her in. The relationship between the three becomes more ominous and more convoluted the longer she stays: and worsens when she can't leave.

I saw the word "masterful" used in some of this movie's reviews I've glanced over. That's one word that really needs to be stricken from the lexicon of critics and reviewers. It has little meaning or weight anymore due to pandering misuse. The direction here is not masterful, it is carefully measured. So much so that you don't realize the subtle shifts going back and forth in the relationships between Magdalena and Jesus, Magdalena and Maria, and Jesus and Maria. Perhaps the oddest relationship is between Jesus and Maria, but it is disrupted as Magdalena struggles to find a way out of her suddenly dire situation as Jesus is helpful at first, but begins to fixate on his home movie. A weird movie that has Maria dressing up as Dorothy Gale and treating a little furry animal as Toto.

With the three of them wrapped tightly into this small world of rooms and eccentricities, the story relies heavily on their interactions, us inferring their intentions, and the sudden twists taking place as each struggles to remain the same or to escape. Oddball snippets of Jesus' movie  appear as the story develops along troubling moments. Maria is endlessly watching The Wizard of Oz, imagining herself to be Dorothy Gale, and even dressing up as that little girl from Kansas, waiting to be whisked away to Oz. Jesus fixates on making his version of the movie, but Magdalena's arrival and subsequent stay has him putting her into the movie too, much to Maria's annoyance. But is she annoyed? Is Jesus really the saner person in the house? Or perhaps a better question is who is the craziest?

A turn for the worse happens when Dorothy's ruby slippers are too small for Magdalena to wear as she is pushed into the role. I say Dorothy's slippers because the meaning behind them revolves around being able to leave the closed-off world of Jesus and Maria. A turn for the worse happens when Jesus pulls out a rifle, seemingly annoyed that his movie cannot be completed as he wants it to be when Maria rethinks her relationship with him and his movie and where her home really lies. 

For the story we see there is little backstory given, though it is implied from the long absence of Magdalena, the stifling home that Jesus and Maria have sequestered themselves in, and the death of their father. They may like to play games, but their preference had been for only two players. Having a third to contend with changes the rules of the game, making who wins a matter of life or death.

The Final Ride (2019) A Cheap Fare With Some Tongue in Cheek Scare

Zombos Says: Fair+ (assorted cardboard acting and sub-basement budget levels (though the splatter effects are a hoot) level all to home movie status, but this anthology horror has an artful 1970s and 80s patina and tongue in cheek sensibility that cries out for love: a festival-fan winner for sure).

Let me state up front that the sizzling poster has nothing to do with the movie. It's a great poster, don't take me wrong, but my guess is they spent more money on it than the movie. But if you ride along with this 79 minutes worth of three stories that kick off with a hop in the car, you may find some artful recapturing of the 1970s and 1980s grit and cheapness which is nirvana for true believers. Of course, you'd have to be older, like me, to fully appreciate the camera work and tongue in cheek style that harkens back to that rush you got when perusing the video store shelves--not Blockbuster, I mean the mom and pop stores with the beaded curtained off areas--but that's the fun of festival-tour movies: they always mix it up for the old, the young, and the true savant of genre terrors.

After a montage of questionable fares, irritating our driver Jean (Keegan Chambers), the first nightmare kicks off with a couple hopping into the backseat as they decide on their new home; which, of course, has a sordid history that a neighbor relates, eventually, (and barely, as his acting effort was just as sordid) after strange things and behaviors are seen. What's really strange is how Peter (Matthew Chisholm) still has a video tape player so he and his wife, Monica (Annette Wozniak) can watch the box of VHS tapes found in the new house's basement. The tapes show Jimmy, a fitness masochist (best performance award to Ry Barret, for sure), pumping and sweating with Hulk Hogan gusto. Here's where the vibe capturing both 1970s street-level slackness and 1980s superficial slickness shines through in both camera work and overreaching tongue outside of cheek. That vibe turns video nasty when Jimmy works himself out of the tapes and into prime time, featuring bargain-basement blood splat that is so bad it's completely lovable in effect and in keeping with the 70 and 80s tone and mood.

The pace (and acting chops) picks up some speed as the second couple joins Jean, two guys boozing it up (J. Robert Bellamy and Brent Baird), daring each other to get tats (is daring still a thing?), choose the wrong tattoo parlor. Their friendship heads to a blowout as one gets the tatting of his life. One well-placed hilarious moment comes when the regretful tat man meets his girlfriend's parents. Yes, we've seen this black inked nightmare scenario before--actually, a lot--but our duo and their predicament has enough emotional and comic appeal propping it up--except for the wax figure lacklustre ending. Whoever did the set dressing for that one must have been sick that day.

