Love Train for the Tenebrous Empire

Jörg Buttgereit's "Captain Berlin vs. Hitler" [2009]

2009-12-04T08:30:00.001-05:00

Ever have something fly completely under your radar for several years, only to be astonished by its very existence and the potential for perfection inherent in that something? If ever a cinematic document possessed the ingredients that might approach the Tenebrous Ideal*, it would be "Captain Berlin vs. Hitler." I first caught wind of this film via a Twitter post**, and within five minutes I was on Amazon.de all but screaming NAME YOUR PRICE at my computer screen.

*It's like the Platonic Ideal, but with more puppets and snappier outfits.

**Whoever says Twitter isn't useful just isn't following the right feeds, y0.

Just... watch the trailer:

Yes, it's a movie about a German superhero battling Dracula and Hitler's puppet brain, set to an infectious retro-synth soundtrack and envisioned by Jörg Buttgereit. And yes, I AM willing to overlook the whole "necrophilia" issue and declare myself entirely enchanted by Mr. Buttgereit*** at this point.

***Bonus points for his appearance at the end of the film wearing a Monster Squad New York shirt. REPRESENT, Jörg!

The Captain Berlin character was created by Buttgereit in the early 1980s and appeared in a series of short films by the director, one of which appears above. In these short subjects, Buttgereit plays Captain Berlin in a yellow jumpsuit with red briefs worn on the outside, capped off by a Spiderman mask and a repurposed flag worn as a cape. Clearly the product of a punk sensibility slamming head-on into a love of the 1960s "Batman" teevee show, these shorts remind me of... well, of the ill-advised "Crow"-inspired short film I helped a couple of pals of mine make while we were in high school (DON'T JUDGE ME). As such, they're funny to watch but low on stuff like "production values," "plot," and "sense."

The movie up for discussion here takes place in 1973 in West Berlin. Captain Berlin (portrayed here by Jürg Plüss), Germany's first-and-only superhero, originally tasked by the German Resistance to defeat Hitler during World War II, has retired and is working as a journalist while raising his sixteen-year-old daughter, Maria. Elsewhere in the city, Dr. Ilse von Blitzen has revived Hitler's brain and is plotting to place it into the body of Germanikus (Buttgereit, under a rubber monster mask and about a million yards of gauze--dude is TALL), a creature created from the bodies of top SS men. She has enlisted the aid of Dracula, whose Communist beliefs vex the good doctor, but who is reluctantly working at her side due to the promise of Maria's virgin blood. Wising up to von Blitzen's plot and refusing to take part in such anti-socialist activities, Dracula defects to his own castle (in the eastern part of Berlin, of course). Dr. von Blitzen takes matters into her own hands and, after Germanikus' resurrection goes awry, ultimately seats Hitler's brain in a giant robot constructed of the strongest Krupp Steel. Will Captain Berlin be able to stop the Communist menace of the vampire and the Fascist threat of Hitlerrobo AND save his daughter from a fate worse than death...? Only a viewing of "Captain Berlin vs. Hitler" will reveal what happens!

Now that you've had a chance to savor the gestalt of this movie, I'm going to have to do a little of what Corporate Overlords like to call "managing expectations." "Captain Berlin vs. Hitler" is a direct filming of Buttgereit's 2007 stage production, lensed and edited by German filmmaker Thilo Gosejohann****. Make no mistake--the play is a LOT of fun to watch, but the film is technically clunky as a result. The shots are static and it looks like there are only three or four camera locations that are used. Gosejohann employs some interesting post-production elements (comic book frames, artificial film grain, pleasantly hokey animated effects) that give a bit of a cinematic feel, but this is very much a piece of theatre.

****Director of "Operation Dance Sensation" and "Captain Cosmotic." Those are trailer links; come prepared for gorgeous insanity, leave satisfied.

This isn't to say that there's not plenty of cool visual stuff to enjoy. Far from it, in fact! The circus-inspired stage set is colorful, and on-set effects like crepe-paper guts and Karo syrup blood are perfectly in keeping with the eccentric world of this production. The Hitler's Brain Puppet is startlingly expressive, with its eyestalks bending erratically and evoking the mania that accompanied the Furer's infamous speeches. And--let's be honest--Hitlerrobo is a show-stopper that's even more impressive for working in real-time, on-stage.

"Captain Berlin vs. Hitler"'s staging is remarkably meta, and I'd argue that it's more effective in its theatrical form than it would be as a fully-realized film. The pre-War cabaret aesthetic underlies the show's look and feel, from the circus tent that frames the action to the burlesque-inspired character depictions. The decadent, doomed air of the 1920s performance culture that was snuffed out with the rise of the Nazis in the 1930s***** informs much of the production, even though this era of German history is never directly mentioned. Nazi iconography is front and center in this production (an eagle bearing a swastika in a wreath is perched at the apex of the tent, visible throughout the play), but taken in total, this is a parable about the history of Germany in the entirety of the 20th Century, tracing the story of defeat during WWI, followed by period of chaos, then the ensuing defeat during WWII, and the fragmentation of the country into democratic(ish) West Germany and Soviet-run East Germany.

*****More about Weimar Berlin in my previous post here.

I know, I know--I'm straying perilously close to tl;dr territory (the "Here There Be Dragons" portion of the Internet's map) with all this talk of Central European history. Allow me to re-route my discussion and get back to the off-kilter kookiness that you WANT to read about!

"Captain Berlin vs. Hitler" is funny, but probably not in the madcap manner you might expect. This movie is German As Fuck, and in keeping with this stereotypical Teutonic Seriousness, its characters don't acknowledge the humor inherent in their actions. The overstated physicality of the performances is an inheritance from theatrical and silent film traditions, evoking the weirdness of "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" rather than the slapstick of Buster Keaton. This mock-serious, surrealist humor is in many ways funnier than a similar story based around obvious gags would be--hell, the title alone is already a punchline! Much of the humor is derived from a certain awkwardness and uncomfortableness rather than from overt winking and nudging in the direction of the audience. There are hilarious moments of speechifying or strange verbal exchanges between the characters. The best dialogue, however, is reserved for Dr. von Blitzen, whose eye-popping, hand-talking rants are things of great beauty. Actress Claudia Steiger is a wonderful comedic presence, and her facial expressions when Hitler mentions his wish to see Eva Braun and his beloved Alsatian hound Goldie convey a sense of panic that is a riot to watch. One has to give extra props to an actress who owns her role even when her male lead is a brain puppet. And YES--Baron XIII and I are both more than a little bit in love with her.

"Captain Berlin vs. Hitler" exemplifies a particular type of movie that I enjoy watching--it's a unique product of it's creator's imagination and its steeped in the culture of its country of origin. This is a movie that couldn't have been created anywhere BUT Germany, and which would have looked very different in any other filmmakers' hands. For fans of subversive performing art in all its manifestations, get your filthy mitts on a copy of this DVD, which comes with a gorgeous array of extras (German- and English-language commentaries, Buttgereit's "Captain Berlin" shorts, behind-the-scenes materials, AND a dog tag).

Click here for the Flickr gallery of stills from "Captain Berlin vs. Hitler."

Dracula vs. Frankenstein [1971]

2009-12-02T08:15:00.000-05:00

Al Adamson's "Dracula vs. Frankenstein" is a film whose reputation is based solely on its perceived awfulness. I'd avoided this movie for many years, deeming its plot of a descendant of Dr. Frankenstein teaming up with Dracula to prey on beach-going teens in order to resurrect the infamous cadaver-built monster to be a bit mild for my tastes. "Bad" movies are a dime a dozen, and without the soupcon of sex or subversive politics, "Dracula vs. Frankenstein" didn't have a lot to recommend it to me. Another check in the negative column was provided by the fact that there are no names in the cast who piqued my interest (TRUE FACT: I find Lon Chaney Jr. to be the most depressing actor who ever graced the Silver Screen), and with quite literally hundreds of titles in my To Be Watched Pile, this one never made it near the top.

This was before the Flying Maciste Brothers reverently explained to me some of the things that make this movie so special, and boy-oh-boy were those gents ever right! "Dracula vs. Frankenstein" is a jewel of low-budget weirdness that belongs beside Ed Wood's "Plan 9 from Outer Space" in the rankings of gloriously "bad" films that deliver heaps of oh-so-good entertainment. It also might or might not be a meditation on the very nature of reality--but more about that later.

Much like the latter half of the titular monster team, "Dracula vs. Frankenstein" is composed of the salvageable pieces of several movies, stitched together through the magic of editing to create one movie that is so jam-packed with weirdness that it challenges the rational mind. There's the "mad scientist working under cover of a carnival attraction" plot; there's the "dangers of the hippie scene" plot (which includes elements of bikersploitation!); and there's the "Dracula's nefarious plan to take over the world" plot. Any one of these would've made a passable drive-in flick, but it's together that their kookiness shines like a lab-created diamond.

Believe me when I tell you that this movie is kickin' it AWESOME-school right from the opening credits, what with the psychedelic, colored still frames of ACTION from the story accompanied by super-dramatic and slide-whistle-enhanced music. At the point where the designer of Dracula's Ring gets a credit on the same screen as Forrest J. Ackerman's "Technical Consultant" byline, the deal was sealed for me.

