Honey, I Got Incredibly Shrunk

Well before a miniature Lily Tomlin played with gorillas, some time before a man became amazingly colossal and eons before two pairs of teenage neighbors pitted a lovable ant against an oddly California-based scorpion, Richard Matheson adapted his own tale of small-en-ing for Jack Arnold’s gloriously black and white suburban universe. While The Incredible Shrinking Man himself may not be a villain per say, his plight has inspired so much in cinema history that we can’t ignore his story here at the 2nd Annual Doll’s House Celebration of the Vertically Challenged any longer.

Quick Plot: Scott Carey (Grant Williams) is a successful man of the ‘50s: he has a pretty wife, a nice home, prestigious job and handsome physique worthy of all of the above. While out on his brother’s boat on a seemingly normal summer cruise, Scott spots a mysterious fog that leaves his skin misty. Some time later, Scott starts to notice significant weight loss and far more disturbing, shrinkage.

Not Seinfeldian shrinkage, or at least, not so outspokenly so. Scott measures himself a full four inches shorter than his driver’s license height and despite early doctors’ comments that such fluctuations are normal, Scott knows better. When his wife no longer needs to stand on her tiptoes to peck his cheek, Scott digs deeper to learn that the peaceful ocean trip has exposed him to a dangerous chemical solution that science can’t stop from making him tiny.

What to do when faced with such a future? Unable to drive or work, Scott sells his story only to then suffer the effects of tabloid fame. Meanwhile, his increasing littleness makes it harder and harder to connect with his wife, leading Scott into a warm friendship with a carnival midget (back when that was the correct term) before even her three foot stature becomes too high. 

Sentenced to live in a dollhouse and battle the family cat, Scott is mistaken for dead and imprisoned in the basement, where Shelobian spiders prowl and food is scarce.

The Incredible Shrinking Man is one of the 1950s’ best sci-fi films, up there in its own way with Invasion of the Body Snatchers and Them! Based on a novel by future Twilight Zone contributor Richard Matheson (who also wrote the screenplay), it’s on a much smaller scale than some of the more celebrated monster tales, but emerges quite well because of it. Scott—played with appropriate frustration by Williams--is essentially alone in his struggle and the film rightly captures that with its style. Long stretches contain no dialogue but are served well by a hard-working score, while most of the actual speaking is his own thoughtful (sometimes too much so) narration.

There’s an easy horror film or goofy comedy to be made out of Scott’s plight, and many a lesser filmmaker has tried (see Bert I. Gordon’s inferior Attack of the Puppet People or 1981’s flop The Incredible Shrinking Woman). It’s a ripe concept for any genre, making Arnold and Matheson’s approach all the more interesting.

This is a film that takes itself seriously. While such a decision can occasionally kill a film’s potential for fun (oh hai Firestarter) it works here because of its simplicity. Much has been written about the deeper themes of Scott’s condition—in losing his stature, he loses his manhood until he recovers it by stabbing a spider with his penis/pin, blah blah blah—and it’s easy to see why. In his daily shrinking, Scott loses every piece of his former identity, from a loving wife to bank account to dapper clothes. It’s his ultimate decision to embrace the future that makes The Incredible Shrinking Man something for philosophy class.

High Points

55 years later, the amplified sound of a fuzzy legged spider scurrying towards a defenseless man? Still scary

I’m not overly familiar with the career of Grant Williams, but he gives a superb performance here, believably transforming from a ‘50s superman to angry and powerless husband to desperate survivalist. Considering he’s mostly alone onscreen for the film’s latter half, it’s all the more impressive

Low Points

Look, I love me an oversized tarantula battle as much as any arachnophobe, but are we just supposed to ignore the fact that Scott’s fuzzy nemesis is…you know, a TARANTULA? Perhaps the unlikely inclusion of a scorpion in the Honey I Shrunk the Kids’ backyard isn’t so far-fetched after all…

Lessons Learned

Since The Children clearly hasn’t taught us this hard enough, never assume fog can’t hurt you

People just don’t get shorter! (unless they’re sprayed with nuclear goo)

Always leave some Twinkies or other long-term snack in an easy-to-reach spot in the basement. You just never know

Small Wonder…

As a cat owner, watching a film like The Incredible Shrinking Man takes on a whole new level of fear. Were I to shrink to levels of GI Joe, I LIKE to believe Mookie and Joplin would still recognize my smell and voice well enough to not bat me around like a yarn mouse. I’d LIKE to believe that…

Rent/Bury/Buy

Long unavailable on DVD, The Incredible Shrinking Man is now on a disc with another decent (if less noteworthy) sci-fi flick The Monolith Monsters. This is a film that would have benefited more from a Criterion-ish DVD treatment, but it remains worthy of a cheap buy or rental even with nary an extra in sight. Sci-fi or ‘50s fans will find plenty to savor, and those who enjoy smarter than they seem genre films can’t go wrong with checking it out. Plus, tarantulas! 