The last outing for Jean comes with a worrisome fare hopping into the backseat but making moves to the front seat, and Jean finds out what's in her trunk the hard way. The usual switcheroo occurs, then the guns come out to determine who the real badass is. The novelty here is who does the shooting. If you are thinking of driving for Uber or Lyft, best not to see this movie or just skip the last story. 

While not as completely off the wall watchable as The Video Dead or Spookies, The Final Ride keeps the pace moving just enough, and the storylines watchable, just enough, to make it a fun ride. Just keep in mind that Nicholas Cage is not in this one, so don't be looking for him (even if the poster shows Ghost Rider driving a car instead of his motorcycle).

 

Too Late (2021) When Comedians Die Off Stage

Zombos Says: Good (slow art house pace and limited budget keeps the camera tight, but dialog is enjoyably crisp, which helps keep the story creepy and droll).

There is a slow, droll, one-joke told too many times standup delivery going on with Too Late, but like that budding comedian you suddenly discover, it grows on you. You would think comedian Steven Wright directed this one, given it is so deadpanned-droll, but D.W. Thomas did, and he keeps the camera budget tight, the main players sedate but copacetic, and the colors and lighting subdued. The most energetic spot can be found in the opening credits, done with a Beetlejuice-styled motion and mood-setting music by Mikel Hurwitz. Tom Becker, writer, takes the slice of her life (Violet's) approach with  dialog and situations thick in irony, weirdness, and a sardonic twist on the saying "dying is easy, comedy is hard" as some comedians find dying off stage quite easy. 

Assisting in their demise is Violet (Alyssa Limperis), who aids the digestion of one Bob Devore (Ron Lynch), a long in the tooth comedian who really is older than he looks. Apparently Violet, yearning for her big break, assists Bob with winnowing the competition by the light of the full moon.

Not much is explained about Bob's eating habits or his pedigree, but the closing credits hint at a backstory, so do not miss them. I wonder if the choice of Bob's last name was a take on devour? Which he does, never seeming to bite off more than he can chew, to Violet's growing exasperation. When he goes after a comedian she really likes, Jimmy, the fur flies. 

Jimmy (Will Weldon), newbie in comedy and love, also ruffles her fur a bit too as Bob sets his sights on him (or his diet, take your pick). When stardom beckons, their relationship hits the skids and Violet must decide whether to feed Bob's appetite or Jimmy's ego or her own long-overdue freedom from late night dinners by moonlight. While she makes up her mind, Bob decides to play rough after she and her friend, Belinda (Jenny Zigrino), try to play rougher by changing his sleeping arrangements. 

Fredo (Fred Armisen) provides some comic relief as he tussles with Bob's endless demands for lighting gels and a few comics strain at their routines in brief--thankfully--moments. Will Fredo ever find the right lighting gel for Bob? Will Violet end up as the main course after serving so many? Will Bob need to reach for the Pepto-Bism0l? It's never too late to find out.

Gaia (2021) This Ecological Horror Has Deep Roots

Zombos Says: Good. Slow pacing and an artful but ponderously delivered ecological-warning weigh it down.

Gaia's body and ecological horror elements can be found in earlier movies such as Matango and The Ruins. At this point in time, given the intensifying global climate, the bitter taste of pandemic disruption, the continuing extinction of many species, the endless pollution of our oceans, and how little we have done to address it or even freak out about it, I am not sure that more two-fisted messaging about an ecological apocalypse is anywhere near a priority for most movie audiences. On a personal note, perhaps a little less we-know-we're-in-deep-shit movies and a lot more of what-do-we-do-about-it movies would be encouraging, at least for this reviewer. 

We tend to close the barn door after the horses have fled and yell fire after the barn has burned down. Repeatedly. Given that, this movie should be scary first and then hit us hard with its didactic ecological doomsday messaging through that horror. Jacob Bouwer (director) and Tertius Kapp (writer) prefer it the other way. Their direction makes Gaia a more polished and visually-confirming art house take on a truly terrible environmental and body horror that overwhelms its four characters, but underwhelms our emotions as we watch it unfold. In other words, Gaia aims for the head, not the palpitating heart.

Perhaps the direction is too documentarian and the characters too pensive? Brooding is not what is needed here, yet brooding we get. Even after a blind creature crashes into the cabin, it feels more like a nuisance than an actual threat. Gabi, who should be freaked out by the sudden appearance and anxious to get out of there, instead becomes more determined to stay. What gives?

What should be gut-wrenching moments to watch are delivered as artfully poetic annihilations instead. And, of course, there is the mutated, personal religion (every pre and post apocalyptic movie needs one, of course) to complicate things and that's where the horror festers in this story. It affects each character, especially the patriarch with the cliff-fall from sanity, but Gaia weighs down his and its manifesto with overly long excursions into dreamscapes and not enough of the truly frightening tree that mothers too well (depicted with excellent imagery and mood). The malevolent denizens of this strange forest, clearly having stayed too long in the woods, create little tension or threat--especially when given the overused clicks and ticks that many apocalyptic monsters seem to suffer from in these movies--and everyone goes about their day without much apprehension. Except for Winston. He's the lone black guy, so you know how he will wind up.  The characters worry about the forest creatures as much as one would for an overstayed houseguest.

