Halloween Holocaust: The Evil Dead (Sam Raimi, 1981)

Somewhat accidentally, I've ended up watching the Evil Dead trilogy in reverse during the course of this month's viewing, and this has proved to be both interesting and slightly instructive. It's well-known that the series leaned further away from horror and more towards comedy and slapstick as it passed through two sequels, but watching them in this counter-intuitive fashion really hammered it home. It's also allowed me to more fully appreciate what a great low-budget horror film the first installment really is, in comparison to its more tongue-in-cheek younger brothers. A slight vein of comedy is still present, but it's arguably subservient to, and intermingled with, the chills and thrills that dominate proceedings.

Upon its initial release in the UK (simultaneously on video and in theatres; a first of its kind, if I'm not mistaken) the film quickly became a poster child for the hysteria surrounding the 'Video Nasty' moral panic that was sweeping across the country at the time. Things got so farcical that the distributors (Palace Pictures, who later produced such genre gems as The Company of Wolves and Hardware) were eventually taken to court, where they successfully overturned accusations of obscenity.

To be honest, there's not a great amount I can really say about this film that hasn't already been expressed countless times. For instance, it probably goes without saying that the real star of the show here is the dynamic, freewheeling cinematography that is frequently on display, with its elaborate tracking shots, Dutch angles and expressionistic lighting. As a side note, one wonders if the film would have been remembered by so many if it wasn't so audaciously directed and technically well executed. On the other hand, I'd say that the stop motion and prosthetic effects are occasionally inconsistent, but for the most part quite effective. Come to think of it though, even the less convincing/successful ones still exude an almost uncanny creepiness at times, in spite of, or maybe even because of, their modest origins; the same can't really be said for the higher budgeted effects of the sequels. 

Finally, it would be frankly heinous not to briefly mention the contributions of Bruce Campbell. The film was clearly an effort of blood, sweat and tears for all involved, but no doubt especially so for Bruce, who always takes a bit of a beating at the hands of the admittedly sadistic Sam Raimi. Apparently, the actor even put his family's house up as collateral for a loan so that the movie could be blown up to 35mm for its wider release. Anyone that committed to getting a movie out there is a legend in my book. 

Halloween Holocaust: Scarecrows (William Wesley, 1988)

I'd never heard of this cracking little film until just before watching it, and I'm assuming its seeming obscurity may have something to do with a lack of availability, although I might be wrong. Essentially, it's sort of like Predator meets Reservoir Dogs, with demonically possessed scarecrows taking the place of the alien hunter, and thieving paramilitary mercenaries instead of stylishly suited crooks. 

Like many other effective low budget horror pics, it's both taut and lean in its execution, single minded in its intent to terrify, and boasts a wonderfully intimate sense of place (which soon becomes appropriately claustrophobic). 

As I've only just seen the film for the first time (and in the wee hours as well), there's not a great deal more I can add at present. From what I remember though, I'd say that the cast were all very competent, portraying characters who were refreshingly three-dimensional. The eponymous straw-men are perhaps the creepiest I've seen on screen and are pure nightmare fuel. Personally though - and this is my only criticism of an otherwise excellent movie - I'd say that the scarecrows seem less frightening when they actually start moving about and wreaking bloody havoc, but that might just be me. I think maybe they could have staged these splatter set-pieces a bit more effectively, but as I've implied, my memory of some of the film is still slightly hazy, so will need to re-watch it before I make my mind up on this apparent issue. 

Halloween Holocaust: Night of the Demons (Kevin S. Tenney, 1988)

Apparently quite successful when it was first released, although still relatively unknown (even to many horror fans), Night of the Demons would make an ideal movie for a Halloween after party; it's a fun, yet occasionally freaky romp that has the added bonus of being set on the holiday itself. 

Essentially a tale of teens conjuring up and then being taken over by a discarnate demonic entity (the first two Evil Dead movies would make obvious companion pieces), the film is very much of the 80's (I mean this as a good thing) in several wonderful ways. The first things that struck me when watching it were the driving, Carpenter-esque, synth score (composed by the director's brother, Dennis Michael Tenney) and the groovy, animated title sequence (which to my mind recalls bits of the "Night on Bald Mountain" segment from Fantasia); both help to set the ghoulish mood perfectly.   

Thanks to some scatterings of visual flair from the director (with notable assistance from the DP and production design team), inspired effects work from a young Steve Johnson, and lively performances from the ensemble cast (whose characters are broadly drawn but still somewhat believable), the film arguably transcends its relatively modest budget and set-up, therefore distinguishing itself from the reams of genre fodder being produced during the period. 

I'd say the film is worth seeing alone for the scene where Amelia Kinkade (who is now a famous pet psychic; apparently she's even met the Queen) freaks out tough guy Sal (Billy Gallo) by dancing wildly and erotically to "Stigmata Martyr" by Bauhaus, but there's also plenty more to recommend throughout the entire picture. 

Halloween Holocaust: The Addams Family (Barry Sonnenfeld, 1991)

Like Coppola's Dracula, which we looked at yesterday, this big screen outing for Charles Addams' famous family is another early 90's big budget genre film that is worth seeing for both its grand gothic visuals and, perhaps more importantly, the generosity of spirit it exudes. Whilst not really a horror film in the traditional sense, it's arguably an ideal movie to introduce the kiddywinks to the weird and wonderful world of the macabre.  

