Review: Monsters in the Closet

 Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2022
Images from the Internet

Monsters in the Closet
Directed by The Snygg Brothers (aka John Bacchus aka Zachary Winston Brown)
Purgatory Blues LLC; Gravitas Ventures
89 minutes, 2022
www.facebook.com/MonstersInTheCloset

Man, I have not seen a genre film shot in my home town of New York City in a really long time (though I do believe some parts were done in Pennsylvania). I would rather see it in a horror than something like “Blue Bloods,” to see the city streets and lights. You know there are going to be overview city “placement” shots of b-roll footage. And sure enough, one minute in…

This is actually an anthology film that is shot for this release, not cobbled together (I like both formats equally, FYI). It is kinda cool that the wraparound story itself has a prologue. Actually, calling it a wraparound is kind of inadequate, as it is also one of the anthology stories and is the key connector between the pieces. I love when they do that.

Jasmin Flores

Raymond Castle (Tom C. Niksson, aka Tom Cikoski), an annoying writer of horror short stories and collector of things macabre. I am sure other viewers than myself will be looking at the merchandise in the background and saying “I want that,” or “I have that.” The posters on the wall are for sexploitation obscurities like Rock ‘n’ Roll Frankenstein (1999) and An Erotic Werewolf in London (2006, starring Erin Brown, aka Misty Mundae.

The premise of the film is that Castle has used black magic to make his stories come to life if they are read aloud (a well-used and beloved trope, such as “Beetlejuice!” “Bloody Mary!” “Candyman!”). This results in his estranged daughter, Jasmin Castle (Jasmin Flores, who co wrote the wraparound with “Snygg”) coming into the picture as she tries to figure out just what is going on. Playing an audio file version Raymond created of his stories on his computer (titled – you guessed it – Monsters in the Closet), we start off with the short films.

For example, the opening salvo is a humorous and gory partial first-person POV zombie apocalypse, as we see a woman becoming a zombie from the perspective of said flesh-eater. We hear her thoughts in clarity as others see her as a creature. This was done, albeit in a different effect, in Wasting Away (aka Ah! Zombies!!; 2007). While this idea has been done before (e.g., the short “2 Hours” in 2012, sans humor), but this is smartly written and designed. As promised, this brings you-know-whats storming the Castle house.

Now, under – er – normal circumstances, one would stop with the stories right there, and Jasmin is too occupied to listen to more, so an unexplained disembodies hand (borrowed Thing from “The Addams Family” perhaps?) climbs the keyboard to start the stories going again while Jasmin has her space continuingly clustered by creatures of various sorts and the tale telling is on autopilot.

Other stories include an annoying couple (Carmilla Crawford, Luke Couzens) buying their first fixer-upper house and the slow build-up of tension and violence turning into a bit of body horror/torture porn as they try to bring it up to snuff with limited experience (“Well, I did have shop in High School…” he states). In another, a rich, out of touch and racist father (Phillip Green) and spoiled daughter, Tiffany (Jordan Flippo) – obviously modeled after Donald and Ivanka – who argue about a camping trip; she talks about mistakes she will make in the future, such as eating pizza with the wrong fork, a line that made me stop the film and laugh, having grown up in Italian Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, home of the best pizza, where slices are folded when eaten, with no utensils needed…but I digress… She is not the sharpest stick in the woods because of the stick up her jealous ass, leading to some dire actions in a version of Richard Connell’s “The Most Dangerous Game” (1924) – shades of Don Jr. and Eric. While no one gets shot on 5th Avenue, the philosophy remains the same.

Of course, they save the best and funniest for last. Seems Dr. Frankenstein (John Paul Fidele) and the Mrs. (a hysterical Valerie Bittner) – note that the film calls her “Mrs.” rather than “Ms.,” not me – live in…well, I won’t spoil the best joke in the film. After an accident, the “mad” doc does his Frankenstein magic and viola, etc., et. al, and so on, ad nauseum. It nicely uses purposefully cliché classical tunes like Edward Grieg’s “Hall of the Mountain King” and Maurice Ravel’s “Bolero” to give it a Universal Pictures oeuvre.

It is smart that the film casts a wide net in genres, with many classical monsters in one form or another, but in completely different contexts and sprinkled in witty writing. Raymond’s between-story ramblings sound a bit ad-libbed and peculiar, even here, but I’ll swim with the fishes (or elephant sized chickens…see the film).

While there is no nudity in the film, there is a bizarre sex scene and a whole lot of cleavage. The gore and blood are plentiful. The practical SFX runs from really gross and dripping, to cartoonish and, well, mannequin limbs. There is also some digital blood spurts added as well, "splashing" the camera lens. But that’s the thing about having a foundation of comedy, which hear varies from the dark to the whoopies!, and that is that it gives room for the cheese to ferment, and becomes more accessible and acceptable. If they used, say, a mannequin arm in a Saw film, for example, that would not fly, but in something like The Mask (1994), it makes room for drawing outside the lines.

