Beatniks, Nazis, AND Long Island!

Some remember 1964’s The Flesh Eaters as the first in a long and most likely neverending line of ‘gore films.’ Netflix, however, prefers to shout this as its selling point:

“the only film of its type made entirely on Long Island.” 

As a proud Suffolk countarian, I felt my duty to support. 

Quick Plot: A young couple are carelessly sunbathing on the Long Island Sound, mixing things up with a skinny dip that turns deadly.

Cue mysterious underwater menace with instrumental score!

Moving on, a boozy big name actress and her sensible personal assistant hire a rogue private plane pilot to get them a few states north. Moody weather causes an emergency landing on an almost deserted island, occupied only by a slithery German marine biologist and the titular hungry sea monsters.

Also, terrifying skeletons!

The Flesh Eaters is a simple tale that, for whatever reason, works fairly perfectly for what it is. The small cast helps to keep it completely focused, especially since disgruntled de-licensed pilot played by Byron Sanders is a far more interesting lead than so many bland pretty boys of the era. The effects generally come off as ridiculous and antiquated, but also adorable and quite ambitious for the time period and black and white limitations. There’s even a hilarious beatnik named Omar tossed in just to spice things up, and much like The Wire, a little Omar makes everything better.

High Points

As the maybe genius, maybe evil doctor, Martin Kosleck is rather glorious, radiating charisma in his vocal chords and sneer

Low Points

I’m writing this review a few weeks after watching and taking my notes on this film, but I don’t remember NOT enjoying anything about it. Sure, the film is slightly limited to certain conventions based on its time period, but otherwise, it’s perfectly fine

Lessons Learned

In 1964, the price for a slightly used life was precisely three times a regular salary

Yes, a gun will not work without bullets, but when there are more bullets to LOAD the gun, one still must exert caution with a villain

Having your flesh eaten hurts. Also, it glows

Stray Observations

Maybe I was just in a randy mood when watching this film, but there were an awful lot of lines that felt...um...just tell me if I’m reading too much into the following:

“I can assure you we are in for a good pounding.”

“Those tailwinds are still too rough for my ship.”

“Bring me my suitcase. The one with all my *night* things”

The Winning Line

“You’re very practical. And very exciting.”

Fan yourself ladies! We’re agreed that this is the hottest pickup ever, correct?

Rent/Bury/Buy

As much as I enjoyed The Flesh Eaters, the film is definitely still a product of its pre-Night of the Living Dead time. Hence, those with no interest in pre-modern horror may not be as amused. For others--particularly those who enjoy documenting the genre’s evolution--The Flesh Eaters is a fun little slice of history that shows early steps towards gore.

Plus, Strong Island represent!

THIS Is How You Make a Franchise

Next to the adventures of one Mr. Charles Lee Ray, Final Destination may very well be my favorite horror franchise of all time. Part of it is a personal connection, as unlike the mixed but marvelous Elm Street series, I’ve seen each of Death’s installments on the big screen with low expectations. The first and probably ‘scariest’ entry opened with the best plane crash since Alive (despite being in poor taste by using the same name and setup as the ill-fated TWA Flight 180, but hey, go Long Island-set horror!). Part 2 featured one of the greatest car accident scenes ever put on film, and the roller coaster gone amok opening of Part 3 has made many a carnival goer stick to the bumper cars. More importantly, each film knows what its audience wants--creative deaths, macabre humor--and delivers it with drunkenly giddy spirit.


The Final Destination--which I pray to the Grim Reaper is just an excuse to not smack a 4 on the title--is the movie you expect, and in a rare instance, that’s a most fantastic thing. Let’s face it: every Friday the 13th, save for Parts IX and X, followed an identical formula right down to the kill styles...much like all four of the Final Destinations. And yet, compare the by-the-numbers energy of filmmaking in any Jason round with the kinetic movement of Final Destination and you get a perfect example of what makes a good and lasting film franchise.


