Potato Sack Slaughter

I’m not a spiritual person, but if there’s one thing I firmly believe, it’s that every holiday--whether it be national, religious, historical, or commercial--deserves its own horror film. Nary an Xmas has passed in my life without a hot chocolaty viewing of Jack Frost or any of the Silent Night Deadly Night films (part 2 is my favorite, since it’s really two-for-the-price-of-one in flashbacks PLUS Garbage Day, my favorite non-holiday holiday). While I’m still waiting for a Severance-like take on Secretary Appreciation Day, it does bring me patriotic pleasure to report back from the Larry Cohen penned, William Lustig directed 1997 Uncle Sam.


In case the holographic cover art didn’t give it away, this is no Saving Private Ryan. If anything, Uncle Sam is like the grouchy old guy at the family reunion who sits in the corner and complains about kids today. Then he shoves garden shears into their eye sockets.


Quick Plot: When the news of Sergeant Sam Harper’s Desert Storm death reaches his sunny hometown, most of his family and those that knew the violent soldier with a mean sadistic streak are relieved. The exception is his America, Fuck Yeah nephew Jodi, a young boy seemingly poised to follow in Sam’s army booted footprints.


Of course, Sam isn’t quite dead (although that doesn’t stop the military from leaving his coffin in the widow’s living room, blocking the television and probably making dinner parties a tad awkward). All it takes is one gang of teens and their darned flag-burning ways to raise his rotting corpse from the dead. Before you can say George Washington, our undead soldier has commandeered a red, white, and blue Sam-suit from a peeping tom to bring back patriotism and slaughter those who stand in its way.

Draft dodgers, corrupt politicians, and even recreational drug users, be warned. This is not the kindly Uncle Sam that made you feel special by pointing in your face and demanding you die for the United States. Like some sort of distant relative to Angela Baker, this Uncle Sam wants to dispose of any and every citizen unworthy of celebrating July 4th with illegal fireworks or the apparently very complicated Star Spangled Banner. What Sleepaway Camp did for summer, Uncle Sam does for Independence Day.


Which basically means makes a fairly unscary, occasionally funny 88 minute movie that’s generally forgettable save for one major conceit (SC’s shocking WTF finale and the very presence of a homicidal undead Uncle Sam).


High Points
Sure, most of the deaths are predictable, but I’m not complaining when a flagpole is utilized in not one but two fairly deserved kills

A brief conversation about the human Sam’s brutal nature hints at a darker and almost intriguing aspect to the rather one-dimensional villain


Low Points
As direct-to-DVD (or video, as this was probably one of the last VHS stalwarts) horror goes, Uncle Sam is well made enough, but that doesn’t hold up when a name like Larry Cohen is attached. While there may be some underlying themes about U.S. military violence, the deeper intelligence of films like It’s Alive and The Stuff is nowhere to be found


The supporting cast is well-stocked with names like P.J. Soles, Isaac Hayes, and Robert Forster, but no one gets much of anything to do that’s worthy of their thespian or personality skills. The exception? Timothy Bottoms, the former Bush of That’s My Bush!, with an, in hindsight, ironic role as a former hippie-turned-unpopular schoolteacher

Lessons Learned
Playing with fireworks will blind, scar, and cripple you; other side effects include inspiring your mother to dress like Miss Piggy attending a 1950s tea party

Nobody can sing the national anthem without making a mistake


When mapping out the route for a potato sack race, locating the final bend around a steep cliff is probably not the best idea


Rent/Bury/Buy
Though it features a fallen soldier, Uncle Sam ain’t Martyrs. This is a breezily goofy B-horror that flies by without offensiveness. It doesn’t have the super creative charm of, say, Killer Klowns From Outer Space, but from its behind the scenes pedigree to the finished product, it’s more watchable than other fare like Rumplestiltskin or your average backyard filmed zombie flick. The DVD includes not one but two commentaries, with discussions by Hayes, Lustig, and the always entertaining Cohen. If you enjoy cheesily slick, nowhere near scary horror, then Uncle Sam is worth a guilt-free rental but it will most likely leave a less lasting impression than a temporary tattoo forced onto you by a five-year-old at a family barbeque or the hangover you woke up with July 5th.

