Christmas With the Combustible Covens

After the debacle that was Silent Night, Deadly Night 2 (from a non cheese lover’s point of view, of course) and the bore that was Part III: You Better Watch O ut,  along came the ‘90s and with it, a new take on the yuletide slaughter series determined to start fresh. Silent Night, Deadly Night 4: Initiation, takes the Halloween III approach by having absolutely nothing to do with its forebearers (although a fantasy sequence from the previous film does get a Clint Howard approved cameo). Directed by genre B+ student Brian Yuzna (The ReAnimator sequels, Return of the Living Dead III), this is an interesting and imperfect little movie that embraces all the fun trappings of the lesser decade it was made in.

Quick Plot: Homeless Clint Howard shambles his way down a dark LA alleyway as a woman falls to her death before his eyes, her lower half spontaneously combusting with no human explanation. We’re then introduced to our lead Kim (Neith Hunter), a wannabe journalist doing everything she can to move up from editing the classifieds. Surprisingly enough, she’s learning the hard way that publicly sleeping with a head reporter one month after being hired is not earning her the respect she so craves. That glass ceiling sure is hard to crack, sister.

Frustrated that her snazzily dressed boyfriend won’t pester the boss for her promotion, Kim decides to take matters into her own hands by investigating the mysterious death and writing its story. Research begins at the scene of the crime, where Kim meets an Asian American butcher speaking like an idiot, even though he clearly has perfectly apt English pronunciation skills. Next stop is a New Age shop where the ill-mannered Kim acts like an ignorant snob while somehow charming Fima, the owner, into getting invited to a picnic. Who knew that the way into a hippie shopkeeper’s heart was by accepting her candy, then spitting it out and handing the inside back?


The next day, Kim meets up with Fima and friends for a midday picnic where within 45 seconds, she becomes the center of a toast and gets tipsy off of half a glass of wine. Something is clearly off, since no way would someone with the bad attitude of Kim make friends so quickly. 

To quote another female centered horror film with “Christmas” in the IMDB keywords, all of them witches. It’s not spoiling anything to hint at Fima’s intentions towards Kim, none of which involve girl talk over cosmos. The actual direction of their relationship is interesting, if rather underdeveloped in an extremely brisk film. Strange things begin to happen when Kim hangs out with her new gang: cockroaches invade her apartment, her head spins with flashes of the film’s previous scenes, spaghetti swirls itself into symbolic spirals, and Clint Howard dons a Kubrickian Pinnocchio nose to romance the baffled redhead and get his bare chest oiled up by senior citizenettes.

It's even more disturbing than it sounds.

High Points

A major character’s death is quite well executed, with a few nasty stabs that feel drawn out and mean

Director Yuzna earns a few extra points simply for naming his son (who plays a key character in the film) Conan


Not surprisingly, the practical effects are quite impressive in a richly gooey way. There's a touch of Cronenberg in some of the semen-ish fluids sprawled throughout Kim's after hours adventures, as well as plenty of good old fashioned ickiness

Low Points

Much like myself, Neith Hunter has apparently never been touch to develop an indoor voice, making a good deal of her passionate arguing in the early scenes make us wonder how we’ll be able to survive another 90 minutes when it always feels like our lead is just yelling at us

We never really learn the nature of Fima’s spells, or religion, or hobby or whatever. The imagery and basic atmosphere is interesting enough to follow, but it’s an odd choice to leave so much of the film’s villainess a mystery

Lessons Learned

Upon discovering a body engulfed in flames, feel free to touch it

To make your multi-zipper leather jacket really pop, pair it with a tight black turtleneck. Especially if you’re a man.

Books about spontaneous combustion are classified in the occult section of your local  pagan bookstore

LA is a very windy city, but also safe enough for picnickers to leave their car windows wide open as they roam around public parks


When you put Reggie Bannister in a sweater, he has a striking resemblance to Lisa Simpson’s band conductor, Mr. Largo

Winning Line

“Kim’s Jewish.” 

“Oh Jesus!”

