Halloween Holocaust: Black Sunday (Mario Bava, 1960)

Originally released in Italy as The Mask of Satan, but probably better known as Black Sunday, Mario Bava's first feature is arguably one of the finest directorial debuts that cinema has to offer, regardless of genre. While some elements may seem somewhat dated and cliched to a modern audience, I'd say that for the most part it still feels both astonishingly fresh and vivid in its execution, especially for its age. In fact, you could probably even go so far as to call the film timeless, due to its hyper-real, fairy-tale atmosphere.

For those unfamiliar with the plot, it's essentially the tale of a condemned witch (or maybe a vampire; it's never made entirely clear) coming back from the dead to exact her terrible revenge. It seems unnecessary to say much more than that. Besides, it's not really the sort of film to watch for its plot, not that it's bad by any means. To be honest though, even after several viewings, it's one that I find hard to get involved in on that particular level, perhaps due to the (to me at least) almost overwrought, extremely melodramatic feel of some scenes. But viewed as a dreamlike, moving painting, it's completely ravishing.  

One of the things which makes this such an accomplished debut is that Bava is one of those rare directors who seemed to emerge fully formed. Indeed, Black Sunday contains many tropes, techniques and motifs that the maestro would frequently re-use throughout his career, such as ruined castles suffused with faded grandeur, themes of attraction/repulsion related to the other, painterly lighting, and ingenious special effects work. As I feel there's little more I can add at present, I'll leave you with a few more examples of the film's exquisite visual splendour.

 

Halloween Holocaust: Black Sabbath (Mario Bava, 1963)

If I had to pick a movie to introduce the uninitiated to the genius of Mario Bava, then it'd probably be this triple threat of terror. This is for several reasons. Firstly, it gives you a sampling of a couple of different facets of the man's work; we get a giallo for starters (in the original Italian version at least; apparently the AIP cut presents the stories in a different order), followed up by a double dose of atmosphere-dripping, period Gothic goodness. Secondly, the anthology nature of the film means that a modern audience, unacclimatised to the relatively slow-burning pace of older genre fare, shouldn't have a chance to get bored and zone out. To put it another way, if you don't like the tale being told at a given moment, then another will be along fairly shortly to take its place. Hopefully this shouldn't happen though, as I'd say that Black Sabbath is one of those somewhat rare instances of an anthology movie being consistently strong throughout, where as the majority of titles in this format are usually uneven, to say the least. 

I'll admit that I wasn't initially that enthralled with the first story; but like much of Bava's work, it's grown on me exponentially with repeat viewings. Watching a lot of gialli since my last viewing has undoubtedly helped to aid my appreciation of it. Using a premise that would later become a (perhaps overused) staple of the horror genre, "The Telephone" is, as you can no doubt guess, the tale of a woman being threatened by a mysterious caller. I'll say no more than that in case you haven't seen it, but suffice to say, it's an effective little thriller, that still feels surprisingly fresh, considering how many times we've seen similar stories told since. 

The centerpiece of Black Sabbath, and its longest tale, is "The Wurdalak", and is worth seeing alone for the fact that Frankenstein's monster himself, Boris Karloff, gets to play a vampire. This particular novelty aside, it's a thoroughly gripping and affecting piece of work. Karloff, in one of his last great performances, projects an appropriately imposing presence, that's infused with an element of sinister charm. What makes this story especially chilling is its portrayal of a family that is torn apart when the familiar becomes the other; or the heimlich becomes unheimlich, if you prefer. 

As effective as these two tales are, I'd say that personally, I think they saved the best till last. Due to seeing so many horror films over the years, I've got to the somewhat unfortunate point where they don't really scare me any more. But thankfully, there are still the odd exceptions. "The Drop of Water" doesn't exactly have me scrambling behind the couch, but there is something undeniably and insidiously creepy about it, that seems to become more apparent with every viewing. If I'm not mistaken, Bava himself thought that this mini-movie was the finest technical achievement of his career, and I'd be hard pressed to disagree, as I doubt I could find anything about it that isn't perfectly placed and brilliantly executed. 

