Note the el mito del sexo (the myth of the sex) angle pushed on the lobby card. A sexual theme runs through the movie, but it's impetus comes from conditions of dominance, predation, and desperation. Onibaba is a noirish tale of lingering evils that's creepy as hell.
From the back cover of Warren's Eerie magazine, Captain Company offers toys for The Empire Strikes Back, the best Star Wars episode.
Zombos Says: Very Good
We had finished watching Son of Dracula in the cinematorium. It was half-past midnight, and I had prepared our third round of New Orleans Fizzes, going a little heavier on the gin and somewhat lighter on the tonic.
“Son of Dracula does not receive the attention it deserves because,” said Zombos, “as the usual criticisms go, Lon Chaney Jr lacks bite; and he does not have a compelling, accented voice
suitable for a Hungarian vampire; and he is too pudgy; and he is not menacing enough, and—”
“True, true, true, to a point,” I interrupted, “but this eerie, studiously filmed Southern-Gothic horror noir tells its occult story outside the typical Universal Studios scripting conventions. Instead of lab coats and operating tables, and motivations centered around jump-starting the Frankenstein Monster, and let’s not forget those trite, pseudo-scientific explanations provided for supernatural monsters, Son of Dracula oozes inky blackness in its shadows stretching across rooms, enveloping tight corners, and graying the Dark Oaks Plantation’s dour, moss-covered swampland.”
“And it’s also a love story,” added Zimba,” involving a Gothic-minded woman, Katherine, (Louise Allbritton), whose morbid interests in death and eternal life provide the opportunity that brings Count Alucard (Lon Chaney, Jr) from his blood-drained homeland to vibrant New Orleans. I like that part best!” She sipped the drink I handed her.
“The mistake most critics make when discussing this movie,” I continued, “is due to the script’s intentional muddling of the name Alucard with Dracula, hinting, fairly obviously—and I blame Universal’s marketing department for this–that Lon Chaney is not playing the son, but is Dracula.”
“But Katherine does tell Frank (Robert Paige), her boyfriend, that Alucard is Dracula,” countered Zimba. “Don’t forget she intends to spend eternal undead life with Frank, after he kills
Dracula, of course. So is the title Son of Dracula worthless? How about Dracula Reverses Name, Visits America? Would that be more appropriate?” Zimba hiccupped. “Did you go heavy on the gin again?”
I ignored her.
“I suggest a different critical approach. First we must dismiss what Katherine said; she’s mistaken or delusional and doesn’t really know who Alucard is beyond the fact he’s a vampire. An idea not all that farfetched when you’ve already accepted she’s marrying Alucard so she can become a vampire, then plans to destroy him so she can put the bite on her boyfriend so they can live happily undead ever after. Secondly, believe the movie title. Count Alucard is not Dracula, he is, indeed, the son of Dracula, metaphorically speaking.”
“Go on,” said Zombos, finishing his drink. His pallid cheeks were rosier than usual.
“With this perspective firmly in place, Lon Chaney’s interpretation of Dracula’s son visiting America broadens to encompass fascinating vistas of backstory speculation. Such
speculation can erase Hungarian accents and reimagine Alucard’s pre-story as an overweight American visiting the Old Country. How he falls under Dracula’s spell I’ll leave to your imagination, but in some way he inherits the count’s luggage, formal evening wear and ring, and heads to America to find new blood, just like his “dad” did in the original Dracula
by going to Great Britain.”
“Okay, so he has inherited the Dracula curse, so to speak, and travels to New Orleans with the promise of a new bride and fertile hunting grounds?” summed up Zombos.
“Precisely. Now let’s examine the merits of the movie without the shackles of all this Chaney’s-not-Bela negativity, shall we?”
Zimba started snoring. I may have gone heavier on the gin than I thought. I continued and spoke a little louder.