Familiar Face

Chipmunk voiced Allyce Beasley, once again taking on the best friend role she chirped her way through in Rumplestiltskin, and once again not receiving a death worthy of her cloying character

Rent/Bury/Buy

Much like some of Yuzna chum Stuart Gordon’s film, Silent Night, Deadly Night 4 is a pleasant ride during its run time, but quite forgettable when it’s done. The effects are neat and the actual premise is different enough to warrant a watch, but the overall product isn't quite smart enough to earn a place in body horror and not the joyous time that makes something like Jack Frost 2 an annual yuletide viewing. Completists considering the new boxed set should seek it out without worry, as it is a film that merits rewatching somewhere down the line. For others, a rental should suffice.

It's.....Showtime!

Ever since Dexter Morgan first revealed what was hiding behind his air conditioner, Showtime’s horrific little drama has been a fascinating, exciting, and frustrating ride into the mind of a sociopathic serial killer trying to sate his bloodlust while forming a human connection that doesn’t end at the wrong end of a pointy knife. Like the first three that came before, Season 4 steadily inched us to the edge of our couches for a big bang finale, but not before testing our patience with some oddly awful choices. Here’s my quick breakdown review:

THE GOOD:

Performances

Michael C. Hall’s work continues to make Dexter’s journey a trip worth taking, especially when you compare his understated, empty shell of a man constantly fabricating false emotions to his heart-on-his-sleeve wearing David Fisher from the wonderful Six Feet Under. While the writing doesn’t always serve his talents, putting too much interior monologue into obvious words what Hall could do with his face, Kyle Butler, Rita’s Husband, Geeky Lab Guy, and the Dark Passenger are just a few of the completely believable, completely different personas portrayed by Dexter Morgan. Meanwhile, Jennifer Carpenter continues to give a woefully underrated one-of-a-kind performance as a brash and mouthy detective too intense and emotional for her own good. It takes courage to hone such a divisive character. Similarly, John Lithgow’s terrifying portrayal of a monster in a man’s skin has been one of the most unsettling characterizations put on the small screen. Never have good posture and polo shirts produced so many shivers.

Dexter’s Quest

The most daunting challenge for the writers of Dexter is how to make a sociopath a serialized (no pun intended) character worthy of 4+ seasons. The very nature of Dexter’s mind is that he won’t grow as a person, since such psychologically marked subjects are by nature unable to develop feelings or meaningful relationships. The fact that Dexter is slowly coming to terms with his psychosis--testing its limits by adopting a family while constantly seeking fellow men/women of the night who understand the darkness inside--continues to produce compelling and involving episodes week after week. 

THE BAD

Painfully Plotted Supporting Characters

There’s nothing wrong with surrounding your enigmatic lead with a diverse group of family and coworkers, but when your show is titled “Dexter” and you run out of time to explore his psyche, it’s time to seriously consider how minor characters are contributing to the show. Masuka’s twistedly great one-liners are fine and Deb’s anguish provides a refreshingly messed up emotional counterpoint to our lead’s sociopathic haze, but what did Maria Laguarda (one of the worst representations of females-in-power I’ve ever seen on television) and Angel Batista’s (played by a fine actor who deserves better) forbidden romance possibly offer Season 4? Aside from cutting Dexter’s storyline by 10 minutes each episode, that is. There’s a place for workplace romance. It’s called The Office.

And Painfully Underdeveloped Antagonists

Nobody will argue that John Lithgow was the MVP of this season, but who was Arthur Mitchell? During his quadruple slaying sprees, was Trinity fully lost in his psychotic fantasies or a completely aware man fully savoring his handiwork time and time again? And what exactly did he do to his family behind those four walls to lull them into 18+ years of absolute fear? Why did Christine obsess over his approval so to the point of suicide?

There were a lot of unanswered questions about Trinity, which I could normally accept in a show seen through his nemesis’ eyes. But the mere fact that I don’t know the extent of Mitchell’s psychosis is irksome, especially when I think back to how much time was wasted having Batista reassure his beloved every 45 minutes. Perhaps it was intentional, as our lack of insight into Trinity’s ways may mirror the impossibility of Dexter ever getting true vengeance next year. I’ll suspend judgment for now, but let’s face it: had Lithgow not been such a powerful force of carefully acted evil, would we be more concerned with the fact that his character was so poorly drawn?

