MORTAL PHASES

This month I am going to devote some quality time toward a surprisingly good modern day take on one of the oldest school fractions of the monster movie sub-genre. Said film, calling itself 'Late Phases' (with the subtitle, 'Night of the Lone Wolf' on the cover art but nowhere in the film) and hailing from the good folks at Glass Eye Pix (by way of Dark Sky Films) seeks to pull itself up from the oft tread conventions tied tight to the common fold of the werewolf film staple and branch off in a decidedly different, more character fueled, direction.

Situated in some far flung, small in scale New York state locale dubbed 'Crescent City', 'Late Phases' weds the viewer close to the pared down living situation of one vision free war vet name of Ambrose McKinley (realized onscreen by the ever dependable Nick Damici) with little more to yearn for but to count off the remaining days of his dwindling existence with his loyal pooch by his side. Our dutifully complacent chap has just freshly set down in these uneventful parts (with the aid of his always distracted son, played by Ethan Embry) when, from directly out of nowhere, arrives an intrusive menace of an extremely bestial nature. It would appear, as the pesky quirks of horror movie fate would have it, that the 'harmless' vibe of this community is seriously inflected by a heady dose of Lycanthropic corruption.

The first thick taste of such comes in very direct fashion one fitfully solemn evening wherein our main man cursed with the failed eyeballs must quickly acclimate to a violent, fatal attack upon, first his kindly neighbor and next his ever faithful, four legged best friend. Promptly following this unprovoked assault, Ambrose sets forth to plot a course of action that will, hopefully, locate, isolate and snuff out the savage culprit. What this will ultimately entail is the deeper delving into the predictably conservative social circles that inform the spine of this specific slice of small town Americana. Ambrose attempts (not often successfully) to win the trust of the resident old biddy greeting committee (designed, to a degree, after characters in the original 'Stepford Wives' as confessed by the director on the revelatory commentary track) as well as integrate himself into the thick of the area religious populace (which looks to be a fair chunk of the story's supporting players). This all unfolds in a fairly expected manner with a series of not-so-stable confrontations giving way to the inevitable red herring or two on the way to the customary human to were-thing transformation reveal that these kinds of pictures are cemented around.

Fortunately for us, this oh so potentially simple and cliché susceptible piece of lower budget, wolfman calamity is guided to a far nobler fruition by the totally able hand of a gent named Adrian Garcia Bogliano. Those precious few of you who actually follow my scattershot column on a constant basis may recall that name as being associated with a lively film I covered but a year ago called 'Here Comes the Devil'. That film proved itself the wealthy result of an ingenious and uber-resourceful filmmaker who could absorb and adapt his volumetric genre influences to the benefit of a work that, in itself, was wholly original and effortlessly engrossing. 'Here Comes the Devil' also marked the widest ever exposure in this America Bogliano had yet been graced with. This reasonable level of cult success on, mostly, the festival circuit served to put him in a position to take the next best step forward in his rising career, to craft a film within our lovely boarders. Thus, 'Late Phases' was born.

For this, Bogliano's official English lingo debut, the man has carted a few of his well honed directorial traits with him. Witness the soothing warmth of the often succulent cinematography that works one into a lull to pull them away from the danger you know damn well is impending. See, as well, the fetishistic dedication to utter practicality when it comes to the meat of his film's FX work. Minimal digital input was employed in the rendering of the beasties or their unsparing carnage. What you eventually lay eyes on is, for the most part, pure latex, body in suit reality (the 'from scratch to completion' details can be found in the 30 minute featurette 'Early Phases' which ventures into creature maker Robert Kurtzman's studio to casually observe the nuts and bolts behind it all). Now, while it makes for a slight case of sensory adjustment, these delightfully cheesy monstrosities actually prove to be effective throwback, shock horror material once the last stains of polished digital trickery fall from ones' psyche. They help to propel the mounting unease as generated throughout the narrative between our protagonist and a litany of set minded residents who can never really gel to Ambrose's somewhat cold, do it yourself persona.

It seems this fella's determined in-town snooping has raised up the red flag with a number of folks from the gabby spinsters to the local police and back around to the members of faith who express equal parts concern and distain at his disruptive behavior. In the end, it all must spiral back to a case of a life hardened man and his sharpened wits pairing up against a violent wall of supernatural opposition, something the film rather effectively marries to the concept of a fading mortal soul facing its' concluding moments.

'Late Phases' is, apart from being a solid genre entry occasioned by welcome bursts of quality gore, a very satisfying roll out of distinct characters and the fitting performances that breathe them to cinematic life. In addition to the fine, subtly rendered lead work by Damici (whom some may recall from his team ups with stellar director Jim Mickle, like 'Stakeland"), the picture is peppered with many a (semi) familiar mug from across the cult-pop culture entertainment landscape.

The statuesque Tom ('House of the Devil', 'Last Action Hero') Noonan takes part as a mentor like preacher with a soft spot for cigarettes, Tina Louise (Ginger from Gilligan's Island, now looking more like a Golden Girl) show up as one of the pesky neighbors, Lance Guest (the teen hero of 'The Last Starfighter') is a rather creepy hanger on at the church and former 'Twin Peaks' bad boy Dana Ashbrook cameos as an underground gun dealer. All help to fill out the background details nicely. Each piece of this decent cast works to raise the end product well above the standards long set down by one too many a slapped together, direct to the shelf, werewolf themed time killer.

'Late Phases' features the usual extra stuff (some of it mentioned above); play by play audio commentary, a pair of featurettes and the film's trailer. It comes to availability on Blu Ray and/or DVD from the aforementioned Dark Sky Films (darkskyfilms.com).

Worth a shot, I say.

Now, for a much needed passing mention to the ongoing phenomenon of the film festival in this state of ours. With many such cinema based gatherings taking place all across Wisconsin (Wildwood in Appleton, Wisconsin International Film Fest in Madison plus collectives in Green Bay, Milwaukee, Weyauwega and many, many others) I thought it only fitting to pass along a quick assemblage of my own make pretend fest line up culled from many recent finds that I just never got around to rambling about in a regular column.

1. 'Whiplash'-Call it 'Full Metal Jazz Band'. Young drummer with obvious skill set comes under the intense tutelage of a firebrand instructor (J.K. Simmons in an Oscar winning, volcano of a performance). The film charts how the poor lad must endure relentless immersion into the methods of his chosen craft (often to the sharp accompaniment of a barrage of profane insults) in order to come out the other side as one of the greats. The best I've seen, thus far, of the most recent slate of Academy Award darlings (sorry Birdman).

