From Zombos' Closet

Meet the Horror Bloggers: Draculand

Many fans of horror, amateur and professional alike, have devoted themselves to blogging about the thrills, chills, and no-frills side of the genre as seen in cinema and print. In this ongoing series that highlights the writers behind the blogs, we meet the unique personalities and talents that make the online horror scene so engaging. Up close and personal.

In this installment, Mandra of Draculand illustrates his passion for horror.

Hello everyone, my name is Tony Espinosa (Mandra) and I´m illustrator from Barcelona, Spain.

My addiction to horror and my obsession with the myth of Count Dracula is when being small I read Bram Stoker's Dracula and my love was automatic. Then fell into my hands some Relatos Salvajes of the 70s, published in Spain by Vértice and best known in America for "Monsters of the Movies", where I enjoy among other things, a fantastic adaptation of The Invisible Man (Val Mayerik and Dan Adkins), and the adaptation of The Day of The Triffids, better known in Spain for La Semilla del Espacio.

What I'd Like To See In 2010 Horror Movies

I've been thinking about what I'd like to see happen in this brand new year. A few hopes really, not much, but enough to look forward to.

I'd like to see more supernatural horror in the movie theater. Stories like Paranormal Activity and Drag Me to Hell were a welcome sight in 2009; especially after too many Torture Horror entries were given screen time. I want to see more variety in horror for this year. I also want to see movies like Trick 'r Treat on the big screen and not dumped to DVD because wimpy bean counters held back the distribution it deserved.

And speaking of wimpy distribution, I want to see more foreign-made horror on the big screen, subtitles and all. Either do it as a package deal or special event showing; if Fathom Events can bring the Metropolitan Opera live to local theaters, we should be able to get foreign horror movies into the theaters, too. Toss in a few Three Stooges and Our Gang shorts and I'll be in heaven.

I'd like to see horror blogs taken seriously in 2010. Horror bloggers are a diverse group of professionals and amateurs, and their passion, as well as their critically crawling eyes, do more to keep the genre properly in the spotlight than most mainstream commercialized sites. When insipid awards like Total Film's Best Horror Blog come around, with a paltry five nominees comprised of four amalgamated websites and only one blog, it is obvious they do not take horror blogging seriously or even grasp the shallowness of their award. The peer awards awarded by horror bloggers to horror bloggers are more sincere and more important and more personally gratifying than whatever outcome Total Film thinks it will achieve.

In general, I'd like to see less crap foisted onto horror fans this year. I'm speaking mostly in regard to straight-to-DVD, but some theater releases fall into this category. I'm tired of being treated like a movie-viewing dolt by directors, writers, and producers (both professionals and amateurs) who think they can slap the word horror on anything that screams and call it a movie. I want to see solid production values no matter the budget, sincere acting no matter the part, and superb writing that stretches my senses and my fears, and makes me care about the characters before they're racked, tacked, and sacked.

And last but not least, I'd like to see more 3-D horror like, but better than, My Bloody Valentine, and more sour-sweet animation like Coraline.

LOTT D: Horror Comic Crypt

The bells strike the midnight horror. Dare you enter the comic crypt with The League of Tana Tea Drinkers to dig up the dirt on horrifying comics (and those others)? Who knows what you may discover buried deep between the covers. Make sure your flashlight's batteries are strong, pack a good midnight snack, and mind the rats. Now let's go.

The Walking Dead (Cinema Suicide)

You see, everyone thinks that just because I’m a horror fan and I run a website where the bulk of the writing is dedicated to the genre that I am automatically a drooling zombie fanboy because they happen to be the monster of the moment.

The Evil Dead Rise Again (Monster Land)

With permission from Sam Raimi and Rob Tapert, writer Mark Verheiden set out to do what seemed like the impossible, and recreate the celebrated 80s cult film hit Evil Dead as a comic book.

Six Creepy Alt-Horror Cartoonists (Robot 6)

For my money, the most reliably disturbing and disquieting work in the genre over recent years has come from artists who produce what you'd consider to be "alternative comics."

Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter (Love Train for the Tenebrous Empire)

I'd like to think I'd make a really kickass vampire hunter.  I've got a low tolerance for weepy Anne Rice melodrama and an array of fabulous hats that make me an ideal candidate for that role.

Majestic-XII (TheoFantastique)

MAJESTIC-XII is the story of a team of superheroes charged with fighting a secret war against alien invaders. One has to wonder how these aliens–who already control most of the universe–can possibly be held off by a handful of superhumans, who seem to do nothing but engage in chaotic fist-fights with other superhumans, and moon over each other in constant, maudlin interior monologues.