“For the first time we see the bat to vampire transformation onscreen. Not perfect, but it does look better than when done in Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein. Then there’s the vaporous transformations as Alucard, and eventually Katherine, flitter about; especially the sequence where Alucard’s coffin rises out of the swamp water, then vapor seeps from under the lid to coalesce into Alucard himself, then he and the coffin glide across the water together. It’s breathtaking. Not only does Chaney Jr look sartorially commanding in his evening
wear, but the intrinsically supernatural elements of his power to shapeshift and move his coffin effortlessly across the swamp water is elegantly executed. Here’s a creature of the night who’s immensely powerful, yet vulnerable, as we see later on.”
“But it is Robert Paige as Frank who provides the most dynamic by going bonkers,” said Zombos.
“Yes, that’s true. He’s the one the story pivots around. His rough handling by Alucard, flinging him easily across the room, leading to his shooting Katherine to death, which leads to his
mental unhingement—”
“—And Katherine’s wish-fulfillment,” said Zombos.
“Yes, and her wish-fulfillment,” I agreed. “She becomes a vampire, visits Frank in his jail cell, and sells him on her live-happily-until-stake-do-us-part dream. Katherine plays like Vampira before there was a Vampira. She’s Goth before there was Goth. The story’s really about her and Frank, and Alucard plays second fiddle to them. The mighty vampire is being played for a fool.” I sipped my Fizz. I definitely went too heavy on the gin this time. “You don’t see that too often.”
Zombos yawned, then took another sip.
“This is one Universal Horror production that is slickly directed above and beyond the basics by Robert Siodmak. His kicking his brother off the movie to go with Eric Taylor’s
screenplay allowed for the crime-noirish, vampire romance-nuanced storyline to flower. Another element that harkens back to the old style Van Helsing scientific reasoning that encompassed the occult is how Dr. Brewster (Frank Craven) plays into it.”
I nodded in agreement. “That’s right. Kindly country doctor recognizes the Dracula curse in action before anybody else does. He’s the key authority figure, more so than the police.
Around his normalcy Frank, Katherine, and Alucard do their dance macabre. Aside from wanting to commit Katherine on grounds of insanity because she’s too morbid for his tastes, Dr. Brewster is the investigator who gathers information for the police, and eventually convinces them there’s more going on than meets the eye.”
I took a sip and continued. “The icing on the cake is the darkly poetic sets, from swampland to nursery. The confrontation between Frank and Alucard in the swamp drainage tunnel is surprisingly succinct and effective. Scratch one all-powerful vampire. At least for this movie, anyway. From his powerful tossing of Frank across the room with one hand, to his sheer terror at seeing his coffin go up in flames, Chaney captured an unusually telling final moment every vampire must dread deep down, no matter how old or powerful, making us feel it; one we seldom see beyond the quick stake or sunlight dissolution: death for the undead.”
Both Zombos and Zimba were dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream by the time I finished my Fizz. They looked comfortable enough, so I let them be. I prepared another Fizz before bed, but this time I added a little more tonic.
But just a little.
For more information on Son of Dracula, I recommend American Gothic: Sixty Years of Horror Cinema by Jonathan Rigby, and Universal Horrors: The Studio’s Classic Films, 1931 to 1946, 2nd edition. Both are essential reading for the horror fan.
Zombos Says: Good (but only just)
(This review contains key plot spoilers)
Chris Kentis and Laura Lau Americanize Gustavo Hernandez’s La Casa Muda into Silent House, adding Elizabeth Olsen’s strident histrionics in the form of Sarah, a young girl trapped in her lakeside childhood home with her unconscious father (Adam Trese), lit by a few hurricane lamps and flourescent lanterns throwing lots of shadows (mostly across her bosom), and being stalked by an intruder or intruders, unknown or known, making her scream a lot as she looks for a way out upstairs and downstairs.
No, it isn’t quite like the French movie Them, though at times I wished it followed that film’s straightforward simplicity of unremitting terrorization. And no, it also isn’t at all like 2009’s The Uninvited with Emily Browning, except perhaps for a familiar psychological scrambling involving mirror mirror on the wall duality. This duality provides answers at the end of Silent House as well as the twist ending that’s not so twisted because of the neon-sign-obvious inclinations of Sarah’s uncle (Eric Sheffer Stevens), and the polaroid snapshots, popping up in unlikely places, he and her father are unnerved by.