2. 'Under the Skin'- Scarlett Johansson is an alien newly arrived on Earth (more explicitly, Scotland) with an apparent agenda of luring suitable human males, by virtue of her foxy exterior, to her mysterious lair for abduction and...uh...processing purposes or something. Slow, spare and enigmatic, the film marks a return to filmmaking after a near decade of absence for Jonathan Glazer ('Sexy Beast', 'Birth') who takes the bare skeleton of Michel Faber's source novel and has crafted an absorbing study of a being out of place in an environment made all the more alien in itself as the whole film seems to align with Scarlett's character's somewhat abstracted point of view. Dense and challenging in its ambiguity.

3. 'The Guest'- Those clever, 'wink, wink', cats behind the home invasion splat fest 'You're Next', Adam Wingard and Simon Barrett, are back with another jumpy thriller that repeatedly nods back in time toward entries from multiple genres from the 80s and 90s. A soldier on return from the Afghan war ingratiates himself as the proposed combat pal of a naïve family's fallen son. The mystery thickens as the man (essayed by 'Downton Abby' star Dan Stevens) turns out to hold secrets that could prove quite threatening to his obliging hosts. Twisty, stylish fun in an old school, accidental video store discovery kind of way.

4. 'Starry Eyes'- Think of one of David Lynch's starlet in trouble scenarios played out on a more straight arrow path, for awhile, until the darker themes of the storyline bleed vividly to the surface. Somebody named Alex Essoe stars as Sarah, a waitress at a typically degrading Hooters knock off joint who yearns to be a star, awww. She claims she'll do anything to get the part and soon finds herself put to the test of making good on her word in the most unexpected and disturbing way. Relentless once it kicks into its' true narrative intent, with a game lead performance by Essoe that runs an emotional gauntlet that stands to gut the soul of any timid viewer.

5. 'VHS Viral'+'The ABC's of Death 2'- The latest additions to the two anthology franchises that have done all in their power to fully revitalize the format to the level once held by the likes of 'Creepshow'. They're not quite there, but not for lack of persistence and notable improvement of product (especially 'ABC's' which had a lot to make up for in relation to its inaugural entry). Segments very wildly as per usual, but there seems to be a shift in favor of craftsmanship and stronger ideas (as opposed to beat you over the head gross out/shock tactics) which gives me great hope as this whole concept continues to move foreword. Bring on the next round.  

6. 'Life Itself'- A look at the life and uneasy death (more to the point, dying days) of the most famous of all movie critics, Roger Ebert. 'Hoops Dreams' creator Steve James conducts a series of interviews with a post speech, jaw removal Ebert in his hospital room and interweaves the recollection of Roger's rise from lowly Illinois newspaper lackey to the heights of cinematic analysis as the co-host of the popular 'At The Movies' syndicated program and beyond with input from some of the man's big name pals like Martin Scorsese and Werner Herzog. We see images from Ebert's youth in Urbana, IL and hear recollections from many mouths of his tussle with serious alcohol abuse before he became the sweater sporting rival to fellow Chicago film critic Gene Siskel. Funny, revealing and a bit unsettling (James is often present for Ebert's sometimes unpleasant medical upkeep), 'Life Itself' is a fully rewarding look at one of the most unique of all modern celebrities, in this overburdened age of self indulgent blogging and social network info-overkill will there ever be elbow room enough for another like him? Me thinks not.

That's enough. Happy festing, no matter how or where you do it.

killpeoplenamedrichard@yahoo.com

A FEW (STRANGE) WORDS WITH ODERUS.

Way back when, during the mammoth nerd expo that is San Diego Comic-Con (circa 2009).   


At one lofty point during the course of my Comic-Con immersion I found my self locked in one particularly cramped and unsanitary men's restroom with none other than the morally ignorant, gloriously inhuman Oderus Urungus, front man to the world renowned 'Scumdogs of the Universe', GWAR. I put myself in this potentially suspect situation (think prison sex with less hygiene) in order to obtain some nuggets of wisdom from perhaps the greatest rock persona since...uh, that guy with the chainsaw from Jackyl.

We begin with a warm up, just to get the juices flowing.
I ask the esteemed Mr. Urungus to share his thoughts and musings on the  impending 25th anniversary of his band, the accompanying tour and (most  importantly) the arrival of the latest and potentially greatest GWAR record to  date, 'Lust in Space'.
'Basically what we got going this year is GWAR's 25th year on the planet since we've been dethawed via the copious overuse of hairspray. 25 years is not a heck of a lot to an eternal god, it's more like half of an eye blink, yet in human terms it's a long time. So we have decided to declare the onset of a two year celebration of all things GWAR. Our new album, 'Lust in Space' drops on August 18th. We will have a two year celebration because, quite simply, one year is too short. Two years is twice as long! We might even take it up to 3 or 4 years if it's going well.'

'GWAR will go down in history as the band that took 25 years to break. It's a lot like jacking off for 25 years and finally getting your nut, which is what I will be doing at every show.'

Every  one?

'At every single show I will share my filthy load upon your faces and together, all you freaks out there who have supported GWAR for all these  years will be paid back in full. GWAR is not an easy band to support, you've got to take the slings and arrows of ignorant assholes that don't understand our majesty. It's a whole new level of commitment. What other band asks you to sever your mother's head, core out her genitals with a daisy cutter and then have sex with the family dog? Not many, but GWAR fans are all over it.'

About this new record, where does it fit in reference to your earlier works?
'I would say that it is a new level of GWAR's super awesome-nasity (sic). If you took all the GWAR albums and melted them down into mush, it probably fits somewhere in the middle. It's got the thrash of 'Hell-o', the epic metal of 'America Must Be Destroyed', the Dungeons and Dragons on LSD of 'Violence Has Arrived' and it's got the  title of 'Lust in Space'. It is the greatest GWAR album since the last time  we did an album.'

'GWAR at its' worst destroys Slipknot at its' best. Even when Cory what's his face is crapping into a solid gold toilet right onto his fans' faces. We've got a relationship with our fans that is beyond insidious, it's not rape, yet it has something to do with dentistry. I'm not sure what that means but I know that Monty Python would understand.'

Let's talk about your re-signing with Metal Blade Records and also one particular track on 'Lust in Space' that appears to have heavy radio airplay written all over it, 'Make a Child Cry', what inspired you to write this little gem?

'On this planet, there is this whole idea that children are to be 'cared for'. They are to be fed, they are to be given presents and so forth. In outer space, children are used as power units for cybernetic war suits or sex aids and the like. The children of your planet are your  future and if we can destroy them all you will have none, and that is kind of the idea behind  that.'

As for Metal Blade........?