Clip your coupons & make your will...

There was a time in my past when six hours spent in a shopping mall was just about the most incredibly magical way a Saturday could be spent. Thankfully, I'm no longer a 14 year old suburbanite and now dedicate weekends to more noble pursuits (such as watching gems like Jack Frost 2 and The Stabilizer) and reserve department store excursions solely for updating zombie survival blueprint plans. While I wouldn't mind shuffling my way past Cinnabon and Game Stop free of charge during martial law, a shopping spree now seems more odious than a dentist's appointment in October.

So rather than haul myself to Macy's for the yet-to-be-started holiday shopping, I'm spending my Friday Pop Syndicate column browsing a few great (and not-so-good) horror titles set in...you know. Where the dead go when hell gets crowded on Black Friday.

Come for a read and stay for the Orange Julius.

Otherwise you face the wrath of Nazi made toad-eating elves. And really, who needs that when you haven't even begun wrapping?

At Midnight, I'll Have a Snack (and if I'm still hungry, I'll take your soul)

There’s a place for cheese and I’m not just talking about nachos. At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul is the first entry in the long-running "Coffin Joe" franchise, a collection of low budget Brazilian films that follows an enigmatic mortician as he pisses off townspeople by killing some men, raping some women, and proving that a cape and top hat never go out of style. All in all, it’s an entertaining romp that never really scares but often amuses.


Quick Plot: We begin with not one but two prologues set against thunder and extreme close-ups. First, Coffin Joe himself (writer/director Jose Mojica Marins) spins off some deep and dark philosophy, followed by a Gypsy witch ominously warning us to abandon the theater before it’s too late. Five seconds later, it’s too late and the story gets rolling as Joe prowls through his little village with the power of Monty Burns and the fashion sense of Mr. Hyde. Married but childless, he comforts himself by eating lamb on Holy Friday, whipping bar patrons who question his poker winnings, and lusting after the nice young woman engaged to his best (and understandingly) only friend. All the while, Joe keeps his funeral services in business by occasionally providing his own clients.

Poor CJ. Despite his refreshingly lack of a boggy conscience, the man is bored. Neither God nor Satan seems to want to play, even after he spends an agonizing ten minutes inviting the pair during a dark-and-stormy night rant. Having killed anyone around him that has the guts to engage in conversation, Coffin Joe is forced to make new friends and wait for the return of the souls he's wronged.

At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul is something of a cult classic, as it introduced the world to South America’s most charismatic sicko. Jose Mojica Marins' films are still being made today (the most recent, Embodiment of Evil, is newly available on DVD) but this was my personal introduction. As a horror movie, it’s more than dated and fairly weak with no real scare value to keep you up at night. As a piece of entertainment, however, it has an earnest (although a little more disturbing) John Waters-esque sense of camp that is hard to resist. I love an indie whose budget feels scrapped from used sofa cushions, and Coffin Joe's debut is sincere. Any film that uses Elmer’s glue and glitter as a visual effect deserves at least some kind of genuine praise.


High Points
The opening credits are scored to a weird and unsettling mixture of drums and screams, creating the mood for a much more atmospheric film than the one we’re given


I’m a sucker for anything set during Day of the Dead, and Joe’s midnight stroll does get a boost from its time and place


Low Points
Maybe this is addressed in a flashback sequence from subsequent films, but a little explanation of a) what made Joe such a jerk and b) how he still managed to have (an admittedly daft) friend would have given the character something extra


Lessons Learned
Expressive eyebrows will instill a very high level of fear amongst small town barfolk

If your prediction is death, you get a free fortune reading from the local Gypsy witch


Brazilian tarantulas bite very gently

Rent/Bury/Buy
If you’ve never met Coffin Joe, then this is worth a rental. Its minor infamy is a great starting point to a 50+ year series and you have to admire some of the work done with such limited time and resources. One DVD extra is a thorough interview with the chatty (and still long-nailed) director-star, who reveals quite a few details about just how bare bones production really was. I’m curious to see how Joe’s quest for the perfect family evolved over the years, but I’m not about to shuffle the queue just yet. Your life won’t be incomplete if you skip this film, but ff you’re a true horror fan interested in older films with more camp than thrills, then I recommend At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul for a fast and fluffy 90 minutes of popcorn enhanced fun.