The anachronistic use of a polaroid camera to take photographs of mold, and to provide intermittent flashbulb light for Sarah as she becomes more terrorized by what’s happening around her in the dark, distracts more than it sharpens the suspense. The camera exists for the sole purpose of implying a relationship between those unnerving photographs and their possible photographer, therefore diminishing uncertainty, too early, as to what is really happening to Sarah and her perceptions of what is happening; a cinematic contrivance so threadbare it’s obvious, even if we see mysterious people in the house, and Sarah talking to a strange childhood friend she doesn’t remember, although they played dress-up together.
The audience promotion gimmick of filming Sarah in one long take (more or less) as the camera shakily follows her, looks at her, sees what see sees, and runs from the house with her, doesn’t bring anything to this production that a less shaky view would have. Lighting throughout the house is impressively sinister, but the rooms and hallways get slightly brighter toward the climactic ending, either a studiously planned subtlety showing Sarah’s growing realization of the truth, or the camera crew got tired of tripping over their feet in the dark house.
What makes this movie good is Olsen’s intensely executed performance (or cleavage, I’ve not fully decided yet), and its (the movie, not her cleavage) ability to hold our fear within the shuttered house, at least for a short while. And then there’s the “lift-gate open” scene outside the house. It sparkles with terror more than any other moment.
Now there’s a gimmick I would like to see more of: more moments of sparkling terror, without unnecessary pychological twists to tarnish them.
At approximately 33 minutes into Robert Wise’s science fiction thriller, The Andromeda Strain, the action shifts to a small conference room. Some government officials are waiting for the President’s decision on dropping an atomic bomb on the small town where everyone has been killed by a mysterious alien microbe. Here, the lethal dangers of a deadly, otherworldly, virus are merged with the very real earthbound dangers of nuclear destruction.
One civilian character, identified as “Mr Secretary” is asked his opinion. He firmly states “It’s against the Moscow treaty of 1953 to fire thermonuclear weapons above ground.” Another character enters the room and tells them the President has decided against using the atomic bomb. Another character comments “It should have been left up to the scientists. It’s a colossal mistake.”
At least for the movies, this is typical, high-level governmental decision-making: pitting politicians against scientists in a matter of extreme urgency and dire consequences. Analyzing this sequence, one could detect a bit of cinematic irony lying beneath the surface. The character of “Mr. Secretary” is played by Glenn Langan. His dissenting dialogue centers around a statement regarding a thermonuclear device. Fourteen years earlier Glenn Langan appeared in a low budget science fiction thriller titled The Amazing Colossal Man. In it he plays Lt. Col. Glenn Manning, who is exposed to the full effects of a thermonuclear device and then begins to grow into…the Colossal Man. Perhaps it’s merely coincidence. Yet one can only wonder whether it was the screenwriter, Nelson Gidding, or the director, Robert Wise, who perpetrated this little sequence, paying homage to a cult sci-fi film auteured by director, Bert I. Gordon.
Professor Kinema (on right) with Bert I. Gordon
Glenn Langan’s unbilled appearance in The Andromeda Strain was his last appearance on screen. According to IMDb he ‘reinvented himself’ and went into real estate. However, to any and all schlock film aficionados, Glenn Langan’s cult status is firmly set because of his involvement with (and as) The Amazing Colossal Man.
Since The Incredible Shrinking Man made such a hit with movie audiences, The Amazing Colossal Man, assuredly, would do the same. At least this is what Bert I. Gordon surmised. Whatever could be incredible could no doubt be amazing. Part of what was incredible about the incredible shrinking man was the inevitable fact he would continue to shrink to absolute nothingness. What ultimately proved to be amazing about the Colossal Man was that he would continue to grow–until a huge hyperdermic needle put a stop to his growth spurt–and return in a sequel, War of the Colossal Beast, as the colossal beast who would wage war. These are all elements necessary for films to be more appropriately termed science fantasy. Even more amazing, the role of Lt. Col. Glenn Manning was now played by another actor (Dean Parkin), and he also had a sister when it was previously explained he had no family.