'We're back with Metal Blade, we were on some other label for awhile that didn't make any sense what so ever, they went broke or something. So we're finally back with the ultimate metal label in the world, it was just the perfect time, with the 25th anniversary thing and all. The cosmos, the planets, they're all in line to make this the most successful year in GWAR's history. Metal Blade, they are very much like us, they've been out forever and gone through highs and lows, yet they've hung in there. Brian Slagel (the label's founder) is fat and bald and I love the man. Bringing GWAR back together with Metal Blade is like Laural and Hardy, Charlie and Chaplin, it's like 'you got your anal sex into my carburetor!' It's a wonderful thing.'

Huh?

'They're putting out the new record, it's really the  story of GWAR's final escape from earth. We travel through space, we run out of crack, we have to go back to  earth, that's pretty much the story.'

How about this epic new tour? Any surprise guests?

'Well, we don't wanna give anything away. We got Sleazy P. Martini with us this year. Now that he's solidified his control of the crack industry and the world porno industry, he's back into erecting solid gold skyscrapers and managing the band. We got a lot of off-planet people, back from the old days before GWAR came to this world. Like our old General, General Zod.'

Will you make another stop at the Rave, in gorgeous downtown Milwaukee?

'We'll be back in Milwaukee or Chicago, it all depends on who gives us more money.' (The boys will be sharing the stage at the Rave with Lamb of God and Job For a Cowboy November 6th)

In conclusion, can you just throw a few words out there about what GWAR means to you at this  point?

'All I can say is this, GWAR is the greatest band in rock n' roll history. Nobody cares so much about their  fans that they would mouth Jello molds into a testicle.'

And with that last pearl of infinite wisdom, Sir Oderus wraps me in a sweaty, drunken embrace and we part ways. I stumble in my typical Menasha way out into a fitfully rank crowd to bare witness to the two-fold threat of GWAR and Canadian battle metal progenitors, 3 Inches of Blood, and I have lots of woefully under lit pictures to prove it.

Perfect.

Hidden Horrors.

IN (NOT SO) PLAIN SIGHT.

(Article originally published in the June 2014 issue of The Scene)

Being a fellow who likes to pass himself off as a purveyor of the critical breaking down of most things cinematic, I figured it was about time to swing some attention over to a fine assembly of stellar written critiques care of a wide variety of kindred souls. Yes, we're talking text here, a book named 'Hidden Horror' (Kitley's Krypt) is a right ambitious little tome that tasks itself with offering any willing reader some well formed and engaging insight into not one but one hundred and one so-called 'overlooked' (or 'undervalued', if you will) films crafted and broadcast under the rich horror genre umbrella. It may be the perfect answer to that eternal query many have put forth when seeking appropriate material for that next movie night, 'I wonder if there's anything good to rent that I haven't already seen?'

The guiding hand behind this whole concept, from genesis to final published product, is an unabashed horror nerd cum magazine/blog writer/thespian/ a whole bunch of other related stuff working out of that windy Chicago place calling himself Aaron Christensen (aka-Dr. AC). Sir. Christensen (who contributes his own piece examining the merits of Larry Fessenden's vampire opus 'Habit') has set about to a culling together of 101 impassioned and heavily opinionated individuals from all over this damn planet (the states, the U.K., Scandinavia etc.) and challenged them each to assemble a short list of beloved fright films that they felt would be truly deserving of a second (or in some cases first) chance to shine in front of a much greater viewing population then what they've thus far received. After whittling it all down to a singular selection, each of these eager literati were directed to argue in favor of their respective movies as best they could, the final resulting
 passages may differ in appeal to a great degree when matched up with many a reader's own specific taste patterns but so be it. Ample debate and discussion is my guesstimate as to the healthy outcome of all this along with the expanding of many a reader's overall film viewing education.


The contents of 'Hidden Horror' spans the gamut of the history of the genre entire, the writings contained within touch base on everything from the growing pains of the silent era (Dreyer's 'Vampyr', 'The Hands of Orlac', 'The Penalty') to the fruitful decades following the spoken word's invasion of the film form ('Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man', 'Kill, Baby...Kill', 'Phantom of the Paradise', 'Humanoids From the Deep' and on and on...) and onward to the waning years of the 20th Century as well as the dawn of its successor.

Each essay attacks its selected subject matter from a wide birth of angles. Many choose to implant the origin story of their first encounter with the pleasures of the horror film universe, often by virtue of their film of focus. Witness, for quick example, both Mark Allen Gunnells' and Dave Fuentes' side by side write ups on the Canadian bred, 1983 slasher 'Curtains' and the 1981 Television movie 'Dark Night of the Scarecrow' respectively. Both scribes emphasize the long in the past first contact made as impressionable youths with said films and the lasting impact they made upon them as they pursued further frights while clinging to a love of the pictures that helped to mold their affection for macabre cinema.

Elsewhere, Indiana native and online contributor (blogs and online sites figure into the lives of a majority of Hidden Horror's participants) J. Nelson Smith relates how some sample bits found on a Skinny Puppy record lead him to the 1973 British chiller 'The Legend of Hell House'. J.T. McRoberts, a micro-budget filmmaker out of North Carolina tells of a convention vendor turning him on to the uber oddball Japanese freak fest 'Kairo' (or 'Pulse' as it and its' obligatory remake are known here) and also there is the case of Lee Marohn who, after years of careful avoidance, and the advent of a handy 31 Days of Horror marathon commitment, at last uncovered the stand alone charms of the largely rejected 'Halloween III : Season of the Witch'.

 A gent named Patrick Mathewes turned his piqued interest in the great, quirky filmmaker Larry Cohen (care a career retrospective article he stumbled across) into an impetus to track down 'Q-The Winged Serpent', from 1982, and bask in its' wonderful, pre-CGI cheese bag monster effects as well as one grand, over the top performance by lead actor Michael Moriarty. There is also a sobering, honest digestion of the grandma of all rape/revenge epics 'I Spit on your Grave' (the 1978 original, mind you) by a lady, B.J. Colangelo, who opens up to the fact the she is a real time victim of sexual violence. This gives her startlingly positive take on this long loathed shocker extra gravity as she makes a case for its' value as a statement against violence toward women instead of the misogynistic masturbation fantasy most viewers and critics have made it out to be.

Now, as with any compendium of notable size, there are going to be bits that anyone could take issue with every bit as likely as to jump up and down and shout 'I love that movie!' Myself, I spotted but a few choices I never would have made like 'The Hills Have Eyes' or 'Psycho II' (another choice, 'Tremors' with its multiple spin offs and Kevin Bacon presence, simply baffled me altogether) but I found a great number more that I heartily agree with (some passing examples-'Brain Damage', 'The Signal', 'Santa Sangre', 'May' and the mighty, mystical 'Dust Devil' which I rambled about in this publication many moons ago). There proved to be a fair smattering of flicks I have yet to run my eyes across too, ('Eden Lake', 'In A Glass Cage', 'Alucarda') some further that I'd never even heard of (where do I even find something called 'The Other Side?').