Peter Normanton Speaks From the Tomb (Zombos' Closet)

His love of the dissolute images and outrageous stories that spring from the unsavory pages of horror comics, to linger in our minds long after those pages have yellowed with age, makes him the kind of person we like to be interred with...for a little chat.

Ghost In the House of Frankenstein Part 4 The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942)

Part 3: Son of Frankenstein (1939)

Zombos Says: Very Good

The Ghost of Frankenstein is in many ways the last of the vintage horror movies. Val Lewton, The Uninvited, and Dead of Night were about to bring a new sophistication and literacy to the genre. If the Ghost is already an assembly line job, it's a good, thoroughly professional, and entertaining one, an honorable close to a solid decade of first rate chillers. (William K. Everson, Classics of the Horror Movie)

 Although The Ghost of Frankenstein may be a shade more pale compared to the first three movies in Universal Studios' Frankenstein series, I disagree with calling it "artless" (Tom Weaver, Michael Brunas and John Brunas, Universal Horrors: The Studio's Classic Movies 1931-1946, 2ed). Slick, yes; budget assembly line production, yes; but artless? No. Even with Universal's shift of the series from A to B movie status, Erle C. Kenton's no-frills direction and Jack Otterson's art direction still manage to spark a little magic between those electrodes one more time.

Scott Darling, needing more room to meander the Frankenstein Monster's misadventures further, introduces the second son of Frankenstein, the more sedate Ludwig (Cedric Hardwicke). Ludwig Frankenstein (neither a 'Baron' nor a 'Von' in his name like his brother in Son of Frankenstein) is a doctor. He’s mastered the science of moving brains in-between craniums. Ludwig practices his brain surgery and psychiatry in the small and happy town of Vasaria. Oddly, Vasaria's townsfolk do not know anything about his unfortunate family tree, or the problems his deific-prone father and brother have made for that other small and unhappy town within walking distance. But soon those problems will become Vasaria's when Ygor and the Monster pay a visit after being thrown out of Castle Frankenstein by torch-wielding, grudge-bearing villagers (although they were giddy with happiness at the end of Son of Frankenstein).

The ghost of Dwight Frye puts in an all too brief appearance as one of the despondent villagers. After a Town Hall meeting (note the Americanization) where they pin everything from unhappy babies to bad crops on the 'Frankenstein Curse,' the mayor (another Americanization) gives them carte blanche to blow up the castle and pesky Ygor along with it.

Ygor conveniently survived his 'mortal' gun wounds received in Son of Frankenstein to continue his chief-instigator role here. He also seems to have scrounged up enough money for much needed dental work and grooming aids. Seeing Lugosi reprise his best role since Dracula and Murder Legendre in White Zombie is more than satisfying, and keeps the action moving briskly. More briskly than Lon Chaney Jr's portrayal of the Monster—under Kenton's direction, at least—can muster alone.

Tossing dynamite sticks up at the castle while Ygor drops broken stone battlements from above, the villagers manage to topple one of the castle's massive towers, revealing—

Look! The sulphur pit's all dried and hardened since the last movie! And there's the Monster nestled in it like a bug in a rug! Wait a minute. Wasn't the pit in the laboratory and both lying adjacent to the castle in Son of Frankenstein? How did the pit and the Monster wind up under one of the castle's towers for this movie?

 —his only friend pickled in the now dried sulfur. Or so surmises Ygor, who is delighted to see the Monster still kicking. He pulls him out of the pit and both make a hasty exit while the villagers blow up the rest of the castle to their heart’s content and much needed venting.

The village mob hysterics may be patent Universal artistry, now economically packaged for filming—I can't fathom why Universal's theme parks haven't picked up on such a great role-playing idea—but Kenton's artistic flair still comes through and is first seen when a lightning storm erupts and Ygor, trying to persuade the Monster to seek shelter, is pushed aside as Frankenstein's creation reaches toward the heavens. A bolt of electricity strikes the Monster's outstretched arms and he welcomes it. Still covered in dried sulfur and surrounded by the desolate nightscape and gnarled trees, he looks like a ghost defiantly rising from his grave.

"The lightning. It is good for you! Your father was Frankenstein, but your mother was the lightning!" says Ygor, who decides to seek out Ludwig, residing in the nearby town of Vasaria, for help.