Oedipal Ground & Typos of Terror

Oh, Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror. How does one even begin to tackle such a perfect bacchanal of a film? Do I start with the casting of little person (and possible mini-me clone of Dario Argento) Peter Bark as cinema’s most persistent mama’s boy? How about the precariously placed bear trap resting amid a lovely mowed lawn? Or how about a random quote showing the easy 70sness of the characters: “You’re getting a raise from me all right, but it has nothing to do with money.”


With no real intro, let me offer a quick helping of photographic evidence:

Moving on...

Quick Plot: Three couples travel to a country house to visit an old, already eaten professor friend. Tossed in to much memorable effect is Bark's Michael, a turtleneck wearing preadolescent who resembles a grown up Stewie Griffin if all that trying-to-kill-his-mom business is just really intense foreplay. The opening ten minutes or so are devoted to separating each pair (useful when save for a mustache or lack of mustache, there’s not a whole lot to decipher each character) as they break off for varying levels of cuddling. Copious amounts of necking is put on hold when a gang of hungry and quite crusty zombies crash the fun, chomping their way through one poorly dubbed Italian after the next.

Is there more? Not really, but that’s what makes Burial Ground such a lasting film. Director Andrea Bianchi wastes little time in cutting through some fast nudity (I think there was an Italian law in 1981 that at least one minute of every film must contain some sort of breast) to give us the goods: shamblers, pure and simple. Sure, they break a little ground by picking up a few simple hand tools for extra power, but these are old school undead in a film that knows that’s what its audience wants.


Make no mistake: Burial Ground is not a good film. It’s terrible by 97% of most ranking criteria, from the acting to script and just about everything else. It does, however, expel all the virtues of any bad horror film with incredible watchability. Generous, creative, and sometimes well-done gore plus dialogue and character actions so dumb you almost want to develop a Human Intelligence Hormone and inject it into your DVD player make this a film you can’t help but love. While it doesn’t have any of the actual fright potential as something like Fulci’s Zombie, it does boast enough sleaze to make for a thoroughly entertaining time.


High Points
One of my biggest pet peeves in modern horror cinema is its reluctance to show anything during daylight. Compare the pure shock of seeing Leatherface bash a guy’s head in under the Texas sun with Jessica Biel’s barely lit getaway and you’ll see how well the AM hours can work when used correctly. Despite it’s title (more about that below), the heart of Burial Ground takes place with plenty of light, allowing full view of the grindhousey gore

With maggots squiggling out of holes and skin that resembles my cats’ well-used scratching post, these zombies are pleasantly rank


Low Points
The copy editor in me canot forgive two glaring errors:


1, If you’re planning on including a poetic endquote over the final still, would it kill you to give it a quick lookover to say, I don’t know, ensure the last word is spelled correctly? These nigths of terror foretold by profecies don’t proofread themselves


2. Speaking of that title: Unless you count the blink-and-you-miss-it prologue, the entire film begins around brunch and ends sometime before the next morning’s breakfast. Granted, math ain’t my forte and I’ve never been to Italy, but doesn’t an under 24 hour time frame consist of one nigth?

Lessons Learned
Wearing the antique lingerie you find somewhere in the closet of your vacation house will make you look like a little whore, but most men seem to like that


Next to zombies, the biggest danger in the Italian countryside seems to be bears


When your son walks in on you having sex with his stepfather, avoid the urge to scuttle out of bed and stand half naked for an extended time period, thus showing off your fabulous breasts. By doing so, you risk a) seriously warping an already warped child’s fetishes and b) planting an instinctive target for anything undead to chew on

Rent/Bury/Buy
Anybody with a love of zombie cinema--particularly from that rustily fabulous era spanning the 70s to early 80s--will get a genuine kick out of Burial Ground. This is not a turn-the-lights-off and watch in respectful silence kinda film; this is a movie made for Halloween parties, late nights avoiding work assignments, and background sleaze when cleaning the house. Who needs character, story, or class when you've got creatively done kills, Suspiria rip-off kills, and toupee wearing little people with fantastically vivid memories of nursing?


When this was named the July pick for Final Girl’s Film Club, I was actually quite scared (much more so than by anything in this actual film, natch). How could I begin to deliver any sort of critique or loving tribute to a film that so entertains by itself? The result: I probably didn’t, but thankfully, Stacie Ponder’s circle o’blogs surely have some other wonderful observations on the subject. Head over the the best horror blog on the web and follow some more contributers. It’s like a big virtual gang of writers that, should they all be gathered in one place, could annihilate zombies...with their words.