Such a vast array of geek savvy options could only be served up by an equal batch of authors. As mentioned earlier, many an online, blog-chic wordsmith is present and accounted for in addition to print media pros (the big three genre rags, Fangoria, Rue Morgue and HorrorHound are well represented here, no worries) and even a few local lads. Oshkosh native and 'Dead Weight' main man John Pata takes a playful stab at Spanish schlockmeister Juan Piquer-Simon's 1982 gorefest 'Pieces' and our very own Gavin Schmitt gives up some much needed love to Herschell Gordon Lewis with his lavish appraisal of his 1972 effort 'The Gore Gore Girls'.

In total, Hidden Horror delivers on its promise to fitfully celebrate '101 underrated and overlooked fright flicks'. It even boasts a decent little intro by director William Lustig (whose notorious 1980 sociopath study 'Maniac' gets its due in the book too) to help ease the reader into the fray. All in all, Hidden Horror might just prove to be the new bible you hold by your side as you stalk your local video joint or online queue.

Make the commitment to Hidden Horror, starting here-facebook.com/hiddenhorrorthebook

Oh, if anybody out there happens to have a copy of the uncut DVD version of Andrzej  Zulawski's 'Possession' I can borrow, hit me up accordingly at killpeoplenamedrichard@yahoo.com

Thanks a bunch.

BEAST IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT.

THESE MONSTERS CAME TO PLAY.

 

 

 

 

 

It would appear as though we have yet another Godzilla flick looming on the horizon. Yes, it is another Americanized attempt to recapture the energy and brand-name charm that fueled the original, perennial Japanese juggernaut that has thus far spawned at least two very underwhelming state side knock offs ( New World Pictures' hefty overhaul of 'The Return of Godzilla', rechristened 'Godzilla 1985' and the weak kneed 1998 eponymous effort by uber schlockmiester Roland Emmerich that seemed to find some odd, blockbuster leading man cred in Matthew Broderick). With still another group of ambitious souls so willing to take the burden upon themselves to make a serious bid at a high scale and truly worthy resurrection of the big screen presence of that most universally renowned of lumbering, heavily destructive creatures, I feel a tad motivated to take a glance back at the old school days of goofy, Japanese spectacles devoted to the art of big rubber abominations  causing a mad variety of disorder and, most paramount, knocking into and toppling a multitude of miniature model cities and the like.  

I fondly recall having my share of affectionate reactions to many of the 'Zilla epics I caught at random on cable television in my youth, not to mention that Saturday morning variant that unspooled in the late 70s (anyone remember the ridiculous 'Godzooky'?) and continue to be drawn to the more modern projects that seek to keep the 'big monster' or, 'Kaiju' as them Japanese folks call it, genre alive and well like big Guillermo del Toro's vivid monsters vs. robots opus 'Pacific Rim' (that one Beastie Boys video, 'Intergalactic' had it going on too).

 

So, in keeping close with this theme of big bastards wrecking stuff, it seems all too fitting to lend some quality column space to a perfect tie-in of sorts to this impending Godzilla entry as well as all the wonderful rubber monster fun stuffs so many of us have come to adore. 'Ultra Q' is an often goofy and quite charming little monochrome T.V. oddity born in Japan in January of 1966 as both a cash in on the booming Godzilla/Gamera (the flying turtle) craze of the era as well as the popularity of American anthology programs like 'The Twilight Zone' and 'Outer Limits'. The basic, on running premise is established almost straight away as an overly ambitious newspaper reporter/staff photographer and two foolhardy pilots (embodied by Hiroko Sakurai, Kenji Sahara and Yasuhiko Saijou respectively) rush to investigate a strange occurrence at an underground mine which leads to the discovery of a menacing lizard (a resourcefully reconfigured costume used in a previous Godzilla production) that our protagonists must find a way to thwart for the betterment of mankind. In succeeding entries in this series, the trio, with some help from time to time from a Professor Ichinotani (Ureo Egawa) find themselves at odds with all manner of startling oddities that threaten to upturn the fabric of their surrounding normalcy.

 

 

 

 

Thus the viewer is graced with a veritable menagerie of living, raging abstractions, creatures and fabrications equal parts menacing and completely absurd. Beings culled forth to fulfill the 'Ultra Q' roll call for mysterious villainy include (yet are hardly limited to) an aggro beasty born of volcanic rock, a big, dopy looking ape man, a freaky acorn-like monster that bounces around (a personal fave and the cover boy for this series' DVD reissue set), a massive snail with laser beam eyes and a big, bloated, loopy looking walrus that lurks in cloud formations. Each passing episode proves packed with great camp surprises and enough clever plotting to suffice the slight 25 minutes allotted to each of the 28 total separate scenarios.

'Ultra Q' was created by a man named Eiji Tsuburaya, who served as a veteran visual effects director at several Japanese production companies, the most famous of which, Toho Studios, assigned him to labor on many of the great 'Kaiju' productions including those incorporating both King Kong and Godzilla. Tsuburaya's initial desire for 'Ultra Q' ( initially entitled 'Unbalance') was for it to go in a more brooding and mysterious direction much in the Twilight Zone vein of things until the show's backer, The Tokyo Broadcasting System, pushed for the inclusion of all the curious monsters. 'Ultra Q' was to be the first in a long line of 'Ultra' series that continues to this very day although the most overly popular, 'Ultraman', was the first to be exported to other territories. No matter, the fine people at Shout! Factory have made the concerted effort to corral the whole of this 'Ultra Q' puppy into one fine and handy, 5 disc DVD package so we simple American fools can soak it up ourselves. The show looks as good as it can for being some 50 odd years old and many of its romping creations may just prove unavoidably addictive to the true cult cinema fanatic. One of the most expensive television undertakings in its native land in its time, 'Ultra Q' may have aged in the direction of visually quaint but that does not discredit its place in the history of fantastic storytelling. Recommended to those who dig their monsters with a solid dose of infectious tackiness. More info here-http://www.shoutfactory.com/product/ultra-q-complete-series

THE LAST 5 FILMS I'VE SEEN (as of 3/19/2014)

 

 

 

1. Birth of the Living Dead. (First Run Features)- Again with the little movie that started all of this 'Warm Bodies', Zombie Walk, 'Walking Dead' hyperbole. George A. Romero and several of his legendary, debut feature's stout admirers (including producer Gale Anne Hurd and indie madman Larry Fessenden, who helped pull this documentary together) wax historic and delve into yet another intricate analysis of 'Night of the Living Dead', its' genesis and subsequent, lasting impact (positive and otherwise) on the horror community and pop culture in general. Plenty of note is made of the prevalent political and social upheaval at the time of this film's conception (the late 60s) and how said factors may/may not have injected influence into the project. The most compelling factor contained within this documentary, for me at least, are the nuts and bolts details of the piecing together of a grassroots, independent (before being 'Independent' was cool) feature film against all the expected odds and shortcomings that these sort of things almost naturally come into contact with. Not at all a landmark accomplishment but 'Birth of the Living Dead' should appease most film nerds and N.O.T.L.D. completests. 