It occurred to me when re-watching the film recently that the plot is roughly in the vein of 'slobs against the snobs' movies such as Animal House and Caddyshack, but with fun-loving goths against crooked con artists. The audience surrogate character, who is pulled between these two polarised worlds is Gordon Craven (a near unrecognisable Christopher Lloyd, who gives a fantastic, physical performance and looks surprisingly even creepier with hair than without), who is pushed by his tyrannical mother (Elizabeth Wilson) and the Addams' family lawyer Tully Alford (Dan Hedaya) - who is deeply in debt to this dubious pair - into impersonating the Addams' long lost Uncle Fester, in order to gain access to the riches stashed away in the family vault. He's initially perplexed - and no doubt a little bit terrified - by the creepy, kooky bunch, and only hangs around to find the promised loot. Before long though, the off-kilter charm of the family has him thoroughly disarmed, and feeling more at home than he ever was as his mama's lap dog. However, as old family ties still run deep, the matriarch still manages to maintain an emotional hold over him, later compelling him to betray his recently met relations and give up his newly found domestic bliss.    

As you've no doubt gathered from the above synopsis, the film is basically about the importance of family over the self-centered acquisition of money and material wealth. Thankfully though, these themes are so lightly embedded into the story that it never feels like you're being bashed over the head by subtext; nonetheless, it's nice to know the movie has some meat on its bones, so to speak.

The contributions of all involved - both in front of and behind the camera - are consummate and committed, with excellent performances all round from the likes of the late Raul Julia (who plays Gomez with infectious, head-to-toe gusto), a strangely alluring Anjelica Huston, and a young Christina Ricci, who plays Wednesday with an appropriate mix of poker faced deadly seriousness and diabolical glee (see the scene where she electrocutes her brother Pugsley for evidence of the latter). Barry Sonnenfeld, who was, prior to this picture a DP for the Coen brothers, working on the likes of Blood Simple and Raising Arizona, turns in a confident directorial debut here. He also apparently completed the film's cinematography when the first two people employed for the job left, one owing to other work commitments and the other due to sudden illness. I'd also be remiss if I didn't mention the sumptuous score by Marc Shaiman, which recycles the famous theme from the TV series and also features many memorable cues of its own.

In a way, the brief pre-credit sequence - taken from one of Charles Addams' original cartoons - sums up another reason why this movie rocks. It shows a bunch of jolly Christmas carolers imploring us to "deck the halls" and all that jazz, before craning upwards to show the eponymous family tipping a cauldron of burning something-or-other onto these assembled purveyors of holiday cheer; and it screams out to me one basic message: "Death to Christmas! And long live Halloween!"  

Halloween Holocaust: Bram Stoker's Dracula (Francis Ford Coppola, 1992)

Celebrating its twentieth anniversary this year, Francis Ford Coppola's lavish, big budget adaptation of Stoker's classic novel is a rare and beautiful beast; a full blooded horror picture with blockbuster production values. I'd say that the film mostly benefits from the excesses associated with such a prestige production, but in other ways it is perhaps pulled back to being slightly shy of greatness by them. In other words, there's a certain amount of fat hanging around the edges of the picture that if trimmed may have made it into a leaner, more powerful film. However, having now seen it several times, I'm growing to love it more and more despite, and sometimes even because of, its apparent flaws. 

For the most part, everything about the movie is top drawer quality. It's a veritable banquet for the eyes and ears, with striking cinematography by Scorsese regular Michael Ballhaus, an achingly beautiful score by Wojciech Kilar, and wonderfully anachronistic, old-school visual effects work, supervised by Coppola's son Roman, who is now a frequent collaborator with an appropriately visual director, Wes Anderson. The film seems to make use of every cine-magic trick in the book to cast its beguiling spell, including superimposition, force perspective, multiple exposures, frame-dropping and graphic matches galore.      

As much as all this visual wizardry is extremely welcome (and worth seeing the film alone for if you're an aesthete) it would add up to naught but smoke and mirrors without a beating heart at its center to inject some life into proceedings. Gary Oldman and Winona Ryder almost carry the entire movie in this regard (with the former giving a especially memorable performance that is alternatingly seductive, menacing and affecting), although the aforementioned contributions of the crew, and solid support from the surrounding ensemble cast, all certainly help too. 

As I suggested earlier, there are some arguable problems with the film, despite its many merits. In a nutshell, I think the problem stems from things being spread a bit dramatically thin, so to speak, between the ensemble cast. Specifically, I think that all the action adventure shenanigans with Keanu Reeves (who adopts the most hilariously atrocious English accent I've ever heard), Anthony Hopkins (clearly having a ball in his role as Van Helsing) and company (including Richard E. Grant and Cary Elwes) somewhat dilutes the impact of the tragic-romance and horror aspects of the story (although they are admittedly part of the architecture of the plot). On the other hand, and as I also previously stated, now that I'm familiar with these seeming shortcomings, I'm starting to enjoy them for what they are, even if they do feel like they belong in another film. Though come to think of it, all of this could be construed as another way in which the movie is a glorious throwback; audiences arguably get it all: action, adventure, chills, thrills and romance. Needless to say, I still haven't entirely made my mind up about this one, and I'd say that's more of a complement than a criticism.

And just for shits and giggles, here's a promo shot of Keanu Reeves with grey hair; it shifts through several curious monochromatic shades in the latter part of the narrative (following his imprisonment in the Count's castle), before becoming silvery white at the end, which actually makes him look a little bit like Doc Brown from Back to the Future...

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.