More becoming to his familiar costume, along the way to Vasaria the Monster loses his Go Go-styled fuzzy vest worn in Son of Frankenstein and dons a dark jacket. When the overly cricked neck Ygor and his overly tall friend walk into town—yes, they simply stroll into town in broad daylight—Ygor stops to chat with a girl to ask directions.

As Ygor talks with the girl, the Monster wanders off when he sees a little girl (Janet Ann Gallow) being bullied by the little boys. He helps her retrieve her ball, which the boys had tossed onto a nearby roof. In the process he manages to panic Vasaria's townspeople and break enough bones to quickly make Vasaria as unhappy a town as the one he recently left. Low angles with the camera looking up at the towering Monster—showing the little girl's point of view—increase his menacing presence.

From this movie onward the Frankenstein Monster becomes a scene prop of immense proportions. By the time Glenn Strange takes over the role in House of Frankenstein and Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, the Monster is relegated to being a creepy, big, dummy-like figure; usually strapped to an operating table, around which, indirectly, much of the action occurs. It is this mute, inert body, with arms outstretched in front of him when he does occasionally walk (attributed to Lugosi's blind Monster performance in Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man) that gives us the iconic image of Frankenstein's Monster prevalent in the 1960s up to today.

The plot device of restoring the ailing Monster's vitality by electrically recharging him, introduced in Son of Frankenstein, now goes one step further here, where it becomes a matter of recharging him before exchanging his abnormal brain with a normal one. Re-energizing and brain-swapping will continue as the main modus operandi for the Monster in Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, House of Frankenstein, House of Dracula, and Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, as well as the du jour blueprint for countless future spookshow skits involving mad scientists and Frankenstein Monsters—or plain old gorillas. (For a deliciously goofy example of the gorilla variety see the Three Stooges 3D short, Spooks!)

This shift from Boris Karloff's misunderstood Monster yearning for acceptance and companionship to Lon Chaney Jr's mute, lumbering Monster, now weak and semi-conscious, lessens the complexity of the storyline for easier reuse and allows any actor of the right size to mimic the role since it has few emotive requirements, with both conditions important for keeping the budget low and the production simple.

 

The brain-swapping routine is a hangover from Curt Siodmak's Black Friday script, facilitating a startlingly gruesome moment when Bohmer wheels a bottled brain directly into the camera lens. (Jonathan Rigby, American Gothic: Sixty Years of Horror Cinema)

 

There is also a more important thematic shift in the Monster's relationship with his world. This theme, begun in Son of Frankenstein and developed further here, either accidentally or subconsciously, as a result of Universal moving the series to B production status, contains layers of meaning not usually discussed when The Ghost of Frankenstein and House of Frankenstein are mentioned.

And what is this theme, pray tell? 

Read Part 3: Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man

Meet the Horror Bloggers: Hayes Hudson's House of Horrors

Many fans of horror, amateur and professional alike, have devoted themselves to blogging about the thrills, chills, and no-frills side of the genre as seen in cinema and print. In this ongoing series that highlights the writers behind the blogs, we meet the unique personalities and talents that make the online horror scene so engaging. Up close and personal.

In this installment, Hayes of Hayes Hudson's House of Horrors tells us how PG-13 saved his horror life.

My passion for horror began back in 1988. I was at my local video store. I was 12 years old. The household rule was when I went to get a movie, I could only get a PG or PG-13 rated movie, no R. I would always go straight to the Horror section to see all the great box art and dream of a day when I could view all these movies.

Then I saw it.....most all the stickers on the plastic slip cases were red with an R on them...but this one stuck out. It was an orange sticker with a PG-13 on it! Could this be? The film was EVIL DEAD 2: DEAD BY DAWN and had obviously been put in the wrong slip case. Probably by some teenager working at the video store who didn't watch what he was doing.....or just didn't care!

I had never heard of or saw, of course, the first EVIL DEAD film, but that didn't matter. I showed my mom the sequel had a PG-13 sticker on it so it was fair game. She rented the film for me and I was never the same. It was unlike any film I had ever seen and remains my favorite Horror film to this day. From then on I was hooked on Horror and remain a loyal fan of the genre.

Earlier in the year, I was watching more and more horror films, but didn't have anyone to share the joys of these films with. My wife HATES horror movies, and most of my friends really aren't into them (except a select few), so I decided creating my own horror blog would be a great way to discuss news items and movies I watched...even if it was just to a small group of people. It has been fun to watch the blog steadily grow and I hope it continues to grow and become one of the best horror blogs on the net! I try to update it daily, so there is always a reason to check it often!