It Could Be Bunnies...

I was truly hoping to get a double Easter feature in for Sunday, with both Night of the Lepus and Jesus Christ: Vampire Hunter on my queue, but sadly an intensely busy week has devoured my free time faster than you can say homicidal robot teachers. Speaking of which, those homicidal robot teachers get a quick visit in my weekly Pop Syndicate Toychest blog on how to find the right house or apartment without succumbing to a horror haunted fate:

http://www.popsyndicate.com/column/story/new_corpse_on_the_block

And because it's Friday, because it's Cadbury Cream Season, and just because, here's George Bush getting cozy with an Easter Bunny:

Bonus points for anyone who wants to narrate the conversation between these two rascally rabbits.

You Are Now Entrying The Beyond

Firstly, a big thank you to the fantastic Final Girl for sending out the Film Club invite to cover The Beyond. I know I’m not alone in considering her blog the best in the otherworldly realm that is horror cyberspace. Stop by her site at http://finalgirl.blogspot.com/ and check out the other Film Club goers reviewing Fulci’s messy masterpiece this week.


If Lucio Fulci were alive today, I imagine his favorite store would be Target. Like the films of the late Italian director, most of these ubiquitous shopping centers are filled with bright-but-not-quite primary colors and incredible value on just about everything you could ever want. The only thing missing for the late Godfather of Gore is the synthesized music, so aggressively present in much of his films but oddly absent from the pseudo classiness of corporate style.


The Beyond is Fulci’s glorious attempt to please just about every possible horror fan with a particular fetish by including oozingly grotesque scenes of every sort. Terrified of tarantulas? Here’s an extended cut of a fuzzy arachnid feast. Zany for zombies? See last twenty minutes. Scenes of acid dissolving human bodies? They’re on sale. Eye gougings? Take three. Children’s heads being blown apart? Do you have to ask? Incredibly enough, the only standard missing from this 1981 goretastic classic is nudity.


Quick Plot: A down-on-her-luck New Yorker named Liza inherits an abandoned hotel in Louisiana. Aside from the leaking pipes and flooded basement, the gothic mansion has a minor location problem in being built over one of the seven gateways to hell (and here I thought the American portal was a drive away in New Jersey). Despite the warnings of a blind Purgatorian refugee and the odd quadruple coincidence of four house employees dying in freak accidents, Liza continues her renovation because giving up would mean going on relief. We all have our pride, but personally, I’ll take bankruptcy and food stamps over the possibility of having my face eaten off by precariously placed sulfuric acid or hungry spiders that chew more noisily than false teeth crunching on high fiber cereal.

Heavily influenced by the Theatre of Cruelty pioneered by Antonin Artaud, Fulci’s The Beyond remains a uniquely icky, occasionally frightening, sometimes laughable but inherently lovable piece of surreal wackiness. Once you accept the unrealism of the film’s setting and stop applying human logic to the characters’ actions, the ride is kind of a blast. Yes, it’s silly that a clearly intelligent doctor with great aim would not realize that shooting a zombie in the head is the only way to kill it after blasting his way through a horde, but you know what? If he figured that out, there would be less zombies. That would make me sad. Would most rational humans start scanning the classifieds after watching every one of their co-workers die a disgustingly painful and improbable death? Probably, but the majority of us are also not dubbed actors basking in baths of latex and fluffy liquid foam. Give in or get out.


If I have one major complaint about the film, it’s the obnoxiously prevalent scoring of electro-instrumental music that Fulci uses to overstate nearly every moment of tension. This is a stylistic choice of the time and one that can be seen in his other works, but it’s hard to find true fear in any scene when it feels like the filmmaker is simply pressing the play button. It's telling that the one scene with a true jump scare (to avoid spoilers, I’ll just call it puppy love) has no music. While I still admire Fulci’s work, I can’t help but wonder how the film would feel with a different soundtrack.


High Points
The sepia-hued opening sets a nice stock footage/old-time movie-esque mood


Many scenes, such as Emily’s first appearance on a lonely road, have a quiet and understated beauty that helps to make later visions of hell so much more terrifying

I love how Joe the Plumber is almost exclusively referred to as “Joe the Plumber.” It helps that his speaking voice sounds vaguely like Elvis Presley


Low Points
Because I can never resist an opening-scene-of-Point Break reference: Why is Joe the Plumber’s resurrected corpse wearing what appears to be an oversized Richard Nixon mask?

I’m pretty much just surrendering any plot holes to the acknowledgement that The Beyond is not meant to make sense, but allow me one random pick...let’s see, I’m closing my eyes, picking out of hat...okay, how was the Little Red-Headed Girl filling her time following the death of her parents/possession of her body for several days in the natural world? Eh, I’ll move on since the payoff is so rewarding.

