Jesus Franco strikes again. With a sketch-like composition of elements, this Frankenstein Monster illustration appears on other Mexican lobby cards, but I'm not sure yet if it is the work of a Spanish artist. It is quite striking in color and composition.
Zombos Says: Good
Some authors are bumps on a log while some examine those bumps, while still others just sit on them and write up their stories. Then there are those authors like Joe R. Lansdale who insist on turning the log over and stomping on the crawlies squirming around underneath for inspiration.
Lansdale's inpsiration doesn't reach for the sky in Deadman's Road, just for the zombies, werewolves, and Chthonic monsters Preacher Jebediah Mercer and his modified .36 Colt Navy revolvers go gunning for. The tallest drink in this bunch of weird west tales is Dead in the West, where the preacher comes up against a dusty town whose dirty deeds come back to bite the townsfolk. Hard.
Lansdale’s hankering for sullied characters and his disposition to muck up their trails as they wind themselves around them doesn’t follow Gene Autry’s Cowboy Code of Conduct much, so don’t expect any white hat truisms or dainty ladies with frilly white parasols waiting for doors to be opened for them; think more along the lines of Lansdale as Rob Zombie, only Texas-sized, to size up his approach to the wild west and its imagined horrors.
For starters, Jebediah Mercer’s no saint; he doesn’t preach the word of god nor cares to, and he’s definitely not interested in saving souls. And more than likely, in fact, the odds are you’d best be planning your own funeral should you find yourself by his side for any length of time. His horses don’t fare very well, either, so he winds up hitting the trail on foot more often than not. But his aim is wicked good and his pocket bible’s pages provide for a potent weapon against evil monsters when he tears them out. For a man who thinks god's running both Heaven and Hell and enjoying the mischief the latter's tenants are carrying on with more than the former, it's surprisingly effective how Lansdale handles Jebediah's insouciance to the celestial plane: Jebediah doesn't care, doesn't give a damn, and yet doesn't give up, for whatever reasons you or I might attribute to him. This minimalist approach to character-building creates a vacuum ripe for inference, which is one of Lansdale's inherent talents with writing his characters, especially Jebediah Mercer: what he doesn't say or do is more interesting and revealing than what he does say or do. And what he does best is fight monsters, although his luck at survival, even though he really could care less for one outcome or another, comes into play more often than not to save his hide.
Saving others isn't one of his strengths, however. In Dead in the West he gets in the middle of a wronged Indian Medicine Man and his wife and a town that went loco one night. One spidery demon and a lot of walking undead later he's fighting for his life, and for those of his newfound friends, against the corrupted townsfolk who have preacher and said friends holed up in the church, which is quickly becoming unholy ground. In the second story, Deadman's Road, Lansdale fleshes out Jebediah's inner workings and the landscape around him.
The trail he rode on was a thin one, and the trees on either side of it crept toward the path as if they might block the way, and close up behind him. The weary horse on which he was riding moved forward with its head down, and Jebediah, too weak to fight it, let his mount droop and take its lead. Jebediah was too tired to know much at that moment, but he knew one thing. He was a man of the Lord and he hated God, hated the sonofabitch with all his heart...and he knew God knew and didn't care...
That landscape involves transporting a prisoner along a stretch of road haunted by a cursed monstrosity that was once human but not at all humane. Crumpled pages from Jebediah's pocket bible are used to create an impassable circle of protection, and silver bullets, because "sometimes it wards off evil," do come in handy this time around. Moonlight, a supernatural brawl in a derelict cabin, and Candyman-like bees provide a chilling shine.
In The Gentlemen's Hotel, the preacher comes up against werewolves that have eaten their way through the town of Falling Rock. With the assistance of a ghost to provide the backstory, and a saloon gal to provide the oak handled parasol, the atmosphere is tense and the werewolves thick. Lansdale tosses in a little shapeshifting action to spice up the action.