Tom C. Niksson

The film looks pretty good. I was a bit concerned about the opening, honestly, with it’s use of primary lighting (red, blue, cyan), thinking it may be leaning heavily towards a Creepshow (1982) vibe, because this starts actually looking a bit like that, being an anthology and all, but as we move along, that type of dated lighting is curtailed and it is easier to focus on the stories rather than it trying to be “art.” That being said, there are some lovely shots here, that are atmospheric and artistic, but it doesn’t bludgeon you over the head (pun not intended) with it, but it is used sparingly throughout.

The previous film by “The Snygg Brothers” was Beaster Day: Here Comes Peter Cottenhell (2014), which I honestly have not seen, but I am going to at some point as it is on Tubi (the image of Peter Cottenhell is Raymond’s screen saver). Two things about the “Snygg Brothers.” The first is the “Snygg” collective is like the Ramones, where in the credits there is a bunch of first names followed by the other, such as Vincent Snygg. The Swedish word snygg means “handsome,” but I’m guessing in this case it may also be an acronym, like [??] New York [??] Group. As for the director, it is a pseudonym for a man who is basically known for directing adult fare, both soft and hard, but obviously has enough talent to give us, at this point two horror films that are nicely offbeat.

[Added later: I finally saw Beaster Day on Tubi, and while it is as stupid and silly as can be in a fun way, some of the writing is actually quite hysterical, and Fidele, who plays Dr. Frankenstein in Monsters, steals the film with his role as a mayor who is prescient in Trumpian political spin.]

IMDB is HERE

Review: Creep Creepersin’s Frankenstein

Text © Richard Gary/Indie Horror Films, 2018
Images from the Internet


Creep Creepersin’s Frankenstein
Directed by Creep Creepersin
Creepersin’s Films
60 minutes, USD $14.95
creepersinfilms.com
MVDvisual.com

Sometimes films like this piss me off. I mean, $2 budget, single location, three or four actors, and it tells a story in an hour. Why does it make me angry? Because this nickel-and-dime job is better than a lot of what I see coming out of Hollywood these days. No, dummy, I’m not mad at this film, but those filmmakers who spend millions to bore me, when it really doesn’t take that much to put out a good show with some talent behind ya.

The Frankenstein of the title is, in reality, the name of the protagonist’s pet rat. Victor (all the main characters have names that are in some way related to Mary Shelley’s book), portrayed by James Porter, is a lonely man living on an acreage (filmed outside Eugene, OR). After a childhood of verbal violence by his mom and sexual abuse by his dad, Victor is a severely mentally damaged human.

His day consists of waking, brushing his teeth (which we watch from a distance for a good couple of minutes the first time), eating his scrambled eggs (a symbol for his mind, I gather) while reading porn, playing with his white rat companion (whom he often carries around), and sitting on the porch as the gray days pass. He keeps the television on while old horror flicks flash (scenes include Chaney Sr.’s Phantom and Hunchback, Night of the Living Dead, Carnival of Souls, White Zombie, and Nosferatu). As the action continues, bits of these films are edited in as they reflect the action in the story. This is very well done, I might add.

The run-down, less-than-homey house is obviously the residence in which he grew up, with skimpy bamboo curtains and dark shadows. As a nice touch, behind the kitchen table is obviously his childhood dresser, filled with the stickers, and a front of one of the drawers is missing. This one object alone, whether the director meant it or not, is completely symbolic of Victor’s entire life and frame of mind.

His only visitor is a social worker who occasionally peeks in on him named Shelley (get it?), played by cigarette-growl-voiced Nicolle Nemeth, who looks like she is or was a hot biker chick. She bullies and teases him, making fun of his handicap for her own amusement. Generally speaking, she is not a nice person. As an interesting directorial choice, whenever she speaks, the dialog is played backwards so the viewer cannot understand what she is saying. Victor responds, as obviously he does comprehend, and his speaking is played normally. Even though Shelley’s soundtrack is in reverse, the tone is clear in what she means. This touch is just one of the many pleasant surprises and twists that make this film more than the usual indie drop.

Ever so quickly, his mind starts going further and further around the bend from reality. Victor begins hearing voices (by the Creeper, himself) and seeing his mother who sits with her back to him (Nikki Wall, Creepersin’s real-life wife and film partner), tormenting him and calling him gay slurs because of his paternal molestation.

Distressed about his solitude, he has an idea by glancing around the room and seeing a copy of The Annotated Frankenstein, Grey’s Anatomy books, and a nudie mag: Victor decides to create his own human companion. So when a young couple trespasses on his property, he hammers the woman (literally) and brings her back to his cabin. Carefully, using a marker, he draws lines on her body that make up the classic scar and stitch marks on the filmed Frankenstein’s monster. As he does this, he paraphrases Colin Clive’s classic line, “She only sleeping, waiting for a new life to come.”