Lessons Learned
Hell’s guarddog tarantulas could use some oil in their joints

Carte blanche has a different definition in Italian-translated-English


If there’s one thing that defines New Yorkers, it’s not being afraid of ghosts


Satan has an awesome sense of humor; note how the blueprints for hell were written in disappearing/reappearing ink


Winning Line
“This man needs to get to a hospital.”
Whew, thank goodness the doctor arrived to tell us that the house painter who had just fallen three stories, landed square on his back, and is now bleeding profusely needs professional care.


Rent/Bury/Buy
Appropriately enough, The Beyond spent a good deal of time in movie purgatory before being rescued and restored by the likes of Quentin Tarentino and Anchor Bay. I own the 2000 release which offers a nice selection of extras, including a warm and casual commentary by stars Catriona MacColl and David Warbeck. The most recent repackaging adds a few new interviews, but as long as you have the unedited 89 minute cut, any DVD should have enough content to keep you grossed out and content. Whatever you may think of Lucio Fulci and his oeuvre, the man knew how to put on a show. Unabashedly repulsive, colorful, gooey and ridiculous, this is one of a kind to rewatch whenever your life is feeling too darn normal.

This has gone well beyond the boundaries of prudence and good taste!

In honor of Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d make an announcement:


I’m in love.


It’s sudden, I know. Foolish, perhaps? But ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the current fire in my lady loins:


Jack Hill's Spider Baby or The Maddest Story Ever Told (1968)

How is it possible that I survived 27 years without seeing this movie?



Somewhere in the boonies of California, the immensely huggable Lon Chaney Jr. plays Bruno, the sad faced, deep voiced caretaker to the, um, unusual Merrye children: Elizabeth, a short and sassy tattletale, the homicidal arachnoholic Virginia, and Ralphie, the canine man-child played by a young, skinny, and gloriously bald Sid Haig.

Life is merry in the gothic Merrye mansion; spiders are fed (and occasionally eaten), kittens are caught, and everyone has fun fooling around the dumbwaiter. Much like the colder, bloodier (and usually less funny) descendants of hillbilly horror, Spider Baby’s plot gets rolling with the intrusion of city folk to remind us that the Merryes are different. Isolation isn’t the problem; genetics is. Apparently the family is cursed with a disease that leads all the children who have reached the age of ten to slowly (or quickly, if they follow the Atkins diet) descend into a state of “pre-human savagery and cannibalism.” If Benjamin Button is anything like this, I’m changing my bet and saying it’s guaranteed the Best Picture win.

The invading urbanites include a Hitleresque lawyer named Schlocker and the uptight distant Merrye cousin Emily (you know she’s in for it because she has a tight bun and faux British accent), plus two nicer bland pretty people, all of whom are seeking a large inheritance from their savage kin. The children don’t take very kindly towards strangers (well, except Ralphie, who’s got a hard--I mean soft spot for the ladies). The inevitable dinner party and sleepover follow, gleefully complete with creeping tarantulas, incestuous seduction, Ms. Pacman style bows, Wolfman references, and, needless to say, loads of full-flavored fun.

High Points
The opening theme song makes me want to dip Chaney’s vocal cords in dark chocolate and eat them slowly. Not in a cannibalistic way or anything.


In his formalwear, Ralphie resembles Monty Burns whenever we see the tycoon as a child clad in knickers and Yankee Doodle Dandy hats


Elizabeth and Virginia, despite little physical resemblance between the actresses, are wonderfully believable as young sisters

Low Points
Drunk driving never looked so easy


Lessons Learned
Twine is really strong if tied correctly

Hearing “Aunt Emily!” shouted by knife wielding nieces makes me thankful that my little ladies refer to me exclusively as Auntie Em.


Uptight rich city blondes pack sexy lingerie when staying at long-lost relatives’ homes

Stray Observation
Anne, the Marilyn Munster of the party, is quite the lush (note the final scene)


Winning Line:
Elizabeth: Spiders don't eat other spiders.
Virginia: Cannibal spiders do.
I chose this one mainly because it reminds me of the sea monkeys I grew in college. When I ran out of their powdery nourishment, I tossed in a few bits of dry cat food. Within a day, the little tank was clouded and the sea monkeys were no more. A friend pointed out the error of my way: cat food is made of fish. Hence, I had unknowingly transformed my baby brine into cannibals. I’ve since developed two theories regarding the cause of this massacre: 1) they developed a taste for fish flesh and ended up eating each other to death or 2) upon devouring their ancestors, my little swimmers committed mass suicide out of shame and horror.


