Quick Stops!

I know--and hope--that all of you are in the midst of Halloween celebration/preparation/domination, but should you require any audio accompaniment, might I recommend a download of this week's Gentleman's Guide to Midnite Cinema? Aside from being one of the very best movie podcasts out there, episode 155 features li'l ole moi discussing the finer points of genre classic Near Dark with GGTMC's Large William, along with a whole lot of other podcasting superstars. Get thee to iTunes!

The Pax will be waiting

Also of note (and on the page): I took a ride on my (satanic) broomstick over to The Lightning Bug's Lair to drop a batch of 13 recommendations for best devil-made-me-do-it horror (or animated musical) movies. A few of my favorites showed up--because how does one NOT include something as amazing as this--so you might guess what you're in for, but I promise a few surprises and more importantly, a fine review of The Omen by the Bug himself. Fly away!

I've got pumpkins to kill kiss tell secrets to snort cuddle with carve. 

Yeah, that's it...

I Know Who Spammed Me

A few weeks back, my email spammed a whole lot of people: friends, family, former employers, offices I had once applied to work in, renters on Craig's List, etc. While there may indeed be some people on that list welcoming a message about where to find top quality Viagra, I personally felt as though someone had stolen a piece of my identity, crawling around my inbox and mailing those who knew me with a poorly worded advertisement for something I’m not selling.

In modern banking terms, identity theft in a crime and nowhere is this more evident, frightening, or plain gross than horror cinema. Examine:

Possession

It's one thing to find someone else has been using your credit card, but feeling your body host an entirely different (usually evil) entity seems to violate just about every tenant of natural law. Pity The Exorcist's Regan, a mere teenager taken hostage by the cruel, kinky, and weak stomached demon Pazuzu. Similarly, entire towns seem to face a similar short term squatter menace in Wes Craven's Shocker, the Denzel Washington ripoff (face it) Fallen, and the weirdly experimental ninth installment of Friday the 13th. 

Complicated Disease

It’s not MY fault! The werewolf that bit me made me tear off my clothing and attack local loiterers! It’s an excuse used by a very unfortunate constituent of the lycanthropic population and really, how can you not sympathize with young Ginger Snaps, the confused Wolfman, and very tormented David in An American Werewolf In London? Yes, they all get to indulge their inner animal with a frolic in the nude, but as anybody who recognizes the name Rick Baker knows, those transformations just can’t be a scratch on the belly.

Bait & Switch

Perhaps the most physically complex and real estate-demanding identity theft can be seen in the four films (and assumedly counting) sci-fi series Invasion of the Body Snatchers, wherein imperialistic aliens harvest human-sized pods to grow replacement people that can continue your existence in monotone conformity. Those suffering from high blood pressure may see some benefits, but losing that emotion and individual spark means surrendering that quality that makes us human, for better and worse. Then again, the 2007 remake (shortened to The Invasion to best not confuse modern moviegoers) starred a plastic-faced Nicole Kidman as the feeling man’s last hope. So maybe the ability to show emotion doesn’t have so much weight after all.

Replacement Parts

And that leads us to another form of alternate you-ness that puts a whole lot of pressure on Ms. Kidman, the pop culture landmark The Stepford Wives. Based on the novel by Ira Levin, this satirical thriller of sexual politics in suburbia was made into one great film and another that challenges the English language to find words base enough to reflect a proper insult. The tale of Stepford is arguably the wrongest of all of these identity crimes because not only does it involve (spoilers) the murder/genocide of thinking women; it also means that after said strong women are dead, their names, faces, and bodies continue to be used in chauvinistic ways that would have made their living counterparts burn their bras in horror. 

Baby Swap ‘n Such

Due to the mysteries of human life and black and white limitations of ultrasounds, no woman can ever really know what’s brewing inside her uterus. Still, a consenting soon-to-be-mom generally assumes one guarantee: the child is a product of her and an identifiable male partner. Like any rule, there are always exceptions and one needs to look no further than the Rosemary’s Baby‘s Upper West Side, where poor Mia Farrow learns too late that her drunken night of lovemaking wasn’t exactly with the man in her wedding photo. A similar discovery befalls the illustrious Thorn family in 1976’s The Omen, when U.S. ambassador Gregory Peck trades his stillborn son for what he’s told is another innocent newborn. The next five years are then devoted to raising the antichrist. Hey, not everybody’s kid can be an honor student, but sometimes, it’s good to know what’s growing inside your home.

Species Conversion

As someone with a history of self-identifying as a morning person, I can’t imagine anything more horrifying than the biological constraints of vampirisim (well, maybe carrying Satan’s fetus but there are prenatal drugs for that). Aside from completely rearranging my natural schedule, the whole “loss of soul” thing is a viable reason to Just Say No to that handsome midnight caller with an unnatural ivory skin tone. One could make the same argument for zombiism, the disease to which no man or woman is immune. Looking past the obvious fear of being eaten, it’s the blankening of identity that makes this the horror genre’s favorite go-to monster. The idea that your mother could become your murderer is scary; that you would have no restraint at responding by hunting your own child is truly disturbing.

