Still the Spooky Season

It's the middle of October and we're continuing our Halloween Film Festival as the weather turns cooler and--yes--spookier. We've finally been able to open the doors and windows and air out the house for the first time since last April. With occasional gusts flowing through the house at a brisk 20-25 mph (according to the local weather lady), we've had to batten down anything likely to become airborne. C has already wrapped himself up in a light blanket because that's what happens when the temperature drops below 75. The overcast sky only adds to the delicious feel that my favorite season is here! I am loving this! Not so much am I loving being besieged by incessant political ads that make turning on the TV a terrifying ordeal in itself. Ditto for the bombardment of texts and emails from desperate politicians begging for money, money, money. We've already donated, we've already voted (by mail), and we're already done with this whole damn process. Let's skip to November 5 and see if the country will get some sense. In the meantime, the suspense is nerve-wracking. 

Less nerve-wracking than quease-inducing, is Canadian film maker David Cronenberg's 1979 classic, The Brood. If you're a Cronenberg fan, you already know what you're in for: human bodies sprouting new organs, losing limbs, morphing into gruesome insects, having "babies" spawned by repressed rage, undergoing horrifying gynecological procedures--well, you get the drift. It's Body Horror 101; David Cronenberg invented this sub-genre or, at least, perfected it. Over the years, a number of big-name performers have lined up to act in his disturbing films. Viggo Mortenson, Naomi Watts, Ralph Fiennes, Julianne Moore, Robert Pattinson, Lea Seydoux, Kristin Stewart, Martin Sheen, Jennifer O'Neill, Jeremy Irons, Jeff Goldblum, Deborah Harry, Geena Davis and even the late porn star Marilyn Chambers are among the luminaries who have populated the Cronenbergian universe. 

The Brood features Oliver Reed as the dubious psychotherapist, Raglan, who has come up with an experimental treatment called psychoplasmics. This mad doctor has collected a herd of damaged, emotionally fragile patients guinea pigs who are subjected to his "treatments" at a private mental health facility outside the city. One of his patients is Nola, played by Samantha Eggar, a dangerously unbalanced wife and mother with a past history of abuse. As it happens, this new treatment of Raglan's encourages people to release repressed emotions by manifesting their trauma into an array of grotesque physiological horrors. And Nola, being Raglan's special case (and potential bedmate) gets a little something extra from the treatments. Nola's divorced parents show up to help her hapless husband and child deal with the situation, as does a pretty elementary school teacher, all of whom are especially triggering for the confined woman. This all turns out about as well as one might expect. I like this movie okay, even if I'm not clear on how the script's pseudoscience is supposed to work. The scenario is altogether pretty icky, especially when Nola reveals her shocking secret during the film's bloody climax. While The Brood is not my favorite Cronenberg movie, it's effectively nasty, and features a relatively subdued Oliver Reed not chewing the scenery for a change. Not for you if you have a weak stomach.

The Howling, Joe Dante's 1981 werewolf film, casts Dee Wallace (the mom in E.T.) as an investigative journalist trailing a serial killer who turns out to be something more than what he seems. After an uncomfortably close encounter with the psychopath in a booth at the dirty bookstore (she's on special  assignment, not working the dark rooms, get your mind out of the gutter) Wallace is whisked off to a retreat by her husband (Christopher Stone) and her therapist (yes, another one of those guys), played by Patrick Macnee (The Avengers), to recover her memory and peace of mind. At the retreat, Wallace and her husband meet a motley crew of hedonists who seem a little--odd. Of course, something is not quite right and, being a newswoman, it's up to Dee to figure out what is going on at this place. There might be a good story here! It's no spoiler to say that everyone turns out to be werewolves. Try though I might, I can't buy Dee Wallace as a hard-hitting journalist: with her high-pitched whine and meek jumpiness, she's not like any newsperson I've ever seen. She's E.T.'s mom not Martha Raddatz. Chris Stone doesn't work out so well as her husband since he is, basically, as stiff as a board. On the other hand, it's always great to see the late, great Patrick Macnee, along with John Carradine, Kevin McCarthy, Slim Pickens and Roger Corman in supporting roles. However, it's the werewolf effects that make The Howling worth watching. State-of-the-art in 1981, the effects are extremely effective and well executed. I could have done without the numerous wolf-related easter eggs distributed throughout the film, because they're a bit too unsubtle. An American Werewolf in London was released the same year and also employs outstanding special effects. It's also a better film, I think, because the casting feels appropriate, the acting seems natural and the characters are more endearing. However, I don't have American Werewolf included on my Halloween agenda for this year so I won't get into it any further. 