The Inevitable End of the Annual Big Bad

As any middle aged character actor who found himself thrust into Tony Soprano’s war path learned, a new performer hired by the Dexter team must know his or her days are numbered. Like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, there’s a certain formula to follow to satisfy a loyal audience that’s been waiting for our hero to catch his biggest fish. The problem is, once it bites, the fun is over.

I didn’t expect Arthur to survive the season, just as I knew Jimmy Smitts’ days were done the second he crossed our stalwart star. In the recent finale, the writers actually did a nice job of building a suspense as to Trinity’s fate: could he escape? Would Dexter give up? Were the risks too great? Of course, that didn’t happen, and I’m sure many a fan let our a relieved sigh at the drop of Arthur’s own hammer. For me, however, all the buildup fizzled into an odorless puff the second Lithgow found himself under superstrong seran wrapping. In hindsight, their final conversation probably plays better when you discover what Arthur wasn’t saying, but for those few minutes of our big villain’s end, I felt strangely empty.

And...

THE END

AKA the burning ray of light to guide us and Miami’s favorite murderer into brand new territory. The final image of Season 4 will be blazing through our skulls for the show’s hiatus, leaving a pile of questions in its bloody waters: Will Dexter shut down? Will the Miami Metro start to question why one of their own has now had a brush with two major serial killers in four years? If Rita finds herself surrounded by a fuzzy afterlife glow, how will Harry Morgan deal with a fellow ghost of the subconscious honing in on his territory? Will Daddy D. now look at little Harrison and wonder if the infant’s already been shattered by his new blood baptism? How can Dexter possibly find the time to work, kill, AND attend PTA meetings when he’s already averaging less nightly sleep than Buddy the Elf?

So like every season before it, this past year of Dexter has brought us lows and highs, made us choke on popcorn in shock just five episodes after having no problem monitoring the kernels without bothering to pause the TV. While I’ve clearly had my issues with certain aspects of the show, I also have newfound faith the writers and showrunners are preparing to take our Dark Passenger and his overburdened chauffeur on a new path more than worthy of at least 12 more hours. I’d love to hear more thoughts on what you think worked and whimpered out for Mr. Morgan’s 2009 adventures, so fire away and aim for that car marked ‘Just Married’.

The Road to Hell is Lined With Feeders

In case you hadn’t guess from the peppermint scented sewage dripping out of the Doll’s House, I’ve been devoting the month Christmas horror movies that have by some miracle on 34th street completely evaded my eyes in past years. It hasn’t been easy (why Santa Claws , why?) but the randomly wrapped diamonds in the rough (may your days be merry and bright Harry Stadling ) and the festive support of you dear readers has made it worthwhile.

And then I watch something like Feeders and its sequel, Feeders 2: Slay Bells, and wonder just exactly what is wrong with me and the world I live in.

Quick Plot:

We’ll start with Feeders, a 1996 shot-on-video alien invasion film about two friends who go hiking in the wilds of Pennsylvania and encounter paper mache Martians. Before this happens, we’re subject to lots of driving and a vaguely Peanuts-esque musical score to guide our way. The characters are played by co-directors Jon McBride and John Polonia, and I suppose the nicest thing I can say is that they’re equally good at performing as they are at making movies.

No, that’s not a compliment at all, because Feeders is insanely awful.

The guys hike. At a gas stop, Polonia’s Bennett arranges dates with a pair of single ladies who make your average school lunchlady look like Charlize Theron, much to the chagrin of the nature loving Derek (McBride), who’d rather take photos with what resembles a secret water squirting prop camera. You can’t really blame him.

At some point, the synthesizer hits pause to let in the growls of angry puppies, aka our main villains. Blood is spilled. Derek must make a fateful decision. Polonia gets to play possessed. The credits roll and we breathe a pained sight of relief.

Rather than flush the DVD down the toilet like the filmmakers did 68 minutes earlier with my spirit, masochists like me then return to the menu for the long awaited (by those nearing suicide but in need of an extra push) sequel from 1998.

Feeders 2: Slay Bells takes the petite carnivores into the holiday season as they stalk an unattractive and unlikable family bearing a creepy resemblance to Billy Pilgrim’s wife and kids in the film adaptation of Slaughterhouse Five. The aliens have received something of a makeover, looking a little slimmer, smaller headed, and much grayer. I’m fairly certain there’s a very rational explanation for this, such as the props were stored in a damp closet and this is simply what they look like water damaged. 