Quick Plot: A quartet of well-spoken young pretty people attend a NASCAR race, along with an array of rednecks whose accents somehow exist in the same town. Clean cut Nick is hit by a gentle brush of wind--never a good sign in a horror movie--followed by a nightmarish vision of a racing accident that spews through the so-secure fence and into the crowd, sending sharp things into bellies, debris on top of heads, and panicky families stomping over each other to reach the exit.

Anyone whose seen one of the other joyfully twisted Final Destination films knows that little Nicky will snap out of his CGI’d dream in time to save his friends and a few stereotypical bystanders (one is actually credited as Cowboy; another, played by The Signal’s not Simon Peggish Justin Welborn, is listed as Racist). What follows, of course, is the unseen Grim Reaper grouchily working overtime to knock off the wrongfully surviving characters in increasingly wacky ways.

The trailer gives away a few situational deaths, but director David R. Ellis (he who helmed the enjoyable first sequel) really does provide an engaging show that still packs a few surprises. Nods to the earlier films are littered throughout with care, from the opening credits sequence to the Clear Rivers Car Wash. The cast is serviceable, and while none are worthy of Oscars or People’s Choice Awards, the core creates sympathetic characters that we can mildly care about.

High Points (aside from the entire 80 minutes)
There’s a nice seize the day moment late in the film that helps to make us actually care about the final scenes of suspense


A late plot element featuring a second large-scale disaster is a nice way to shake up the formula we’ve come to rely on in past films


Some of the choices for vicious machinery felt especially inspired in a I’ve-always-been-slightly-afraid-of kind of ways. Escalators, car washes, and pool drains are certainly ripe with potential. Should there be a 5th trip, I’m crossing my fingers for a revolving door kill.

Low Points
Aside from the fantastic opening, the 3D is never really utilized in an innovative or even fun My Bloody Valentine-ish way


Lessons Learned
In a pinch, tampons make effective--and adorable--ear plugs


European travel guides are big on highlighting local attractions with artistic zombie hand photographs


Babbling is not encouraged when crossing a busy street


Binoculars are an excellent tool for smuggling alcohol into dry events


Velcro really is the best invention of the 20th century

See/Skip/Sneak In
Despite the disturbingly cheerful 9-year-old sitting two seats away from me, I had a blast with this film. It’s too early to call it the best in the fairly young franchise, but any movie that keeps a sick smile on my face for 80 minutes is definitely worthy of a full price ticket. My one complaint is that the 3D is hardly overwhelming, so those living in 3Dless towns can still enjoy the film without shelling out $4 for disposable glasses and flying object imagery. Best enjoyed with popcorn and a sense of humor.

Haunted Homes, Demon Teens, & Long Island Lolitas That Aren't Amy Fisher

Before we revel in the sexual depravity, mass murder, and withering disappointment of Amityville II: The Possession, allow me to bid you a warning:

I will spoil this movie. Because I’m a bad person. Or maybe because if you’ve seen any of the other Amityville spinoffs, you already know the ending (or rather, middle) or The Possession and it’s just too darn tough (or I’m too damn dumb) to discuss a film that hits its mark 60 minutes in without, well, spilling the red paint. If you’re truly looking forward to the twists and turns of this 1980 prequel, I recommend coming back here after viewing or just donning a pair of those cool 80s plastic sunglasses that didn’t actually protect your eyes from the sun, but did make it really difficult to see anything clearly.

Ready? Here goes:


Some movies were just made to be watched on a hot summer night at a drive-in. Amityville II: The Possession is clearly one of these relics. With its exploitation-y atmosphere, early climax, and okay-to-fall-asleep third act, this first sequel to Long Island’s pride-and-joy-horror smash made me want to win the lottery, buy some land, and build my own outdoor movie heaven.


This doesn’t mean that I loved Amityville II. It just means I love drive-ins.


Quick Plot: Some years before the ill-fated move of Mr. & Mrs. Lutz, the best-named director in the world Damiano Damiani tells the far more ill-fated tale of the Montellis, a normal enough family who apparently didn’t read my advice on navigating the real estate market.