An astonishing credits sequence does not a movie make--I realize this. It's a good thing, then, that the pleasures of "Dracula vs. Frankenstein" are multitudinous.

I can smell your skepticism from here, so I'll rewind and elaborate on the plot for you. It might very well take me MORE than the ninety minutes of time this film takes up to explain everything that happens on screen, but I'll make an attempt. Las Vegas showgirl Judith Fontaine (played by Regina Carrol and her hypnotic bosom) travels to Venice (California, alas--much as I'd like to see this movie set among the gondoliers and decaying majesty of the Italian city) to uncover the whereabouts of her missing sister. Meanwhile, the mad Dr. Duryea, assisted by his mute manservant Groton (Lon Chaney Jr. in his final film role) and his little-person henchman Grazbo (yes, that IS Angelo Rossitto aka The Master in "Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome"), is acquiring a steady stream of runaways, hippies, and beach bums to experiment on in his lab beneath the boardwalk funhouse he operates. You surmised correctly if you guessed that Judith's sister is in the grasp of the mad Dr. Duryea--actually a descendant of the Frankenstein clan--who has been experimenting with reviving the dead through the application of some sort of blood-related nonsense. All this blood-related nonsense has attracted the attention of Dracula (the incredibly-named Zandor Vorkov in what might be cinema's only Frank-Zappa-inspired take on the Victorian vampire), who has brought along the *original* Frankenstein monster to be similarly revived. Add in a subplot about a girl trying to break free from her violent biker ex-boyfriend, a zany acid trip sequence, and a surprisingly likable romance story and cap it all off with a truly jaw-dropping showdown between Dracula and the Frankenstein monster, and it's a recipe for cinematic delight.

The first crucial thing working in favor of "Dracula vs. Frankenstein" is that it is NEVER BORING. The endless montages, establishing shots, and stock footage that might have padded out one of the three movies described above are discarded in favor of stuffing in scenes from the other two films. Where a viewer might be subjected to a ten-minute-long scene of hippies dancing in a cafe, one is instead treated to Lon Chaney Jr. as an axe-wielding simpleton stalking his prey. Instead of watching Dracula in his deathlike slumber for what might feel like a real-time depiction of the daylight hours, we get to learn about the mad doctor's philosophies about life and perception.

The second key element of this film's success is in its DIALOGUE. Holy wow, do these characters say a lot of words, and believe you me when I tell you they are ALL GOLDEN. My ears perked up when the cop working on the case of Judith's sister's disappearance philosophized about the subconscious after cynically observing that the missing hippies "want" bad things to happen to them. To say such dialogue was out of synch with what I expected from a monster mash movie would be an understatement! Minutes later, Grazbo exhorts two characters to "open [their] eyes to SEE things" during their walk through Duryea's funhouse, and by the time Duryea explains to Groton (through clicking dentures, no less) that "reality itself is the greatest illusion of all," I realized that I might be watching something far stranger--and as such more wonderful--than I'd anticipated. This was some deep philosophical water I was into, and I found my brain a lot more engaged by what was supposed to be a "bad" movie than I ever expected.

There are a lot of great visual flourishes throughout the movie. Low-budget FX work is always fun to look at and there is enough Technicolor blood and plenty of plasticky prosthetics to satisfy the most jaded cheese enthusiast. Of course the portrayals of hippie life are giggle-worthy--graffiti like "POT" and "SOCIETY SUCKS" are on display inside the hippie den alongside velvet blacklight posters. And did I mention that Dracula's ring shoots paint-on-film lightning? Well... IT DOES.

"Dracula vs. Frankenstein" isn't so much a movie that's representative of things that are bad about movies--it's a movie that embodies the unpolished and unexpected joys of genre movie-watching.

Watch "Dracula vs. Frankenstein" for free online.

Enjoy the Flickr gallery of stills from "Dracula vs. Frankenstein" here.

The New Gladiators [1984]

2009-11-30T08:45:00.001-05:00

While director Lucio Fulci is best known for his high-on-splatter, low-on-sense zombie epics, the man was an incredibly prolific director who explored almost all the aspects of exploitation filmmaking, from crime dramas to Spaghetti Westerns to fantasy films to science fiction. I've got no shortage of love for "Zombie" and "The Beyond," don't get me wrong, but I find myself gravitating to his non-gore offerings as time goes on. Leave it to Il Fulci to create yet another offering of cinematic schlock that would prove irresistible to the Tenebrous Palate in the form of "The New Gladiators" (TRUE FACT: I would've watched this merely for the title's resemblance to Perennial Tenebrous Fave "The New Barbarians").

Permit me a little bit of stage-setting for this movie, won't you? There's some question about how far in the not-too-distant future we might be here: alternately, this flick is known as "Warriors of the Year 2072," "Rome 2033," or "Warriors of the Year 2079," so I'll just defer to this VHS title, "The New Gladiators," with its promise of a) newness and b) gladiatorial combat. In the world of "The New Gladiators," two major teevee networks compete for supremacy by increasing the violent content of their programming. In a ploy to secure ratings triumph for his network, an amoral executive comes up with a plan to bring back the glory of Rome's Coliseum by staging a grand battle to the death between 20 convicted felons, including probably-wrongly-accused Drake, star of competing program "Killbike." Honestly, I had a little trouble with the central bit of plotting since the film opens with scenes from "Killbike," which is... you know... a grand battle to the death. If you can get past this hiccup of logic, then the rest of the movie is fairly straightforward. All of which is to say: "this is a fucking convoluted plot even by Italotrash standards, and by the time the writers spring the 'artificial intelligence' bit on you in the final act you'll feel like you've been beaten about the cranium by a rubber mallet."

And yes--that IS a recommendation, friends.

I could take this space to feed you some lines about how this movie is more relevant now than ever, what with our global obsession with increasingly stupid and prurient reality television programming, but I won't. Instead, I'll tell you about what you REALLY want to know, handily bulleted for your ease and pleasure (bullet points are the lubricant of my blogworld):

I derive no small measure of joy from model cityscapes. From the glorious "Metropolis" envisioned by Fritz Lang to the "Blade Runner"-inspired Playmobil Rome that opens "The New Gladiators," it's all delicious to me. Watching the tiny camera crawl across the twee skyscrapers (none of which appear in the daytime scenes filmed outdoors--whoops!) filled my heart to bursting. This movie would have to make some HARD LEFTS to get me to NOT love it.

Dummy deaths by the dozen are on display RIGHT AWAY during the "Killbike" sequence. Exploding dummies, decapitated dummies, dummies driven over by motorcycles--it's all here, and it's all fantastic.

Bonus points for hot chicks with great New Wave haircuts. I mean, I might be biased towards that PARTICULAR style of haircut, but I'd just like to think I have A Consistency Of Vision.

The movie is filled with ridicu-tastic characters, like Raven, head of the Praetorians (GET IT?!), warden over the gladiators-to-be, and awesomest swarthy Fascist this side of "The Beast in Heat." I'm not unconvinced that Raven has a drawer full of left gloves, since he seems to like to fling them into the prison's vaporizing force field with alarming frequency when emphasizing important points.

There's so much, so nifty about this movie that it's taken me this long to get to highlighting Fred "The Black Shatner" Williamson's patented Fred-Fu montage, complete with strobe lights and laser sounds!

Then there are the stenciled-on names of the fighters during the Climactic Gladiation-Actual, to help you make sense of who the hell is fighting who. Hint: By about three minutes in, you don't actually care (and you can always tell where the Asian character is anyway, on account of his dependence on ninja techniques).

Fans of over-the-top action trash can see this movie has plenty of joy to deliver. But that's not to say it's a perfect example of the form. Unfortunately for a film about guys riding motorcycles and whacking the crap out of other guys riding motorcycles, this isn't exactly the quickest-paced flick in the world. The movie suffers from a dragging middle between the first 10 minutes of screen-time devoted to Drake's imprisonment and the eventual televised event. There are a couple of thwarted escape attempts, the development of a tepid romance between Drake and Darker-Haired-Great-Haircut-Lady, and some scenes of people working on computers. Also, the film insists on using "glare" as its distinctive cinemtographic theme (much in the manner that "Conquest" used "fog" and "fog in the dark" as its visual foci).

As with any action film, "The New Gladiators" is best experienced... well... in action! A bit of the flavor of this wild future film can be experienced in the trailer:

For those of you sans-You Tube, check out the Flickr gallery of stills from "The New Gladiators" here.

Karloff's Career, As Told Through Tiny Paintings [Boris Karloff Blogathon]

2009-11-26T22:45:00.000-05:00

I'll admit that it's pretty intimidating to check out the list of incredible entries for the Boris Karloff Blogathon taking place this week. A combination of interesting viewpoints, impressive scholarship, and skillful writing leaves me sitting here, wondering what on earth I can add to the discourse! Coming up EMPTY in finding a nunsploitation film featuring Karloff (who would've mad a FANTASTIC evil priest in the classic gothic mold--just sayin'), I figured I could contribute some tiny paintings of the man who has become a key face of 20th Century Horror. The paintings below are Art Trading Cards--each one is 2.5" by 3.5", executed in watercolor paint on paper.

Boris Karloff is one of an elite group of actors who embodies the Gentleman Ghoul, both on-screen and off. Like Lon Chaney before him, and like Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee and Vincent Price after him, Karloff's sinisterness is balanced by a dignity of carriage that makes his films a delight to watch.