Recasted Sequels

In most cases, it’s the actor’s choice whether or not to reprise his or her role in a (usually) successful film’s followup, so it’s hard to ever feel sorry or concerned for the departing star. Still, it’s sometimes a lot to ask audiences to suddenly shift all sympathy to a replacement actor. Patricia Arquette’s Kristen backflipped her way through A Nightmare on Elm Street 3 only to morph into The Dream Master’s Tuesday Knight, a chain smoker who would probably cough up a lung before reaching the squatting position. Julianne Moore had the thankless task of inhabiting a newly redheaded Clarice Starling following Oscar winner Jodie Foster’s decline in Hannibal, and while Moore makes a believable FBI agent, it’s a jarringly confident makeover for our West Virginian brunette.

So how comfortable are you now in your own skin, and if given the choice, is it that bad to bid it adieu?

Twinkle Twinkle Little Sociopath

The surprisingly fertile sub-genre that is Evil Children Unleashed could inspire any horror fan to pump out a few kids of his or her own. It’s not that we long to suffer death or insanity at the pudgy little fingers of adorably twisted spawn; we just really like watching them work.

The beauty of Joshua, aside from it being an eerie little thriller, is that it’s ready made for a double bill. Play it before the more recent evil child-mothered-by-a-slowly-slipping-into-madness-Vera Farmiga and you’ve got a good four hour block of cheerily twisted tube tying/vasectomy-getting inspiration (unless, of course, you agree that Rhoda Penmark earned that penmanship medal).

Quick Plot: New money New Yorkers Abby (Farminga) and Brad Cairn (Sam Rockwell) welcome the birth of their angelic daughter while their 9 year old son, Joshua, slowly starts to reveal subtle signs of sociopathy. School hamsters die. Baby Lily goes from sweet to colicky. A stuffed panda bear is gutted and yuppie parents suffer through a talent show more painful than the early rounds of American Idol. Something is indeed rotten in the state of the Upper East Side.

As if Joshua’s blossoming bloodthirstiness and Lily’s increasing volume wasn’t enough, there’s also Mom’s manic depression to deal with, an illness that seemed to have been under control for some time before the actions of the film. Nana doesn’t help matters by using her babysitting as an opportunity to convert Joshua to Born Again Christianity, while Brad struggles to hold his big bucks executive investment job under the surprisingly humorless tutelage of Michael McKean. The only stable presence is Abby’s fantastically wonderful brother Ned, the kind of guy who buys you Broadway tickets, gives your kid free piano lessons, and sips a homemade martini while talking you down from psychosis. 

A side note: everybody should have an Uncle Ned in their life.

Ever so slowly, the Cairn family descends into dysfunction. It’s an oddly paced fall made even more unsettling by the cold sterility that seems to follow them in their expensive NY high-rise. Clearly, director George Ratliff (he of the fine documentary Hell House) found some inspiration in Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby, adding minor homages with a modern feel in images like Lily’s baby stroller (updated with a pink fleece canopy). It helps that Joshua remains restrained, both as a character and film. There are no supernatural explanations or even feats of unbelievable strength committed by the titular bad seed. He’s simply too smart, too misunderstood, and too far over the line to come back.

High Points

As a film, Joshua is as much about its New York setting as it is a twisted little boy. Ratliff does an excellent job utilizing actual landmarks, like Central Park’s Alice In Wonderland statue, and stepping inside common city institutions like elite private school parent conferences

The film’s final song, provided by the Dave Matthews Band, is as haunting in the last scene as it is when replayed immediately over the end credits

Rockwell does a fine job as not the brightest dad on the high tax bracket block, a man trying in vein to click with a son so completely different from his own relaxed persona

Low Points

Much like The Omen remake, Joshua’s biggest misfire comes in the all-too-obviously evil of its banged villain. There’s never any real mystery to Joshua’s intentions, in part because young actor Jacob Kogan (who is delightful in the behind-the-scenes extras) never gets the chance to play believably nice. A little more ambiguity would have added a good deal more suspense.

Lessons Learned

A bad lullaby can literally be sickening

There’s really no reason to save a home movie of your firstborn screaming his head off and his mother going, quite literally, crazy. Isn’t there a baseball game worth recording on this spare VHS?

Ancient Egyptians had a groovily hungry god named Apep who may have been related to the Sarlac Pit

Any character that refers to public bathrooms as “the little girl’s room” have and deserve very bad things coming their way

Child abuse can be instantly diagnosed with one crayon drawing

Rent/Bury/Buy

Joshua is simultaneously familiar and unique. On one hand, we’ve seen countless incarnations of cute little psychos dining off the kids’ menu, but Ratliff’s style and some nifty characterizations of the Cairns makes for an effective little film. The DVD is loaded with extras, including a commentary and interviews. If you enjoy these kind of creeping horrific dramas, then Joshua isn’t a bad investment if found at a decent price. I wasn’t completely overwhelmed by the film, but I was absolutely taken in by its slow unfolding and truly haunted by its final scene. Give it a try when you’re in the mood for something slow, then crank up the trash with an Orphan followup.