 Instead, they arrive at their bargain-priced dream home to meet some pesky ghost squatters that have a talent for shortening the tempers of humans they encounter. Little time passes before the sink is leaking red paint, Burt Young’s Papa Montelli is dripping heavier sweat wads than Sylvester Stallone sweatin’ to the oldies, and the teenage siblings are taking their relationship to V.C. Andrews levels of inappropriateness.

By little time, I mean almost none. The film isn’t one hour through before the central act of violence occurs, and while it’s shocking, graphic, and thoroughly upsetting, we in the audience still have another 45 minutes to get through. Therein lies the problem.


While there are flaws the first act, Damiani does succeed at creating an intriguing buildup to the collapse of the refreshingly authentic Montellis. For once, I actually didn’t want to kill the youngest child actors (even as they played hide-and-seek in plastic bags and could have made the job easy), which made their doomed fate truly horrifying. Diane Franklin is sympathetic as the naively seductable Patricia, and some of the latex-heavy effects have aged quite decently.

Unfortunately, the second half of The Possession loses all the intensity it so quickly built up. It’s hard enough to carry a film when 5/6ths of the main characters have been slaughtered, but much harder when your game plan is to rip off The Exorcist right on down to the silhouette of Father Merrin’s hat. As Sonny, actor Jack Magner doesn’t make for a particularly save-worthy soul and the guilt-baiting ghosts nagging at Father Adamsky have no real weight when all we’ve really seen of his sins were turning down one phone call. Some film fans may enjoy the boy-on-the-verge-of-manhood possession analogies, but for me, there just wasn’t enough character or story to really invest any care into.

High Points
The opening Rosemary’s Babyish la-la singing is rather haunting


Diane Franklin looks enough like a 15 year old to make the statutory incestuous stuff sufficiently creepy. This isn’t exactly a “high point,” per say, but I give it a nod since I imagine a 2009 remake would skirt this issue by casting a rapidly Benjamin Button-esque aging Lindsay Lohan and putting her in an 18-hour Playtex bra (how I fear your possibilities, Let the Right American One In 2010)


The massacre is truly disturbing, in part because the film’s lack of weight doesn’t really prepare you for such an early scene of no holds barred violence

If you’re going to have a mustache, take a note from Sonny’s lawyer and have a fucking MUSTACHE


Low Points
Maybe it’s just the poor luck of being chased down so quickly by Spielberg & Hooper, but floating paintbrushes got nothin’ on evil clown dolls


Sonny’s stomach-pumping bed scene demonstrates just how important good acting ability is to pulling of any form of the prolonged “Nooooo!” and not sounding like Darth Vader’s lament of Padme’s death


Lessons Learned
Introducing your son as your first born and letting your 15 year old daughter call you Mommy and Daddy may not be fostering the best environment for sexually confused teenagers

Chekhov’s law that introducing a gun in the first act requires said gun to be fired later in the story applies to horror movies in full force


Don’t piss off Burt Young when he’s wearing a belt

When in doubt about how to end a mediocre horror sequel, blow something up


Stray Observations
Yes, that’s Mommie Dearest’s loyal assistant playing Mama Monticelli, and yes, Rutanya Alda has the dubious honor of receiving two consecutive Razzie nominations for Worst Supporting Actress, proving that Ms. Crawford wasn’t the first one to take a second ‘round at the rodeo.

Is there some curse on adolescent male antiheroes that head the second installments of multi-film franchises? I’ll give Magner a gold medal if Nightmare on Elm Street 2’s Jessie silvers and Silent Night Deadly Night 2’s Ricky cleans up the garbage around the base of the podium.


Rent/Bury/Buy
Amityville II is not a terrible film, nor is it particularly good. Having seen bits and pieces of most of the series (like the good native Lawnga Eyelandah I am), I was quite shocked at the brutality in the central murders. If you press stop after the bodies are messily removed, you have yourself an above average demonic dream home thriller that will darken your day considerably. If you continue through the Exorcist-lite mood switch, however, you may find yourself drifting into MST3K jokes or sleep. Anyone with an interest in the Amityville saga should definitely give this a rent, but I don’t imagine a rewatch will be necessary enough to warrant a buy. If anything, give it one viewing to appreciate a simpler, sweeter time in cinema history, before the MPAA created the PG13 rating and studios smartened up to where the actual money market was. This is 80s horror sleaze without limitations. If only the script supported it the whole way through.