Achieving fame with his turn in James Whale's production of "Frankenstein" for Universal Studios, Karloff went from character actor to top-billed heavy. His performance as the monster lab-created from cadavers has a sense of pathos even under all those layers of makeup. It's easy to see, even after almost eighty years, why this was a star-making role for the actor.

"The Mummy" is probably my favorite of the Classic Monsters, with the character's Ancient Egyptian origin story, romantic story arc, and--it has to be said--rockin' fez. Once again, there's a sense of pathos to this monster that is well-realized by Karloff.

Even while playing a role as fraught with un-PC peril as that of Dr. Fu Manchu, the Chinese criminal mastermind hell-bent on eliminating Western Decorum in favor of the insidious ways of the Far East, Karloff invests his portrayal with a regal carriage. Here, indeed, is a man with a brow like Shakespeare and a face like Satan, just like Sax Rohmer would've wanted him!

Karloff's role as Hjalmar Poelzig in "The Black Cat" is just one of the many marvelous things about that particular entry into the Universal Horror canon. Seeing him act opposite Bela Lugosi while both actors were in prime form is a treat not to be overstated! I geeked out about this film at some length on the Classic Horror podcast with Nate Yapp--check it out here if you haven't downloaded your copy yet.

Even late in his career, Karloff continued to choose interesting projects and worked with talented directors. In Mario Bava's anthology film "Black Sabbath," Karloff is featured in a supernatural period piece titled "The Wurdulak" in addition to providing narration for the film. The actor's distinctive features are only enhanced by the colored gels favored by the master of the Italian Gothic.

VOTE TENEBROUS For Ms. Horror Blogosphere 2009

2009-11-24T14:01:00.002-05:00

Voting Started at 2pm 11/24 -- Ends on 12/4

See the poll to the RIGHT in the gray bar at Vault of Horror

Lieblings, liebchens and assorted internet cupcakes, I'm going to call your attention to a competition taking place over on Pal of the Empire B-Sol's blog, The Vault of Horror. In the interests of spotlighting some of the women who are writing about horror, he has created the FIRST ANNUAL Ms. Horror Blogosphere Contest. He's just the kind of selfless guy who has opened his heart and his webspace to the many ladies who are writing about terrifying media, allowing them to duke it out to see who'll reign over this particular sliver of the World Wide Web. He's a bit of a Horror Hugh Hefner, really, except continent.

Please take a moment to consider me as a potential crown-holder. View my entry here and take a moment to reflect on the many ways in which I've enriched your lives over my career on the intertubes (to wit: freaky fashion, hideous exploitation films, art with kinky nuns). View all of the contestants (including also-Pals of the Empire like Kitty Le Claw, The Screamstress, Monster Scholar and Ms. Harker) at this handy link.

Keep in mind that a vote for Tenebrous is a vote for the Lurid, the Weird, and the Fantastique!

Click here to vote for Ms. Horror Blogosphere 2009!

Kevin Geeks Out On Dummy Deaths: Recap and Recommendation

2009-11-23T09:00:00.002-05:00

I remember reading somewhere recently that the word "funnest" had been added to the Oxford English Dictionary. As it turns out, this was either a beautiful dream or a piece of misinformation. I KNOW--you're thinking this is damn near unpossible, considering the general reliability of randomly acquired internet knowledge. Technically, this means that my plans to describe the Kevin Geeks Out On... series at 92YTribeca as the funnest screenings in New York City would be incorrect.

IN SPIRIT, however, the sentiment stands.

Comedian Kevin Maher has a marrow-deep understanding of and love for cinematic nerdiness. Each month, he selects a topic and assembles a crack team of enthusiasts to share the joy with his audience in a presentation that is part film montage, part interview, and part comedy show. With the aid of the Flying Maciste Brothers of The Destructible Man blog, Kevin has created a presentation that distills the glee of watching frequently-grisly, often-silly, and sometimes-shocking dummy destruction into a blissfully cathartic two hours.

From the opening salvo of the "Jerk Scientist" from "Dawn of the Dead" ranting about dummies, Dummies, DUMMIES to the finale of Joe Spinnel's grisly demise in "Maniac"*, it was non-stop mayhem. The Flying Maciste Brothers carefully culled the best moments of falling dummies, decapitated dummies, head-explodey dummies and even deceased child dummies from the history of cinema. Let me just tell you that, taken out of the context of the rest of its odious run-time, the "baby dumped off a bridge" scene from "The Third Mother" is one of the GREATEST THINGS EVER.

In addition to the dummy death montages, there were dummy death experts on hand who had been replaced by dummies ON FILM! Matt Mitler, Final Boy in "The Mutilator," had some choice anecdotes well-told and Kevin Scullin of an unseen-by-me-but-now-TOTALLY-coveted necrophilia cult flick called "Dead Mate" told of his experiences almost falling out of a bell tower as an ill-fated priest. Filmmaker Matthew Glasson shared his experiences choreographing a dummy death in his short film "The Family Tie," which looks to be an incredible bit of microbudgeted awesomeness.

OH AND! There were dummy death cupcakes, with lovingly crafted sugar dummies and red frosting blood. Just in case you need to convince any of your galpals to attend a Kevin Geeks Out... screening, be sure to underscore the presence of theme cupcakes at each event. SHOWING CLASS, people.

What was probably a terrible night for dummies and their families (I really need some sensitivity training, y0) was a fantabulous night for everyone else. There was much continued nerdery after the screening, when I got to chat with the host, the Maciste Brothers, Chris from Temple of Schlock, and Ivan of Ivanlandia. In fact, here I am with Chris (left) and the Brothers! Special thanks to Tofu Girl for snapping our photo.

I'm very much looking forward to next month's Kevin Geeks Out Holiday Grab Bag presentation on Friday December 18th. It's in PEN on my calendar, folks!

*I missed the NYC Horror Film Festival screening of this very same movie the very next night. Eeeeeeriiiiie...!

The Decadent Art of Alastair

2009-11-20T08:45:00.000-05:00

Illustrator Alastair [b. 1887; d. 1969] was a latecomer to Symbolism, a late 19th Century art movement characterized by its embrace of gothic tropes and decadent fantasy. It's a style of art that gets pretty much ignored in your Art History 101 and 102 courses in favor of the mainstream storyline that follows the thread of post-Renaissance Academic art to the revolution of Realism and into Impressionism, skirting art that... you know... might be deemed weird or god-forbid appealing to prurient interests.

I'm risking getting all tl;dr on you folks now, so I'll stop--it's a big internet, and if you feel like pursuing more on the topic, there's plentiful info out there. You're here for the spooky shite, and I'd be remiss were I not to cut RIGHT to the chase.

Artist Alastair was a latecomer to the Symbolist movement--like, a really, REALLY latecomer, starting his career in the 1920s. His style has much in common with that of Aubrey Beardsley's highly decorative, clean-lined panels, but he injects a healthy dose of Harry Clarke's deeply macabre Poe illustrations into the proceedings. Alastair's bio reflects his complete commitment to the Decadent lifestyle--he was of ambiguous European heritage, given to flights of hypochondria and hyperbole, with an appropriate embrace of the melancholy. He was an enigmatic figure with a unique visual style.

Let's take a look at some of his horror-themed pieces, shall we?

Fall of the House of Usher, pencil on paper, 1928. Madeline and Roderick, locked in a cobweb embrace. A romantic evocation of the Poe story's themes if I ever saw one!

Paganini, 1927. The virtuoso violinist has become a bit of a legend in the years since his death, with rumors of murder most foul and deals with the Devil swirling around the musician's name. And, for the Italo-horror fans in the house, let's not forget trash auteur Luigi Cozzi's "Paganini Horror!"

The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1927. Oscar Wilde's innocent-turned-hedonist is captured in a rather quiet moment in this fine-lined illustration.

"The Young Widow II," illustration for Frank Wedekind 's German Expressionist play"Erdgeist," date unknown. I'm just including this because it's one of the most GOTH AS FUCK pieces of art ever committed to paper. STYLE, people--these two have it.

Hostel: Part II [2007]

2009-11-18T08:55:00.001-05:00

Promises--I generally avoid them, and yet I am beginning this review with TWO:

I will not make any "Hostel"/hostile puns.
I will not profess my panty-moistening desire to hump the balls off of director Eli Roth and bear his scores of love-children, even though I have received the memo that he's the new Bruce Campbell. Eli-Lovers, he is all yours (you're welcome).

I saw the first "Hostel" shortly-ish after its release in 2005 and disliked it enormously. While it was sleekly-lensed with above-par special effects work, I found that it drowned itself in the bucket of profoundly unlikeable characters and something akin to hardcore-BDSM-flavored homophobia (you know how THOSE PEOPLE are just lurking around every corner to pop out and GETCHA) in its Boy-Versus-Men-Becomes-Final-Girl construction. To boot--I didn't find its guignol to be grand enough to justify its reputation and therefore categorized it as a dud.

Why, then, do I have such a hard time explaining why "Hostel: Part II," which is kinda-sorta-really the same movie, left me feeling not-unpleasantly off-kilter and invigorated? It's a perfect example of why the success or failure of a horror film--or any piece of genre entertainment--lies in its details.