America, Eff Yeah (or something something)

As my fellow Americans and I prepare to gorge ourselves on hamburgers and s’mores (side note: does a s’more hamburger sound good, or am I just really hungry?), I thought it would be patriotic--or, well, timely--to round up a few installments of my favorite genre that represent some aspect of United States history. A complete timeline wasn’t possible because a) as far as I know, we’re still waiting for the proper Columbus-as-Godzilla analogy of my dreams and b) there aren’t nearly enough (that I know of) films set in the past. 

Still, I did manage to pull a few titles/notable time periods for your movie marathon. No matter what color passport you may keep, feel free to add more below. Based on some of my picks, we need all the help we can to make history not repeat itself.

Puritannia!

Truth be told, I can’t think of any great American horror films that truly capture the restrictiveness of Christian culture. Peter Weir’s brilliantly haunting Picnic At Hanging Rock does an incredible job of exploring the unnatural atmosphere of Victorian society, but, well, that classic is set in the 1900s on another British colony that begins with A. For colonial horror of a more cerebral ilk, one could check out the we’re-the-real-monsters A-list headed The Crucible, starring a horny Winona Ryder, a brooding Daniel Day Lewis, and lots of black magic loving teenagers who scream more than all Jason’s final girls combined or an entire cycle’s worth of America’s Next Top Model contestants. If so-bad-it’s-still-not-good films are your cup of tea, then sit yourself down for an MST3K zinger-ready viewing of Demi Moore’s Oscar-baiting, Razzie winning performance as Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter. It teaches some important national lessons, such as don’t have sex with priests even if they are Gary Goldman and never under any circumstances overestimate your acting ability.

Manifest Destiny

Go west, young man! And if in doubt, eat your fatter travel companions. The infamous Donnor Party of the 1840s ventured into unchartered territory by heading across the country in search of gold and good settling ground, but they’re far more remembered for their survival spirit and taste in good old fashioned American red meat. American citizen meat, that is. Short on supplies and near starvation, these ill-fated pioneers eventually began eating their fellow (dead, I believe) travelers, thus beginning our national tradition of cannibalistic antiheroes. Without them, would Anthony Hopkins have ever won an Oscar? (probably). For totally unfaithful adaptations of this event, see the well-made Ravenous or Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s Tromarrific Cannibal! The Musical. Warning: you will be singing about baked potatoes, snowmen, and trackers for weeks without fail. And you may want to eat people. I honestly don’t know which is worse. 

The Civil War

The bloodiest event in American history pitted brother against brother, North against South, and twangs against Yank speak. In terms of body count, it’s our most devastating war, although oddly enough, you won’t find a large amount of horror films addressing the subject. Near Dark adds an excellently evil layer to Lance Henrickson’s vampire by giving him a Confederate backstory (slavery supporting AND undead? shudders). One of my favorite forgotten horror anthologies, the Vincent Price starring From a Whisper to a Scream (aka The Offspring) sets its final segment during the last days of the Civil War, when a group of children orphaned by the North’s dominance find their own method of Reconstruction (hint: it involves a lot of pieces). The amateur acting is spotty, but the gritty barrenness of a war-torn society (rarely seen in the U.S. but sadly far more common elsewhere) is explored in a truly frightening way.

The 1960s

In 1968, George Romero changed American (and international) cinema with the gore-filled, hero lacking Night of the Living Dead. Aside from introducing the world to unlimited hours of entertainment in planning zombie escape plans, this little black and white horror captured a changing tide in national sentiment. The blatant acknowledgement of unequal treatment of blacks, the inefficiency of government authorities, and the disenchantment with the American heroism by the reality of Vietnam  has aged well in the 40 years since it’s midnight premiere. It won’t make you proud of this country, but it remains one of its most important cinematic milestones.

Getting depressed by the state of the red white and blue? For an all-American palette cleanser, check out 1997’s low budget, high body count Uncle Sam. Yes, it’s pretty much 85 minutes of patriotic kills using every implement you’ll touch this July 4th (flag pole? check; bbq? check; firecrackers? you get the point) and no, it’s not good. But with American heroes Isaac Hayes and Robert Forster on board, plus the most aggressive potato sack race ever put on film, you’ll get much more enjoyment than, say, watching televised fireworks scored to the Last House On the Left-like raping of John Philip Sousa’s legacy by high school marching bands. 