Rent/Buy/Bury:
Buy and cuddle with. This is horror comedy the way it should be done. Unique and pitch-perfect performances around the board, disturbing images that tickle like a spider’s spindly legs, and cheerfully self-aware dialogue to make you giggle. If this film doesn’t make you smile, your heat is made of stone that needs to be ground and served on a platter with rabbit and fungus. Nothing personal. It just is.


Right girls?

Cathy's Curse aka Cauchemares

As a young teenager, I used to use my good report cards as opportunities to get a gift from Borders. This typically involved me wandering down the horror aisle and picking up a paperback based on the cover. Quite a few featured what I assumed to be a poorly selling QVC doll holding a kitchen knife (possibly purchased as a discounted package in the final minutes of the 3AM sale). These novels were never particularly good, but my lingering pediophobia allowed the stories--usually about single mothers trying to protect their little girls from possession by a mysteriously lost-and-found porcelain doll--to be worth that A in Algebra. 

Cathy’s Curse has the feel of a crappy paperback novel, but minus the hand of a mediocre editor. Made in Quebec in 1977, it’s notable for having the most extreme spray tan you’ve ever seen to coat a film. (I could blame my 13 cent Mill Creek 50 pack edition, but I’m pretty sure this film has never looked good. But you know, it’s kind of like Ryan Seacrest. The first couple times you look at it, you’re completely distracted by the orange glow radiating from the center. Eventually, you realize there are bigger problems before you.) 

Quick Plot: A mother walks out on her husband and daughter (but keeps the son, because, as we’re quite often reminded, “she’s a bitch!”). We never discover why Mama B abandoned half her family, but I assume her potty mouthed husband and creepy doll-and-rabbit-loving daughter had something to do with it. 

Anyway, leftover family unit drives recklessly after the first half but are thwarted by a bunny in the road and die in a horrid car explosion. Not an awful start to what we know will not be a good movie. Flash thirty years or so later, and the surviving son returns home with his new terrible actress of a wife and boring little daughter (don’t worry, she’s about to get much more interesting). A quick backstory of the family follows (“You know and I know that I’ve had a nervous breakdown!”) along with Cathy’s discovery and immediate kinship with a nasty little doll. Before long, Cathy is speaking like Marlena when she was possessed by the devil on Days of Our Lives, calling every woman she sees a bitch/whore/filthy female cow, and playing Let’s Reenact How My Aunt/Possessing Spirit Died/the All Women Are Bitches Accident Game with the less than enthusiastic neighborhood kids. 

Obviously, it only gets better from here. The highlight of the film for me was Roy Witham’s Dickensian caretaker Paul, aKa the coolest babysitter on the block. How much do I love a film that features a little girl and an old British man drinking whiskey and calling a concerned neighbor a “dirty old whore?” A lot. I love it a lot. Especially when said scene concludes with tarantulas, snakes, and whatever else the local pet shop provided crawling over the old man in a scene that feels as stretched as the spider death in Fulci’s The Beyond.

High Points

Any doll with eyes sewn closed gets at least one round of goosebumps from me. 

Little Randi Allen’s clear enjoyment of being allowed to curse in numbers that would make Margaret Cho blush.

Low Points

The doll doesn’t talk. Or move. Or curse. Sigh. I would have traded my Wedding Day Midge to hear “Make us laugh, you filthy bitch!” come out of a porcelain mouth, but alas, no movie is perfect.

Remember the scene in Airplane where the woman whose husband never drinks coffee starts freaking out and screaming “I gotta get out of here” over and over again? That’s basically Beverly Murray’s performance as Cathy’s mentally unstable mother.

The Winning Line:

“Medium? I’d say extra rare piece of shit!”

I now have added to My List of Things To Do In Life Before I Die: Go to psychic, become enraged, and shout these words. Or have a 10 year old daughter and make her do it, because it’s much funnier that way. 

Lessons Learned:

Do not kiss little girls, particularly if their mommies tell you they hate being kissed.

All women are bitches, but dogs that bark are stupid bitches.

Nervous breakdowns are not contagious, but they will eff up your daughter pretty badly.

Alcoholic caretakers make adequate babysitters.

Not a new lesson in horror, but this film does offer further proof that all children with straight blond hair are evil

Rent/Bury/Buy:

Buy Cheap

I watched this as part of Mill Creek’s 50 Chilling Classics pack, a set that I can’t recommend highly enough. The quality is off, but since you’re spending about 15-80 cents on this movie, depending on your purchase, it’s certainly worth a viewing. Don’t expect miracles, but do enjoy a good time.