My disappointment with the first "Hostel" wasn't enough to dissuade me from investing ninety minutes of my Sunday morning in watching its sequel--the promise of Edwige Fenech and Heather Matarazzo (who I've admired as an actress since her heartbreakingly awkward turn in "Welcome to the Dollhouse") in one gore-soaked film was more than my cawfee-addled brain could resist. Even if the movie turned out to be an unpleasant exercise in physical excess (not that there's anything WRONG with that), I'd have cool stunt-casting to enjoy. In addition to the aforementioned actresses, this flick boasts Ruggero Deodato and Bijou Phillips--WORLDS ARE COLLIDING!!!.

Similarly to its predecessor, "Hostel 2" tracks three white, upper-middle class students on vacation in Europe who get waylaid by fascinating strangers with an alluring offer of cheap lodging and exotic adventure in Eastern Europe. This time 'round, our protagonists are three women: Matarazzo's predictably-sweet Lorna, Phillips' predictably-slutty Whitney, and Lauren German's kinda-hard-to-pin-down-but-definitely-wealthy Beth. Statuesque Vera Jordanova plays Axelle, the omnivorous artists' model who lures the ladies into the clutches of the Hostel owners. Yes, for those of us who have been without media exposure for the past five years, the "Hostel" films deal with the kidnapping, torture, and murder of young tourists at the hands of wealthy club members with an appetite for the cruelest of kinks.

I wasn't sure if casting women in the central victim roles in this movie would leave me feeling like the material was even more objectionable than on my first outing with the franchise, dealing as it would with the intense objectification of the female body as meat to be abused, but I found this film to be far more engaging than I'd anticipated. A few tweaks were put in place that made it all click.

The number-one BEST alteration to the structure of "Hostel 2" was to give a bit of backstory to the clientele and management of the hostel. Generally speaking, it's a bad idea to over-explain horror stories--the harsh light of reason really has no place in the World of the Weird. This movie is an example that tests the rule, though! By giving a face and a motivation to the people who shell out big bucks to work out their vicious, sexual fantasies on strangers, the truly ghastly nature of the hostel is underscored. Sure, the story arc of the two man-pals who travel together to the isolated thrill-kill bordello is telegraphed and obvious, but in a universe as lurid as this, that potentially-hokey plotline actually manages to work.

There are several places in which texture is injected that help keep the movie from being a sterile exercise in meanness. I needn't even explain how much delight it brought me to see Ms. Fenech's appearance as an art class instructor in the opening scene--she's lovely and spirited as ever, over 30 years after the height of her Eurotrash Cinema career. The film then moves the three lead characters onto a train which is filled with ominous figures from soccer hooligans to drug dealers to pickpockets. It's no secret that I dig suspense sequences set on trains, and this was a very well-executed one. I nearly squee-ed aloud with nerdy, in-joke delight when the girls got waylaid by a threatening group of men in a scene that evoked Aldo Lado's "The Night Train Murders." By the time they're being dispatched in the hostel, the film feels like a steroidal version of every "final girl" flick made since the 1970s.

Then there's that Elizabeth Bathory scene where Lorna is strung up by her ankles while a curvaceous female hedonist slashes her to death with a scythe. In a word--YIKES. I've seen my fair share of eroticized violence on film, but the sense of panic and dread expressed by the victim combined with the mounting arousal of the murderer are graphically conveyed. Add in hideously evocative sound engineering (echoing screams, the sound of metal on skin--EEK!) and here is a setpiece that literally made me squirm in my seat.

There are moments of pitch-black humor to the film as well that keep it from being an endurance test. Deodato's appearance will evoke smirks from fans of extreme horror, and the timing of some events during the murder sequences play out as if they were part of the most fucked-up cartoon you're likely to see. This probably makes me a pretty lousy person, but I had to stifle a giggle at the image of a kitty-cat sipping delicately from one character's neck stump.

Am I ACTUALLY recommending a film from the so-called "Torture Porn" subgenre that I had initially dismissed? Yes--you bet I am. Just be forewarned that you'll probably be wanting a hot shower after watching this nasty little flick. I know I did.

Carnivorous Nights Taxidermy Contest

2009-11-16T10:26:00.004-05:00

I love animals but I hate cleaning up after animals. It's a quandary that has vexed me an forced me to lead a fuzzy-buddy-less life. After last night's Carnivorous Nights Taxidermy Contest, organized by the mad geniuses at The Secret Science Club, I think I may just have a solution to my pet-desiring woes! Watching the owners of various specimens speak with affection about their still-life critters stirred made me think that maybe--just maybe--I could know some of the joy of animal companionship without any of the messy realities that accompany carbon-based life forms.

Truth be told, I got QUITE snap-happy during the program because there was just so much amazing artwork on display. Just check out Pope Pinenut II up there, created by artist Maria Carreon and part of the collection of Sofia Gonzalez--it's a squirrel dressed in lovingly crafted papal regalia. His owner recited a moving psalm about the transient nature of life.

This beautiful piece is a Nineteenth Century automaton composed of two taxidermied songbirds. When the key is turned, the bird sing and flap their wings.

Equally as beautiful but on a grander scale is this chandelier composed of crystals and goats' skulls. An absolutely stunning work when viewed in person--I totally want it in my apartment. NOW.

As one familiar with the history of preserved specimens might expect, the Victorians were highly over-represented. These ladies had a gorgeous collection, including the Beast of Some-Colorful-English-Place-Whose-Name-Escapes-Me, which resided in its original fairground display case. It looked to be two conjoined rats, but then again my grasp of biology is rather notoriously poor.

Artist Takeshi Yamada shared his recent creations, a series of monster babies that the artist claims are carefully crafted from samples of his own skin and hair, with a gleeful sense of showmanship. Dude is totally a hero, take my word for it.

A rare specimen of Waltopithecus, a large rodent species with oversized extremities and only four digits per hand, was displayed by its discoverer.

Felis Fightus Dansicus, a piece composed of two cats locked in a mortal struggle for kitty supremacy, won Best In Show. The cats appear to be dancing if held upright, which is all different kinds of awesome, as was the way the cats' owner stroked them lovingly while displaying them to the judges.

For more photos from the Carnivorous Nights Taxidermy Show, check out my Flickr photostream. There are many more amazing pieces to view, and I'm already eager to see the wonders of next year's competition!

For more weird and wonderful mounted creatures, be sure to check out the Tumbl-blog Crappy Taxidermy. It does what it says on the tin, people.

[Please let me know if you are the proud owner of any of these beauties, as I'd love to give you credit.]

Normal Activity [2009]

2009-11-14T16:36:00.003-05:00

You're about to watch Tim Heidrich's "Normal Activity." WATCH as Mishka and Kizzie Forrester encounter a cold hand from beyond the grave. And bicker. A lot.

George Romero Interviewed in GALLERY [May 1986]

2009-11-12T08:50:00.000-05:00

I've talked before about how I'll meet my demise by drowning in a sea of paper ephemera or immolating in a vintage-magazines-and-oily-rags-induced tragedy worthy of brief-but-national news coverage. One of the great things about vintage magazines is the snapshot they provide into the pop-cultural instant of their printing, from the perspectives of content, fashion, and design. The disposable nature of popular interests makes them worth cataloging--and not just because it allows you to point fingers at people around you who claim they weren't among the eleven million people who purchased Vanilla Ice's debut album or that they didn't wear Jams. That's just a deeply satisfying fringe benefit.

I like this circa-1986 interview with George Romero for a number of reasons:

The nifty painting of a rather hale-and-hearty-looking Mr. Romero surrounded by a homogenized group of zombies.
Romero dodges questions regarding the upcoming shooting of "Pet Sematary," a movie produced by Romero's Laurel Productions that scared me in no small measure as a Tiny Tenebrous, along with some discussion of "Creepshow" and its yet-to-emerge sequel. And yes, "Creepshow" freaked me out as a not-so-Tiny Tenebrous. I blame it on the piano soundtrack.
This interview appeared in the same issue of GALLERY as one of my all-time favorite pieces of erotic writing.
The awesome ads at the end--if zombies and independent filmmakers aren't your bag, just buy an upskirt video and call it a day.

As an added bonus, here's an extraordinarily terrifying ad presumably targeted at transvestites. The terrors of the disembodied nipples are exceeded by the horrors of the built-in cameltoe panties.

The Destructible Man LIVE in New York City

2009-11-11T09:40:00.001-05:00

Let's be honest with one another here, interpals--there's a long, dark teatime of the soul that begins with the throbbing post-Halloween hangover and doesn't ease its stranglehold on one's fragile, spooky psyche until sometime in March, when the weather starts getting warm enough to venture outdoors for any length of time. It's in this spirit that I'm extra-vigilant in tracking down nifty events that take place during the Winter months.

Leave it to the heroes at 92YTribeca to continue their tradition of weird and wonderful screenings and seminars year-round! Coming up on November 20th at 8:00pm, the internet's own Flying Maciste Brothers, stars of computer screens everywhere and gatekeepers of The Destructible Man, will be co-hosting an evening of FABULOUS DUMMY DEATHS. 1,000 dummy deaths for an entry fee of ten bucks--that works out to a cost of a penny a death, people. You just can't beat a bargain like that!

Tickets are available online at the 92YTribeca website--be forewarned that the theatre is small, so get your admission in advance.