Special thanks to Stacie Ponder and Final Girl’s Film Club for assigning this as May’s pick. Take a virtual field trip to wander through what promises to be a diverse and entertaining mix of other horror bloggers taking their rifle shots at this misshapen gem of a movie.

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.

The White Stuff

The Stuff does to corporate food products what Gremlins did to Cabbage Patch Kids. In the same way Joe Dante’s wicked little Christmas carol was a cautionary tale of the dangerous nature of "must have" product pushing --an unheeded warning, as seen by the Tickle-Me-Elmo mania ten years later--Larry Cohen’s 1985 horror comedy satirizes the evil of corporate greed and the impressionable consumers it destroys.


Quick Plot: When a bubbling white substance begins to ooze upwards from the earth, a passerby naturally dips his finger in it, takes a lick, and declares it delicious. Soon after, the stuff is dubbedThe Stuff and packaged in half pints, advertised with catchy 80s theme songs that highlight its zero calorie content, and devoured by supermarket shoppers across the country. The ice cream industry, facing bankruptcy, hires former FBI investigator (and Cohen compadre) Michael Moriarity (playing a man whose friends call him Mo, “Because no matter how much I get, I always want mo’’) to dig up the dirt on The Stuff. Meanwhile, a spunky boy with a dangerous craving for midnight snacks comes to despise the gooey dieter’s dream dish as his family--and, we assume, most of the world--becomes more and more addicted to its guilt-free sweetness. Toss in Garret Morris as a kung foo enhanced cookie maven, Danny Aiello as a retired FDA operator with dog training problems, and an unrestrained Paul Sorvino as a militia maniac with a hatred of communism and you have a bouncy, surprisingly intelligent, and ultimately over ambitious good time.

I won’t lie. If a dessert with no calories or fat and loads of sweet taste was put out on a grocery shelf, I’d be one of the first to try it (witness some bad times with the Olestra-poisoned Wow! Doritos). There. I've said it.

The Stuff is not a scary movie, nor is it meant to be. It’s probably impossible to make a frightfest out of a killer ice creamish substance akin to Carvel’s Thinny Thin or Yoplait’s Whips. Cohen doesn’t try. Instead, the auteur goes for sharp humor with a game cast, all of whom take their quirks and run with them. Like a lot of satires, The Stuff's lack of discipline feels fun for a while, but finally gets a little too messy for the film to completely work. Still, despite some fairly weak special effects and the 1980sness of the look, Cohen's work holds up today. We're all too eager to believe something that's too good to be true and those with the power to tell us are usually all too eager to rip us off in the process.


High Points
He may be a loopy right winged bird in real life, but Michael Moriority sure can liven up a role

Spotting playwright/actor Eric Bogosian as a put-upon supermarket clerk is a minor thrill


Any theme song must be catchy, and I’ve been singing “Can’t get enough...of The Stuff!” for two days straight

Low Points
While the entire last third goes a little haywire, the very last five minutes make no sense.
SPOILER: Why would Mo and little Jason keep any tubs knowing the danger its hazard? Yes, the corporate jerks deserve their punishment, but isn't force feeding them The Stuff recipe for an unwanted (by the characters) sequel?


Dog attacks aren’t scary when the only vicous thing seems to be saliva


Lessons Learned
Children of Long Island are the future resistance


In the 80s, models were allowed to eat

Work jumpsuits are one size fits all, which is convenient when you’re 6’4


Everybody has to eat shaving cream once in a while


Rent/Bury/Buy
Much like Moriority’s Mo, The Stuff is far smarter than you would think. Yes, the bottom half is rather nonsensical, but the rest is an imaginative little piece of 80s satire completely applicable to the age of Atkins Diets and Obama t-shirts (and note how The Stuff’s logo is eerily similar to Target's marketing art). The DVD's extras are disappointingly scant, but there is a director commentary sure to entertain. Unless you're frightened by the life matter inside the Staypuff Marshmallow Man, The Stuff won't give you nightmares. It will, on the other hand, make you laugh, think, and read ingredient labels with more care.