There is an argument in Victor’s mind between him and the rat (yes, they “talk”) whether to name ”his creation” Elizabeth or Mary (the rat wins, and the latter is chosen; of course in the book and film, the creature had no given name), bitchily played by Kelly Kingsbury. He imagines her getting up and joining him for breakfast, with her first words (in his mind) being, “This coffee tastes like shit,” which is the kindest thing she has to say in the next few scenes. Again, this is where the joyously unpredictable comes in and style takes over. When Mary is talking, she is in a red filtered lens and is presented as a silent film, complete with title cards. Victor (who is often bathed in blue light) even has a conversation with her in the same shot, with Mary in an enclosure within the frame (shown briefly in the trailer, below).

While I won’t say more about the plot, I would like to add that I am duly impressed by the imaginative way this film is presented. Yes, there is a bit of scenery chewing, but Porter manages to make his character both demented, yet highly pathetic. I’m not sure how much Kingsbury was actually acting, as she obviously was not having a good time and didn’t even show up for the second day of the two-day shoot (as explained in the 30 minute or so Making Of documentary bonus feature). I would have liked to have seen more of Nemeth’s character, perhaps an explanation for her cruelty at worst, uncaring at best.

While A.L. Smith, Cordell Stetson, and Creepersin certainly did a great job with the editing, it is worthy to note that there are also some lengthy shots (I am guessing they had one real camera, other than the one used for the Making Of, which likely was a mini-cam). I have been seeing a lot of recent indie films in the horror genre, and this is definitely one of the better ones around. There’s not really any gore (though some blood), no nudity (other than pans of a magazine), nor much of a boo! factor, but there is definite tension and suspense going on, and this is definitely story driven.

The Making Of documentary is called “A Test of Our Own Stupidity,” mostly taped by Stetson on the second day of shooting. My suggestion is to just fast-scan through the first 10 minutes, which lives up to the title, as the crew stands around, smoking, jabbering, and not really saying anything noteworthy (other than the off-hand comment about Kingsbury’s unhappiness about the first day, but no details). Once Creepersin starts talking about his filmmaking process, and we see them setting up shots and filming, it gets more interesting, if inconsistently.

There are three trailers for this film added in the special features section, which is good, but I would have liked to have seen some from Creepersin’s other flicks, such as OC Babes and the Slashers of Zombietown, Creep Creepersin’s Creepshow, The Corporate Cut-Throat Massacre or (and I kid you not) Vaginal Holocaust.

Review: Flesh & Blood – The Hammer Heritage of Horror

Text © Robert Barry Francos / Indie Horror Films, 2018

Images from the Internet

Flesh & Blood: The Hammer Heritage of Horror

Written and directed by Ted Newsom

Narrated by Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee

S’more Entertainment / Bosustow Media Group / Hammer Films / Act 3 – Heidelberg Films / MVD Entertainment

100 minutes, 1994 / 2015 / 2018

www.mvdvisual.com

Before I started watching this update of a reissued 1994 British documentary television show about arguably one of the three most important horror film companies in the 20th Century – the other two being Universal Pictures and American International Pictures (AIP) – I tried to think back to the first Hammer Film Production I can remember seeing in the theater. It could have been She, The Nanny (which began my crush on Pamela Franklin for a couple of decades), Die! Die! My Darling!, or One Million Years BC (all released in 1965). However, I have a vague memory of seeing The Creeping Unknown as a second-bill feature years after its original release as Quatermass Xperiment (1955), probably as a back-up for one of the AIP Poe releases with Vincent Price; they helped cement my love of the genre through the decades. Since then, I saw so many of their films and franchises, Dracula and Frankenstein, especially.

It makes good sense that the narrators of this documentary are the biggest stars Hammer helped introduce to Western cinema: Christopher Lee (d. 2015) who was best known as Dracula in Hammer Films, and the man with the world’s greatest cheekbones, Peter Cushing (1994, soon after this was released; I was a member of his British Fan Club), who reimagined by Dr. Frankenstein and Van Helsing. It should be noted that Cushing’s career dates back to appearing in the Laurel and Hardy feature, Chumps at Oxford.

                                                                                                              

Wisely, it starts off right at the beginning, with how the name Hammer originated (which I did not know, or perhaps did not remember), into its formation as a viable force during the post-World War II period, and how they attained their admirable talent, such as director Freddie Francis.

There is a nice compendium of archival footage and early ‘90s modern interviews, so many of the stars of the early releases, as well as the classic ones, such as Francis (d. 2007), Hazel Court (d. 2008; one of the few to be in both Hammer and AIP films), Ingrid Pitt (d. 2010) and Veronica Carlson are present for first-hand accounts. We see original footage and modern interviews of both actors and crew. Also enjoyable are interviews with some American directors, and how they were influenced by the Hammer collection, such as Joe Dante, John Carpenter, and Martin Scorsese.