In a nutshell, it's the story of a woman who is haunted by the spirit of a recently deceased medium, after she steals a ring from the corpse whilst dressing her for burial. A superlative example of cinematography and sound design, it features a fantastic central performance by Jacqueline Pierreux as the morally dubious nurse, whose transgressions earn her an inevitable, and ghastly comeuppance.

The endings of all three stories are undeniably bleak, and, apparently not wanting to send his audience out on a downer, Bava concludes the film with a light and playful coda, that pulls back the fourth wall and reveals - and revels in - the mechanics of illusion which made all this spine chilling possible. Paradoxically, it somehow makes the perfect ending to a practically flawless film; which is to say, they really don't make 'em much better than this. 

Halloween Holocaust: Evil Dead II (Sam Raimi, 1987)

Like Peter Jackson's Braindead (aka Dead Alive, 1992) and the relatively unknown - not to mention completely, but wonderfully bonkers - Japanese cult gem Hausu (Nobuhiko Obayashi, 1977), Evil Dead II is both a virtuoso piece of film-making and a superlative example of the comedy-horror movie, that (also like these two other films) pushes its stylistic exaggeration to such a sublime extreme that it essentially becomes a live action cartoon. 

As I'm sure most of you are aware, it's basically a remix of its predecessor, but with a bigger budget. Whilst re-watching the film earlier tonight, it occurred to me that one can easily compare the first two Evil Dead movies and the first two Terminators; in the sense that the first film in both franchises is more of a straight horror movie (by comparison with their follow-ups at least), where as the sequels are, in somewhat varying ways, more obsessed with spectacle than spooks. This is, I should add, not necessarily a bad thing; it just depends what kind of thing you're in the mood for. If shits and giggles are what you're craving, then roll-up! roll-up! (in more ways than one, if you're so inclined) and dive right on in. Needless to say, if you want something a bit more sub-textually meaty to chew on, then you'd be advised to head elsewhere for your evening's entertainment. 

Halloween Holocaust - Late Night Double Feature: Sleepy Hollow (Tim Burton, 1999) and Kill, Baby...Kill! (Mario Bava, 1966)

 

Last night's Halloween themed double bill was initially unplanned, but turned out to be a match made in movie heaven. I'd not seen Burton's enjoyably campy (yet perhaps somewhat style-over-substance) homage to Hammer, Bava etc, in years, and it occurred to me part way through watching it that Kill, Baby...Kill! would be perfect to stick on afterwards, due to some striking similarities. Both are tales of vengeful, murderous spirits being investigated by skeptical enquirers (their respective protagonists also assisted by beautiful blondes) that are visualised with painterly precision, and infused with chilly (yet strangely warming), autumnal atmospherics by their respective directors. There are however (and as is to be expected) some notable differences...

The main thing that struck me after watching the two films in quick succession is that Sleepy Hollow is a playful, somewhat tongue-in-cheek pastiche (which I know is kind of stating the obvious), and therefore never particularly menacing, despite a few suspenseful sequences and some scattered splatterings of gore, where as Bava's film is an authentic chiller that plays everything totally straight. The former is, for the most part quite entertaining, with a wealth of heavyweight talent both in front of, and behind, the camera. However, I'd say that when all's said and done, these impressive credentials don't add up to anything particularly memorable. The latter, on the other hand, possesses an insidiously mesmeric quality, which allows it to bury its haunting, and sometimes surreal images under your skin and within your subconscious.

This is not to say that Kill, Baby...Kill! is perfect though; in fact, if it shares any faults with Burton's movie, I'd say that both are weighed down somewhat by slightly labyrinthine, exposition heavy storytelling, which can make them seem lethargic at times. As I suggested earlier, I don't think that Sleepy Hollow comes together in an entirely satisfactory fashion; in other words, I find myself not really caring too much about what's going on, past a certain point in the film (probably about 3/5 of the way through) and therefore tuning out. The same happened to me initially with Bava's picture, but that was more to do with acclimatising to the pace of an older film. Once this was achieved though, I was thoroughly transported into its strange, colourful world, and, come to think of it, I don't think I ever entirely left.... 