 

2. Wicked Blood. (eOne Entertainment)- Serviceable criminal antics and melodramatics set in Baton Rouge for maximum Southern seasoning. A bright young lass (that little mrs. sunshine herself, Abigail Breslin) sets to the task of double dealing her way out of a suffocating familial drug dealing operation lorded over with a firm certainty by her stone serious uncle (Sean Bean). The plot proper involves many of the usual devices and beats suited to this sort of pot boiling endeavor. There's a rival drug dealer (James Purefoy) holding a significant secret, a knuckleheaded henchman (Jake-pale imitation of Gary-Busey), the dedicated dope cooker (Lew Temple, often shown getting high on his own supply) and the requisite number of shots of people pointing guns at one another. Nothing much here to dub as astonishing, but it might just do the time killing, rainy day movie rental trick.

 

3. Unidentified. (Dark Sky Films)- A gaggle of solid 'bros' do the getaway trek to sin city deluxe, Las Vegas. Along the way, the far and away most out of place of the bunch, a goon with a YouTube fixation (Eric Artell) convinces the group to detour into an abandoned testing site where some predictably unnerving events unfold leading to a slowly manifesting, other worldly stain on the remainder of their vacation. Once in Vegas the lads set forth to drink, rabble and (near fatally) gamble their way into oblivion. This flick works to a fair degree in spite of its adhering to the oh-so played out modern day convention of the 'found footage' technique (the above mentioned nerd character never goes anywhere with out his digital camera, never mind the real life fact that most casinos, strip clubs and such frown intensely on such trinkets). There are a handful of stand out scenes and gags that carried the whole above its many less inspired moments (the underground poker gig, run by a shady figure with, let's say, an odd personality quirk comes as a sort of welcome shock) and its closing stretch is surprisingly engaging as the film ditches most of the goofy ingredients for a legitimate measure of suspense. Directed by Jason R. Miller, who put in time on several projects by Adam Green, the 'Hatchet' guy, if that's any help.

 

4. Old Boy. (Film District)- Yo Spike!  What gives with this nice looking yet fully needless reworking of the much cherished Park chan-Wook adapt of the equally celebrated manga by Garon Tsuchiya and Nobuaki Minegishi? I mean, I guess it comes as an intriguing surprise initially that the director of potent cinema like 'Do the Right Thing', 'Clockers' and the ever mighty 'Malcolm X' would think to tackle such a tricky piece of pulpy storytelling. The end result, however, is only somewhat above the level of a scaled down, slapped together imitation.

Yes, I hear the producers pushed poor Spike Lee into forsaking his reportedly more intricate and in depth, 140 minute initial cut for the more compact, nearly 40 minute lighter version now commonly available. Then why did they so glibly toss the film to theaters with minimal promotion so it would die an easy death?  Seems like this take on an imprisoned man abruptly released to solve the mystery of his incarceration was never deemed too worthy of anyone's adulation. Better luck on the next one (the Kickstarter funded 'Da Sweet Blood of Jesus'), 'cus I still think you got game. Oh and Sam Jackson's in it, his first film with Spike since 'Jungle Fever', so expect some serious profanity.

5. The Last Days on Mars. (Magnet Releasing)- Stop me please, if you've heard this one before; a group of scientists and other assorted space travelers at work on the surface of the so-called 'red planet' are about to wind down their stint and punch their ticket back to Mother Earth. One member of the exploratory posse makes a convenient, last minute discovery on a slide at his lab station that may be suggestive of something resembling life out there under the Martian landscape. Further investigating slowly but surly leads to, guess what?, bad news and genre servicing bursts of suspense and terror mostly incorporating lots of bickering souls attempting to outlast peers who have come under the fatal spell of some form of viral force that reduces decent human folk into blood thirsty, raging zombie types. Yup, that's about all folks. Joins an inexplicably growing body of admittedly competent and fairly well cast films (see 'Europa Report' for further recent example) that basically work to drag the 'Alien' formula down to a smaller scale, lower budgeted and faintly artsy level. Not awful but not awfully necessary either.

 

Any feedback? Hit me up, killpeoplenamedrichard@yahoo.com

FILMS WITHOUT FEAR...FOR BETTER OR WORSE.

GORGING ON A CINEMATIC BUFFET.

Last year 'round about this time I set out on a modest attempt to spread the word and generate notable interest within our region in relation to a solid cultural collective calling themselves Wega Arts and basing their creative attack in the nearby town of Weyauwega. The organization, founded and run by Ian Teal and Kathy Fehl, seeks to perpetuate various outlets of artistic expression in its community through the cultivation and presentation of stage plays, booked touring performers, film screenings and workshops. The main point of focus for me for this column was then, as it still is now, the mid November placed Weyauwega International Film Festival. Now entering its third run through, the fest is looking to expose any film fancying types from all surrounding areas to yet another varied menu of rich examples of the film form (both the long and the short of it).

 All things cinematic are set to kick off Thursday, November 14th at 1:30pm at the Gerold Opera House (which can be found at 136 Main St.) with another throwback installment from Hollywood's rich and far reaching past (remember, last year's was the edgy John Frankenheimer thriller 'Seconds'). 1960's 'Midnight Lace', directed by David Miller and featuring Doris Day and Rex Harrison in a strange mix of Hitchcock wannabe and offbeat character study which charts the misfortune of an American woman (Day) living in England who finds herself the apparent person of interest of a would be stalker. From here the fest plows on, unspooling film after film across the next four days. Some flicks of passing note include a pair of odd duck documentaries centering on the kinship between the art of drinking and the allure of the bowling ally ('Pints and Pins') and the obsessive quest by an expatriate American who returns stateside to find the finest representation of that golden calf of fried foods ('The Great Chicken Wing Hunt'). There are tales of movie mavens ('Tough Ain't Enough-Conversations With Albert S. Ruddy'), a historic escape artist ('Houdini') and even some convoluted affairs of the heart ('9 Full Moons').