A point they make here but don’t dwell on (consider the name of the documentary, after all), is that early on there was hardly a genre that Hammer didn’t tackle, including swashbuckling, crime dramas, and science fiction. It was the Quatermass mash-up of sci-fi and horror that got them noticed to an Ameican audience, which is where the larger money was, and from there it was the revitalization and reboots of the classic Universal monsters where the studio became financially sound. Peter Cushing says at one point, paraphrasing the name of one of his films, “Frankenstein Created Hammer.”

Rather than follow the releases merely chronologically, wisely break the film up into “groups.” For example, there is a whole segment that just focuses on the Frankenstein films, some more successful in quality than others, in my opinion, and thankfully everyone looks at it both nostalgically and with a sense of whimsy, including David Prowse (he would go on to play Darth Vader in the original three Star Wars films) and Cushing himself, who comments at some point that his hair in a later film looked like Helen Hayes. Needless to say, this is an exciting part of the film for me.

After Frankie-Baby, there’s “The Count Also Rises,” discussing, well… Dracula (are you surprised? If you are, you need to see this and learn your horror history, Jack… or Jill). Actually, I do agree and disagree on a point they make in this segment. They comment that what makes Lee’s Dracula so special is the level of sexuality he brings to the character. Well, yes, onscreen he definitely made some in the audience swoon (both female and male, from those I’ve talked to), but to imply that Lugosi’s Big-D wasn’t sexy is just wrong. Lugosi was a major sex symbol in the 1930s and ‘40s (pre-drug addiction), and while there was no blatant sexuality on screen as there was with Lee (e.g., a woman lying in bed pulling down her neckline to be bitten), Lugosi’s portrayal just burned with sensuality, using his voice – as is true with Lee’s baritone – and eyes, specifically. Can I get an Amen?

Younger people may think of Lee as Saruman, but for those “kids” of my g-g-generation, Lee is Dracula and Dracula is Lee; and I say this with the utmost respect and admiration. When he plays other roles, such as Lord Summerisle in the wickedly great The Wicker Man (1973; not the Nic Cage travesty remake), it’s easy to accept. But when Lee’s name is mentioned, it’s his cape and red eyes that come to mind. The Dracula-based series was also extremely popular for the company, though Lee pulled the plug on himself continuing the role after the cartoonish and garish Dracula AD 1972 (1972) and The Satanic Rites of Dracula (1973). He explains why here, which is good to hear dripping from his lips directly.

The second half of the documentary is a bit more esoteric, covering many bases. For example, there is a look at a few films that did not make money, such as the sensationalist courtroom drama Never Take Candy From Strangers (1960) and the sci-fi thriller The Damned (1963) to how Hammer had one of the first full-time female producers with Aida Young (though Freddie Francis sorta poo-poos her role). On more a more technical side there is discussion about how Hammer used exceptional crews and eventually had their own look (they definitely did), and how they managed to score major talent, such as Oliver Reed, from both the UK and the US.

Adaptations of classics (e.g., Phantom of the Opera in 1962 and The Devil Rides Out in 1968) are discussed, including an interview with my personal favorite horror writer, Richard Matheson (d. 2013).

Now, Hammer kinda hit its stride, especially with me, in the late 1960s and in the early ‘70s, and I have no doubt looking back that part of it had do so with what is covered in a chapter here called “Hammer Glamour.” The stars were good looking; there were bountiful cleavage, and a strong sense of both horror sexuality and sensuality. Films like Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde (1971), Lust for a Vampire (1971) and Twins of Evil (1971) were fine examples of what fed a teenage boy the equivalent of what many superhero films do now with the same formula using Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), Black Widow (Scarlett Johannson) and Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot). Wisely, this film looks at both the good (marketing) and bad (sexism/gender politics, as well as the overuse of the theme of sexy lesbian vampires*) of this aspect, though because it was filmed in the early ‘90s, perhaps not as deeply as it might since the emergence of the #metoo current history.

This logically leads into the prehistoric releases that seemed to begin with One Million Years BC, including interviews with its two major stars, Raquel Welch and the underrated Martine Beswick; the latter would go on to other dinosaur-and-human releases that seemed to come out quite often, and were often over-acted and over-melodramatic in joyful exuberance. There are also a couple of brief interviews with the man who designed many of them, the king of pixilation himself, Ray Harryhausen (d. 2013).

This was actually getting close to the end of the Hammer phenomenon, with their the horrible but (unintentionally) hilarious last horror film To the Devil and Daughter in 1975, and the 1979 horrible and not hilarious (unintentionally) comedy The Lady Vanishes. But thanks to extended footage added to this new version of the documentary, we are told of its somewhat limited revival in 2008, with the likes of Let Me In (2010) and The Woman in Black (2012).