Anyway, Dad’s churning out a Bob Cratchit like existence and Mom’s honing her parenting skills by making her cute kids abandon imagination-enhancing games of make believe to sit in front of the TV and watch public domain cartoons. After what seems like eternity in a vacuum, the arts & crafts aliens break into the heavily decorated home and...growl. Dad investigates. We get randomly placed interviews with “special guest star” Jon McBride, reprising his role in Feeders by recounting exactly what happened in that complex and riveting film. Santa Claus shows up to conquer the Martians  and, by default, prove that Santa Claus Conquers the Martians is nowhere near the worst film ever made when this production company has at least 20 more to choose from.

I was all set to give a full disclaimer about the Feeders series being low budget indies made by well-intentioned amateurs, but then I did some IMDBing and learned that this was their sixth film. A Wikipedia entry mired with typos informed me that the Polonia Brothers and McBride (he of Woodchipper Massacre fame) had become something of a success amongst the direct-to-video renting Blockbuster crowd. 

This proves once again that Blockbuster may indeed by run by exiled demons of hell.

I try not to allow myself to fully hate any independent do-it-yourself movie because filmmaking on a nonexistent budget is a challenge only the bravely dedicated can possibly complete. I’ll give my token congratulations to McBride and the Polonia Bros. (total twin power who directed Slay Bells), but I’ll also confidently proclaim these movies to be, without question,  an experience less pleasant than watching a retirement home’s theatrical adaptation of Showgirls.

High Points

The DVD extras show that the filmmakers had enthusiasm. So, you know...good for them

Low Points

See review

Lessons Learned

If you want to make an audience truly uncomfortable, be sure to feature extreme closeups of unattractive actors in your film

Puppets do not require mouths to chew through human flesh

When your only special effect is to insert the time of day in bold print at the bottom of a shot, you might as well utilize it as often as possible. 

Violently aggressive aliens are coming to earth for the sole purpose of stalking a single lower middle class family

Winning Line

“It was too surreal to be a dream. but too unreal to be believable.”

This is actually kind of tragic, as it reveals the writers aren’t even creative in their dreams.

Rent/Bury/Buy

No. Just no. For the love of all lovably bad cinema that actually deserves a watch (Don’t Open Til Christmas  never looked so good), avoid this movie or use the DVD for something far more productive, like making a disco beret for your cat.

*DVD pictured is not from Netflix, as no matter how much I want to spare others from the Feeders fate, I could still never bring myself to destroy a film. Nope. That’s just my overly scratched and now unwatchable copy of Love Actually.

Yes, believe it or not, I do occasionally watch Christmas films that have an IMDB rating of greater than 2.

You Know You've Made the Naughty List When You Meet Santa Claws

One of the difference between films and flicks (according to Emily Intravia's Encyclopedia of Filmic Knowledge, copyright pending) is that a film stands on any ground while a flick is made--sometimes exclusively--for a very specific audience. I often look to movies classified in the children’s section as prime examples: I wasn’t charmed by The Lion King 2: Simba's Pride, but the kids I babysat for in the 90s could easily watch it all day long, while WALL-E and The Muppet Movie remain triumphant masterpieces for viewers of any age. As much as I'd like to, I find it hard to tear apart something like Beverly Hills Chihuahua; some films simply aren’t mine to destroy.

Santa Claws, a 1996 direct-to-video release, was not made with someone like me in mind, mostly because I’m not fourteen, male, or a Cinemax subscriber. It may be directed by none other than Night of the Living Dead’s screenwriter John A. Russo and feature several familiar horror faces, but this is not, I repeat, NOT the kind of film any old genre bug should rent on a whim and expect satisfaction.

Quick Plot: Scream Queen Illustrated is branching out for the holiday season with a new video series starring busty models rubbing gift boxes over their tanning booth certified skin. Star Raven Quinn (Debbie Rochon) is a tad distracted by her crumbing marriage to a greasy photographer. Thankfully, her kindly neighbor Wayne is harnessing a fatal attraction so he’s always around to babysit her daughters and sedate them with spiked hot cocoa.