Also, a little groovy-jazz-electro music to brighten your November morning - Horror Disco by Bottin (thank you, Prof. Jack!):

"The Abominable Dr. Phibes" [1971] and "Dr. Phibes Rises Again" [1972]

2009-11-09T09:45:00.001-05:00

"The Abominable Dr. Phibes" easily ranks among my favorite horror films of all time. Its blend of creepiness, comedy and unique visual style make it a gem of the genre even before we get to the fact that the inimitable Vincent Price takes on the lead role. Every frame brims with goodness--from the dry British humor of the dialogue to the outrageous Art Deco by way of Swinging Sixties London decor, there's not a dull instant in this movie.

The story finds mad scientist, celebrated organist, and Biblical scholar Dr. Anton Phibes (played with a somberness that's downright cheeky by Our Man Vincent) seeking vengeance for his wife's death at the hands of a group of surgeons who failed to save her after a tragic car accident. Scarred mentally and physically, Dr. Phibes works with his gorgeous, mute, and probably-hella-crazy assistant Vulnavia to to bring the Plagues of Egypt down upon the unfortunate medical men. Increasingly baroque modes of murder are employed (I shall spoil none of them here, just in case some of you haven't seen the movie yet!) until the final show-down between Phibes and Dr. Vesalius (an admirably with-it Joseph Cotten). There are bumbling police officers and eccentric scholars peppered throughout the movie, but the element that makes my black little heart sing is the visual design. Let's take a moment to admire Virginia North as Vulnavia, who changes outfits in virtually every scene (sometimes even between walking from one room to another):

THIS is perhaps the best sexy chauffeur outfit in cinema. Everything is perfect, from her cropped gloves to her translucent silk blouse. Not shown here are the bloused black silk breeches and knee-high patent boots.

The sets are a clever combination of psychedelic Op Art and Roaring Twenties Deco whose flat, comic-book style underscores the fantastical nature of the movie. This is pure escapism whose aesthetic incongruities create a world that's truly one-of-a-kind.

Or... well, one-of-a-kind aside from its sequel, "Dr. Phibes Rises Again." I dig Phibes II because SOME Phibes is better than NO Phibes, but it's so close to its pitch-perfect predecessor that it's all too easy to see where things are getting a little threadbare. The camerawork isn't as elegant, ditching the long-shot Busby Berkeley-inspired establishing shots and musical interludes entirely and integrating some gritty-ish handheld work that does no favors to the material. In this movie, Dr. Phibes and Vulnavia (now played by the Britt-Ekland-ish Valli Kemp) are back, now attempting to revive Victoria Phibes in a mystical River Of Life beneath a pharaoh's tomb. They're pitted against Darius Beiderbeck (Robert Quarry, who I just CANNOT warm up to, alas), an arrogant adventurer in search of eternal life. The dry humor is present and the plot pops along at a pleasant pace. While Vulnavia looks incredible, alas her outfits don't change as much, and some are even--*gasp*--recycled. That shouldn't stop us from admiring some of her signature looks for a moment, though:

ZOMG Shiek Outfit!!!! Granted, in a perfect world SHE would be wearing the robes and headpiece, but Our Man Vincent cuts quite the dashing figure here.

For its pretty much limitless re-watch potential, style excellence, and wicket wit, let's raise a glass or two to the Dr. Phibes films. They just don't make 'em like THAT anymore!

Lars Von Trier's "Antichrist"

2009-11-06T08:55:00.002-05:00

Confession: I do not plan on seeing Lars Von Trier's "Antichrist" even though it features Charlotte Gainsbourg and Willem Dafoe, two performers that I admire immensely. Even the theme of the film--that "nature is Satan's church"--is something I can get behind. Suffice to say I don't like spending time anyplace that doesn't have artificial climate. Why, then, am I avoiding this movie? Simply put, my days of cinematic endurance tests are behind me and this movie was tailor-made to create a heavy emotional response. Also, while the genital mutilation is what seems to be earning the majority of the public's collective cringe-response, I'm just totally not-digging on the animalstuff. Yeah, I know--baby-doom and weiner-stabbings are fine, but when was the last time a baby bird cut YOU off in traffic?

HOWEVER, I'm glad the movie exists because it's occasioned some really interesting criticism from several of my favorite blogs. While I'm over here, not-watching "Antichrist," I urge you to check out some of these fantastic reviews:

Kindertrauma's take on "Antichrist" [I love Unkle Lancifer and Aunt John more and more EVERY SINGLE DAY, friends]

Paracinema's take on "Antichrist"

Cinema Suicide's take on "Antichrist"

Greatest Fashion Statements in Exploitation Cinema History

2009-11-05T09:06:00.000-05:00

The bespangled dhoti pants I saw at Top Shop recently have convinced me that fashion has utterly abandoned me for the time being. Lunatics have taken over the asylum, and I'm left holding a chopped-up "Zombie versus Shark" t-shirt as the only evidence that I've purchased any clothing at all in the past several months. In the spirit of escapism (and working through my post-Halloween-partum depression), let's take a look at some of the incredible fashion statements that come to us from cinema.

Lady Diabolik-style striptease outfit from "Satanik." It pains me in no small measure that I don't have a job where this would be the uniform. I need to start my lucrative career in cat-burglary STAT. Speaking of which--why doesn't anybody talk about cat-burglary anymore?

This hair-collar greatcoat from "Blood for Dracula" is only one of the reasons I adore Udo Kier's portrayal of a foppish, decaying, aristocratic Count.

Ilsa's formalwear in "Ilsa: Harem Keeper of the Oil Sheiks" inspires me to new heights of cutting up my clothing. I'm pretty sure the assistance of her two hench-babes is crucial to being able to get *into* and *out of* this particular get-up.

[Tie] Turban and natty suit from "Vengeance of the Zombies" and lucha libre masks with business casual attire in "Santo and Blue Demon vs. Dracula and the Wolfman." What I'm trying to say is: HEADGEAR, gentlemen. Get all over that junk. It's unpossible for me to choose between the quiet sophistication of a swami's turban or the rough-and-ready machismo of a Mexican wrestling mask. Protip: Choose one OR the other--both would just be gauche.

The she-sheik getup from "Modesty Blaise" exemplifies how the ladies can work this look into their apparel. Much as I didn't dig "Modesty Blaise" as a film, I just can't get the fashions out of my mind! Everyone looked simply gorgeous in this film. Let's take a moment to collectively swoon over the sheer amount of groovy on display here, shall we? *swoon*

Wallenberg's wardrobe in "Salon Kitty" is jaw-droppingly elaborate and sumptuous in every scene. This character has got more wardrobe changes than Madonna, and I love him for that.

Carol Hammond's wardrobe in "Lizard in a Woman's Skin" is actually a look I've been striving to emulate for some time in actual f'reals non-ironic real life. I don't have Florinda Balkan's icy severity, so I just come off looking like a very small, somewhat spazzy witchfinder general. I like to think that just means I've put my own stamp on the theme.

Mr. Tiger in "Virgins from Hell" is the coolest motherfucker on the planet. Make no goddamn mistake about that.

[Tie] Body paint in "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls" and "The Case of the Bloody Iris." No, really--YOU try to choose whether Haji or Edwige wore it better. I double dog dare you.

The zebra coat and oversized hat from "Dorian Gray" are just astonishing. It is to my eternal consternation that Baron XIII still refuses to don this outfit, even though I've told him that the internet demands it of him.

Halloween in the Tenebrous Empire - Remaking "Dead Snow"

2009-11-01T15:39:00.002-05:00

It's November 1st, which means that I've slept till post-noon after another truly epic Halloween debauch. Baron XIII and I have been troopers for the past several nights, cramming a year's worth of partying and fancy dress into a few days. We've learned a lot of things:

You can ride the New York City subway dressed as a Nazi zombie and people will adore you--but ONLY on October 31st. Related: I am probably on the Facebook pages of everyone who attended the Smack! Party last night.
There is a finite amount of alcohol that the human body can contain at any given point.
I think I'm older than all of the members of the current line-up of Christian Death.

I saw several Lady Gagas--all of them actual ladies and all of them in different outfits.
When it's 2am and everyone in the party is drunk, you will still get cruised even if you are wearing skull makeup.

I'm planning on spending today crashed in front of teevee and enjoying everyone else's Halloween pictures. I think the next 364 days will give me just enough time to plan for next year!

Check out more pictures of Halloween 2009 and past spooky adventures on my Flickr page.

Happy Halloween from the Tenebrous Empire

2009-10-31T17:25:00.001-04:00

Well, it's the final and most vital night of my marathon Halloween, but before I get off to another night of greasepaint, fancy hats, and general debauch, I wanted to wish all my interpals an extraordinarily joyful Goth Christmas--I mean... HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Below are some photos from an event I attended last night at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City. Every year on October 30th, the Cathedral presents a screening of a spooky silent film with live organ accompaniment, followed by the Procession of the Ghouls, a live puppetry and costume performance put together by the same folks who create the puppets that mark the beginning of the annual Village Halloween Parade. It's a gorgeous sight to behold, and I highly recommend this event to anyone who's spending the creepiest of holidays in New York City.

And for those who are curious as to what *I* have been wearing:

October 29, 2009 - Amazon Princess:

October 30, 2009 - Merry Widow [alert the History Channel--there are ORBS IN THIS PHOTO]:

October 31, 2009 - WATCH THIS SPACE!