One major standout section on the schedule that was passed along to me (it's all still tentative as this goes to press, for complete final results check, wegaarts.org) is what is set to be dubbed the 'Friday Night Fright Fest'. Beginning at 7pm on the 15th, there will be a tight trifecta of genre pictures, each with (what sounds like) a decent shot at becoming the next big thing in the cult film underground. A pair of these, 'Billy Club' and 'Don't Go To The Reunion', both made on locations in our very own state, play on the cheeky familiarity of long adhered to 'slasher on the loose/doomed youth' tropes and related shock effect plot devices while at the same time attempting to inject some very much needed energy into the oft tread, ultra violent  stalker/splatter sub-genre. The third film, 'Escape From Tomorrow', on the other hand, seems to be the product of an entirely different filmmaking methodology altogether.

'Escape From Tomorrow' comes to the Weyauwega fest at long last following a protracted period in which those responsible for its creation were not even sure if it would ever reach a legitimate audience. The film is a perplexing, monochromatic phantasmagoria set in and around a combination of the Disney theme parks Disneyworld and Disneyland and it involves a typical family man type named Jim White (Roy Abramsohn) whose grip on a tangible reality grows increasingly fragmented as his vacation day with the family progresses.

This curiosity has generated a bit of a rep for itself primarily based on the absolutely removed from conventional tactics employed in its production. It would seem the director, an ambitious gent named Randy Moore, guided his project's shooting process along in almost entirely incognito fashion, grabbing footage without consent from the theme park powers that be with indistinct consumer DSLR cameras (Canon's Mark II and IV specifically), with his actors taking cues and script notes off of I Phones and such. Even after such a clandestine production phase was completed, Moore sought to stitch his baby together outside the country (in South Korea, where the director also tapped area technicians to help polish the effects work) to maintain utter secrecy from the Mouse. Several playdates at major fests soon followed (including a premiere bow at the almighty Sundance, where the film first began to noticeably cause a stir) with the ever ominous spectre of how the beast that is the Walt Disney Co. would react to the film's existence hovering over it and making the commercial future of 'Escape From Tomorrow' an uncertain concept at best.

This film was originally slotted into the line up of last year's Weyauwega fest only to have such legal uncertainties withhold it (it was substituted with the very worthy French effort 'Holy Motors', a head scratcher without peer and definitely a healthy addition). This time out, folks will finally get to see just what the elaborate fuss was all about.

The remainder of this year's W.I.F.F. is peppered with quality attractions as well, from several short film packages spread throughout the weekend to a sure to be rowdy awards ceremony set to follow that 'Great Chicken Wing Hunt' doc on Saturday night (at about 9pm). Free to ticket holders of the day as well as fest pass holders, the show will feature beer (care of Central Waters Brewery) and eats (including, yes, chicken wings) and live music. I've been informed that a fair number of behind the scenes folks will be in attendance to either introduce and/or entertain questions and commentary in relation to their respective projects. 'Billy Club' co-writer, director and actor Nick Sommer and members of the 'Don't Go To The Reunion' posse will be on hand Friday evening to chat at length about their playfully creepy gore fests. Familiar face Dan Davies will intro his latest offering, the short film 'Caroline' (which he wrote and acted in), the 'Pints and Pins' crew are penciled in and the filmmaker (Jim Tittle) behind the Sunday afternoon entry, the Midwestern sand mining documentary  'The Price of Sand' may participate too. Plus one can never count out some sort of last minute addition when it comes to filmmakers jumping at a fair chance to talk up their latest creations.

There you have it, a serviceable 'heads up' on another fine showcase of cinematic treasures here in this Wisconsin. Make no mistake, this is a well planned festival by a pair of folks with their heart in the art, don't at all let the small scale locale fool you.

Once again, all necessary information (i.e. ticket prices, showtimes, finalized film scheduling) can be found easily at wegaarts.org


Hope to see a huge turnout for this one, don't let me down.


Also of note.

Room 237

Being all about the often larger than life and deep beneath the surface alternate interpretations of Stanley Kubrick's Stephen King adapt 'The Shining'. Unfolding less like any standard format of feature or documentary film and more akin to some kind of art student's instillation project that got lost on its way to the gallery, 'Room 237' serves to not so much conventionally entertain viewers as entrance and confound them with its conviction to a series of boarder line absurd analytical proposals. The complicated project, as assembled by one Rodney Ascher, plays out a series of audio taped discussions with a bunch of genuinely enthusiastic people I'm afraid I've never heard of over an ever flowing parade of imagery encompassing many a well known Kubrick work (with obvious, dominant emphasis on 'The Shining' itself) as well as a largely random collection of material from less then expected sources like Spielberg's 'Schindler's List' and the lurid mid-80s Italian gore flick 'Demons'.

The speakers use this particular format to (with Ascher's careful guidance) breakdown in often crucial, obsessive detail how and why their given theories of true meaning behind Kubrick's 1980 film are perfectly sound. Rolling out and cutting back and forth between speaker and subject gives off a vibe of a mix tape running to and fro at some manic movie fan's invite only party. The film's interviewees expound with breathless abandon on how 'The Shining' contains, shuffled within its meticulously rendered surface narrative, everything from the well documented atrocities of the Nazi instigated mass (near) execution of the Jewish race to the punishing round up and stomping down of the Native American peoples by greedy, self righteous colonists (from Portland, Maine to Portland, Oregon) and back around to explicate how Kubrick employed his cinematic craftsmanship to help the U.S. Government to enact a staged moon landing in 1969. Uh-huh, sure.

'Room 237' works well as a sort of intellectual geek show that allows its subjects to banter unchecked about these strange ideas that an other wise generally lauded piece of high end genre filmmaking has oddly inspired within their nominal mindframes. I didn't even bother to mention the gal with the minotaur fixation or the fella who goes way out of his way to carefully point out what he believes is a subliminal erection. Well, now you have two more things to keep an eye out for.  You're most welcome.

'Room 237' comes on DVD/Blu ray from the IFC Midnight Label and contains the usual bonus goodies, commentary, music score featurette, deleted scenes (which are little more than audio tracks, sans the film clips, providing additional babble) and a Q&A session from some simple looking Kubrick fan fest. Recommended for the conspiracy theorist who believes he's heard it all.
http://www.ifcfilms.com/films/room-237


Abducted.