The Devil Wears Gym Shorts

I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to throw it out: Fear No Evil boasts not one but two of the greatest kills ever put on screen.


I'm lying:


One of the greatest kills and THE best absurd trigger for teenage suicide. Ever.


If you don't believe me, then clearly one of the following statements is true:


1) You've never questioned the ethics of high school dodgeball.
2) You are thoroughly fascinated and possibly a tad titillated by male breasts.


Aaah, Fear No Evil, a 1981 homoerotic Omen-inspired teen thriller I learned about via Kim Newman's excellent cinematic study, Nightmare Movies. This is the kind of earnestly made indie smart enough to know that an ambitious low budget horror should combine proven formula, a unique spin, and talent. Fear No Evil doesn't have a lot of any, but somehow, there's enough creativity and simple bizarreness to make it work by amusement, if not terror.

The antichrist is gayer than South Park's Satan, the school bully's most badass move is to spin his history teacher's globe and an old priest that resembles Malcolm McDowell's hobbitized cousin can outrun Lucifer while stumbling with a scythe and bad knee. Do you really need to know any more?


Quick Plot: Somewhere in the depths of upstate New York, baby Andrew's baptism erupts into a splattering (yet apparently harmless) bloodbath, leaving his parents to spend all of 45 seconds worth of voiceover bickering and demonstrating their 18 years of marital strife. 

Now a moody teen with Chuck Bass's cheekbones and a talent for making heavy objects fall non-fatally on older women's heads, Andrew has accepted his status as the human incarnation of Lucifer with little qualms or instruction. Meanwhile, a gleefully ridiculous collection of high school stereotypes perform what seems to be a non-musical adaptation of Grease! and a dull angel hopes to stop Andrew from ruining the town's annual beach pageant of an Easter Passion Play. Oh yeah. And there are zombies. Kinda.

Let's be clear: Fear No Evil is not a good film. The acting ranges from blankly empty to bigger than Nicolas Cage's burning Wicker Man shouting. Plotlines die quieter deaths than a 21st century Meg Ryan movie and the final special effect looks like the Hall of Fame background on an 80s arcade game.


So no, it's not good, but it's a helluva lot more fun than Casablanca and more rewatchable than The Omen. You won't find Gregory Peck wearing Frank N Furter's hotpants or an Italian Stalliony bully picking on the antichrist by kissing him in the shower during gym class, now will you.

High Points
There's no groundbreaking story here, but I'll give writer/director Frank LaLoggia credit for not connecting what could be cliche plot dots to tell the same old tale


I don't want to know what body parts the producers sold to get some actual good--albeit at times, too literal to the onscreen action--songs like the Talking Heads' Psycho Killer


Death. By. Dodgeball.

Low Points
While I wouldn't dream of losing dad's "My son's THE DEVIL!" pub tirade, it's frustrating that he has no real resolution

Having reincarnated angels is interesting enough, but good girl Hulie lacks any of the weird (okay, cheesy) energy of the rest of the film


Does Andrew want to be Lucifer? Would he choose a different life? Is there any internal strife going on there? Based on the script and lead performance, I have absolutely no idea.

Lessons Learned
Like many an acting gig, playing Jesus Christ has its highs (adoration from the town children) and lows (crucifixion)

Smoking pot does not make your breasts grow, but slipping the tongue to Satan's son will


Upstate NY bullies have very unrealistic definitions of small breasts


Do not assign the antichrist 50 pushups unless you're really good at dodgeball

Stray Observations
The Rhea Perlmen-esque leader of the Pink Ladies--I mean B's--wears a knit beret and peacock feather that prove for a fourth time that Season 5's Kenley really wasn't that original.


I've managed to cite Gossip Girl and Project Runway in this review, proving, in fact, that I am female. Or maybe I'm just a man who's made out with Lucifer a few too many times

Rent/Bury/Buy
My enthusiasm seems to point you towards a buy, but that's really reserved for those fans that treasure lovably bad horror. In terms of actual quality, I'd rank Fear No Evil somewhere above Sleepaway Camp and well, Black Roses. Those with a low tolerance for lactose should probably take a straight shot of The Omen II and move on, while for casual old school horror fans, a rental should suffice. The DVD includes some behind-the-scenes footage and commentary by cinematographer and writer/director Frank LaLoggia, who offers some enlightening editing info that somewhat justifies the inclusion of misplaced zombies. This isn't the worst or best bad movie of all time, but I don't know of any others that dispose of school bullies and nagging mothers with such ridiculous creativity.