I hope you all enjoy it!

Most Regrettable Horror Movies Of 2009

While others pound their chests proclaiming the top ten best horror movies of 2009, I thought I would take a different approach. Frankly, top ten lists are a dime a dozen these days. And why only ten? Who do we blame for limiting the best to only ten a year? I love reading these lists, though, but only when my favorites make the list (which I suspect is a habit we all share).

But what about all those regrettable horror movies you and I wasted time and money seeing in 2009? Now we're talking. Not the worst movies or completely bad movies necessarily, but movies that are most regrettable because they zigged when they should have zagged, leaving me, and possibly you, with a sour taste in our mouths in spite of all the popcorn and soda eaten to make up for the disappointment. In a word, those movies that looked so promising but let us down.

I should say 'let me down,' since this is my most regrettable list for 2009. Maybe it will be yours, too.

 

1. The Collector

It came and went without collecting much of an audience. Torture porn horror hit its zenith in this slick nihilistic, but derivative, terrifying vision. In combining Cube-like lethal traps with a hint of Saw-styled ingenuity and malice, and yet another relentless masked-slasher victimizing a family in unsavory, bloodily grisly ways, Marcus Dunstan and Patrick Melton (Feast) do their darnedest to pulverize the audience with fears of helplessness, torture, and death. They almost succeed, but choose to go the usual horror franchise-building byway at the end with a negative payoff.

2. Friday the 13th 

Jared Padalecki (Supernatural) is the only reason I saw this movie. I like him. I like him in this movie. I hate everything else. Remakes can be a dice game to begin with, but trying to remake and re-imagine an icon of horror means you gamble on what stays and what changes. In this case, the gamble didn't pay off. What changed but shouldn't have is the mystery and uncertainty about Jason. What should have changed but didn't are the pick-a-number victims wearing "kill me, I'm stupid" signs on their butts.

3. The Haunting in Connecticut

A haunting without ghosts? How novel. While director Peter Cornwell and writers did manage to startle me twice, this movie has more in common with Tobe Hooper's energetic spookfest Poltergeist than the lingering, atmospheric scares in Lewis Allen's The Uninvited or Robert Wise's The Haunting--but not enough in common to make it as good. A missed opportunity to create real fright instead of resorting to the usual special-effects and grisly spookshow makeup theatrics; less experienced horrorheads will enjoy it. Those with more experience, like me, will nitpick. Such is life.

Comic Book Review: The Ghoul 1

Zombos Says: Good (But more 'comic book' needed)

I'd worked with the Bureau, hell, since its creation in 1908. They found me hiding in the sewers of old underground New York and instead of hunting me or trying to make a show of me like so many others had before, they took me in and offered me a job. (Steve Niles, My Ghoul)

With only 16 pages in this $3.99 comic book devoted to The Ghoul's illustrated adventure, a 5 page continuing text story, My Ghoul--peppered with three small graphics--and 10 pages devoted to IDW ads and news, it took a lot of effort for me to read this one even if Steve Niles and Bernie Wrightson are the perpetrators, and the gimmick is one very big special agent for the supernatural arm of the FBI.

You know the drill: mysterious big guy with attitude (The Goon, Hellboy, insert your favorite here), who usually works for a 'secret' organization and packs muscle--some wit, but better at relying on the muscle--and enjoys kicking monster and freakazoid butts too big for regular folk to handle. Leaves all the thinking to the small guys, who, in this case, would be rolled into one Lieutenant Detective Klimpt. Klimpt does the cerebral work while the Ghoul does the muscle work. Both wear trenchcoats. The Ghoul's is tailor-made and would probably make a good emergency tent if the situation warranted it.

Okay, so I'm spoiled. I expect a big comic book when I buy one, and I expect big names to deliver big things when charged a big price for the issue. Niles and Wrightson are big names. Only Wrightson fully delivers the goods; he gives the irritating, ill-mannered Ghoul more than just enormous size and a trenchcoat. I won't say heart (or even gruff charm) because Niles hasn't written that in yet, but Wrightson's characters and settings evoke more noir than Niles can muster in his story and dialog. Maybe because Niles is on auto-pilot with this first issue. Maybe he'll get the gas pumping in issue two. 

Okay, I admit this is a pet peeve of mine; comic book format implies an illustrated story between the covers, not ads or text-stories that fill up half the pages. Niles' My Ghoul story is important to read as it provides much background to the Ghoul's character; but it should have been illustrated instead: comic book, right? I would rather see and read this background story in comic book format.