Once Upon a Time in a Kingdom Known as the 80s...

Fairy tales were never meant to be Disneyfied: read Grimm’s original stories and you’ll find cannibalism, infanticide, and eye gouging. Not quite the setting for adorably dancing mice or Smashmouth covers. 


Maybe that makes a film like Deadtime Stories (aka Freaky Fairytales and The Griebels) perfectly apt for my childhood, as I definitely and inappropriately rented it once or twice as a wee lass. As the totally rocking opening rock ballad muses, “It’s no wonder why I turned out how I did/remembering my bedtime tales as a kid.” And that’s as good a place to start: something missing from modern horror is the personalized theme song. While Deadtime’s Stories’ original ditties don’t quite best Nightmare on Elm Street’s 3 Dreeeeeeeam Warriors tune, they’re still quite refreshing (note how ‘De Palma’ is used to rhyme with ‘drama’).


The rest of the movie is, well, cheap and odd. Anthology films tend to be mixed bags, but Deadtime Stories is just plain kooky. I’m guessing the filmmakers realized in pre-production that they lacked the resources to create genuine scares, so they went for comedy right from the start. Unfortunately, they also lacked a consistent sense of humor.


Three segments are framed by a little boy goading his drunken uncle into nighttime monster-warding storytelling so young BIlly can sleep (in broad daylight). The first tale is an original: in what seems to be enchanted woods where older characters are British and younger/not as good actors are American, two witches order their slave boy to kidnap a maiden so they may sacrifice her and resurrect their sister. The performances of the witches are actually quite good. I imagine director Jeffrey Delman abducted them from a local production of Macbeth then spent the better remainder of his entire budget on loading in some great effects.


Story 2 is the weakest, a modernization of Little Red Riding Hood that offers nothing new. The main conceit is that Red is a sexually curious teenager in a tracksuit and the Big Bad Wolf wears leather pants. 


The third and wackiest of the set is a slapstick-ridden take on Goldilocks and the Three Bears, notable mostly for featuring future Oscar nominee Melissa Leo as the matriarch of a savantish clan. After rescuing her menfolk from the Home for the Hopelessly Insane (although it's later referred to as Helplessly Insane), Mama Bear cruises to an abandoned house now occupied by a psychic and psychotic Goldilox and her bevy of dead and rotting failed suitors. Unlike that bratty little home intruder you judged harshly in your childhood, this Goldi makes an effort to help out her hosts, burying bodies and paying for pizza (okay, just making the waitress choke and die). Meanwhile, a pair of bumbling policemen lead manhunts to take down the new combined family. It’s a goofy segment, complete with over-the-top performances and violence that would embarrass the Three Stooges

High Points
Some decent dead effects, particularly in the first tale


The framing story is not without humor

Low Points
Aside from the ass kicking songs of the opening and closing credits, “Taj’s” soundtrack is devastatingly bad (particularly during the porno jazz of Red’s mild masturbation scene)


Some actors have more fun than others

Lessons Learned
To save time, always gather your ingredients before casting a resurrection spell


Chloroform works well, even in fairy tale era kingdoms


Eyeballs do not make solid weapons


A sleazy pharmacist is a sloppy pharmacist


Joggers did not wear sports bras in the 1980s


Maalox was once a prescription drug


Never insult a telekinetic psychopath


Hanging creepy frog puppets in your room is not a good idea if you’re prone to nightmares


And finally, seeing how these are tales made to teach deeper virtues, I give you the primary moral of each:


1-Question the loyalty of thy slave
2-Know thy priorities
3-Avoid Long Island at all costs

Rent/Bury/Buy
My enjoyment of this film was based more on nostalgia than anything else. As much as I appreciate its unique tone, it’s hard to see what a casual fan would get out of Deadtime Stories. The scares are mild and the humor is splotchy. Still, if you’re a fairy tale fan or anthology aficionado, it’s worth one viewing. Just remember: sometimes, when we find ourselves saying “They don’t make ‘em like they used to,” it’s with good reason.