Two park rangers, making their rounds, step into the singular lives and forest of two isolated hunters, primitively living  off the land. An errant drone sends one of the rangers, Gabi (Monique Rockman)--against the warnings of the other, Winston (Anthony Oseyemi)--to find it. He eventually chases after her when she fails to make it back to the river at the appointed time. She finds the drone and Barend (Carel Nel), and his son Stefan (Alex van Dyk). Both men are survivalists, but Stefan grew up in the forest while his father chose to live there. What happened to his mother is the root to what happens with each of them, and the underpinning of the connection between Barend and the land, and the ecological horror growing there. Instead of the science that Barend once followed, he now exists in a quasi-religious and crazy-state abandonment, making his altar at the strange tree bearing even stranger fruit.

Gabi upsets the balance of this isolation and religious manifesto folie a deux, and weakens the father and son relationship to force the story's path to the usual downbeat conclusion. One can question the choices she makes as her reluctant helpers try to get her out of the forest so they can return to their normal survivalist routine, but she tries to understand them and what is happening to and around her. Every action, every conflict, is photographed with an overarching gloom that permeates the forest, the simple cabin, and Gabi's dreams. Barend, with his frail body and intense stare, is gloom and doom personified, even revels in it as he writes his manifesto by candle light. His son is no longer so sure of his father's intentions or authority, now that Gabi has entered their solitary existence to awaken sexual feelings that were unknown to him before her arrival.

Visually, Gaia is a treat. Story-wise, it needs more bite for greater emotional impact. If you are looking for a cerebral ecological horror movie, it is for you.

Untitled Horror Movie (2021) An Enjoyable (and Remote) Horror Romp

Zombos Says: Good+. A fun, light, horror romp that shines mostly because of the actors involved.

Watching the volley-balling egos, the gee whiz let's put on a show attitude, and the slow intrusion of an evil spirit that knows a lot about communicating remotely (in this case supernaturally, no Zoom needed), makes Untitled Horror Movie an enjoyable horror-lite watch.  

Vanity Fair did an article on the making of this movie during its covid quarantine production last year. With everyone in lockdown, the actors went old school, learning how to do their makeup, hairdressing, gaff taping, lighting, camera work; in essence, putting on a one person show that could be edited  into an ensemble later. Zoom handled the conference calls, directions, and how-to videos provided the spot training.

The undertaking reminded me of one of those Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland backyard musical movies where the kids pitch in and put on a show. No one sings or dances in this digital age version though, and Mickey and Judy didn't have to deal with demonic possession (though, looking back, that would have been cool), or do their own makeup and lighting. Having experienced the horrors of lighting, sunlight and drapery, and webcam positioning for too many Zoom meetings, I can tell you it is a miracle this movie got made at all.

Untitled Horror Movie has a slick slacks gloss to it, with a humorous crease running its entire length. It could have used more horror-tense moments, but inside jokes and the Hollywood tinsel digs and jibbing from person to person is mesmerizing. Given that you need to watch six talking heads most of the time, those heads better be connected to some lively and watchable characters: no problems there; the facial expressions, the verbal jousting, and the clean editing makes for a lively display of talent and humorous dialog with the building malevolence. 

It starts with six actors (Claire Holt, Katherine McNamara, Darren Barnet, Emmy Raver-Lampman, Luke Baines, Timothy Granaderos) in search of a project after they fear their television series is cancelled. Using a found footage approach, video chatting, and in one instance a paired meeting (still done with quarantine in mind), they banter with stereotypical personalities, that may not be so exaggerated, as one would think. Lesly Kahn provides the funniest moments or should I say her dog does? Tough call there as she coaches one intrepid actor into his character for the horror movie the group decides they should make. Unfortunately, Chrissy (Katherine McNamara) is into pendulum crystals to help her make decisions. She said she got it at the Rose Bowl where nothing bad happens. Someone points out it's like a little Ouija board of badness, but a banishment curse is easily found on the Internet and their off and running--into trouble. 

The curse, of course, kicks in and one by one they're zoombombed by the supernatural. While more visual terror would have been a plus, the vivid characters keep it mesmerizingly funny, aided by the crisp editing. One would wish all Zoom meetings were this enjoyable.

Note: As always, I receive screener links, book copies, and other stuff for review. But I still review 'em as I see 'em. So there.

Return of Chandu Movie Herald

Here's the promotional herald for Return of Chandu starring Bela Lugosi (he played the villain in the first movie). The blank space on the back was for the theater to print their advertising and location information. It is approximately letter-sized when unfolded. Mexican Lobby Card for Chandu.