Nit picking aside, I'd say that genre fans can't really go wrong with either/or both for some cosy October evening's viewing. For one thing, Sleepy Hollow is worth watching for its awesome, "Hey it's that guy!", ensemble cast, including the likes of Christopher Walken (as the headless horseman), Michael Gambon, Richard Griffiths, Michael Gough and Christopher Lee. And Kill, Baby...Kill! should definitely be seen by anyone with an appreciation for cinematography and composition; its striking, sublime coloured lighting is some of the finest I've ever seen, maybe even on a par with some of the work of Powell and Pressburger's legendary DOP, Jack Cardiff. To finish off, here's a random behind the scenes picture (that I stumbled across by accident only a few days back, as luck would have it) of Johnny Depp, on the set of Sleepy Hollow, smoking a blunt (it seems), and brandishing a Super Soaker.       

Halloween Holocaust: Castle Freak (Stuart Gordon, 1995)

Today's movie is another that was previously unseen by yours truly until very recently. I also had no idea that it's a H.P. Lovecraft adaptation, until I noticed his name in the credits under "Special thanks to...". It turns out that this direct-to-video gem, from the makers of Re-Animator and From Beyond, is loosely adapted from one of HPL's most popular stories, "The Outsider", and like Gordon's other interpretations of the author's work, it's certainly a liberal one, to put it mildly, not to mention downright inspired on its own terms. 

The film stars heavyweight acting double team Jeffrey Combs and Barbara Crampton (both alumni of Gordon's more well-known Lovecraft pictures) as grieving, and subsequently estranged couple, John and Susan Reilly, who come to Italy, with their blind daughter Rebecca (Jessica Dollarhide) in tow, to stay at a castle that John has recently inherited. Their present dysfunction is the result of a tragic car accident (that may have been the result of John's alcoholism) that killed their young son JJ, and cost Rebecca her sight. As it turns out, the castle's dungeon is still inhabited by the hideously deformed son of the recently deceased duchess, who has been left in chains, with no one to care for him. It isn't long before he takes notice of his new surrogate family, and breaks his shackles to try and join them.     

In some ways, it's a wildly different sort of movie to both Re-Animator and From Beyond; more of a tragedy than a comedy. In fact, and this isn't a criticism, I'm struggling to remember any humourous moments whatsoever within the film. I'd say that the main thing that has been carried over from those previous pictures to this one is its often shocking co-mingling of sex and violence. Taken for what it is though, I'd say that it succeeds admirably, thanks to highly affecting performances from all of the leads, and especially Jeff and Babs as the mourning husband and wife. In many ways, this would make a brilliant companion piece to Nicolas Roeg's Don't Look Now, another tale of a grieving couple trying to pick up the pieces and start over, but being haunted by the seeming specter of a child that has been tragically and accidentally lost to them.     

Halloween Holocaust: House on Haunted Hill (William Castle, 1959)

Had never seen this classic Vincent Price vehicle until last night, and I found it to be the sort of good, old fashioned creepy fun that the Merchant of Menace is famous for. As others have pointed out, many of Price's performances have a wonderful, jocular quality that lets the audience in on the gag, so to speak, and House on Haunted Hill is a superlative example; in fact, it contains numerous instances of characters breaking the forth wall and directly addressing the viewer. Needless to say, Price is totally in his element here, and clearly has a lot of fun with the role, as he always does. 

As luck would have it, this turned out to be an ideal movie for me to watch whilst still hungover (not my original intention, you understand). The exposition is laid on nice and thick (and not in a bad way, for a change), and, due to the general set-up, often takes the form of mini ghost stories, which the actors, and especially Price, deliver with relish. Furthermore, like many haunted house romps, the plot is essentially a springboard for what later becomes largely an exercise in atmosphere and pure effect. Which is all basically a long winded way of saying that you can take the narrative or leave it, hence why it makes for a good hangover film. Not that the story is bad by any means though; it ingeniously blends elements of the Old Dark House and murder-mystery/whodunit sub-genres, and keeps twisting and turning until the very end. 