As for the current story, Klimpt calls in the extra muscle for a hunch he has on a case--more of a theory as he calls it. While the Ghoul searches for some munchies and mugs a sour demeanor throughout their first meeting, Klimpt fills him in on his theory. It involves the Atwoods and their three generations of "uncanny actresses." Only the three generations may not have involved so many dames and there may be more than just three generations. That easily tops the 'uncanny' part. Tom Smith provides lots of evocative colors, creating ample shadows and light sources for Wrightson's characters to breath in.

Before Klimpt makes a move to investigate further, the Ghoul needs to take care of business. Seems it's a special night; the type of night devils and beasties roam the earth unfettered from their tour duty in Hell. The Ghoul needs to do some tour duty of his own. The last panel shows him holding a mother, son, and daughter of a gun even Hellboy would drool over.

Maybe I'll stick around for issue two. I'm a pushover for big guns, sultry dames, and demonic monsters mixing it up.

Meet the Horror Bloggers: Scared Silly

Many fans of horror, amateur and professional alike, have devoted themselves to blogging about the thrills, chills, and no-frills side of the genre as seen in cinema and print. In this ongoing series that highlights the writers behind the blogs, we meet the unique personalities and talents that make the online horror scene so engaging. Up close and personal.

In this installment, Paul Castiglia from Scared Silly: Classic Hollywood Horror-Comedies tells us why he finds so much humor in all that horror.

The process of me becoming a “monster kid” turned out to be a lifelong affair. There were several factors that led to my love of horror movies in general and horror-comedies in particular, and by the time those influences merged together I became that “monster kid.”

Well, to be more precise, that “monster man-boy.” I’ve never completely grown up, and I don’t plan to, either. I have no middle name, but if I did, it might as well be Pan. That’s not the only caveat. When I say “factors” I really mean TV. And when I say TV, I mean movies, TV shows and cartoons in particular.

I was a child in the 1970s, when movies and TV shows from past decades were routinely rerun, especially in the New York tri-state area. I grew up watching the classic comedians on TV, particularly Laurel & Hardy and Abbott & Costello; and I grew up watching a lot of cartoons.

Initially, I was deathly afraid of the monsters. The intro’s to Chiller Theater, Fright Night, and other monster movie broadcasts were avoided like the plague, and if I did happen to see part of one, or a commercial for a first-run horror movie, that was enough to inspire nightmares through the night for me.

Comic Book Review: Victorian Undead 2

ZC Rating 4 of 7 (Very Good)

Issue 1 Review

Capital. Simply capital. With issue 2 of Ian Edginton and Davide Fabbri's story pitting Holmes and Watson against a horde of the undead, the mystery deepens as more threads of this weird skein of malevolence, plotted by a criminal mastermind, are woven.

For Sherlockians, there are a few pleasant surprises in store. A certain relative of Holmes leaves the Diogenes Club to put in a timely appearance, and a certain Colonel of ill-repute (bad heredity according to Holmes) has the Great Detective and his Boswell squarely in his gunsight.

Edginton's pacing and dialog, while not as flamboyant or outrageous as Robert Downey's Sherlock Holmes, ratchets up the tense situation methodically, providing a lively encounter with mobile corpses in the London Underground while introducing important new players into this deadly game of hide and go seek; for what reason are the undead being created and stockpiled? (I wonder if Edginton's influence for this came from reading Jonathan Maberry's Patient Zero?)

There is a well-toned classic horror movie sensibility to how Edginton and Fabbri lay out their story. I still find Fabbri's art too clean; his layouts are quite good, but perhaps a touch of  Downey's Holmes' flamboyance would sharpen the edginess. There is a bit of that stiff upper lip overdone here. Edginton and Fabbri's splash-page finale is superbly and quietly melodramatic, showing the Napoleon of Crime at the heart of this undead conspiracy.

Providing much of the atmosphere for this issue is Carrie Strachan's colors, especially when Holmes, Watson, and zombies meet underground. More attention to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's literary details would be appreciated: Sherlockians may gasp in horror when they see Holmes' old mouse-colored dressing gown replaced with a bright red and gold-cuffed one.

But this series, so far, is the one I would have liked to see onscreen. Even with Robert Downey. I daresay even Johnny Depp playing Holmes, directed by Tim Burton, mixing it up with zombies, would be exquisite.