"The Real Wolfman" on History Channel

2009-10-29T11:50:00.000-04:00

Ohhh History Channel--you've really outdone yourself this time! I thought you'd reached the sublime heights of ludicrosity with your presentation on "Stalin's Monkey Army,"* but I was wrong. Indeed, last night's viewing of "The Real Wolfman," a two hour documentary program teaming the attempts of an ex-cop and a cryptozoologist to track down the true story of the Beast of Gevaudan, reached new ranges of jaw-dropping non-science.

*Brief summary: 57 minutes spent on how records of dubious Soviet provenance might indicate that Stalin was funding experiments in UNSPEAKABLE UNIONS in the hopes of creating half-mans-half-monkeys super soldiers, followed by 3 minutes of scientists going "no way in hell, dude, cos of chromosomal mismatch FAIL and stuff."

Between 1764 and 1767, a series of attacks and killings were perpetrated on the villagers of the rural French town of Gevuadan. Depending on which source you're choosing to believe, anywhere from 100 to over 200 people were victims of gruesome violence that included wounds that appeared to be inflicted by biting, tearing, dismemberment, and partial devouring of the bodies of the dead. At this same time, a number of large, wolf-like animals were observed in the countryside surrounding Gevaudon, with eyewitness reports corresponding in their general details of a bad-smelling, red-furred, furry quadraped beastie. If this is sounding pretty familiar to you, it's because you spent way too much time in the occult section of your local library as a kid (guilty!) or you saw the sumptuous screen presentation of this tale in "The Brotherhood of the Wolf" (also guilty!).

Now, with forensic science being what it was in the French countryside in the mid-Eighteenth Century (to wit: probably a lot like the witch-ducking scene in "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"), one needs to be very careful with the eyewitness accounts and the "Correlation Equals Causation" impulse. It's quite a bit easier to blame monstrous creatures for savage deaths than it is to blame monstrous men for these deeds. However, the Maneaters of Tsavo and their 135 victims give credence to the possibility of ravenous animals being responsible for the attacks. Add in a tantalizing trail of alleged physical evidence and there's a really interesting investigation here. Sadly this documentary didn't show it.

Enter our protagonists in this documentary--retired police investigator George Deuchar (veteran of such venerable programs as "Psychic Investigators") and fan of pretty young goth girls and also cryptozoologist Ken Gerhard (check out his MySpace page--srsly). Both men, with their fluency in the French language and depth of knowledge in the late period of the French Monarchy are imminently qualified for the investigation! Oh wait--did I just say that? I meant the exact opposite.

Let's re-start: this documentary is really all about the entire country of France making minor American reality teevee personalities look like idiots. Great moments include:

A distant relative of the man who allegedly shot the Beast recounting the folk tale to our investigators, and seeming kind of confused that they don't quite get the idea that he didn't KNOW his great-etc.-grand-uncle on a personal level.
A tour guide at a historical church trying incredible hard to restrain a smile while telling our investigators that it would be "impossible" for the Catholic Church to have conspired to create a mania surrounding the Beast for its own promotional good.
A zoologist (the kind that studies real, actual animals--not imaginary ones) spinning a tale about how a French peasant could have kept a stable of hyenas and trained them to do his murderous bidding.

If you're thinking this is both the BEST and the WORST documentary you've ever seen--just hang in there to the final moments, when these haters of Occam's Razor sum up their findings and rest easily at night, having solved the mystery once and for all. Let's put it this way--if you've seen "Brotherhood of the Wolf," imagine something even less plausible than that.

I really think The History Channel, now that it has abandoned its mission as The Hitlery Channel (that role mantle has been taken on by the expanded cable Military Channel), should be forced to change its name to the Disreputable Crackpot Channel. It's entirely more honest, and I'd be sure to watch it more frequently to boot! Let's hear it for truth in advertising, folks.

Hunchback of the Morgue [1973]

2009-10-27T17:10:00.001-04:00

One of the things that fans of Spanish horror actor Paul Naschy respond to with great affection is the fact that Naschy approaches the genre from the standpoint of a superfan. Much as I get enthusiastic about filmmakers who use horror tropes to explore avante garde artistic concepts or greater cultural themes, there's something to be said for the joys of movies that embrace Horror For Horror's Sake. While Naschy's films aren't the slickest efforts with the most sophisticated content, there's a passion that suffuses his work and the man has some moments that border on--dare I say it--very good acting, underneath all that crepe hair and grease paint.

Let's get this out of the way right quick--"Hunchback of the Morgue" is one of the more insane Naschyflicks I've had the pleasure of viewing. "Vengeance of the Zombies" was nutty, but ultimately was propelled by its own flavor of occult logic; and while "Night of the Howling Beast" featured a yeti fighting a werewolf, it was at its heart an exotic monster mash. "Hunchback," on the other hand, is a tragic romance that centers around a mentally retarded hunchback being exploited by an ambitious mad scientist.

No, interpals--there are no typos or transposed words in that plot summary.

Imagine every mad scientist movie you've ever seen: there's an amoral man compelled to tamper in God's domain, aided by a leering cripple who steals body parts for his hideous experiments. A good scientist and his lovely fiancee are initially intrigued by the Bad Doctor's works but come to realize he's gone off the deep end. There's a lot of tubes and smoke and light-up buttons and maybe a fiery cataclysm, and at the end of the day everybody learns a lesson about not screwing with nature. So, take that, subtract the fiery cataclysm and substitute a love triangle with the hunchback, a dead girl, and a health professional of some sort who works at a women's reformatory, and you've got "Hunchback of the Morgue." It's a gruesome, kinky, and sometimes genuinely eerie flick that's really without peer from where I'm sitting! If "Flesh for Frankenstein" was a completely earnest film with no intent towards satire, it might--might--be a little like "Hunchback," but it would still lack the hunchback POV that drives this flick.

In spite of a kinky flavor and emphasis on gruesomeness that are surprisingly strong for a Naschy monster mash, there's no mistaking this as being ANYTHING BUT one of the Mighty Molina's** efforts. Predictably, the actor is also a scriptwriter and story developer on this film! Shit gets Tyrolean as fuck in a hurry, beginning with a jaunty polka tune playing over scenes of what are presumably the Alps, and then BAM! We're in a beer hall at the height of be-dirndl-ed happy hour. Oh Naschy, how I adore your sense of subtlety. Local asshole Udo is engaged in a drinking competition with local other asshole Hans. Udo's drinking triump is dampened by his untimely death in the vague proximity of hunchback Gotho (the NASCHINATOR himself), who seizes the strapping lad's body for use at the local medical school. Turns out Gotho has a crush on Udo's ladyfriend Ilse, who is dying of consumption (as you do, amidst such overwhelming gothickry). It's no spoiler to say that Ilse meets her end, sending Gotho off the rails and on a KILL CRAZY RAMPAGE.

**Props to Tenebrous Pal the Vicar of VHS for coining THAT particular phrase--and also for turning me on to this movie!

Now, make no mistake--this would be quite enough to make a raaawwther incredible film--hunchback loves girl, loses girl, goes bonkers in a violent manner, is eventually caught and killed. But "Hunchback of the Morgue" is like the Ginsu Knife Set of movies, because you better believe there's more where that came from. After a five minute span, during which Gotho beheads one doc, disembowels another, steals Ilse's body and provides us with an alarming up-skirt shot or a corpse, I was left thinking the movie had peaked. Boy was I wrong--shit was just getting rolling! Gotho enlists the aid of Dr. Orla, a scientist obsessed with creating life from dead cells, to bring his beloved Ilse back to life. No slouch, Dr. Orla immediately hatches a plan by which he co-opts Gotho's cavernous lair (originally used by the Inquisition as a dungeon and handily stocked with such necessities as an iron maiden and a rack) as his secret lab.

Unclear on the concept of "secrecy," Orla shares his facility's existence with upstanding Dr. Tauchner (played by Vic Winner, the best nom de guerre since Homer Simpson adopted Max Power) and his fiancee Eva, as well as a group of local thugs. By the end of the movie, it seems like half of the town probably knows all about the lab and Orla's blob-like Primordial that he's grown out of a vat.

Meanwhile, Gotho's still on the run from the authorities, who right-away realize he's responsible for the KILL CRAZY RAMPAGE they're investigating. He'd probably have been caught, too, were it not for Elke, an employee at the local women's reformatory. No doubt as a result of her workplace environment, Elke is no stranger to oddball couplings and takes pity on Gotho. Sexy, sexy pity. Maybe she's into hunchback foot worship, and Gotho's repeated groveling and toe-kissing by way of thanks for her help (no really) works for her. It's a big internet--I've heard of stranger things. Needless to say, Paul Naschy added in extra lines to his traditional boob-touching rider in order to pull of this particular cinematic coup. Better yet--Elke is so het up by our disfigured lead that she has to convince him that Ilse would be a-ok with their carnal activities. Seriously--they must have a real shallow dating pool in that burg.

It'd be unpossible for me to recommend this film enough. It's got freaky aspects, silly aspects, eerie aspects, and gory aspects. If you don't like where the movie is going, just wait a minute--it'll come round to your particular brand of horror fandom. It's really a perfect Halloween week watch, friends!

Check out the Flickr gallery of stills from "Hunchback of the Morgue" right here.