This is a fun and informative way to spend a couple of hours of horror film history, and with the 40 minutes of added footage, all the more bettah. It’s well thought out, extensive in its clips and interviews, and pretty thorough.

I do need to add a comment, however, about something I felt was left out. In the late 1960s and through the ‘70s, Hammer wisely chose to go into the home distribution market, well before the advent of VHS. It was common to see 8mm and Super 8mm short versions of Hammer Films in 50’ (4 minutes) and 200’ (15 minutes) versions, both with sound and silent. I still have a batch of the silent ones somewhere, though no projector anymore. This was some solid marketing.

* It should be noted that one of the very first horror stories ever published in modern history, even before Dracula, was the 1871 Joseph Le Fanu novella, Carmella, about a lesbian vampire.

Book Review: Dreaming of Nightmares – A Crash Course in Horror Movie History; by Nige Burton and Jamie Jones

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2016

Images from the Internet

Dreaming of Nightmares: A Crash Course in Horror Movie History

By Nige Burton and Jamie Jones

Stripley Media Ltd.

28 pages, 2016

www.classic-monsters.com

I’m old enough to have grown up with Olde Tyme monster movies, mostly in black and white, usually on WPIX, shown on New York’s “Chiller Theater,” sometimes hosted by Zacherle(y). Whether the Universal films, or even schlock like The Monster That Conquered the World (1957), Plan Nine from Outer Space (1959), The Monster of Piedras Blancas (1959), and even Attack of the Giant Crab Monsters (1957; where you could see the sneakers of the guy holding up the crab suit), it didn’t matter, you were glued to the screen. In fact, the first horror film I remember on TV (not counting The Wizard of Oz) was Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948).

I’d often also go to the theater to see the latest AIP Poe adaptation with Vincent Price, enjoy bad gimmick films like Two on a Guillotine (1965) where a skeleton flew down on a wire in the theater…just once before it was knocked down by kids throwing candy and popcorn boxes), and the film that scared the shit out of me, Straight-Jacket (1964), where I couldn’t sleep for a couple of weeks (I was 9 years old). The last film I saw that really had a profound effect on my fear level was The Haunting (1963), which I saw when I was a teen in the early ‘70s (since then, I’ve probably read Shirley Jackson’s original novel, The Haunting of Hill House from 1959, about five times).I’ve been watching these kinds of films since as long as I can remember.

Magazines like Famous Monsters of Filmland [FMF] and Castle of Frankenstein were great primers and history lessons, telling stories and showing behind the scene photos of people like Karloff, Lugosi, Harryhausen, Lorre, Cushing, Lee, and the countless Hammer actresses (especially Castle…). Then came Classic Monsters mag at some point.

When I had the offer to see this book for free as a .pdf (you can do if you visit the website and sign up for the monthly newsletter), I figured, why not. I find that most younger fans’ knowledge of horror starts around the period of Night of the Living Dead (1968; yes, I know it’s a gross generalization, but that’s okay).

Other than being quite a slim volume, the first inside image I noticed was a full-page picture on page 2 of a close-up of William Henry Pratt (aka Boris Karloff), and I thought, “Oh, that’s from The Old Dark House (1932). That’s when I knew I was in the right place.

It’s pretty quick to see by the grammar and tone of the book that it is British. Well, first there’s the use of “s” instead of “z,” such as in “generalisation.” Then there are some quaint wordings like “whilst” and “behindhanded” (the last word not even recognized by Spellchecker). Who knows, perhaps “unbeknownst” will show up?

But what about the content? Okay, okay, stop badgering me. The book is broken up into six chapters, each covering a period of time or era. The first chapter, “Silent Shudders,” focuses on the advent of film in the late 1800s to the introduction of sound in 1929. The biggies are here, such as Murneau’s Nosferatu (1922), Edison’s Frankenstein (1910), and especially Lon Chaney (Sr.). I would argue they left out Metropolis (1927), but I suppose technically that’s science fiction (it can be both; I mean the Maria robot was creepy as hell). I understand why they put in George Méiliès since his films did have a sort of devil character, but there was no real narrative story. I propose that the first really frightening film was Edison’s Great Train Robbery in 1903: at the end of the western, one of the villain characters (who was killed in the story) is shown in a portrait level shot. Facing directly to the camera (i.e., the audience), pulls out a pistol, points it at the viewer, and fires. That may seem kind of benign now, but then, because of the lack of context, people in the theater screamed, ducked and some even fainted. 