One, Two, Shakaal's Coming For You

When I recently learned of the existence of a Bollywood version of Nightmare on Elm Street, I rearranged my Netflix queue faster than you rank the Freddy films based on enjoyability (for the record, it's 3-1-2-4-7-6-5; yes, I'm a sucker for homoeroticism, puppetry, and Kafka) and actual film quality (7-3-1-4-5-2-6) . An international Freddy Krueger + aggressively choreographed dance numbers? Did I eat some poisoned Cheerios this morning and end up on the right side of heaven?


Like most things in life, Mahakaal is a fairly obvious disappointment. Not eerie enough for actual scares, yet not quite kitchy enough for true cult status, this 1993 film succeeds in some sectors, spends way too much time in a lot of others, and then...well...ends. But hey, it also has a mulleted villain with a wicked laugh akin to the fat carrot-topped clown in Clownhouse and a moment or two or genuine tension.


Quick Plot: A group of college students--who reallllllly like picnics--discover that a scarred, giggling, and knife-nailed demon named Shakaal and his collection of haunted house prop skeletons are terrorizing them in their dreams. A romantic couples getaway turns deadly for one promiscuous young lady, while her boyfriend can only watch in horror as she writhes around the floor covered by non-helping hands (Jennifer Connelly might venture to call them 'hurting'). Yes, this is supposed to sound familiar. I haven’t even arrived at the water bed death, guilty father responsible for the puddy-scarred fiend’s fiery execution, or any of the other obvious borrowed goods from Wes Craven’s soon-to-be-rebooted franchise.

Since I’ve never watched a Bollywood film in its entirety, I figured an ‘adaptation’ of one of my very well-liked horror series would be a prime starting point to ease into the genre. In that regard, it was passable. I don’t know that I could have really survived 2 1/2 hours of stock sound effects, random closeups, and a screaming female protagonist had it not been so gleefully torn out of Craven's script. Unfortunately, the Westernization of Mahakaal is also its partial downfall. The songs (yes, there are songs) aren’t particularly spectacular by Bollywood standards and the demon’s muted characterization won’t induce many nightmares.

High Points
The score played during some of the earlier nightmare sequences is quite effective...probably because it was clearly ripped straight out of Craven’s walkman


Anita’s first nightmare featuring a giggling, eyeless ghost, actually will make you thoroughly unsettled

Low Points
I don’t have a problem with musical numbers. Heck, I’d give my right vocal chord if all Hollywood films incorporate some form of song-and-dance sequence (I’m nowhere near a good enough writer to express what a classic Terminator Salvation would have been had John Connor sashayed with Arnold amid the apocalyptic scenery), but one song about a picnic, one about being in love, and zero--zero!!! sung by or regarding the actual monster does not endear a film to my melodic heart

The 2 1/2 running tie is, to put it mildly, a tad long. Maybe one less verse about the wonder of picnics, one less misogynist leer from the horny villain, and ten less extreme closeups of Shakaal's yellow eyes could have shaved off 90 minutes or so


Lessons Learned
In some cultures, attempting to rape a young woman is a sign of disrespect


Indian Michael Jackson impersonating- watiers are useful to have on your side in barroom brawls


Dream demons punch with the same amount of force as female college students, grumpy policemen, and just about everyone else that gets angry on camera


When being hunted by a black magic practicing demon, always try to end up in his well-stocked and fully functional torture chamber

Incredibly enough, hurling potted plants at a supernatural monster does not cause any serious physical damage


Winning Line
During an attempted gang rape: “Let’s get you wet first.”
Yuck.
Although naturally, this means the would-be rapist just wants to squirt a hose over the heroine’s dress


Rent/Bury/Buy
Curiousity has led me down many a bad rental choice, but there are worse things one can do than attempt to slog through a Bollywood Freddy Krueger film (thank you for lowering the bar to bluishly bland depths, Moscow Zero). I don’t see an incredible amount of rewatchability here, and so I can't begin to recommend a buy, but if you're as temptable as me when it comes to bizarre horror, you can't judge yourself for giving it a (most likely unrewarding) try. You almost have to see it for the right to say, "Yes, I've seen the Bollywood Nightmare On Elm Street." You may even become the hero of your friends and envy of your enemies. Plus, Michael Jackson devotees--who seem to be emerging from Neverlandian cocoons in numbers that should make pet monkeys and Paul McCartney tremble with fear--may also find Mahakaal worth a watch to check out one MJ's mean moves with a lunch tray.