Meet the Horror Bloggers: Dollar Bin Horror

Many fans of horror, amateur and professional alike, have devoted themselves to blogging about the thrills, chills, and no-frills side of the genre as seen in cinema and print. In this ongoing series that highlights the writers behind the blogs, we meet the unique personalities and talents that make the online horror scene so engaging. Up close and personal.

In this installment, Rhonny from Dollar Bin Horror tells us how her dad's cable sports package brought the horror along with it, and the treasure found in the dollar bin.

The first time I watched anything horror was when I was four. My dad got cable for the sports package, but it also came with HBO. I would be up late watching Tales From the Crypt. No one stopped me, so I kept watching. Since then I always liked scary movies, but it didn't become an addiction until I was 14. My dad said he got a new movie and wanted me to watch it with him. At first I thought it was another Denzel Washington movie, but thankfully it wasn’t. It was the first Saw film. After googling some information about it, I was enthralled by the fact that two young film students made it. It changed my whole perspective on horror films and my new life goal was to make them myself.

Movie Review: The Grudge 2 (2006)

Zombos Says: Fair

The vengeful ghost in The Grudge 2 is a yūrei--definitely. Telltale signs are the long black hair that hangs disheveled, and the dangling; you know, the twisting, floating--sort of lopsided walk--most J-Horror apparitions do when staring you down, or just before they ring your neck into a pretzel. And those wide-eyed, gray-skinned ghosts definitely haunt a particular place. No, wait a minute. They do tend to leave the house a lot, even in The Grudge, and in this sequel they've hopped all the way over to Chicago. So they are now haunting two places at once. There's nothing about yūrei haunting two places at once. Damn. And what's with that little gray boy that meows like a cat, and the cat that doesn't meow at all?

The Grudge 2 is a bit confusing at first. Director Takashi Shimizu weaves his continuing tale of blind rage and death between three plotlines: three school girls in Japan dumb enough to go into that house; Aubrey Davis (Amber Tamblyn) traveling to Japan to find out why her sister (Sarah Michelle Gellar) is accused of murder and arson; and a romantic relationship in Chicago that escalates into darkness, witnessed by a frightened young boy.

The opening breakfast scene jars you to attention, but before you can say "We should have gone to IHOP," we cut to Japan and three school girls--one Japanese, two American, and all three heading for a major bad hair day. The tall, not-so-hip Allison tags along as they enter the haunted house where it all started. On a dare, she enters the closet. That infamous closet. Shimizu does a good job of building this claustrophobic scene to it's expected climax with solid scares. Closets can be very scary, whether you are hiding in them or hoping nothing pops out of them. And the way you can never find things in closets--yes, they're evil, pure and simple.

But this early scene is the only true scare in the entire film. While there are shock-cuts galore, Shimizu dotes on showing us the deadly duo again and again, as they appear under sheets, in windows, in hallways, on desk tops, and in sweatshirts (you will understand that when you see it). The tableaus are visually clever, but swing more toward the manga-style of visual cleverness making it all humorous; and lose their scariness and suspense by doing so. Instead of sustained tension from the unseen, Shimizu has created Hollywoodized slasher-yūrei monsters that rack up the body count in ever clever but not very scary ways. Instead of tight glimpses of that stark, wide-eyed pasty face of evil--covered by severe split ends of hair--we see lingering shots of it appearing out of photographs and mirrors.

This is not to say Shimizu has done a bad job: he's just Americanized J-Horror to a stage where The Grudge has become a franchise. What was once iconic J-Horror imagery has now been replaced with your typical American horror movie modus operandi--and would you like fries with that?

A journalist researching the murders since the first occurrence joins Aubrey Davis in searching for answers to the mysterious deaths. Finding a journal written by an eight year old girl in the closet, he brings it to a friend who studies Japanese folklore. The journal explains some things, perhaps including why the original evil or rage came into existence, but before Davis and the journalist can head out to see the person who may be responsible for the evil, the yūrei pay a visit in a well-staged, but to be expected, scene involving photographs, photo developing trays, and really bad over-exposure on a negative.

As Aubrey pursues the answers to this mystery, our three daring school girls are not faring so well. The yūrei are working overtime to make sure no one who visits their humble abode goes without a thank you from hell. And Jake, the young frightened boy in Chicago, is also experiencing new tenant issues--only these tenants don't walk up the stairs, and they make a hell of a lot of noise, too. The neighbors next door, the Flemings, also have a hooded guest who creeps him out. Strange noises and pounding from their apartment eventually force him to find out who the hooded person is, and why dad is going bonkers.