Publicity Pressbook for Return of Chandu.

 

 

Digging to Death (2021) Not Quite Enough Digging or Is It?

Zombos Says: Good-. Not quite good enough, but worth your attention if you like art house style with your horror or just something different. Add a good wine--a sweet one would be best--and you're aces.

The IMDb rating is 4.8 and Rotten Tomatoes is not on the meter yet due to insufficient reviews for Digging to Death. That is a shame. While the acting is a tad as slow as the pacing, this art house styled entry in psychological horror that wraps itself around the Jungian Shadow of the poor programmer, David (Ford Austin), who finds three million bucks in his back yard is rather engrossing. Sure, you'll watch it thinking it will neatly wrap up the plastic bags (body bags that is) eventually, but it doesn't. And sure, you'll think back and forth on whether he did or he didn't, it was or it wasn't, and who the hell puts in their own septic tank anyway?

The puzzle starts with what's found in the basement. Yes, I know, there's the corpse and the money, but the real puzzle begins in the basement, when he pulls the keys off of the corpse to open the small door in his closet that leads to the basement steps. How did they get there? Who put them there, the corpse guy? It's all sort of like a cart before the horse problem or maybe more like a Japanese-styled horror element of recurring terror like The Grudge. Only you never will quite know, which can be a bummer; but we do know the problem is not just the plastic bag filled with lots of hundred dollar bills. 

More questions arise: was the production budget so lean that they couldn't actually bury the damned box that held the money and the corpse? The corpse, by the way, is makeup-fresh straight out of Carnival of Souls. Wonderful job there and perfect for the tone of this movie. I mean, who sinks a huge box like that, with lots of money and a fairly fresh corpse, so close to the surface? 

Either way, David, who works for Mind Crash, the software game he's managing the programming on, keeps returning to the box and the money and the corpse. It's when he takes a few hundred dollar bills that things start to really sink a lot lower than that box. The corpse apparently wants to break that old adage of not being able to take it with you. David's daughter, Jessica (Rachel Alig), is worried about him after his divorce, and David is more worried about paying for his new home, helping her with her medical bills, and moving up in his long-held job. And he needs to put in the septic tank and finish his software project sooner than later. When that money shows up he was already all over the place mentally. The money just moves him more into all over and further from a mentally safe place. 

Let's be clear about one thing up front. This is not a horror-comedy. There are some black comedy bits tossed in, some social commentary about working your ass off for a job that only cares about what you did for them in the last hour, and how really annoying it is when you just want to spend a lot of hot hundred dollar bills and even the bank says to open a trust fund or the feds will wonder where all the cash came from. Oh, and that corpse (Tom Fitzpatrick) that keeps showing up, who turns out to be more lively than David, makes digging a septic tank a cakewalk. 

Being a geek, David fights back with tech. But is he fighting an ambulatory corpse wanting its money back or is he fighting himself? Or both? Depending on how you look at it, the ending scene either puts this movie firmly into The Grudge or the shadow territory. Either Michael P. Blevins, the writer and director doesn't write good screenplays, didn't have enough money to show us everything, or he is showing us just enough to keep it vague or abundantly clear (unless you're a horror buff overthinking everything), I can't say with certainty. 

But I do like horror movies that make me think this much about their stories. I hope you find it as engagingly puzzling as I do.

Witch for Hire by Ted Naifeh Amulet Books, due August 2021

Zombos Says: good story and artwork. 

Writer and artist Ted Naifeh fashions a cursed creature in the form of a Momo (a nasty meme born from Midori Hayashi's enormous-eyes creature image), which leads to mischief for Faye Faulkner and her new and old friends. Faye is a young witch, more or less, and insists on wearing a conical crown and wide-brimmed hat that tethers her, along with a defiant attitude, to the loser's table in the school cafeteria. Cody reluctantly finds her way to that table after her sister rebuff's her. 

Aside from Faye, who holds the warmest seat at that table, there's Julio the dramatic, Jiyoung looking forward to a more accessible learning environment, and Raffi who will eventually own a mansion and a yacht. Even though Cody thinks Faye needs to lose the witch hat to become more acceptable, Cody eventually realizes she has her own issues to deal with; like her mom who was in a bad auto accident; her dad, who's very into himself and his shady business; and her sister, Bryce, who hides a secret better than her nasty disposition.

In flashbacks we learn why Faye acts the way she does. Cody thinks she should help others because of her magical gifts, but Faye disagrees with good reason. A threat to their safety, and that of their friends, moves the disagreement to more perilous footing, and Faye, like many of us have to do at some point in their lives, needs to make a life-changing--or maybe it's a life-affirming--decision. If she can live that long.