Now surpisingly, Wayne’s infatuation grows to homicidal proportions. This has something to do with him once witnessing his mother and a Santa hat-clad stepfather doing it on Christmas Eve and promptly shooting them dead. Such a childhood experience will apparently inspire young men to don Street Fighter’s Vega-esque gloves made from a garden weasel and hunt down softcore porn stars with a fiery (eh, slightly warmed) hatred.

This is the kind of film with interesting enough cover art that any attentive video store clerk would simply refuse to rent out. There’s a mildly interesting (in theory) story thread about horror conventions and the potentially dangerous fandom/adoration they birth in lonely men, but you have to pretend that gigantic glass of heavily rummed eggnog is more than halfway full to consider any of the film worthwhile. It's not. In any way. At all.

High Points

Debbie Rochon is no Cate Blanchett, but she does put forth an enthusiastic energy that makes at least some of Santa Claws watchable enough, and her interview in the DVD's extras do prove her an intelligent and articulate performer deserving of far better work in film

Don’t be fooled by the two hour running time listed on the Netflix’s DVD jacket. If Santa Claws has nothing else going for it, at least it only clocks in at 80 minutes (about 30 of which are devoted to naked women gently violating stuffed animals,  another 15 to low rent Christmas songs played while characters drive, and 80 to a film that just should not be viewed)

Low Points

I didn’t really need elaborate striptease sequences, but if the whole appeal of the female cast is that they’re “scream queens,” wouldn’t it be more appropriate if the nudity had something to do with horror? A witches hat and broom don’t count.

There’s just about nothing remotely clever regarding any of the dialogue. Sample villain’s threat: "Seasons greetings. Santa Claws is coming to town!” Really? That’s all you got? 

Lessons Learned

Children are easily entertained by rather tragic stories of alcoholics stalking their mothers

A lot of people like looking at skin, especially when it’s mostly artificial and dry humping a teddy bear

Uptight in-laws have nothing better to do than wait at home to judge you

When your Santa suit needs some badass makeover, grab a can of spray paint

Rent/Bury/Buy

Um. I guess if you like watching women throw packing peanuts over their fake breasts as electric music plays on loop, this is the film for you. Plain old fashioned horror fans should stay as far away as absolutely possible, as there’s nothing but an uncomfortable actor muffling dialogue under a ski mask and occasionally hugging lax security guards to death. Even porn enthusiasts should be worn: while the writing seems catered to establishing boring conversations that will quickly escalate into X territory, there’s no actual sex scenes to not enjoy. Unless you need to stuff some DVD equivalent of coal in someone’s stocking, stay far away. 

Wicker Me Wonderful

When Final Girl Stacie Ponder announced The Wicker Man as December 14th's film club pick (a monthly roundup of movie blogs reviewing the same movie; come here  tomorrow and check it out) I was more than apprehensive to type a single word. Aside from a few carnivorous klowns, stab-happy dolls, and shopaholic zombies, Robin Hardy’s 1973 musical/thriller/drama/horror/mystery comes close to topping my list of all-time favorites. Witness this very special corner of my apartment:

Sure, I’ve been known to bookmark the infamous 2 minute best-of youtube clip of LeBute’s remake (an incredibly campy example of what happens when a misogynist filmmaker gets his hands on good actors,  bad special effects, and bear suits), but my heart forever belongs to what is quite rightfully cited as “The Citizen Kane of Horror Cinema.”

As I assume most of you have already viewed this film, I’ll spare the synopsis to get to the meat and apples-of-a-good-harvest-season: why I adore The Wicker Man. Spoilers will follow, so if by some promiscuity loving pagan god forbidden chance you haven’t seen it, I implore you to close this link, velcro up your shoes, put on your best bunny head mask and get thee to a video store to pick up the Special Edition 2-disc set.

Back? Now ask the landlord's lovely daughter to pour you a pint and settle in for why The Wicker Man is perhaps the most awesome film of all time:

The Look

Not only is the Scottish location a truly gorgeous sight to behold, but Hardy and cinematographer Harry Waxman capture its strange beauty in such an intriguing way. The glare of the sun blocking our view in the film’s final act stays in many a watcher’s head long after it’s done, while other “eye” choices (such as having the early landing of Sgt. Howie’s plane shown through his bobbing-on-water point of view) all work to make the film’s actual shooting just as memorable as its famous performances, songs, and script.