The score is actually quite good, creating more of an ominous mood than most of the movie. The weird gurgling, clicking sound made by the broken-neck yūrei apparition is also used very well here. It provides more chills than most of the closeups. The acting is topnotch, too. But the continual cutting back and forth between the separate plotlines is confusing, and has a dulling effect on what should be mounting tensions leading to a climax.

And what a disappointing climax. As one character notes, "there can be no end to what has started." I would modify this to "there can be no end to a cash-cow franchise in Hollywood, so what you see is what you get until The Grudge 3. And don't expect much there, either if we can strudel* the story along to The Grudge 4."

*strudel: the fine Hollywood art of stretching a concept for all its worth, using as little 'filling' as possible to keep you coming back for more.

Movie Review: Santa Claws (1996) Don't Watch Out For This One

Zombos Says: Are You Kidding Me?

Disclaimer: Zombos' Closet cannot be held libel for the loss of precious holiday time or mirth should any reader decide to ignore the numerous warning signs in this review and purchase, open, and view Santa Claws alone and/or sober. By reading this review, said reader releases Zombos' Closet and its heirs, in perpetuity, from fault, risk, and all future liability or damage that may occur from such viewing.

 

"How long has he been like this?" I asked.

"For the past half-hour," Glenor Glenda said.

"You should have called me sooner?" I felt Zombos' faint pulse.

"He said he wanted to watch something different," said Glenor. "I didn't know."

"How can you not know?" I held up the offending DVD, Santa Claws, while admonishing her.

"But Paul Hollstenwall said Zombos asked for it specifically—"

"Paul! So he's the one to blame for this. The last time he was here he wasted our time with Neon Maniacs. I can't believe he'd stooped this low. The man is incorrigible; a menace to decent horror fans everywhere."

"I told Paul he shouldn't. I told Zombos he should have gone to you first," Glenor said with tears in her eyes. "But Zombos said it didn't matter, that he wanted something new, something totally different to watch. He said he was too old to play it safe anymore. He's been that way ever since his birthday."

"Well, the damage is done. I hope you've learned your lesson," I said, lifting a brandy snifter to Zombos' lips. The color was gone from his cheeks. "At least with Paul Naschy movies I have a chance, but this? I'm not sure how to bring him back to sanity."

Zombos was grayer than usual and his breathing was short and shallow.

"What was that?" I asked. I leaned closer. Zombos' lips had moved, and a faint whisper caught my ear. "Say again?"

"Nudie-cutie," he managed to whisper. "I just...wanted...to see...nudie-cuties. My god, it was beyond horrible." He took the brandy snifter from me and held it in his trembling hands.

"Nudie cu—" Glenor started to say.

"That will be all, Glenor," I said, interrupting her. "I can take it from here. Thanks!"

She left the room. Zombos slowly recovered in-between sips of brandy.

 

Nudie-cuties, scream queens, bodacious tatas—none of this can save Santa Claws. It’s a movie not to see alone or sober. It stands as the perfect equivalent to bituminous coal: sufficient punishment for any horror fan on your Naughty Horror Fan holiday list. Sleazy synthesized background music, ear-numbing dialog delivered through cereal box acting, and sloppy camerawork all bump and grind together, along with the T and A, in this one shoestring-budgeted movie.

The cinema-train wrecks in the first five minutes when dubious horror overwhelms the night before Christmas cheer, and another young soul is damned and primed for future killing. Director John A. Russo (yes, that guy of Night of the Living Dead fame) mires blue-tinted, mismatched close-ups with a wobbly pan to find little Wayne (Christopher Boyle) sleeping on the couch in the living room. In the bedroom, his mom is frolicking with a naughty man. The man wants to open his present early, but she's afraid Wayne will wake up. He tells her he spiked Wayne's hot chocolate with two sleeping pills to knock him out. She smiles and quickly displays her ample stocking-stuffers. Wayne, who apparently dislikes hot chocolate, wakes up and interrupts their sleigh ride. The boy is so upset—though you can’t tell by his acting—easily pulls a loaded gun from a dresser drawer. They plead with him using dialog so bad I also wanted Wayne to shoot them.

He does, they scream, and the years and holidays fly by.