Shy_shelbi, an influencer with 2.3 million followers and a personality straight out of the me-me-me 1970s and vanities of the 1980s, just adores bringing all those teen secrets and issues to everyone's tables for a terminal solution. She practically feeds off the emotional turmoil. Before Faye can help anyone she needs to help herself, and Cody provides the catalyst for her to do so. Shy-shelbi has other ideas, though. As Faye struggles with her past and future, Shy-shelbi, who really isn't that shy, keeps Faye's present a stiff challenge.

Naifeh's YA graphic novel takes a page from Midori's creepy image of the Momo, and the Momo's Internet meme-life (almost like another Slenderman) to make the cursed creature, that exists between real and the realm of ideas, a looming threat to everyone. But especially Faye, because she knows what's happening. His storyline then takes more pages from the sturm and drang that anyone who has attended school has felt at one time or another, more so now with social media breathing heaven and hell down everyone's necks, whether you sat at the losers' table or not. Through it all, the bond between Cody and Faye strengthens, gets frayed, and strengthens some more. 

Faye must also come to terms with her past, her present, and her future to keep her and that friendship going. One thing: does anyone say Holy Moly! these days? You would think a chemistry teacher could come up with something stronger, especially after his classroom demonstration pops a bit too much. Maybe only in YA graphic novels, then? I could think of more graphic words if shy_shelbi showed up at my table, that's for sure.

Note: As always, I receive screener links, book copies, and other stuff for review. But I still review 'em as I see 'em. 

Army of the Dead (2021) Not Taking Care of Business

Zombos Says: watchable, but not memorable. 

"Look, I'm just saying that every time Snyder drops a load it's like fanboy nirvana minus substance to some. To others, his ass must be red from all the ass-kissing he gets when he spends millions of dollars and stretches time beyond normal physics in a way Einstein would have been proud." 

I finished and looked at Paul Holstenwall (see Neon Maniacs). He looked back at me. His eyes narrowed, his mouth was puckering. Any minute he'd have his riposte to my criticism of Army of the Dead, yet another zackstravagance from Zack Snyder, the director many of us either love or hate or dream about, but fanboys simply swoon over with glee. Paul was consummately a fanboy.

"But there's a zombie tiger!" Paul grasped. Shiny stuff tends to distract him.

"So what? He doesn't do anything with it! It's like he told the CGI guys we need some shiny stuff. I know, let's have a zombie tiger!" I barely contained myself. "Oh, and obviously he took notes from Will Smiths's I am Legend, revamped it a little and filled in the dead time with zombie-like mutants that go all tribal primitive and grunt a lot." The only fun aspect of this is he plopped them down in Las Vegas. Oh, wait a minute, didn't Resident Evil: Extinction kick some sand around in Las Vegas too with primitive zombie-mutants? Granted their budget was a wee bit smaller so more sand than glitz, but hell, Paul, the movie's a rehash of stuff we've seen before, and so so, again and again, my eyes watered."

I sipped my Jack and Coke and leaned back. Paul took a long draw from his Screwdriver--his third one by the way--and leaned forward. Chef Machiavelli entered the room pushing  a dessert cart filled with apple pie and rich, dark chocolate scones. He took one look at the situation and wheeled it between the two of us and hastily left. One of the perks of Zombos' mansion was an excellent chef,  followed by another perk of having the best stock of bottled inebriation on Long Island. If Paul kept up his enthusiasm for this, yet another, Snyder-snickle (the pickle kind, that is), round two of our discussion would need a stronger malt whiskey to see me through. 

"Wasn't there anything you liked about the movie?" asked Paul, grabbing a scone in one hand while drinking his screwdriver in the other. He was finally coming to his senses. Or maybe leaving them, which would be a good thing, too, in his case. 

"Well, let's see. Yes. First, the cheeky opening credits montage led us into thinking he was going for a Zombieland tongue in cheek approach...but then the movie changed to a more serious tone, so no, that's not it." I took a piece of apple pie while I stalled. This was going to be harder than I thought. 

"Okay, the characters were well chosen with solid actors to back them up (Dave Bautista, Tig Notaro, Ella Purnell, Theo Rossi, and the bunch of them). No one does snark the way Tig does. And for hulking presence, sort of like a Hostel Yogi Bear, there's Bautista's physical gravitas. You don't know when to duck where he's concerned and that's off-setting and tension-building. Of course, having great talent to work with and then doing nothing much with them but a graphic novel's worth of window-dressing and cliché's, that's a blown opportunity. Either the movie needed more solid backstory in a shorter amount of time or Netflix should have gone with a limited series to allow for less montage, more backstory, more meaty events to take place in the fight for survival. Sure, the visual look and feel of the movie is all casino gloss, but when you roll the story dice, it's just shamblers, faster shamblers, and higher functioning mutants pissing their turf boundaries. Even Garret Dillahunt's Martin is the usual inside man you know will do wrong. Those sunglasses are a dead giveaway he's going to be trouble."

Zombos popped his head into the library and saw Paul was still with us. 