A tight and rather minimal psychological horror scenario made with much stronger than anticipated efficiency and reserve. It all surrounds your basic, cute to a fault, young couple (Trevor Morgan, Tessa Ferrer) who one fine night find themselves the object of mystery kidnappers who abscond them to a dank and foreboding location and subject them to a series of initially inexplicable experimentation. As their startling incarceration drags on and more and more additional young human pairings arrive in their midst, the kids begin to brainstorm over the gravity of their situation. Is this the work of some elite terrorist outfit? A government shadow group? Alien forces with malicious plans that stretch far beyond the simple reach of this small sampling of earth peeps?

The film builds a decent measure of genuine tension as these questions loom, unanswered and the natural fragility of these unfortunate, young creatures is supremely tested. The skill set piloting this compact piece from behind the camera belongs to Glen Scantlebury and Lucy Phillips, both sharing duties and honing a small yet significant team (and there is evidence of this on display on the DVD's brief accompanying making of special feature) to bring together a finished film that works based on solid character development care competent performances complimented by the quality of the cinematography and especially the rather concise cutting together of scenes and imagery. As it turns out, Mr. Scantlebury is a well seasoned veteran of the editing process who honed his skills on a long list of major pictures like Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula (and his far less daunting recent picture, 'Twixt') and several bloated Michael Bay directed odes to ADD like the first 'Transformers'. He's currently slapping together a much unneeded reboot of The 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles' with Megan Fox, but let's not hold that against him. His work here spells out a genuine talent that, along with his teammate Mrs. Phillips, should suitably produce quality goods in cinematic form on and on again down the road.

This 'Abducted' thing should do the trick for fans of decent low budget genre filmmaking as apposed to the utterly disposable dreck that clutters the direct to video market. It can be found at most rental joints or here;  http://www.abducted2013.com/


Done with the movie stuff...for now.

ZOMBIE LORDS AND FRANKENBEASTS.

(As published in the October 2013 issue of The Scene Newspaper)

With that most hallowed of all dark days waiting at the close of this given month, I feel a bit more than passingly obliged to banter on in favor of a few fitting nuggets of sinister cinema. In the often deplored and very cult-specific realm of the horrific branch of the motion picture art form, finding a treasure of any notable measure can often times prove to be a might challenging. This days seem fatally infected with many, many examples of the largely sad trend of remakes/reboots that predominately serve to rape away the valuable memories lovingly held in regards to many of the classics which founded in many of us the enduring adoration of this particular genre in the first damn place. Even the rehashes done with irrefutable technical skill (i.e. Evil Dead, which sports its' fair share of impressive, stand alone images) leave a lasting stain of being completely unnecessary and occupying precious space far better suited for something at least attempting to share ideas of the fresh and self-contained variety (like Edgar Wright's The World's End, perhaps?).

So, to do my part in keeping with this cause, I give you, fair reader, a pairing of 'from scratch' horror flicks that should assist you in your quest for all things spooky this Halloween.

'Frankenstein's Army' plants its' ragged, low budget feet down on East German soil at the tail portion of W.W.II and follows a ramshackle company of Russian troops trudging across some truly lifeless terrain hoping almost in vein for any semblance of a connect with their lost fellow comrades. One member of this war party, Dimitri (Alexander Mercury) has been charged by the big man himself, Stalin, with exposing footage of the battalion in action as material for use in a future propaganda project back in the homeland. Before too very long, the men come in contact with a ransacked little hamlet that actually houses a madman's abhorrent laboratory fitted up for the most inexplicable and corrosively far reaching experiments to ever be realized by mortal man.

It seems a skittish, weather beaten character calling himself Viktor (Karel Roden) has established a foundation here for which he can foster many of the twisted, breakthrough malformations of protean beings that have been swimming in the fetid reaches of his deviant mind. This certain flavor of freakish mad scientist has rapidly assembled a gallery of motley confections that marry, by odd and often rather random design, elements of both living organic (mostly human) structures with a wide array of tools, devices and rusty industrial leftovers. How the increasingly weary and unbalanced soldiers manage to address and survive (or not) this less than welcome dilemma fills out the majority of the film's scant run time. The creature creations themselves are basically the prime sell point for this bent little picture (hell, several of their nasty, deformed mugs adorn the film's poster art) and I have to slap the credit in the appropriate direction, many of the mad lab rat's patched together 'children' are a might impressive. Sporting nappy metallic limbs and various, violently misappropriated bodily structures, the creatures (or 'Zombots' as the picture dubs them) are rendered to on screen life as something between a steampunk convention where every participant suffered a brutal gang rape and a long lost Hellraiser sequel as imagined by a seriously sociopathic black metal band. These hybrid beasts see the most action in Frankenstein's Army's closing segment, as the fiendish Viktor, having laid waste to the bulk of the outfit's numbers, guides the erstwhile documentarian on a personal journey through the damnable particulars of his vivid form of genius. Keep an eye out for the creepy little teddy bear woman, she's something special.

The director of this whole odd scenario, a competent Dutchman by the name of Richard Raaphorst has managed to carve together a worthy and effective piece of rampant monster cinema. Nothing to be embarrassed of here, tight and mostly to the point (though at the expense of a good deal of genuine character development, oh well), this Frankenstein's Army achieves what it set out to do, throw its audience into a dark pit full of blood crazed monstrosities that come at the screen from every direction. Sure, the film may sometimes look a tad suspect (notably some uber murky nighttime imagery) and one can't really be faulted for a lack of emotional investment when certain main characters expire, but Karel Roden chews it up quite nice as the good ol' awful doctor (who alleges a blood tie to the Dr. Frankenstein of horror fiction lore) and again I must point to the monsters, that's really what it's all about...right?

Frankenstein's Army arrives care a company out of Chicago called Dark Sky Films. Now these folks have long been good to the horror film, having helped spread the magic of gems like the immortal Henry Portrait of a Serial Killer, House of the Devil, The Hatchet trilogy and the works of Jim VanBebber (The Manson Family, Deadbeat at Dawn). For this new entry in their esteemed catalog, Dark Sky has issued the film on both DVD and Blu Ray with a just over half an hour making of bonus piece that introduces any interested parties to the cast, crew and, of course, the ranks of Frankenstein's Army as FX aces and the director himself detail their fabrication. Catch it at local rental joints everywhere or go to the source- darkskyfilms.com

Coming from a blatantly different pedigree and boasting a separate set of conceptual and aesthetic goals is The Lords of Salem. This film marks the return to magnificently twisted filmmaking form for one Rob Zombie. Lords gives forth ample, legitimate evidence once and for final that this Zombie fella is actually blessed with the ability to grow apart from the hectic shock and awe approach he's become known for that frequently pummels the viewer with the profane and colorful ultra violent stylization that did work at times earlier on in his career (The Devil's Rejects) but came to wear thin and grow a bit tiresome (Halloween II, that lame Superbeasto cartoon).