I Believe The Children Are the Future (so stop trying to kill them)

If the Brothers Grimm taught us anything, (aside from to beware of strangers or step-families) it’s that kids can generally handle macabre humor and violent justice. Cinderella’s stepsisters had it a lot worse in the 19th century, when their snotty dishonesty cost one foot arch and four eyeballs. Walt Disney’s 9 Old Men toned down the crow pecking finale, but anyone well-versed in the Disney canon can probably remember gasping at Pinnocchio’s donkey dance or the zombie-like horde of marching broomsticks hungry for Fantasia era Mickey Mouse brains (that is what they wanted, right?).

Here are a few more moments, characters, and movies made specifically for a younger audience that will leave even the most seasoned horror veteran shaking behind their Teddy Ruxbans and Good Guy dolls.

The Witches

Gene Wilder’s madcap take on Willy Wonka gets the Tim Burton remake and hipster t-shirts, but it’s this 1990 adaptation of another Roald Dahl novel that truly captures kiddie horror. Angelica Huston brings Oscar cred to one of the best screen villainess of the 90s as The Grand High Witch, a Sam Raimi-like crone and possible long-lost sister of the Crypt Keeper. Smaller moments--like seeing a little girl live out a haunted life inside a faded oil painting hung on her parents’ wall-come straight out of a gothic ghost tale, while witchy face transformations give Rick Baker werewolves some fierce competitions. And I can’t think of a single moment in any of the Friday the 13th films more suspenseful than watching a plucky 10 year old orphan morph into a mouse--only to then be chased by a mass of bald British women pent on the genocide of the juvenile population.

Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure

Speaking of Tim Burton, one of modern cinema’s most innovative (and frustrating) directors has specialized in ‘family’ films with underlying (and overt) creepiness. See Beetlejuice, The Corpse Bride, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and just about any other entry from his resume for further proof. I choose to discuss Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure for very personal reasons. Sure, one eccentric man-child set loose on roadside America unsettles a few moviegoers, but Burton does a funny dance to get us on Pee-Wee’s side: he terrorizes the poor guy with a series of creepy encounters far weirder than Jombi’s smiles or Billy Bologna’s beady eyes. A few examples: a neon dinosaur park, Twilight Zone-ish road to nowhere, and, worst of all, the most terrifying dream sequence to ever appear in a PG-rated film, featuring cruel and gleefully sinister clowns who hate bicycles. Sure, it all ends well enough, but Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure is not a film for the weak-kneed. If you haven’t seen it since your last bowl of Mr. T cereal, then I recommend at visit to your local video store. Just be sure to tell ‘em Large Marge sent ya! (and then scream and hitchhike for your life).

The Wizard of/Return to Oz

It’s hard to find a living or recently dead person who has never seen Judy Garland skip down the Yellow Brick Road and of that nearly 98% of the human population, I would bet some ruby slippers that the vast majority will admit to having been scared green by Margaret Hamilton’s portrayal of The Wicked Witch of the West. That sharp cackle, emerald skin, and allergic reaction to what every other living creature requires to live is, to put it mildly, disturbing. What could be more frightening?

Oh, I don’t know...how about an equally evil witch who collects the heads of pretty young women and displays them in a museum hall? Or her army of gangly-limbed goons dressed like punk jesters yet suited up for roller derby? Yup, 1985’s Return to Oz replaced catchy dance numbers with spooky eyed Fairuza Balk fleeing electro-shock treatment requested by  Carrie’s mother. Incredibly enough, it didn’t break any box office records upon its release. That being said, Return to Oz offers an engrossing story, strong performances, and an incredible visual design. Think of it as a stopover bridge between Labyrinth and Pan’s Labyrinth.

Sesame Street

Personally, I’ve never had a negative experience with anything created by Jim Henson (although the The Jim Henson Hour does still send some chills down my spine) but I felt that I owed America’s most beloved destination a mention for some of its more colorful (and perhaps questionable) residents. While I spent my childhood hiding from the invisible Chucky I was sure was constantly hunting me, my older brother’s boogyman was none other than public television’s most cuddly vampire, The Count. Cookie Monster has more than likely devoured a small child or two in a sugar-fueled bender and I once babysat a little girl who suffered from reoccurring nightmares starring the unibrowed Bert. So I guess there’s some people would prefer to not to get, get to Sesame Street.

and a show that inexplicably does NOT scare children, but should

In 50 years, the world will undoubtedly be a very different, much less pleasant place. We can certainly point a few foreboding fingers dim-witted world leaders and irresponsible energy resourcing, but I reserve the brunt of blame for a far more diabolical enemy that has been hard at work in manipulating, corrupting, and possibly possessing the future of mankind.