"Come on in," I said. Yes, I was desperate. Zombos always managed to disappear when Paul visited the mansion. Zombos made a funny sawing motion with his hand across his throat and quickly poofed into thin air again before Paul turned his head.

"You just don't like Snyder's knack for giving an audience what they want to see," said Paul. He was definitely over the limit on screwdrivers and scones. I pushed the dessert cart out of his reach with my foot. 

"That's quite true. I fully agree with you. If you're going to put zombies in Las Vegas, you better come up with a better kickstart than the it's so old it's got saggy balls, dog-eared, military super-soldier experiment gone horribly wrong or infected soldier gone horribly wrong. And oops! We let it loose because we needed to, to have a story, so its maximum security container is really a tin can easily dented. One wonders how they got Zeus (Richard Cetrone) into that tin can to begin with? He's smart enough to wear a bullet-deflecting face mask? You'd hope he'd be more of a problem for them as they work on getting into the casino, cracking that incredibly complex safe, and getting out with millions of dollars that must be awfully heavy to carry."

I reached for a scone.

"And another thing, why is it always so easy to crack a super-safe by some person on the team? I mean, this should have been more mission impossible than let's mind our turf and Zeus will mind his and we'll get in and out like aces. One more thing: Snyder wouldn't know how to cheer things up if his life depended on it. Everything is doom and gloom and his characters may start out in different ways, but they always end up with the short end of the stick. Would it kill him to make a happier movie at least once?"

I sipped my drink and realized Paul was out cold on the couch. Probably dreaming about the next Snyder movie, he had a smile on his face. If only the rest of us could be so lucky. Here's something really scary: what if he comes out with a director's cut of Army of the Dead that's four hours long.  Once he's infected Netflix, lord knows what will happen. 

The 100 Hundred Candles Game (2020)

Zombos Says: Fair to Good (the wrap around story for this anthology movie is lifeless, but the seven stories are bloody good).

If you have seen Yokai Monsters: 100 Monsters (1968), you know what the 100 Candles title is referring to. It was a Japanese parlor game (hyakumonogatari kaidankai), circa samurai age-ish, that involved arranging two or three rooms so they appeared like an L if you walked through them. Up to 100 persons could play, but I am not sure that ever happened, unless an entire village joined in. Each person, in turn, would tell a ghost story. Or curse story. Or monster story. As each story was told a light would be extinguished (hence the 100 candles or the original andon lanterns used back then). As each light was extinguished and a new story begun, the rooms would get darker and, presumably, a lot more creepy.

So the Japanese, who brought us the dark, long-haired J-horrors of our cinema nightmares, learned the craft of scaring the bejezus out of anyone hundreds of years ago by creating a mood and a sense of mounting dread. The trick was not to tell those 100 stories. The participants feared that if you reached the 100th story, terrors might be unleashed that were slowly building up as each story was finished, and each villager was quietly positioning themselves closer and closer to the exit just in case all hell broke lose. Now that is a game. Kind of like our contemporary haunt attractions, it relied on scary vignettes and mood lighting. 

Sadly, that overall mood and tension is not to be found in 100 Candles.

Part of that lies with the actors in the wrap around story. They are supposed to be friends, but none of them are friendly and the game's host (Magui Bravi) least of all. One wonders why they all gathered together in the first place. More context and lead-in would have helped a great deal. Why are they playing the game? No one was having fun, not even before they started. No one seemed to have a reason for being there to play the game. None of the emotions on display indicated they even liked each other. An explanation of the game was more detailed than the characters playing it. After that explanation, we are into the first story about a witch that eats kids. It is short and sweet but could make for an entire movie with a fleshed out script.

The next story involves a domestic dispute and a twist-ending, followed by an unsettling but confusing sojourn into demonic children. A demon-haunted mother, a woman waking up in a coffin, a demonic possession, and a nasty habit concerning taking pictures with a cell phone round out the remaining scares.

The stories themselves are good and creepy and while fairly traditional in execution, have an earnest taste for blood and horror. But the wrap around story jostles with them uncomfortably. Eventually the wrap around reaches its climax but since we did not learn much about the game's participants we really do not care too much about them or what happens to them. 

If you take away the wrapper, the horror candy inside is strong and visually arresting, so I recommend you watch this movie and fast forward through the game's participants as they stiffly dialog their growing concerns about the game (but never just leave), and watch the seven stories instead; which makes this a perfect on-demand view, so go at it. 

Note: As always, I receive screeners, links, courtesy copies, etc., for some of my reviews. But I still review 'em as I see 'em. So there.

All Hail the Popcorn King! (2019)

Zombos Says: Good. A personable documentary that will appeal to writers, horror fans, and anyone who enjoys learning about fascinating people.