This time up, Zombie has both slowed things down to a notable degree and learned how to craft a story around less obvious traits and ideas in relation to his chosen genre of operation. The basic outlay this time around involves the uneventful daily routines of Heidi Hawthorne (Rob's always present spouse Sheri Moon) a Salem area local and disc jockey by trade who shares her dank, under lit apartment with her faithful pooch. One evening, after a typically loose cannon stint at the radio station where she is so gainfully employed (a stint which incorporates a cheeky interview session with an all too clueless 'black metal' musician at one point) our gal is given a right odd form of promotional swag. Seems some enigmatic recording entity known sparingly and cryptically as The Lords has made a point to pass along an oddly packaged slab of wax (think something along the lines of the wicked Necronomicon Bruce Campell's iconic 'Ash' character regularly fell prey to) containing some truly entrancing sounds. Proceeding with a patient, steady pace director Zombie charts the gradual regression from the psyche on out that this disheveled, dread-locked protagonist must now endure as this mystery vinyl has apparently seeded something seriously volatile deep within her.

To help solve the mounting puzzle and lend a more rational perspective on the none too clear cut progression of the narrative, Zombie gives us Francis Matthias (Bruce Davison), an aging free spirit type and author of a scholarly book on the subject of the Salem witch trials who guests on Heidi's radio gig to push his work. Francis has a nose for the occult underpinnings in and about his town and his interest gains a boost when he meets Heidi whom he later discovers is of direct descent along the family tree from Jonathen Hawthorne, a man of faith who sought to foil the satanic plottings of a coven of witches back in the late 17th century. Francis may normally bide his time with his weed toking painter, lady love Alice (Maria Conchita Alonso) but his fixation on brooding witch rites in Salem and their possible link with Heidi proves to be a stronger draw.

Worlds duth collide as witches both modern and ancient weave maximum hallucinatory hold over Heidi, morphing her take on what passes for real and tangible. Zombie infuses this melding of demonic worship and vicious personal torment into a spiral of inventive madness that dips into an influential well, mixing the likes of Stanley Kubrick, Dario Argento, Nicolas Roeg and even the multi-layered hyper surrealism of Alejandro Jodorowsky. I wouldn't startle me to discover that Bobby boy here immersed himself in a marathon run of shit like Don't Look Now, Suspiria, Santa Sangre and definitely The Shining (which, to be fair, is a film Zombie has directly sited as having a direct hand in the genesis of this project).

 

The Lords of Salem engages more by way of its intricate textures and creative renderings of potentially cheap, exploitation level ideas. The witches, ghouls, phantasms and less clearly defined apparitions that populate the nightmare unreal creeping its way into the formal landscape of Zombie's New England based, small town locale emerge as quite remarkable, working to realize the ongoing concept of a somewhat damaged (Heidi is also revealed to be a struggling former drug addict) woman's mental abduction by a superior force beyond the natural and serving a timeless agenda. Meg (They Live) Foster heads up the mostly rotting, naked coven of old school witches who lead the charge to turn the modern world over to their beloved, evil master and the film sports the expected genre friendly supporting bits and cameos by Dee Wallace, Ken Foree, Sid Haig and Michael Berryman. Several subplots/segments of the film ended up falling short of the final cut however, this lead to the abandonment of a film-within-a-film, Frankenstein vs The Witchfinder which involved Udo Kier, Clint (Ron's brother) Howard and the chick from that ugly 1978 rape-revenge 'classic' I Spit on Your Grave, Camille Keaton.

Sad news indeed, even sadder is the fact that none of this cut footage has been included on the Anchor Bay DVD/Blu Ray combo that so recently hit retail stores and rental joints. Only a handy, dandy audio commentary from the informative Rob Z himself is included. Strange turn of events as many of the previous Zombie directorial efforts have come stuffed with bonus goodies, especially in the extra footage department. These bastards had better not be planning a deluxe package for release somewhere further down the road, that would be a bit of an unforgivable scam. Still, I say give these Lords a chance, they do well by October standards. anchorbayentertainment.com

Bonus....

Screaming in High Heels (The Rise and Fall of the Scream Queen Era).

Charming, retro-centric essay dwelling on a time and place in the annals of indie schlock cinema where a pretty gal with marginal, non-aesthetic talents could carve out a dependable niche for herself without having to submit to the narrow, scumbag confines of the porn industry. Beginning at the cusp of the blossoming home video tape boom of the early 1980s, able babes like Linnea Quigley, Michelle Bauer and Brinke Stevens (the trio profiled here) became staples of a prolific run of bargain level, boobs, bloodshed and rubber beast laden sub-genre spectacles. Fully vested in their careers founded on exuberant sexual chemistry at play in some of the most openly tacky product yet to emerge on the market (an inordinate amount of witch came care the production houses of Charles Band and Roger Corman), said ladies none the less managed to grow upward in stout popularity and eventually drew upon themselves the precise classification of 'Scream Queens'.

Filmmaker and obvious fan boy Jason Paul Collum investigates this small scale but utterly notable bubble of popular culture trivia by way of a meshing of in the now interviews with the three key Queens (whom time has not been entirely polite to) as well as multiple movers and shakers in this cost conscious dungeon of an industry like directors David DeCoteau and Fred Olen Ray and jack of many trades; writer, director, actor, F/X man Kenneth J. Hall. Along the way we are treated to the expected homegrown origin stories and copious clips from a vast VHS library of washed out looking examples of no budget greatness including Dr. Alien, 'Murder Weapon', 'Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama', 'Night of the Demons' and 'Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers'.

The girls employed their weird, skintastic form of celebrity to network both entertainment (at third rate nerd conventions doling out autographs) and political arenas (some even met Reagan, how conservative) and occasionally touch the edge of the mainstream (Linnea's buck naked cemetery stint in 'Return of the Living Dead' immortalized her in the eyes of the Fangoria demographic). Sadly, both the pains of mortal time and the rise of higher quality tastes on the home video front took its toll on the 'Scream Queen' juggernaut and the ladies largely faded from sight.  In the end, what we're left with is a fond memento of a bygone time when the value of a VHS deck actually held weight in the lower ranks of the motion picture medium, when locally owned rental operations thrived on the unending output of a relentless army of driven showmen and 'give it to 'em fast, sleazy and dirt cheap' cinema was the treasure of the (mostly awkward male dominated) market. Recommended to those who still cling to those VHS classics that came in boxes with artwork that probably cost twice as much as the film inside. You can acquire Screaming in High Heels at breakingglasspictures.com