How else can one possibly explain the fact that kids born in the late 90s seem to have no fear of brightly colored, tv-bellied aliens living a Memento-like existence of short-term memory loss surrounded by bunnies? My theory--and I can’t possibly be alone in this--is that the messiah overlord/sungod baby is communicating--via the antenna connections atop the fat-four’s heads--a master plan detailing world domination. I never thought I’d say this, but Barney’s message of peace and love suddenly feels like must-see viewing for the youth of the world. 

I can’t imagine how many films, shows, and toys I’m leaving out, so please share a few of your own below. 

Summer Rental

A 1970s haunted house thriller sounds rather familiar and unappealing, but Dan Curtis's Burnt Offerings is a surprisingly well-aged, star-studded creeper that skillfully unites gothic horror with suburban despair.


Quick Plot: The happy enough Rolf family composed of B-movie queen Karen Black, Tommy’s singing stepfather Oliver Reed, and a not terrible child actor rent a secluded country home for the summer from the incredibly so-kind-they-must-be-evil brother sister superteam of Burgess Meredith (Twilight Zone’s most tortured bookworm) and the unsettling Eileen Heckert as the Allarydices. The only catch? Mrs. Rolf must prepare three square meals for the hermit-like Mrs. Allardyce, an unseen elderly matriarch who presumably wiles her day away polishing photographs and enjoying the pool view.

Oh yeah. And tagging along for the Rolf’s dream summer is none other than Baby Jane herself, Bette Davis, playing Reed’s peppy Aunt Elizabeth.

As you may imagine, something ain’t right inside the antique home. Flowers die and parents start to lose some gentility, beginning with a truly terrifying pool sequence of horseplay gone wrong and a few snippy scoldings from a growingly materialistic mom. Much like the soon-to-be-written The Shining, Burnt Offerings is as much about a family’s fragility as it is about haunted houses and creepy imagery. Reed and Black do an excellent job of creating 13 year old marriage with a few frays around the edge, and their growing alienation is far more disturbing than the overdramatic shots of the world's most macabrely cheerful funeral chauffeur.

High Points
The aforementioned pool scene--the first genuine sign that the house is digging into the family--creates such a horrific mood by beginning as a normal, sunny summer moment that quickly degrades into a nightmare

A haunting music box theme is used well throughout the film


I didn't notice this until Karen Black pointed it out on the commentary, but for a product of 1976, Burnt Offerings is very carefully not dated; From Black's velvety bathrobe to the house's collection of dusty antiques, this film has a gently gothic atmosphere with undated modernism mixed in by the standard family characters


SPOILER SHIELD ENABLED

The fact that it’s the near death of her child rather than the fatal diagnosis of her husband’s condition that finally snaps Mrs. Rolf out of her possession is powerful in showing where a parent’s deepest love truly lies


Once the finale gets going, it crescendos and leaves a very wrong feeling behind in the viewer


Low Points
Her mere presence is powerful and intriguing, but I feel like if you’re going to use Lady Bette Davis, she just deserves more meat in her role


The two hour running time takes a tad too long to kick into gear


Lessons Learned
When a tower of bricks begins to tumble, it’s best to run away rather than watch directly underneath


Evil old women with possessing powers may bear a striking physical resemblance to David Cronenberg

Wave pools are all good fun until someone gets hurt


Fun Fact
If IMDB is to be believed, the villainous house later came out of retirement to play the funeral home in Phantasm


Rent/Bury/Buy
A film like Burnt Offerings could have easily become a relic of mid 70s horror, but this one really is worth your attention for at least a viewing. The DVD includes a jovial and informative commentary with director Dan Curtis and the chatty Karen Black, who sheds some thespianly insight on how she approached her character being seduced by the pretty things inside the home. If you enjoy slower paced horror films that creep with care, then Burnt Offerings is probably worthy of a well-priced purchase. It gets richer with multiple viewings because once you stop waiting for something ghostly to happen, it's easier to pay more attention to the subtle changes slowly reshaping Mr. and Mrs. Rolf. This isn't a film for everyone, but you--like me--may find yourself pleasantly (by which I mean uncomfortably and a little frightened) surprised.