For Your Height Only [1981]

2009-10-22T09:30:00.002-04:00

I'm about to pitch a movie that you've either heard of, or will be incredibly angry at yourself for not having heard of and living X number of years in profound ignorance, carrying around an unnameable sadness that could have been lifted from you like so much morning mist if you had heard of this movie. Some people are content to pill-pop themselves into a zombie-like state of pseudo-contentment, heedless to the Black Box warnings on Prozac, but Your Tenebrous Hostess prefers a chemical-free mood lifter. That mood lifter, darlings, is Filipino action-comedy "For Your Height Only," a James Bond spoof starring the startlingly acrobatic little person known as Weng Weng.

I'll offer a brief plot summary before we begin deconstructing the magic of this film: Mysterious supercriminal Mr. Giant is trying to get his hands on the N-Bomb (no really) that has been developed by Professor Kohler and it's up to Agent 00 to save the Professor and bring down Mr. Giant's sex-slaving, drug-dealing, loud-suit-wearing criminal organization. But let's face it--that data is not particularly integral to the enjoyment of this cinematic marvel. In fact, it's best to just sit back, pop open several frosty adult beverages, and just let the cacophony of polyester suits, creative dubbing, and testicular abuse rinse one's eyeballs with excellence.

Let's begin with our star, the man without whom "For Your Height Only" would simply be a story about a regular-sized dude pretending to be a secret agent--poorly. One of the things that struck me about Weng Weng is that he's incredibly nimble. Like, to the point where it's kinda disturbing. It's one thing to watch a man who's trained his entire life in a martial arts discipline kick some serious ass, but it's uniquely humbling to watch a man who's under four feet tall tussle with average-height baddies and look pretty damned competent. Chalk that up to one more reason why I'm pissed I didn't grow up in the circus. Agent 00 runs, flips, and kicks his way through an army of thugs, pausing only to romance ladies and drink from oversized bottles of Pepsi. Now, about that kicking... Agent 00 has rightly determined that his fighting technique can't rely on the kind of balletic leaps and lightning fist-work favored by average-sized martial artists. Nay indeed, friends--Agent 00 knows that a bad guy's Off Switch is located below his navel and between his legs, and there is nary a nutsack that goes unharmed during his mission. If you're the kind of person who finds midgets kicking people in the balls to be funny (and if you're reading this blog, I'M ON TO YOU ALREADY), then "For Your Height Only" is your movie, friend.

Another of Weng Weng's stunts that is repeated throughout this film is a dramatic and speedy across-the-floor slide, accomplished with the assistance of his doubtless-slippery polyester suits and an off-camera shove. I like to think about the production assistant crouching just off screen, holding onto Weng's feet and ready to give him a mighty push while the diminutive star pulls the trigger on his equally-diminutive gun.

Finishing off the stunt-a-palooza, there's a scene in which Weng Weng employs a jet pack to gain access to Mr. Giant's hideout. Just look at that picture! That's a magnificent cherry on the already-overwhelming sundae of this movie.

Agent 00 is a man of action in every possible sense of the cliche. He's not too modest to employ his magical fascination in matters relating to the opposite sex. I am reminded of watching a midget wrestling video I'd rented to watch during a pumpkin-carving party* some number of years ago. In this film, Puppet the Psycho Dwarf proclaims that "every man wants to BE a midget, and every woman wants to FUCK a midget." Perhaps Puppet was referring to the charms of Weng Weng, whose "petite, like a potato" appearance clearly works to his advantage.

*This course of action is NOT recommended for others, as it was only by the grace of some dark deity that none of us lopped off any digits due to lack of attentiveness to our gourd-and-knife-related activities.

I don't want you to think that the success of "For Your Height Only" rests only on Weng Weng's fragile-looking shoulders. The supporting cast is equally ham-tastic, aided by the AMAZING dubbing choices. In what can only be a misguided attempt to differentiate characters, imitations of Peter Lorre, Edward G. Robinson, and various other old-timey faves are brought into play. The costuming plays a crucial role in the overall glee-fest of this movie as well. Just check out the SUIT on the dude in the photo above! That look just commands respect, and to underscore his bad-itude, that character speaks with a pronounced 1930s mobster patois that would make Bugs Bunny arch an eyebrow (if Bug Bunny *had* eyebrows, of course).

I really just can't recommend this movie enough--it's cult status couldn't be MORE merited. If all that hasn't brought a smile to your face, maybe the Flickr gallery of stills from "For Your Height Only" will lift your dour mood.

Extra Special Bonus Awesome! Enjoy "The Weng Weng Rap" by The Chuds:

Boris Karloff Blogathon: November 23 - 29, 2009

2009-10-20T11:33:00.002-04:00

There are few things that can make me look forward to the dwindling days of the year after the giddy rush of October. Let's me be frank--the tinsel-strewn, consumerist mania of Christmas pales in comparison to the drunken, grease-painted debauch of Halloween.

It is therefore a beautiful thing that the internet is graced with the presence of Pierre Fournier, overlord of Frankensteinia, who is running the Boris Karloff Blogathon that's running from November 23rd through November 29th of this year. I'm going to have to study up in order to match wits with the likes of Pals of the Tenebrous Empire at Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies, The Vault of Horror, Arbogast on Film, and The Groovy Age of Horror.

While I'm rambling about stuff happening down the horror series of 'tubes, I'm going to take a moment to point up and to the right of my blogroll, which has a kinda-newly-created section for podcasts and multimedia. I've been mulling and pondering the notion of creating a podcast, but while I'm waffling, others are actually recording. I'd like to take a moment to say a hearty THANK YOU to the podcasters of the web for keeping me entertained during long commutes. Here's what I'm listening to (and don't hesitate to let me know about your fave shows, too!):

Horror Etc. -- My first exposure to these gents was through their censorship show (Episode 99--I like to think of myself as arriving "Fashionably Late"), and I'll be damned if it didn't get me to ACTUALLY THINKING while listening. Bonus points for Ted and Tony for a) being hella-knowledgeable and b) playing nice with others. We won't even get into the whole "they post a new show every week without fail" thing, because that would make me look really, REALLY bad in comparison...!

Mondo Movie -- Horror, cult and exploitation cinema goodness from the UK. Dan and Ben cover a nice variety of new releases, old favorites, and obscure weirdness.

The Revolving Video Podcast -- Chris and Jamie offer a potpourri of silliness that includes movie reviews, weird news, and genuinely funny banter. This podcast feels like happy hour with good pals--the episode that covers "Samurai Cop" had me in stitches.

Paranormal Activity [2009]

2009-10-19T09:38:00.000-04:00

I remember when "The Blair Witch Project" came out to much internet hype and fanfare back in 1999. I was dating a huge asshole of a human being at the time who missed out on getting us tickets to the limited release twice. It wasn't for this reason that I kicked his whiny ass to the curb, but it would've been a fine enough reason, because "The Blair Witch Project" was a really creepy little micro-budget, macro-marketing flick. The "waiting in the corner" final frames worked really well, and the acting was natural enough that one could buy into the premise that this was real found footage left behind by hapless young travelers. The Bell Witch-inspired backstory was eerie and mysterious, and it really felt like the storyline I was watching was but one of the many creepy things that had occurred in the Pennsylvania forest. It was worth suffering through the motion-sickness-inducing bits to get through the story to the chilling final frames.

If one were to create a film that boiled off the texture of "The Blair Witch Project" and discarded it, set the story in a three-bedroom house with a cathedral-ceilinged dining room (described somewhat puzzlingly as "a typical suburban 'starter' tract house" in the plot blurb) and center it around the most excruciatingly ordinary couple in recent movie history, one would have "Paranormal Activity." Watching this movie was like spending ninety minutes watching grating yuppie assholes engage in a game of demonic ring-and-run, with the flaming bag of dog turds ultimately left on the viewer's porch.

I love ghost stories, and some of the only genuine scares I've gotten from films have come from this flavor of horror flick. The delicious goosebumps elicited during "The Changeling" and the creeping dread of "The Haunting" are among my more treasured movie memories, so I was eagerly anticipating getting some similar thrills from "Paranormal Activity." For those of you who've been away from the internet recently, "Paranormal Activity" tells the story of a couple haunted by demonic forces through video they've compiled during their investigation. This formula isn't inherently disastrous, but once the ouija board came out and well before the sprinkling of baby powder on the threshold of the bedroom, I had clocked out, realizing that no new ground was being explored here.

Hi! We're bland in a manner similar to that of other humans. Enjoy sharing our horrible lives for ninety minutes you will never, ever, ever get back.

Also, there are few things LESS fun for me than spending an hour and a half of my life with the kind of people I avoid at social gatherings. Male Asshole and Female Asshole embody almost everything I hate about average American human beings. Allow me to elaborate:

I hate their "careers." He is a day trader, she is a student. Working as a "day trader" is like saying "I play scratch-off lottery tickets for a living and sponge off of my folks who keep me in the soft lifestyle to which I have become accustomed." She is studying English in order to be a teacher. In a startling display of ingenuity, the filmmakers give her the hobby of jewelry-making, instead of taking the easy out of making her a top-notch scrapbooker.
Female Asshole spends a significant portion of the movie denying her boyfriend sex. Yes, she's a real keeper, that one. I bet they do it with the lights on if it's Male Asshole's birthday.
Male Asshole says things like "NO ONE COMES IN HERE AND MESSES WITH MY GIRLFRIEND." Your bravado--I am unconvinced by it.
They have a bevy of decorative pillows and comforters that are stripped off the bed before they can sleep in it. Do normal people do this? That seems like the dumbest thing ever. See also the six-hundred inch television set that dominates their living room that I just KNOW is used for watching THE BIG GAME. I bet they own jerseys representing their favorite athletes that they wear while stuffing their doughy selves with nachos on GAME DAY.