In essays on the dubious science in science fiction films, late scientist and author Isaac Asimov pointed out an interesting fact: if you adhere to the principles that the scientific community knows, accepts, and works with, they are often represented totally wrong in movies.
Both Shrinking and Colossal Man films have doctors attempting to explain what is happening to the hapless protagonists. The incredible shrinking man, Scott Carey, is exposed to a strange glittering mist while out on a boat. Since he is wearing only a bathing suit the residue from the mist completely covers him. Was it of alien origin? Maybe it was the product of offshore government testing that was released into the air? Was it conjured up specifically to infect one person, Scott Carey? According to the story presented in the novel and film, no one else on Earth was so affected. This mist simply appears from out of nowhere and exits to nowhere. Later, he is exposed to an insecticide which reacts with the mysterious element. This reaction starts his body to slowly diminish. A medical test strip reveals his body chemestry now contains a new and unidentifiable element (a shrinking hormone?) ingested from the mist. His body is ‘throwing off’ all of the chemical materials that make up his physical being. This explanation is offered rather than having his atoms physically diminish in size. Since this was the accepted cause, as he reduces in size other factors would come into play. When he becomes the size of a mouse, his brain would be mouse sized, hence he should’ve possessed the intelligence of a mouse. Subsequently, being the size of an ant he would yet live, but have the intellegince of an ant.
The amazing colossal man, Lt. Col. Glenn Manning, in a failed attempt to save a pilot in a downed plane, is caught in the full blast of a “plutonium bomb.” His clothes and skin are stripped away in the blast. This effects scene is repeated in this film and again in the sequel. Within a day’s time he is restored to apparent normalcy. However, a plutonium bomb, here, contains that ethereally mysterious and very deadly element (especially in the 1950’s)– radiation. His skin has reappeared, but now his physical makeup contains a new chemical property, the ability to increase in size (a super growth hormone?).
Again, a scientific explanation is offered, and there is a deadly side effect. As his body grows to colossal proportions, his heart grows half as much. In this case his brain is being deprived of blood, hence causing madness. This would work for a normal-sized brain. Taking into account true scientific factors, when an object increases in size it’s weight would cube, hence triple. A man growing to just twice his size would not be able to stand, much less walk. Before he would reach a height of 30 feet all internal organs would be pulled down to Earth via gravity and he would, in effect, be crushed. He speaks of ‘Army ingenuity’ in relation to the expanding garment he is now wearing. One can assume that this same Army ingenuity would either devise an expanding toilet…or even a super absorbent diaper.
That mysterious entity, radiation.
In the movies characters can either be constantly irradiated and not feel any ill effects, or catch minimal doses and suffer deadly results. The human characters of The Thing From Another World were constantly in the midst of strong radiation, extraterrestrial in origin, “…the needle has hit the top!” Yet none of the scientists present seemed concerned with any related danger. A true science fictional (or as author Harlan Ellison would’ve described, speculative fiction) plot device dominates the action of On the Beach. Here we are presented the few survivors of the human race soon after a global nuclear confrontation. No resultant mass damage is presented but rather simply the inevitable after effect–radiation sickness. No one is shown shrinking, growing, or mutating in any form. Those who were left living are slowly dying.
By the 1980s, just before the dissolving of the Soviet Union, a TV Movie titled The Day After further illustrated what the truer results of radiation poisoning would entail. Survivors were indeed slowly dying, but accompanied with the physical effects of hair loss, skin lesions, and loss of sanity. The final scenes of Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove show a variation of what concievably occured before the story of On the Beach; the Earth is covered with a “doomsday shroud” of the fictitious Cobalt-Thorium-G…for 93 years.