The Language

The fact that it incorporates words like strumpet, mead, assiduous, wench, bawdy, and a barrel more of playful yet underused vocabulary

Touches of the Eerie

Strange little moments of horror add up throughout the film, slowly hinting at what might lay below the surface of this strangely organic world. Several brief scenes never fail to tickle my skin, including the giggling schoolgirl’s gleeful pleasure in tethering a beetle to her desk and the children’s all-too-happy games playing dead during Howie’s frantic search for Rowan. Plus, clown dolls!

Christopher Lee

If one were to compile a list of the greatest speaking voices in cinematic history, Christopher Lee’s rich bass would surely find its way close to the top. The Wicker Man gloriously milks those well-traveled vocal chords for all their worth, letting Lord Summerisle wax nostalgic in unusual sermons and sing a few ditties with an energy rarely seen by such a cinematic titan.

The Overall Mood
Much like Peter Weir’s Picnic at Hanging Rock, The Wicker Man casts an inescapable spell over its audience without relying on obvious visual cues. It’s a combination of the living landscape, offbeat songs, and peculiar dialect amongst Summerisle residents that leaves you enraptured, if always uncomfortable inside a simultaneously familiar and strange land.

Incredible Buildup
Rarely does a film with a body count of one merit so much horror, but credit The Wicker Man’s carefully planned crescendo as Howie plays detective on an island where the typical rules of investigation simply don’t apply. One of the tensest moments comes during the big parade, as one by one, nervously laughing pagans in costume step into a sword drawn circle to learn their fate. The fake-out beheading summons one of the all-time biggest gasps I’ve ever released while watching a film.

Music
Paul Giovanni’s folky songs are one of a kind, from the brilliantly catchy Maypole dance to the sensual siren song a nude Britt Eckland coos from behind a heavy wall. Wedding DJs probably don’t get a lot of requests for "The Landlord’s Daughter" and we’ll probably never hear an American Idol contestant cover "Corn Riggs", but it’s impossible to deny the importance of these unique compositions in such an atmospheric film.

Edward Woodward
The first time I watched The Wicker Man, I was glaring my way through its running time at Sgt. Howie’s close-minded aggressiveness amid a free-spirited land of good-natured barflies who just wanted to rock. With each viewing, I come to admire the late Woodward’s work more and more. It’s not an easy task to carry a film as a somewhat unlikable character, but Howie always seems a real, fervent man doing his job and trusting in his faith. It’s a testament to Woodward’s performance that, despite his character’s attitude throughout the film, we as the audience are completely invested in his fate.

Finale

I dare you not to get goosebumps as Woodward screams out that hymn, raising his voice  to mount the crackling of flames and joyous choral song of the townspeople’s joyous swaying below. The contrast creates what may be one of the most haunting scenes in filmic history.

Quibbles

One restored scene to the extended cut doesn’t quite sit well with me: While the theatrical version opens with Howie arriving at Summerisle, the restored film starts on the mainland, with Sgt. Howie singing at church and his fellow policemen joking about his virginity. Does anybody else find this a little too obvious, too soon? 

The music played during Howie and Rowan’s near escape feels, much like Peter’s last stand in Dawn of the Dead, jarringly out of place, taking us into ‘70s TV cop chases and out of a May Day celebration

Lessons Learned

If an attractive young woman is nakedly banging on your walls, it might not be a bad idea to give in to one night of carnal pleasure

It’s much too dangerous to jump through fire with your clothes on

Snails are horny, selfish, and highly admired by pagan chiefs

Shocks are so much better absorbed with the knees bent

Rent/Bury/Buy

Own it. Watch it. Love it. Sacrifice a virgin to it. The Special Edition features a rewarding batch of extras, including an energetic 35 minute retrospective where we learn that Ingrid Pitt is quite possibly one of the most happening dames in the business. The commentary track is not to be missed, especially to hear Christopher Lee’s praise of just how much he believed in the film. It’s a classic like no other.

And don't forget to head over to Film club captain Final Girl's site  on Monday afternoon and browse a few more reviews from fellow movie geeks. You don't need even need a secret code!