The second chapter deals with “The Golden Age,” or for those of us fans of the period genre, the Universal monsters. Of course, the first up, and rightfully so, is Dracula (1931). While each chapter is short, there are some interesting tidbits, such as resting the myth of Lon Chaney being up for the Lugosi role, and that Lugosi turned down the Frankenstein (1931) monster due to its lack of dialog. Burton wrote books that were definitive histories of these two films, so I believe his credentials. It’s amusing to see the authors’ grammar rear up again when describing director James Whale as a Brummie (I looked it up; it’s someone from Birmingham, UK). However, their amusing bias comes through when they make sure to describe Karloff as British (where he lived until his early 20s, when he moved to Toronto).

Of course other films than Universal are discussed, such as RKO’s King Kong (1933). Again, they are correct that the Golden Age ended with the censorship boards, but they discuss it under the British Board of Film Censors, rather than the effect of the Motion Picture Production Code (MPPA, aka the Hay’s Code) in America, where the films actually originated, which had a more drastic and direct artistic negative effect (FYI, I did my Master’s Thesis, in part, on the Code).

In the third chapter, “Second Wind,” they delve into how the monster machine was turned off because of the gatekeeping Code, but thanks to a bill of Frankenstein and Dracula shown towards the end of the ‘30s, there was such a profit margin that the factory started again, with the first big star being Lon Chaney Jr. in The Wolfman (1941), and his revitalizing a new Egyptian myth with The Mummy’s Tomb (1942). The profitability of these monsters was the first time that the sequel train seriously pulled out of the station, with the likes of Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943) and House of Dracula (1945). They had mentioned the artistic success of The Bride of Frankenstein (1935), in the previous chapter, and acknowledge that many of the other sequels were more quickie B-films than A-line quality. Other studios, such as RKO, went in another direction and tended to focus on more human monsters, such as with The Body Snatchers and Isle of the Dead (both 1945 and both with Karloff, who was loaned to the studio).

“Out of this World,” the fourth chapter, delves into the 1950s paranoia of science fiction like This Planet Earth (1955) and Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954). While science was in some form in films like Frankenstein, it was dark and mysterious arts that paralleled alchemy. By the ‘50s, however, with the ending of World War II and huge leaps and bounds made by technology and science that affected everyday life, such as television and Jonas Salk’s serum, it became more of a daily reality rather than an electric and test tube filled hocus pocus. Radiation fear was a big factor that entered into mainstream culture in the ‘50s, with giant insects and bugs, as well as monsters (e.g., Godzilla in 1956), which were seen as nearly a possibility (much like fear of a viral Zombie Apocalypse seems now).

Burton and Jones are correct, moreover, that the Comics Code had some effect on the death of that type of sci-fi (though, of course, it didn’t end completely). What really brought the end of this period in the States was a series of lawsuits by foreign films (e.g., The Bicycle Thief) about unfair distribution; according to the Hays Code, the companies that played the films also owned the theaters, shutting out foreign and independent releases. The end result of a Supreme Court decision was the studios were no longer allowed to do both (anti-trust laws), which wore down the MMPA enough so that independent studios could open and get their films distributed (e.g., those by the likes of Hershell Gordon Lewis, David Friedman, and of course, Roger Corman).

Another positive function of this period was the sexing up of the cinema, where monsters met women in tight clothing or even (gasp) bathing suits, such as the Black Lagoon chap kidnaping Julie Adams, or astronauts finding a zaftig Zsa Zsa Gabor in The Queen of Outer Space (1958).

Rightfully so, this leads to the next and fifth chapter of British monsters in “New Blood.” Of course, a large portion this focuses on the most important and influential British (I would say European) film studio, Hammer Pictures, which was arguable the Universal Studios of the late 1950s into the mid-1970s, even reviving the Frankenstein and Dracula mythos. This led to the rise of new horror icons such as Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. It also led to the further lowering of the cleavage line.

There is a whole section of American cinema that is not addressed in the book, namely the indies of the ‘60s that dealt heavily in gore and sex, such as Blood Feast (1964), Two Thousand Maniacs (1965), and Mantis in Black Lace (1968), in addition to the myriad of Corman releases.

The final and sixth chapter is titled “Slasher Suburbia.” The authors posit that the slasher films started in the vacuum of the end of Hammer as a force in 1972, but I would disagree. Night of the Living Dead (1968; it was not a slasher film per se, but the level of gore equaled one), The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) and its predecessor Last House on the Left (1972) were all filmed while Hammer still existed and was a driving concern, and I do believe most would cite these films as a reference point more than Hammer (as wonderful as those films were, no argument with the authors). In fact, in modern extreme horror cinema, many do not even bother to go past these touchstone films, considering many of the Hammers were benign in comparison (I believe this is an error; it’s good to learn the history). To be fair, Burton and Jones do declare Psycho (1960) as the first slasher.

Nicely, they also give credit to the giallo for helping launch it, and of course it was the advent of video that made giallo have any real lasting impact. And it’s smart that they call it Suburban Horror, as many of the films take place at home (or someone’s house); another way they put it, I would postulate, is the events happen in “the ordinary.”