It seems that Alfred Hitchcock was very impressed with the success of this low budget shocker, as it apparently inspired him to make Psycho the following year; and William Castle would reciprocate this highly flattering act of imitation the year after that, with his homage to Hitch's classic, Homicidal.   

Halloween Holocaust: Two Evil Eyes (Dario Argento and George A. Romero, 1990)

The third and final appearance this Halloween season from Poe's fearsome feline, and the first for both Argento and Romero, Two Evil Eyes, is (as is no doubt obvious) a two part anthology film, featuring adaptations of "The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar" (directed by the latter) and "The Black Cat" (from the former). Like many movies in this format, it's a somewhat inconsistent affair. Don't get me wrong, Romero's contribution is perfectly fine, and features some standout sequences, but it doesn't quite seem to match the more sustained, manic energy of Argento's half. 

The first story features genre favourite Adrienne Barbeau as the scheming Jessica Valdemar, who is attempting to swindle her terminally ill husband out of his estate before he dies. She's assisted by the equally - if not more - reprehensible Dr. Robert Hoffman (Ramy Zada), who hypnotises the ailing Valdemar into revising his will. Unfortunately for all concerned, the man dies whilst hypnotised, leaving him in, at first, frozen cabbage limbo, and later, reanimated and completely zombified, not to mention understandably pissed off and seeking bloody vengeance.

What follows is, I would say, reasonably effective, but not particularly memorable either. The wonderfully named Bingo O'Malley, who plays the eponymous victim of the story, is fairly creepy, and plays this avenging corpsicle with suitably cackling malevolence. Plus, the way that Dr. Hoffman receives his inevitable comeuppance is well staged and visually striking. Also, Adrienne Barbeau gives a typically fine performance, shifting believably from selfish to sympathetic as the tale progresses. Finally, good old Tom Atkins (another horror veteran) makes a brief but amusing appearance as a cynical detective. Admittedly there's something a little bit TV movie-ish about this segment, but I personally think it's stronger than many have suggested; it's certainly growing on me with repeated viewings. 

Argento's installment, by comparison, tends to stick around in the mind much longer, thanks to its characteristically inventive camerawork, trademark gory set-pieces, that are as well orchestrated and visceral as one would expect, and intense, affecting performances from the two leads. 

Harvey Keitel plays - in one of the many references to Poe scattered throughout this section - the suggestively named Rod Usher (well, suggestive to my gutter mind at least; it makes him sound rather well endowed I'd say), who, like Barbeau's Jessica Valdemar, manages to be an utter shit, yet also a tragic figure, but this time simultaneously, as opposed to sequentially. I won't go into the details of the plot; it's suffice to say that Argento's Black Cat, like Fulci's (and even more so, come to think of it), is quite faithful to many parts of the original story, but blended with original elements (perhaps due to the fact that - to paraphrase the director of the 1934 version, Edgar G. Ulmer - a note for note adaptation would probably not work too well on film) and infused with the director's own signature style. I'd say that it also seems to capture the core themes of the Poe story (i.e. madness, the destructive effects of alcohol, and the often irrepressible, haunting nature of guilt) better than either Ulmer's or Fulci's films do as well.

Providing yet another memorable and effective score, and also functioning as a six-degrees link to the 1981 version, is the ever reliable Pino Donaggio.  And Tom Savini has a brief cameo, in a scene that serves as a nod to another Poe tale ("Berenice"). He also contributed to the film's startling make-up effects.

Like that other collection of Poe stories filmed by famous directors, 1968's Spirits of the Dead, Two Evil Eyes is admittedly a bit of a mixed bag, but with so much to recommend about its stronger parts, that one can easily forgive the relative shortcomings of its lesser ones.