Young Frankenstein is, of course, sublimely ridiculous and tremendous fun. Mel Brooks' spoof of the Universal Frankenstein series is as funny today as it was when first released in 1974. I'm normally not a big fan of screwball comedy but every time I watch this, I laugh myself silly. Einstein-haired Gene Wilder makes a perfect Baron von Frankenstein (pronounced Fronk-en-steen) who abandons his professorship at a noted medical school and journeys to Transylvania to check out the castle of his recently deceased ancestor (with whom the Baron is loathe to admit kinship). The bug-eyed, hump-backed dwarf, Igor (pronounced Eye-gore), arrives at the Transylvania Station to help the Baron with his bags and then they're off to the laboratory to create LLLLIIIIIIIIFFFFE, in accordance with his grandfather's secret recipe. Madeline Kahn does an uproarious turn as the Baron's posh fiancee who won't allow him to touch her for fear of spoiling her makeup. Cloris Leachman is also hilarious as Frau Blucher, the sinister housekeeper whose very name elicits neighs from the frightened horses. Kenneth Mars makes a great burgomaster: with his unreliable wooden arm and pompous nonsense, he practically steals the show in the few scenes he's in. Peter Boyle is imposing and surprisingly amusing as The Creature, and there's a scene with him and a blind shepherd (a wonderful cameo by Gene Hackman) that always has me rolling on the floor, no matter how many times I've seen it. 

A completely different sort of comedy is Michele Soavi's jet-black 1994 cult classic, Dellamorte Dellamore (Cemetery Man in English-speaking countries). English actor Rupert Everett plays Francesco Dellamorte, the droll and--possibly--ever-so-slightly mad caretaker of an Italian cemetery where the dead just won't stay put. Given that there seems to be a higher-than-average number of fatalities in the village, Dellamorte stays busy entombing the recently deceased by day, and then blowing their heads off when they break free from their graves at night (they have ferocious bites and sometimes eat people). Dellamorte's assistant, the mute and gross Gnaghi (Francois Hadji-Lazaro) spends most of his time eating bowls of ungodly nastiness and dribbling it all over himself; he also rakes leaves and digs the graves, which are in constant disrepair from the inhabitants clawing their way out. There's a beautiful young widow (Anna Falchi) who attracts Dellamorte's attention, not to mention the ire of her late husband. It turns out that making love on her spouse's grave is not a great idea when the cuck claws his way out and takes a bite out of his bride. Of course, the bride is buried in the cemetery so you know what that means. 

Poor, disgusting Gnaghi falls for the mayor's daughter (after puking on her) and then retrieves her head after she is decapitated in a motorcycle accident. The head, smitten with Gnaghi, agrees to marry him, much to her father's dismay, but said head, still having teeth, quickly disposes of daddy. Unfortunately, this union doesn't turn out any better than Dellamorte's dalliance with the widow. Soon enough, Dellamorte finds himself besieged not only by his decaying paramour, but by a squashed motorcycle rider and a troop of undead boy scouts. Anna Falchi returns,  playing the mayor's assistant and, later, a local hooker, both of whom drive Dellamorte ever-closer to the brink. Luckily, Everett spends most of the rest of the film in a state of dishabille, often shirtless and sometimes nude, so that helps negate some of his more nefarious deeds. Finally pushed over the edge, Dellamorte winds up dispatching almost everyone in the film, undead and not. By the time this grisly thriller reaches its enigmatic conclusion, you get the feeling that most, if not all, of it takes place in the main character's mind. Or at least in a fever dream that may even belong to a different character altogether. Surreal throughout, there's a philosophical note to all these gruesome goings-on which leaves the movie open to various interpretations. But, it's better not to overthink it. Despite the extreme gore and violence, Dellamorte Dellamore is a fun, beautifully photographed movie, that is, at heart, comedy as much as horror. Having said that, it is not a film for the squeamish. 

We saw the original Frankenstein with Boris Karloff but I can't say much about this Universal classic that hasn't already been said. I also watched two of Val Lewton's best-loved thrillers from the 1940's, I Walked With a Zombie (featuring Tom Conway, a fetching nurse and voodoo practitioners in the Caribbean) and The 7th Victim (Tom Conway, two fetching sisters and a coven of devil worshippers). I thoroughly enjoyed all three of these movies, although I can't say the same about the tiresome Phibes sequel, Dr. Phibes Rises Again. Vincent Price reprises his role as the title character and there's a new Vulnavia who doesn't have the verve (or the delicious costumes) of the first one. Several other actors from the first film show up but it's all for naught. The movie plods along predictably, a pale carbon copy of the original. 

That's enough horror for one week even though November 5th is just around the corner. That is the thought that keeps me awake at night.