What follows the introduction of slashers is actually away from the ordinary, though in somewhat serene settings, leading to new icons to replace the Frankenstein monsters, Draculas, werewolves, etc. These came with the names Michael, Jason and Freddy. A neighborhood, a children’s camp in the woods, and in dreams are examples of what I’m going to call the “extraordinary ordinary.” That is part of where the story here ends, with the authors asking, “What’s next.”

Well, in part to answer that question by me is twofold. First, there is the introduction of digital production, with cheap cameras that look good and editing programs on the computer, creating a world in which anyone can be a filmmaker, even more so than with 8mm or 16mm thanks to means of distribution through the Internet and conventions. Films now are often more visceral and yet sometimes sillier, due to this. This gives rise to the likes of omnipresent zombies, torture porn, and handheld found-footage miasma, as well as some masterful works such as those by the likes of indie filmmakers like Richard Griffin and Dustin Wayde Mills (among many others).

This book is chock full of really fine stills, which thanks to it being a .pdf can be enlarged. That being said, perhaps I’m being a bit hard on what they didn’t put in, considering the thin volume, but I also believe it is also somewhat cultural, as they are looking from a British standard, and as I stated, some of these films didn’t play there, or the laws were different as far as content. Many of the more graphic films were banned in England in the 1980s as “Video Nasties.”

Most of this book could have been lifted right off the pages of FMF, but that is not meant as anywhere near an insult. It’s actually a really fun read, and the authors make some really fine points and history details, some I had never really thought of or known (remembered?) before.

To get the book you do have to join, but it’s still worth looking for, as it is associated with Classic Monsters of the Movies magazine. It is a fun read, as well. 

Review: Frankenstein’s Hungry Dead

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2015
Images from the Internet

Frankenstein’s Hungry Dead

Produced, directed and edited by Richard Griffin
Scorpio Films Releasing/ Wild Eye Releasing
85 minutes / 2013 / 2015
www.wildeyereleasing.com
www.mvdvisual.com

When I was watching Frankenstein’s Hungry Dead (that’s actually the DVD release name, with the original being the more colorful and painfully accurate Frankenstein’s Wax Museum of the Hungry Dead), I had a nagging thought bouncing around in my mind throughout the whole thing. It’s kind of Hammer Films-like, but it’s broader than that. Just couldn’t put my finger on it. Then as I watched the credits at the end, it’s almost like the director, Richard Griffin, was prescient and he answered my query. He thanks Jess Franco, and that was the lightbulb moment. Then I watched the film again.

In some ways, Jesse Franco (d. 2013) was the Ed Wood Jr. (d. 1978) of modern Euro-sleaze cinema (and long titles), like The Women of Cell Block 9 (1978) and Mari-Cookie and the Killer Tarantula (1998). Many of Jess’s films had Nazi elements (as villains), lots of gore, cheesy dialog, and beautiful women who screamed a lot. On many levels this film, in trying to capture his zeitgeist, the pupil exceeds the teacher.

In The Breakfast Club (1985) fashion, a group of miscreants in a Salem, Massachusetts high school – all of them attractive – are brought by their teacher to a horror-themed wax museum, the real Count Orlok’s Nightmare Gallery (HERE); the correct sign is seen out front, but in the back a computer printed sign says [Peter] “Cushing Wax Museum” (no big whoop, especially since I was a card-carrying member of the British-based Peter Cushing fan club in early 1970s).

Okay, since I’ve already started, I’m going to do my ridiculous nit picking first, though I usually do this at the end, because (a) I think it’s funny, and (b) I like to show off. The big anachronism here is when the film takes place. For example, a student goes missing and the date listed on the “missing” flyer is 1979. However, the posters on another student’s wall (probably from the Griffin’s youth) is of Thompson Twins and Duran Duran. While both this bands were formed before 1979, at least the latter band didn’t have any hits until 1981. And lastly, in the wax museum, some of the figures include the clown Pennywise and Darkman, both from films released in 1990. Man, I love indie cinema (not sarcasm).

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Shannon Hartman and Johnny Sederquist

nyway, our group sneaks back into said museum so at least some of them can have sex: the straight couple in a casket, no less, and the gay couple in a threesome with a wax figure. And, of course, all the rest of the group are there for – er – moral support? This turns out to be a bad thing because the person running the museum is Charles Frank (a wonderfully crazed Michael Thurber), who has shortened his last name of course, and copying his great-great-grandfather’s experiments. Thurber kind of looks like the progeny of Chris Lee and Peter Cushing (as if that was possible, and again, a compliment), and being the incredible stage and screen actor that he is, he knows how to play maniacal well.