Now free from prison, grown-up Wayne (Grant Cramer) is working publicly as a teacher's aide and acting privately as a weirdo. When he receives his very own Raven Quinn (Debbie Rochon) life-size—but armless—mannequin from Scream Queen Magazine (a dubious promotional tie-in to be sure), he starts getting all dreamy-eyed as he admires its certificate of authenticity. Now there's a true collector: I would have been happy with the 12-inch doll.

The mannequin looks nothing like Debbie Rochon, the real-life scream queen who plays the fictional Raven Quinn scream queen. Rochon has arms, killer legs, and a beautiful smile. Apparently the props department did not have enough money for doing a life mold of her, so they used a commercial mannequin's torso instead, cutting off its arms and adding a black wig. One clever and creepy touch—actually the only clever and creepy touch—has Wayne dropping packing peanuts over the mannequin's head as they dance. This is as artistic as it gets.

While Wayne admires and listens to his mannequin, the real Raven Quinn picks up her two children from her in-laws—her gallivanting husband's mother and sister—who chide Quinn on her chosen profession. We learn Wayne lives next door to Quinn and acts like an uncle to her kids. As the kids run off to play, she and Wayne spend the next three hours sitting on the sofa—wait, I’m wrong, it only seems like three hours—proving why movie-making is a visual medium by boring us to death with their inactivity and mindless chit-chat.

For a psycho-teacher's-aide-horror-memorabilia-collector (no insult intended to any teacher aides who are horror memorabilia collectors), who has the ‘real’ object of his obsession this close, not much heat or psychosis is shown. When Quinn comes on to him, he still doesn't do anything. No, wait, he does: he goes back to express his love to the armless mannequin.

Then he decides to start killing people.

Just like that.

He goes to Scream Studios and kills a nudie-cutie, but not before she gyrates and completes her important shower scene acting moment; then he goes after the producer, who shoots Wayne at point-blank range. This being a no-budget movie, the blanks do no harm.

Scratch one producer.

Now let me reveal the spoiler. Are you ready?

To kill his victims, Wayne uses a prop from one of Quinn's horror movies on gardening. I think it the documentary called Fertilizer of the Damned, or Weed Be Gone to Hell, maybe. Anyway, the gardening tool is a puny three-pronged weed-puller. We never actually see Wayne use it. He waves it around, and then there are a few drops of blood followed by a body slumped on the ground.

Let’s move on.

Wayne complains to his stoic mannequin how everyone needs to pay. It’s not clear for what, but he’s certain everyone needs to pay. Meanwhile Quinn tries to get back with her husband, but he’s bedding down with another nudie-cutie, providing ample opportunity for more T and A. With no one noticing the producer is missing, more nudie close-ups fill screen time while "Uncle" Wayne drugs Quinn's two little girls' hot chocolates and goes shopping for a Santa Claus suit. Right! That’s the tie in to the movie title. It’s the only tie-in.

More nudie-cutie shower scenes ensue with another potential victim; she takes her shower, she answers the phone, she chats for a moment or two, then she goes back to take a bath.

But didn't she just take a shower? Who is she anyway?

We don’t find out.It’s just another randy, randomly inserted shower/bath scene with a well-endowed randomly inserted naked woman.

Wayne, dressed as Santa, shows up and kills her. I don’t know why and you wouldn’t, either. He just shows up and kills her. This is the only time he wears the red Santa Claus suit. He spray paints the suit black. Another inexplicable action left unexplained, but I thank god little kids everywhere are spared having a red-suited Santa slaying around without his sleigh.

In a flurry of scenes, it’s Quinn's turn to start flashing her T and A—but we cut back to Wayne doing?—Nothing, really, so we quickly cut to Quinn's errant husband returning home to find the kids knocked out on the sofa——And now we're back with Quinn being nicely naughty with a cuddly stuffed toy—No! Back to the house and a frantic call to the in-laws—Yes! Back to Quinn strutting her assets for the camera; she takes her top off and then—No! We’re back to her husband running over to crazy Wayne's house—Yes! Back to Quinn playing with her two big,unwrapped, Christmas presents.

So much for building tension (the dramatic kind I mean) as it’s killed during this inane scene and theme shifting. But like they say in those annoyingly loud infomercials, “Wait, there’s more!”

Black-suited Santa Wayne attacks Quinn's husband, then goes after her. In one last breathtaking struggle—I was excited the movie was almost over—Wayne and Quinn's husband go hand to hand (more like hand in hand the way the action was staged).Quinn grabs the weeder and plunges it into Wayne.

Finally, The End.

Bring Christmas cheer by leaving this one on the shelf.

Give a tie instead.