Take a big fat oak barrel, pack in Ray Bradbury and Charles Bukowski, slice and dice a few big young scorpions with all six juicy segments of their tails, add some boiled spinach and watery buckwheat, pickle all with half Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey and half Southern Comfort, piss, and spit some chawing tobacco into the mix, then seal it up good. Let the barrel sit for a few years, forgotten, in a beat up Pontiac pickup truck parked in the last row of the last aisle in the last drive-in down a long dusty road. When you finally open it up you'll find an author like Joe R. Lansdale. Just stand back a bit when you do 'cause he might be cussin' up an awful lot and swinging low. --ZC Book Review for The Best of Joe R. Lansdale.

The best way to present Joe R. Lansdale, in a documentary about him, is to focus on him talking about himself, his influences, his surroundings, his unique situation of liberal-thinking living in a conservative-thinking locale, and Hap and Leonard, of course. Hansi Oppenheimer manages to do just that while bringing in Bruce Campbell, Joe Hill, Mick Garris, Amber Benson, Don Coscarelli, Christopher Golden, Jeani Rector, his family, and many others, to talk about Lansdale and his influences. From his love for reading that started with comic books to his love for history, you need not ask for a more complete portrait of the writer.

The visual style of the documentary is homey retro, which fits right in with Lansdale's style of talking and writing. Snippets of popping corn, a reel to reel projector (I still have my 8mm one), and images of drive-ins, along with Kasey Lansdale's music scoring, all work to provide a cozy, nostalgic feeling.

His breadth of knowledge, relaxed Nacogdoches living, and the front porch informality of the man comes through without a hitch. He provides an extensive background on Hap and Leonard. He also gives a demonstration of his unique martial art style and makes the rounds of East Texas as he relates local history, viewpoints, and experiences. 

A stop at a Gladewater theater brought memories of grabbing a hamburger at the Ritz Drugstore nearby, then stocking up on a nickel popcorn bag and Coca-cola to catch the kiddie matinee and serials. This one reminiscence will bring back memories for many of those of a ripe old age who remember hours similarly spent. His discovery of the alternate stairway for black patrons was a moment that stuck with him and added to his realization of that other reality growing up along with him.

There is so much packed into this documentary that I am sure you will watch it and come away with a lot of I-didn't-know-thats about Joe R. Lansdale. You can't do better than that.

Undergods (2020) Gothic Sci Fi Horror for the Arthouse Crowd

Zombos Says: Good for film students, arthouse audiences, and anyone looking to think about and question an intentionally deep and confusing movie.

IMDb lists Undergods by Chino Moya as a thriller and fantasy. That is misleading. Perhaps a clue to what Moya intended is found in the glimpse of a book by E.T.A Hoffman, being read by one of the characters. The movie's use of colors, pacing, and decay across the stories in this anthology also point to a tone and mood that leans to the gothic and horror. There is also the sci fi element that directs Moya's odd editing and intentional obfuscation as he bounces us back and forth in time between post-apocalypse and pre-apocalypse. This movie is not one you would normally want to watch but it is worth watching.

There is a lot buried in the stories here but this is not a mainstream film. I would expect it to be a cult favorite in due time, good for midnight viewings with more action-packed fare or a go-to film for student studies. Oh, and the thriller part of it is completely wrong: Undergods is neither thrilling or suspenseful; it merely lays out a narrative that could use some time-trimming from its 90 or so minutes run-time. You will probably lose attention at the 68 minute mark or thereabout, but stick with it. The direction and editing keep actions muted but the actors intense. Either Moya knows how to direct actors or knows how to stay out of their way, but the acting takes the foreground in every scene, usually overwhelming the dystopian facades it takes place in.  

 

"Wait a moment," said Zombos. I looked up from my review-writing.

"You are getting a bit long winded here with academic back alleys," he said.

This is why I hate writing movie reviews when he's around. He's a critic of the critic type of person. That can be very annoying.

I stood my ground. "I'm simply outlining my impressions of the movie. I had to sleep on this, you know, to figure out how to approach it when it uses final poster art that's not even about the movie. That girl standing in the decaying ruins of a post-apocalypse while a truck drives toward her is way off the mark. At least I think it is. Now you've got me all mixed up thinking about it. Can you let me get back to my review please?" 

Zombos sipped his Aberlour and squinted his eyes at me. I got the feeling he was mentally holding two fingers up in front of his eyes and squeezing my head between them. I shook that feeling aside and continued my review. Come to think of it, the male characters in Undergods were all being squeezed. I wonder if that was intentional too.

 

The time-shifting begins with two buddies (Johann Myers and Geza Rohrig) driving a grimy truck through an urban wasteland of decaying buildings and rotting bodies. They collect the bodies but why? Who is paying them? They also drink gasoline (unleaded I hope), so their mental acuity is questionable. With a lot of time on their hands, they chat, tell stories, share dreams. Cue the first story and time shift to, I'm guessing here, the recent past, to an apartment complex that's empty except for an older couple in one apartment and one tenant locked out of his apartment. Or so he said. Ned Dennehy (he played Scrooge in Dickensian 2015) is the locked out tenant. They invite him in. I would not invite him in. Dennehy has a look that is not inviting. As it turns out, not a good look for the tenants either. An elevator provides the transition to... 