Like every version of the Frankenstein bloodline, there are previous failed experiments running amok, here in kind-of zombie mode in that they stumble around and eat people, but they don’t have the virus that turns their victims into flesh-eaters themselves. When they eat, they kill, and at least two deaths here are similar to a particular slaughter in Romero’s Day of the Dead (1985).

The body count is high, and the characters, both female and male, are attractive albeit leaning towards snarky and/or not overly smart, but that’s okay, because everyone is really funny. Of course, it helps with the screenplay co-written by Griffin and Seth Chitwood. According to the commentary track, some of the gags they came up with were at the last minute, including the hysterical coda (which indirectly indicated that there might be a sequel?).

One of the interesting aspects about seeing a director’s film out of context, i.e., not in the order they were released, is that you often get to see early parts after seeing that same actor(s) in leading roles. And since Griffin has been blessed with a wonderful and ever growing troupe, the viewer can see the same ones at their various stages (so far).

There are two female de facto leads in this: first, there’s Ashley, played by the diminutive yet nevertheless powerful Shannon Hartman as the beautiful bitch girl, and yet to me seems to use that tone to manage to stay alive (or not, not giving it away). Highly emotional, it’s very different than the still and seething character she would play in Normal (2013). Like the Rachel McAdams character in Mean Girls (2004), she manages to be really offensive, and remain hot. And here, she sorta wears a Freddy Kruger sweater (not exact, but close).

Jamie Lyn Bagley

The other female lead is Katherine (Jamie Lyn Bagley), the frumpy-yet-cute outsider girl who is smarter than most of the others, and has really bad hair and choice of clothing that accentuates what you don’t want highlighted. I’m looking forward to more leading roles with her in the future (Richard, hint-hint). Being that diamond-in-the-rough role in this type of film, it’s the fear that turns into anger that will help her (or not). Or, by the end, is she as insane as everyone else?

The titular role, as I said, is a be-wigged and eye-patched Michael Thurber, Griffin’s genie in a bottle (or soundstage, anyway). As I’ve said in previous reviews, Thurber really does know how to play the straight (i.e., non-comedic) role, as he did in the superb Exhumed (2011), the completely over the top insanity of Future Justice (2014), and the Euro-trash nutsoid-naziod that was common in the 1970s, and especially in the video boom of the ‘80s. Like most of the actors here, he is stage trained, and knows how to play to a role, and sometimes, as in here, lets the role play him to some extent.

The second male lead in his first full length feature is Johnny Sederquist, who plays the very openly gay Sam. It’s humorous that he has a nice love scene with Aaron Peaslee (as Troy), who he would also share a tongue with in The Sins of Dracula (2014). It is interesting to compare Sederquist’s role here with his later lead actor in Accidental Incest (2014). Here he’s emotional, but by AI, he will make a leap from being a character to becoming that character. Good actor here, he definitely has grown. It’s all good, and he is extremely funny here; you can see his good sense of timing and emotional manipulation of the character and the strength to sacrifice… okay, others… to survive (or not).

The heart of the film, Michael Thurber

As with most of Griffin’s films, there is a large cast, some part of the main group, and some more in the periphery. For example, the “lead” zombie is played by Nathaniel Sylva, who would go on to play the main character in Future Justice, as he does stoic so well (compliment). Jesse Dufault plays a punk rocker musician (in some ways similar to NuWave he’d personify in The Sins of Dracula. He wisely plays convincingly with his eyes, one of his strong features, as he’s also a bit of a loveable comedic teddy bear, which also works for him. His real-life brother, Jamie Dufault, who often plays leads in Griffin films such as Murder University (2012), has a cameo role here as a zombie, and I found it amusing that he almost bites Jesse (I’m sure that was intentional, and good on you). One of the better and funniest bits has do to with a David Byrn…I mean a talking head named Fritz (hilariously dis-embodied by Sean Carufel), a definite – er  – nod to the B-film classic The Brain That Wouldn’t Die (1962).

If you’ve never seen a Jess (nee Jesus) Franco film, this could be a good way to start before delving in, because as purposefully goofy as this is, it’s nowhere near as insane and sometimes unwatchable as some Franco films. Griffin has taken the best elements and motifs that make Franco’s films so interesting, and put his own twist on it to make it a fun joyride through someone else’s backyard mess.

The extra is a commentary track that has way too many people in it, including most of the primary cast and the director, but Griffin actually manages to keep it in check most of the time so it doesn’t become a “I’m talking over everyone else to express my ego” fest. Despite the occasional overmodulation due to everyone laughing at once, it is surprisingly coherent.

I’m not one who usually finds “Easter Eggs” on DVDs, but if you click on Thurber’s eyepatch in the Special Features window, you can hear a web-interview with the director on Nerdgasm where he talks about a lot of his career and gives some perspective of how he learned what he knows. For example, I found out we both share a love of Bug Bunny cartoon, and how his comedies are filmed versions of those ‘toons in some elements. ‘Nuff said.