The Crawling Sky is the most Lovecraftian in context, but you may be hardpressed as to what's worse: the horror from the well or the "rip on the forest" town of Wood Tick's inhabitants. They'd give Innsmouth's fishy folk a run for their money even if Wood Tick's just got plain old unsavory folk. Lansdale's Necronomicon-like book, The Book of Doches, is used by Jebediah to figure out what's devouring mules and families. Again, classic pulp-horror elements are brought into play to build the eldritch terror, bring it home--literally--and fight it off.
The last story takes place near and in a mine, and 4-foot troll-like monsters are as much silver-happy as the unhappy miners trying to get to it. Much ungentlemenly behavior is engaged in and Jebediah manages to keep his horse and acquire a traveling companion at the same time. Although she could use a bath. The traveling companion I mean. We also get a glimpse into how practical and dead sure the preacher can be when one unlucky fellow warns he'll get even with him later. Jebediah figures why wait and shoots the varmint dead away saying "do not announce your intentions, I am a man who takes them to heart."
This is one weird western series you can take to heart, too.
An advance reader copy was provided for this review.
From Professor Kinema...
He was the one person who instilled my personal interest in the Cinema. I had the extreme pleasure to meet him on several occasions. I even got to interview him. The results of the interview morphed into five Professor Kinema shows.
In just about all interviews he's had, he always related the story of how the direction of his life was truly altered when he attended his first theater showing of King Kong in 1933. As a kid, I underwent a similar life and career revellation when I caught my first screening of The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad.
The film was showing during a Saturday afternoon 'kiddie matinee' in the early 1960s, a few years after it's initial release in 1958. In the steady ruckus happening in the theater (as was always the case during Saturday afternoon kiddie matinees) I was enthralled by the sheer magical fantasy that was coming from the screen.
Coming to life before my eyes was a fire breathing dragon, a magician's concoction of a snake woman, two headed Rocs,a giant Cyclops, and an incredible sword fight between Sinbad and a skeleton. This cinematic fantastique was instilling an interest in the history and genres of movies within my pre-teen brain. I simply had to know how this movie magic was accomplished. Subsequently, I embarked on a personal magical journey of my own. This journey of the Quest of Cinematic Knowledge continues to this day.
The passing of special effects wizard Ray Harryhausen ended the reign of the three original Bat Packers (as Forry Ackerman always referred to them), which included Forry himself and Ray Bradbury.
Mainly through brief encounters at conventions I was able to meet Ray Harryhausen. I had the opportunity to thank him for instilling my interest in the cinema. He gladly acknowledged. While standing on line to have stills and other material inscribed, I couldn't help but overhear other conventioneers tell him the exact same thing.
During the weekend run of one particular Science Fiction convention in 2001 (that I was actively involved in), I was able to conduct an on-camera interview with him. I sat next to the camera that was framing him.
The interview lasted for about 1 1/2 hours. It was initially for the inclusion of a public access TV show titled Infinite Possibilities that friends of mine were producing. An unedited copy of the entire interview was made for me to utilize in my Professor Kinema show.
Portions of the interview morphed into a three-part show as well as two additional shows titled From Kong to Joe Young and The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad and Jack the Giant Killer - a Comparison. For the convention and the interview he had brought along with him several animation models for display. He allowed me to handle one of the skeletons that was used in Jason and the Argonauts. Harryhausen was impressed by my ready knowledge of his life and work as well as of the history of special effects in the Cinema in general.
The Kinema Archives contains many stills, books, magazines, posters and lobby cards that Ray was happy to inscribe for me. One item was a book that I had found at a yard sale, The Seven Voyages of Sindbad the Sailor. Published in 1949 (the year I was born as well as the year Mighty Joe Young was released) it had nothing to do with the film The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad. Harryhausen had never seen it. He looked it over and on my request inscribed it to me. He wrote "A wonderful book. I wish I had it when making the 7th Voyage. Best wishes! Ray Harryhausen."
Copies of the three part Ray Harryhausen interview, plus two other shows: From Kong to Joe Young and The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad and Jack the Giant Killer - a Comparison Professor are available. Contact Professor Kinema (Jim Knusch) through his Facebook page.