...the next story, which involves a rich man (Eric Godon) who wants to become richer, a daughter (Tanya Reynolds) he adores, and a creepy genius (Jan Bivjoet) who wants to sell his architectural plans. Strangely, this story is told by a father telling his daughter a bedtime story, which is even more strangely being told by one of the questionable sanitation guys picking up bodies and drinking gasoline.  Again, I'm guessing here, but it would fit the fantasy element as Moya kicks around the point of view for us like an empty can. He definitely wants to play with us here, with timeframes, with the people in those timeframes, and the social malaise those people are swimming in. Is he saying these characters are why the apocalypse happened, in general? A society in decline? Or are we still inside the heads of those two buddies as they shoot the breeze? 

A door forced open later leads to a loopy time wrap from past to present to past, making for a very jarring entrance into those two buddies' world consisting of an endless and mostly dead cityscape of ruins. From there, the final story embraces a more colorful world but one of emotional emptiness for the people living in it. A perplexing return of a formerly "dead" husband (Sam Louwyck) makes it a problem for the current one (Adrian Rawlins). There's well-placed dark humor here, especially with the letters the disconnected and disaffected son puts on his bedroom wall, as if he had to be reminded of what those letters spell out. A karaoke rendition makes for a very uncomfortable scene and is the only heated one allowed in the movie. A deeply disturbing but telling (and darkly funny) visit to a social worker makes this story the most perplexing but inherently understandable one of the bunch.

And so the two buddies continue driving for bodies and fresh meat. I'll leave the fresh meat part of it up to you to discover. We may all fall into that category soon enough, but soylent green it ain't.

 

Zombos took the last sip of his Aberlour, looked down at my review, sighed, and left the room. A reaction, I'm sure, most viewers will have after this movie. But it is one hell of a ride, with emphasis on the hell. Oh, and the techno soundtrack is awesome.

Roar of the Iron Horse (1951) Pressbook

The pressbook for Roar of the Iron Horse contains a lot of promotional information and ideas. Of course, in the 1950s, cowboy movies were an easy draw for the younger set, until mutant monsters and atom bombs creeped out everyone enough to make the classic monsters in the 1960s more inviting. By then, science fiction and detective shows crowded out the Western dramas across television screens while the big screens showed less and less of them too. But in 1951, they were still roaring at the box office.

ComicRack reader version: Download Roar of the Iron Horse Pressbook

All aboard for more pressbooks From Zombos' Closet!

The Sea Hound (1947) Pressbook

Here's the 1955 re-release pressbook for The Sea Hound serial with Larry "Buster" Crabbe. The smarty-pants patches promotion, as a giveaway, is novel. Note to "sort patches into two groups: one for small children and one for teen-agers." On page 2 it's mentioned that patches were used "for smooth selling of Adventures of Captain Africa and other smash Columbia super-serials." I quickly reread that pressbook and found the patches were both plastic and cloth, and 2.5 inches. Looks like 1955 was the year for patches as giveaways. 

ComicRack reader version: Download The Sea Hound Pressbook

Set sail for more pressbooks From Zombos' Closet!

Desperadoes of the West (1950) Pressbook

Thanks to The Serial Squadron member Chris McCleary, I've been posting many pressbooks from his dad's collection. He did two great things: collected serial pressbooks to keep the history alive and met his screen heroes to boot. Here's one signed by Roy Barcroft. I miss the days when you could meet and greet your screen heroes, chat a bit, and walk away with a signed something or photograph while keeping your shirt on your back. Today, of course, it's a Wells Fargo stagecoach holdup's worth to do anything like that at a convention. 

ComicRack reader version: Download Desperadoes of the West Pressbook

Don't get desperate! Here are more pressbooks From Zombos' Closet, pardner.

Terror Tales Vol. 2 No. 1

The classic, I Chopped Her Head Off! is in this issue. If you ever wondered why parents and decent citizens (don't you love that term?) ganged up on the comics industry forcing the bland comics code on us all (but a boon to magazine sales), this one story captures everything you would put on a poster illustrating the evils of comic books. And you can color it in! Yes boys and girls, you too can be seduced by the dark side, just a few color pencils needed. Now that's one thing I bet you hadn't thought about. Just print out the pages of this splaterific issue of moral decay and bamm! instant adult coloring book! You can thank me later. Just don't tell your parents and loved ones where I live. I'll deny everything.

ComicRack reader version: Download Terror Tales Vol.2 No.1

Don't be terrified! Here are more magazines From Zombos' Closet .