Maybe Rumplestiltskin Ate'th Your Baby

It was only a matter of time before a horror filmmaker decided to jump on one of Western civilization’s most gruesome fairy tales. For those who find the cannibalism and parental negligence of Hansel & Gretel too PG, the original Rumplestiltskin highlights fatherly irresponsibility and what may possibly be the very first black market (and black magic) baby ring. If that’s not enough, the story ends with a character literally being split in two and sucked underground for eternity.


The plot itself is enough to give kids of any time period nightmares, but sadly, Mark Jones’ 1995 interpretation doesn’t quite capture any of the horror inherent in fighting a greasy troll for your child’s life. One part Leprechaun, twenty percent reaction shots of babies, and oozing in bargain priced medieval puns, Rumplestiltskin is the type of cheese you eat once in its entirety and again only when starving or inebriated.


Quick Plot: Somewhere in Europe in the 1400s (I’m not being lazy; that’s what the title card said), an angry mob chases down the baby-swiping, inexplicably Bronx-accented title character to save the very clean tot he's been toting after granting a young mother's wish. Luckily, there's a fairly talented gypsy in the bunch. A few tosses of glitter and Rumplestiltskin is sent to carry out his next thousand years inside a jade sculpture.


Five hundred and ninety five years later, we learn that gypsies can’t do math or just have really bad curse warranties.


It’s “The Present Day” in LA, where the police are such sunny stereotypes that one jokes about donuts and his partner calls his pretty and pregnant wife Shelly (later Ivy from NBC’s Passions!). The terribly slow- motioned carjacking of a young mother widows our heroine, but a quick trip to an antique shop lifts her spirits with the purchase of a familiar statue that--through tears and a rhetorical wish--unleashes the nose-ring wearing Rumplestiltskin on Shelly, baby Johnny, and eventually, an Andrew Dice Clay-ish comedian with dreadful Zack Morris style and remarkable skill at driving a go-cart.

High Points
While nothing quite tops the terribly brilliant punning of Leprechaun(“This old Lep/He played one/ He played pogo on his lung” is a personal favorite), Rumplestiltskin’s brilliant addition of “‘th” to any verb does make me want to develop a potty mouth, if only for the opportunity to use “Fuck’th me" from here on in

Low Points
When you heavily feature a character as obnoxious as the goofy female best friend, you owe the audience a bigger death scene than a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it neck break


On paper, the 87 minute running time sounds like a good idea, but when 20 of those final minutes are devoted to an extended chase with absolutely no tension or creativity, breaking the hour mark is just wrong


Lessons Learned
If the only thing that will curse you is another person saying your name out loud, it’s probably not a good idea to constantly refer to yourself in the third person

It doesn’t take long to master truck driving, even if your feet barely reach the pedals


Confirmed Lesson Learned From Sunnydale
When unable to identify a supernatural culprit in a public crime, authority figures will undoubtedly put the blame on PCP

Winning Line
Gypsy Antiques Dealer: It’s supposed to grant wishes.
Shelly: Oh, so you make wishes and they come true?


Stray Observation
Medieval Europe looked an awful lot like the historical reenactment about witch trials shown on the New York jury duty video

Rent/Bury/Buy

This may shock you, but Rumplestiltskin is a pretty ridiculous film. If you have any doubts, consider the following: upon commandeering a motorcycle, Rumplestiltskin proudly notes, “Made in America. My kind of chariot.” How, for example, does the 15th century Rumpy have any idea what America is if, according to the song I memorized in the 4th grade, Columbus sailed the Ocean Blue in Fourteen Hundred and Ninety Two? And when did he learn the offensiveness of giving the finger? If you think you will be bothered by such a question, avoid this movie. If you were far from amused by the Leprechaun’s third outing to Las Vegas, avoid this movie. If the temptation of a Duel-like road chase between a misogynist driving a go cart and a 600 year old troll driving a mack truck and spouting one-liners like “Let’s play’th tag,” then ....you get the point. This is a poor man’s Leprechaun made from imitation cheddar. It’s not good for you, but for the first few bites, it’s kind of hard to stop eating. Then you stop and hate yourself. Then you get hungry again and...man. Bad movies are a dangerous cycle.


Oh. And just in case it wasn't clear, did I mention this film is like:

Right down to the near identical poster art.