Here's a terrific Mexican lobby card for Phantom Ship, a 1935 film production from Hammer Studios, starring Bela Lugosi. Guess who's the key selling point for seeing this movie.
Atom Age Vampire (1960): a stripper, a scientist, an accident, and much mayhem ensues. The Italian horror movies of the 1960s are a hoot. This Mexican lobby card is particularly well organized, giving us a feeling of terror that rises above the level it has in the movie.
Apes and blonds are an oddity of plot dynamics in horror movies in the 1940s through 1960s. I have no expert opinion to give as to why: just accept it. Hillbillys in a Haunted House (1967) also has John Carradine, Basil Rathbone, Lon Chaney Jr., and music. Let the mirth begin. This is one of those movies you just itch like crazy to see. I have no explanation for that, either.
Zombos Says: Udderly Good
Reading Michael Logan’s novel Apocalypse Cow, I was reminded of the New Zealand movie Black Sheep. Both works of fiction are darkly humored and both don’t reach the level of wit of a Shaun of the Dead or that deadpan delivered outrageousness of a Dead Alive, but Logan’s Scottish cows contrast well with his acutely offbeat characters that fall into neat categories of meat lovers, vegetarians, and government cover-up specialists.
Terry's the abattoir worker who can't get the meaty smell off him, no matter how much Old Spice he sloshes on. He survives the cow uprising that slaughters his co-workers. Young Geldof is seriously undernourished, bullied about by the nasty twins living next door, and is forced to wear only natural plant-based clothing by his mum Fanny, the devout vegetarian. Geldof's allergic to the clothing, and both mum and dad like to doff their clothing while at home, making Geldof's home life equally uncomfortable. Fanny is an activist in search of her next diatribe and crusade against the establishment this or that, and she is vexed daily by her meat-eating neighbor David, who ate his pet hamster when his parents died suddenly, leaving him locked in his room for three days and quite famished. Geldof's dad is a pothead. He only crusades for his next high. Crusading for her big journalistic break is Lesley, who is about to be fired from her uneventful job just when the bovine zombieness breaks out.
It's the odious government villain, Brown, and his evil intention to wipe any trace of the virus that leaked out of a secret testing facility from the public's eye, that brings everyone together. And sends them on the the run from him, the infected cows, the infected rats, the infected squirrels, and then just about anything else with four legs, hooves, paws, and could be mistaken for being cute and cuddly. Logan delivers the contagion-spreading with restraint, making it hard to tell when he's being deadly serious or earnestly cheeky, but each character participates in the action enough to make each chapter a good build on the previous one as they make their escape to the Chunnel and hoped for safety in France.
While about every overly modulated wave of the modern zombie outbreak codec is chewed on and regurgitated more than a cow's cud by Logan's pen (or keyboard), he does twist up the bits here and there to curveball a surprise, overindulge on squirrels that want more than nuts, and maintain what could have been a one-note gimmick with a very short half-life into an engaging adventure with a little social finger-pointing to broil up the parody.
Dare I say it, his novel is udderly good.
Silent Night, Bloody Night (Night of the Dark Full Moon, 1972) Mexican lobby card. I'm always reminded of the Night Gallery episode with Patrick O'Neal and that spider...I hate spiders, too.
I met Patrick O'Neal at a daylong seminar given by some Guru, at some institute in upstate New York, quite some years ago. I forget much of the event. Beyond the uncomfortable sitting posture for hours on end (no chairs), the tasteless vegan lunch (lots of sprouts and green things), and me and Mr. O'Neal standing in an interminable line to get to those sprouts and green things, I've buried much of the experience deep beneath my subconscious. I was dragged to it by a friend, who was motivated to do the dragging by her friend, who liked me a lot. I wonder where they are now.
I recall Mr. O'Neal seemed as perplexed as I was, but I don't know which friend of his dragged him to the event.