If creators of science fantasy were to obey the true laws of science and physics, cult cinema would never exist. We, true cult film aficionados, would rather not be denied such characters as the Incredible Shrinking Man, Amazing Colossal Man, Bert I. Gordon’s Puppet People, the Cyclops, the 50 Foot Woman, or even the 30 Foot Bride of Candy Rock. What would our filmgoing experiences be without one of the Puppet People’s rock ‘n roll renditions of You’re a Dolly, or the exchange between a doctor and a deputy commenting on 50 foot tall Nancy Acher’s jealous tirade in Attack of the 50 Foot Woman:
“She’ll tear up the whole town until she finds Harry!”
“Yea, then she’ll tear up Harry.”
Zombos Says: Very Good
Kyle Hotz shows the freak in Billy the Kid's Old Timey Oddities while Eric Powell puts in the odd with a pyschotic Dr. Frankenstein–who looks a little like Peter Cushing–and a Billy whose kid-side abuse leaves him one claustrophobic and ornery character you wouldn't want to tangle with.
Billy joins the Tattooed Woman, the Wolf-Boy, the Alligator Man, Watta the Wild Man, and the diminutive Jeffrey Tinsle (who's as tall as his name is long) in Fineas Sproule's Biological Curiousities and Wild West Extravaganza Show. His quick draw and deadly aim will be needed as Sproule journeys to find the Golem's Heart Jewel, now in the possession of one flesh-tinkering mad scientist protected by his surgical monstrosities.
The four-issues collected here never dull the tone or sashay around. With this fictional Billy's sweaty flashbacks of being locked in tight places, his lecherous proclivities stymied by a chaste Tattooed Woman, and both Sproule's and Frankenstein's oddities amply envisioned, each page provides enough reading and oggling to keep the momentum going, maybe a little too quickly, but never too slowly. Their arrival in the mysterious mountain town, overshadowed by Frankenstein's foreboding castle, is met with rot and foul smells, trepidation, Billy's creative wall piss-signing, and monstrous, wall-clinging, inhabitants. The "dinner" party with Frankenstein and his malformed minions provides the anticipated clash of egos, heightens the mania, and springs the action to suitably potboiler intensity.
Hotz's use of coloration is odd in itself, with yellow, buttery hues butting up against the Western browns and reds in the beginning, but settling down to more shadowy, darker hues as they journey further into trouble. His gamboling art provides character depth and nuance, allowing Powell's dialog and situations to reach their full breath. Humor, pathos, and weirdness mix it up dime novel strong, making this matchup, between artist and writer, Billy the Kid and monsters, and Wild West and horror, one that I'd certainly like to see again.
I want to see this movie. Not because of the scene photos, or the story synopsis, or the seat selling slants. I want to see this movie because this poster is awesome. It's pulpy goodness space opera with a Jetsons cartoony abandon. Cthulhu should look this good. The kicker is the astronaut being devoured in the background, then shift your gaze to the running astronaut in the foreground, looking back in horror. Wonderful.
This pressbook uses the calendar-style format. It's stapled at the top and you flip the pages up to view the Credits, Publicity, Advertising, and Exploitation sections. Maybe it's me, but I doubt Neil Sedaka's songs for Sting of Death "heighten shocking impact of underwater thriller." That jelly-fish headed man-suit looks suitably cheesy, though, so maybe I'm wrong. (Note: I left out some advertising ad mats).
This impressive 15" x 18" pressbook is packed with promotional material for a so-so movie. The "amazing audience participation" gimmick involved HYPNOMAGIC. I'll leave it to you to figure out if it was worth all the hoopla. But man, don't those hands look like Steve Ditko's Doctor Strange in action?
…
This is a folder-styled pressbook, which, when opened, shows three pockets where the press sheets are held. Interestingly, this double bill promotes Frankie Avalon's Horror House over Boris Karloff and Christopher Lee in The Crimson Cult; an indication that American International wanted to appeal to a younger audience?
The Star Wars Van Kits are goofy, yet so much fun. Wouldn't mind customizing my Mustang like the Darth Vader one (although my convertible top does present a problem).