I can imagine getting trapped in conversation with them at someone else's cocktail party. They're colleagues of a friend of a friend and I have to spend precious minutes of my existence listening to prattle about stock portfolios and mid-terms and designer pillows at Bed Bath and Beyond while they criticize my lifestyle in the kind of passive-aggressive manner perfected by the Studiously Average.

Whatever horrors this film held in store for these folks, they simply weren't hideous enough.

But back to the Movie Actual. I can dig a slow burn--hell, slowness in films doesn't bother me one whit; I'm a Eurotrash fan. I was dismayed by the assholocity of the lead characters, but I held off on unleashing the full measure of my ire, eager to see the nighttime footage shot while the couple is sleeping. This footage is undoubtedly well-handled, but it's a serious problem that EVERYTHING that happens when NOT shot on a tripod while the leads are ASLEEP (and therefore not talking) makes me want to reach through the screen and bounce somebody's head off of the sidewalk.

I'm not going to sit here and tell you not to see this movie because--quite frankly--most people I know really dug it. I'm not an arbiter of good taste, nor do I wish to be one. But... I can't help but feel like some other, different, nigh-upon-unwatchable movie that isn't the "Paranormal Activity" other people are raving about was somehow slipped into the projector last night. Cos what *I* saw, lieblings and liebchens, was the worst movie I've seen in a significant amount of time.

Freaky Horror Tropes: Necrophilia

2009-10-14T11:49:00.000-04:00

We've all got a list--mental if not committed to paper or intertube--of the elements of horror entertainment that freak us out the most. Whether your displeasure derives from eyeball trauma, rape, disembowelment, or any of the other entries in the catalog of terrifying images, you've likely encountered something utterly appalling at some point during your film-watching career.

One of my own Horror Bad Touches is necrophilia. I know what you're thinking--that's not terribly logical, as it's something that would happen to me *after* death, and you've got a really good point. Perhaps I ought to clarify--I am really squicked out by necrophiliacs as they're portrayed in the horror genre. There's something about the profound loneliness and misanthropy of the cinematic necrophile that's tragic and dangerous at the same time. The cinematic necrophile is the kind of person who is completely alienated from his fellow man, and is therefore capable of committing terrible acts of violence without a flicker of remorse.

And--not for nothin'--but you guys have seen "Nekromantik," right? German director Jörg Buttgereit's 1987 micro-budget "boy-girl-corpse love triangle" tour de force? I didn't want to talk to any human beings for a full 24 hours after watching that movie, out of fear that one of them had a spark in his eye because he was thinking about ripening up my cadaver for a vigorous buggering. Needless to say, I developed an only-semi-rational fear of Mr. Buttgereit after watching this movie, and I developed a rather florid image of him as being a crippled old troll of a person with asymmetrical, hooded eyes and a string of yellow drool coming from the corner of his mouth.

Oh no no, interpals--it's TOTALLY WORSE than that. Because Jörg Buttgereit is an icy Teuton of the sort that makes me weak in the knees. I was so completely dismayed by his gorgeousity that (in spite of the promise of Many Crisp American Dollars scrabbled together by SO-CALLED FRIENDS) I found myself unable to do a meet-and-greet with him at a convention a few years back. That's right--my mostly-irrational ick-factor extends even to artists who *discuss* necrophilia.

In an effort to engage in self-led exposure therapy, I've sought out non-fiction information on this ghoulish taboo behavior. One of my favorite non-fiction presentations on necrophilia is this three-page entry into "The Big Book of Death" (published in 1995 by Paradox Press), in which artist Craig Hamilton adapts the romance comic book style to profoundly macabre subject matter. Enjoy, friends!

Socially Conscious Sexy Halloween Costumes

2009-10-13T10:49:00.002-04:00

Halloween poses some serious challenges in the Tenebrous Empire. Having two or three costume parties to attend means needing two or three costumes, and being Year-Round Spooky means that such holiday chestnuts as vampire, witch and punk-rocker are out of the running.*

*Even if it does amuse me to almost-no-end to see legions of revelers costumed as Saturday Night Tenebrous Kate on October 31st.

As a woman, so I like to keep things a little saucy, and I won't lie and say I don't get just a little inspiration from the Sexy Fill-In-The-Blank costumes sold at Halloween superstores. But I think these costumes are getting a little ridiculous. I mean--come the fuck ON--sexy Ghostbuster? Really...? I mean, if you're into en-hot-pants-ed Dan Ackroyds, I'm not going to piss in your already-hella-bizarre Cheerios, but that's just cinematically inaccurate (at best).

But my sexy costumes are always kinda evil--from demoniacal nun to voodoo cemetery spirit to fascist zombie to lab-created monster, I tend to draw from the darker sides of infotainment. ** Maybe it's time to get creative and bring sexy back to the positive figures from history.

**Holy crap--my spell checker knows the word "infotainment." Ew. At least "staycation" still gets a red underline.

In that spirit, I think that SEXY ABE LINCOLN is an idea whose time has come. Much like the sexy stage magician or the sexy ringmaster, SEXY ABE LINCOLN wears a jaunty top-hat. Unlike the sexy stage magician or the sexy ringmaster, SEXY ABE LINCOLN was responsible for the unification of the United States in the aftermath of the Civil War. Pull THAT outta your hat, sexy stage magician.

If you'd prefer a more exotic sexy costume, perhaps SEXY GANDHI is your speed. Historical accuracy be damned--diapers aren't sexy.*** Togas, on the other hand, are flirty as all hell, and also easy to find at your local costume shop. Add in a bald cap and some wire-rimmed glasses--hunger strike optional--and you're well on your way to a costume that's both sexy and socially conscious.

***Unless you're part of a certain Special Needs contingent, kinda like the one that's into the en-hot-pants-ed Dan Ackroyds.

I know you folks have some good ideas for sexy-yet-non-evil costumes! I dare you to do better than the actually-f'reals Sexy Environmentalist costume.

Edit to Add: I almost forgot another sexy costume I'd developed--the PANTSLESS GRIMACE. It's not particularly socially conscious, but it's not really evil either:

Little did I know, upon creating this concept sketch, that the Pantsless Grimace costume ACTUALLY EXISTS! Check it out here, and note that it comes with a costume top and boot covers. NO PANTS, people.

My Need for a Vampire Intervention

2009-10-09T09:00:00.000-04:00

My name is Kate--Kay Ay Tee Ee--and I'm addicted to crappy vampires. Sure, you might think that, much the rageahol addicted dude in season one of "Intervention," I'm just making junk up and I need to pull myself together. It's just not that easy, friends. NOTHING IN THE WORLD can compare to the feeling of getting all hopped up on pumpkin spice lattes and watching THIS VIDEO:

There's just something so thrilling about a crookedly-applied prosthetic fang or an ill-conceived CG-Eyeball or an awkward egomaniac in a ruffled blouse that just sets my pulse a-pounding. Watching a shitty vampire movie is like engaging in an endurance test. The endorphin rush of having survived "Queen of the Damned" is probably a bit like making it all the way through a Sun Dance--sure you're bleeding from every pore and you kind of want to die, but ultimately your nipples are probably intact and you've become a man. Or... something like that.

I wonder if there's some kind of medal (hopefully with a creepy looking black cross on it--fingers crossed!) for cinematic survival. If so, I've surely earned it with my many forays into trashy vampires.

A Brief Selection of Self-Inflicted Vampire Film Injuries

"Dracula 3000," which combines two questionable tastes that always bring me running: Udo Kier and vampires (the whole "in space" thing should've tipped me off to this being a bad, dangerous idea, though). As a pal observerd, Mr. Kier could've played his entire role pantsless, as he just appeared as a talking head on a screen. In fact, if you think about Udo Kier acting pantslessly, the film is almost watchable. At least for a couple of minutes.
"Vegas Vampires" has Fred Williamson and vampires. Also a cast of people known only by single names like "Rio" and "Kurupt," probably for Plausible Deniability purposes. I seriously think Fred Williamson included Richard Roundtree in the cast just to take him down a peg for making Shaft a cooler character than Tommy Gibbs.
I sometimes watch "Van Helsing" the way people engage in the Two Minute Hate in Orwell's "1984." Check it out--I even made a cartoon dedicated to my loathing of this film:

My most recent horrible vampire film watch was "Gothic Vampires from Hell." Yeah, fuckers--roll THAT one around on your tongue for a while. THEN get ready to learn that the plot concerns a battle of the bands between rival gothic rock groups. AND that the soundtrack contains songs by *actual* gothic rock bands, which are meant to be the songs of the *fictional* bands. It's pretty much an orgy of lip-synching and poorly-applied eyemakeup. In fact, I think I probably have a lot more to say about this movie.

Yes, folks--vampires can do far worse than sparkle. Take me at my word. I've fallen into a K-Hole of vampire krazee and I just can't escape!