Zombos Says: Very Good
You already made up your mind about this reimagining, didn't you?
If you're a fan of the original, you're thinking why bother? Even if you're not a fan, you're probably wiped out from all the bad remakes and updated takes on the tried and true, right? So you already have the notion that if Hollywood can't think of anything new, why bother, right?
It's easy to say this movie isn't as good as the original The Evil Dead because it doesn't have Bruce Campbell, but that's not entirely true. What's also missing is Sam Raimi's hysterical camera that follows the demonic torture so well in the original: it tilts dangerously, it frantically moves around, and it becomes another panic-stricken character desperately trying to survive the night. Fede Alvarez can mimic those camera motions to some extent, but he never reaches the feverish pitch of frenzy in this film that assails Bruce Campbell in the last 15 minutes or so of the original.
But that was 1981. You can be nostalgic all you want for that wonderful decade of horror movies—I do fondly remember it—but this Evil Dead does have its moments, and considerably better practical makeup effects, and even more gore, vomit, and mutilations to shake up the respite in the derelict cabin in the woods.
This backstory isn't as much fun, though. How can you top finding a Panasonic reel to reel tape recorder in a deserted cabin's decrepit basement, and that professor’s unusually calm voice setting events in motion by repeating all those bad words? And what about that smoky atmosphere of waiting evil, pouncing willy-nilly on each victim, produced with less production gloss and more average-looking victims, making it more effective because watching pretty people get offed isn’t all that thrilling: average people getting killed brings it closer to home for average you and average me.
Comparison nitpicking? Yes.
I even watched the original movie after seeing this one to jog my memory. When you do a remake of a horror classic it's to be expected you’d want to watch the original to see which one’s better.
Okay, make that the first original movie: the original remake of the original movie, Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn, doesn’t count here. Although it's called a sequel, it really is a remake, but done as a horror-comedy.
Critics and fans look for differences and similarities and fret over them. But it’s the little things that amount to whether a movie that’s based on another movie will stand or fall. So, yes, everything counts.
Now, of course Alvarez and company take bits and pieces from both the deadly serious Evil Dead and crazy-sh*t Evil Dead II, but I'll stick to the serious movie for comparison since Fede keeps his movie serious.
For one thing, this updated script is more practical. Instead of college kids on Spring Break heading to the woods for a weekend of fun, a group of friends are set on a noble mission, to rescue the drug-sopped Mia (Jane Levy), whose brother, David (Shiloh Fernandez), has been less rescuer and more absentee, so you know he's got guilt up the wazoo. Which is why he's slow to realize Mia's problem is not the drugs but a demon possession. Even when her voice gets all demon-like and her face turns to demon-veiny-and-puss face, David's slow on the uptake.
A little too slow to sustain our credulity, but this is a horror movie, and much dramatic tension, or so some directors today believe, is garnered from an audience screaming in their minds how dumb-sh*t stupid YOU ARE DAVID! and when ARE YOU GOING to realize Mia's not Mia but the Taker of Souls come to make you and your friend's the devil's bitches.
Then again, maybe it was just me thinking that.
But after all the juicy face-slicing, gallons of blood-vomit projecting, lots of dead cats hanging in the basement, the finding of an evil looking book wrapped in barbed wire and human skin, and enough demented woodcuts in it showing nasty things happening to anyone stupid enough to read the bloody damned thing, well, my mental scream sparked naturally from my credulity dial getting twirled way past the red zone.
Then David starts pulling out the duct tape to patch up the slicing and dicing and meaty chunk craters of damaged flesh in his friends and I start to wonder if Alvarez is going Three Stooges intent here, but below the radar and without the yucks, which pulls my brain right back into the story.
A gushy and stringy dismemberment or two later and David's doing a Bruce Campbell with a bit of the chinny-ness to save Mia, creating a memorable ending that makes this movie stand on its own and looking good for a sequel.
I think Mia's got even more chin going for her than Campbell.
So, yes, it’s groovy.
Because fans don't live by horror alone. Okay...this fan, anyway.
