tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14340908898640058902024-03-04T23:19:10.415-08:00Arbogast on FilmArbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.comBlogger1197125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-15420280406379278242013-10-01T09:39:00.000-07:002013-10-01T10:00:19.723-07:00Get Your October Face On!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-44174135379124720642012-11-01T06:40:00.001-07:002012-11-01T06:40:15.556-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-20654389878093604352012-10-31T07:48:00.003-07:002012-10-31T07:48:42.419-07:00Seasons greetings!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hope you all enjoy your time beneath the mask.<br />Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-7243706014852699012012-10-31T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-31T00:11:57.506-07:0031 Screams: Marilyn Burns<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Jesus, where do you begin?<br />
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I've held off doing Marilyn Burns from <b>THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE </b>(1974) for a number of years now because, yeah, where <i>do</i> you begin? Screaming never got <i>better</i> than this, it never got more intense or more extreme, no one was ever able to amp this up, pimp this out, or deconstruct it. It is what it is, as the kids say, and what it is is... it's the end, isn't it? The living, screaming end.<br />
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Burns starts screaming about 52 minutes into<b> </b>this 83 minute movie, which means she's doing this for more than a third of <b>THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE</b>, stopping only for breath. The legend of the making-of informs us that the actress was in extreme discomfort throughout principal photography in general and this scene in particular, meaning that we're getting, we ticket buyers, we voyeurs, we <i>vicariouseurs, </i>a heady cocktail of make-believe and snuff, except that Burns could not even hope for the sweet release of death.<i> </i>She just had to keep screaming until Tobe Hooper said "cut!"<br />
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The extreme close-ups bring to mind Hitchcock's <b>PSYCHO </b>(1960), which is <i>a propos</i> given that both films draw from the Ed Gein case. Where Hitchcock went for match cuts that drew discomfitting similarities between shower head, tub drain, and open mouth, Hooper reduces Burns to component parts (certainly fitting for a story about disarticulation) that all perform the same function. Burns' gaping mouth is matched to her wide-staring eyes, the vermilion of her lips to her enflamed sclera.<br />
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Her terror reduces her to something like a one-celled organism. She is no longer fully human. She is 95% scream. <br />
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If eyes can be said to scream, this is what that looks like.<br />
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Are we happy that Tobe Hooper did this? Is it a good thing? Certainly one of the gifts that horror is able to bestow upon us by virtue of its honesty is to make specific and palpable something that has long been generic and rote, to bring close something that we have traditionally kept at a remove, to say "This is what we're <i>really</i> talking about, right?"<br />
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"Feast your eyes, glut your soul, on my accursed ugliness" said Lon Chaney in <b>THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA </b>(1925) but the sentiment seemed lost on Mary Philbin. The Phantom deserved a trouper like Marilyn Burns, whose reaction would have gratified his monstrous (but not entirely unfounded) self-loathing, and taken the horror to its logical conclusion -- the end, the end of everything, of all our yesterdays and tomorrows. And so we close <span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>31 Screams 2012</b></span> with the reminder that we choose for our entertainment, we freaks, we ghouls, the consideration, the possibility, the inevitability of our own obliteration. We <i>go</i> there, we make that choice... and if we're not willing to take that to its logical conclusion, to the vanishing point of sanity, then we might just as well stay home, mightn't we?<br />
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<b><i><span style="color: orange;"><span style="font-size: large;">Happy Hallowe'en! </span></span></i></b>Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-43594678189085110212012-10-30T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-30T19:55:32.293-07:0031 Screams: Niall MacGinnis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Though I have hung a spoiler advisory below my blog banner and feel that due diligence has been served, I still get complaints ("Thanks for spoiling the ending of <b>BABA YAGA </b>for me!"). In light of this, I want to be very clear that I am going to be discussing the conclusion of Jacques Tourneur's <b>NIGHT OF THE DEMON </b>(US: <b>CURSE OF THE DEMON</b>, 1957) today and if you <i>still</i> have not seen this 55 year old movie, if you have put off watching it for years but have made the effort to see <b>ORPHAN </b>(2009) and <b>INSIDIOUS </b>(2012) and <b>SINISTER </b>(2012) and every other turd bomb passing itself off as the state of the art of contemporary horror then, sir or madame, you are an ass and stop reading here.<br />
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Anyway. At the end of <b>NIGHT OF THE DEMON</b>, villainous (but deucedly amusing) diabolist Julian Karswell repays his Faustian debt on a strip of lonely railway tracks in the English countryside. He has been passed a slip of paper bearing runic symbols, essentially a Go Directly to Hell card, and when he cannot fob it off on another, he knows that he is irreclaimably fucked. <br />
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This is what makes Karswell's scream -- no, not here; it comes just a bit later -- so delicious. Throughout the film, we have seen Karswell sic his demons on those who would expose him for what he is (and, it's worth noting, for what he is not - which is to say a fraud) and though these people have died terrible deaths, their terrors have at least been ameliorated by their utter disbelief. But Karswell cannot rely on the anesthetic properties of befuddlement, which makes his horror all the more acute.<br />
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No, Karswell knows precisely what is in the cards for him.<br />
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And he screams. Pity there's no closeup but I suspect Tourneur felt, as I do, a little sorry for Karswell, played to perfection by Niall MacGinnis. He's good, the old trouper. Like, Bond villain good. He's so good that you feel, I know you do, it's a shame he has to die. Which he must of course. But, it's still a shame.<br />
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Karswell gets another good scream in just before the demon rakes the living shit out of him with its yard-long talons, a fair approximation of Faust's death in the maw of Mephistopheles' Hell hounds (in certain interpretations of the myth, but not Goethe's, that pussy). Ultimately, this powerful adept is discarded by the demon as if he were no more substantial than a wet tissue.<br />
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He has it coming, of course, but I always feel a bit sad for Karswell as he lies there smoldering on the tracks. Maybe it comes down to the choice of actors. With someone else in the role -- say, Charles Laughton or Michael Redgrave -- I would have felt that justice was served and the balance of nature restored but that son of a bitch MacGinnis gets me to like Karswell and accept his malevolence as a necessary evil. Does that make me a Niallist?<br />
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It is October 30th. You are allowed one day more.Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-85952886299534745712012-10-29T10:05:00.001-07:002012-10-29T10:08:33.513-07:0031 Screams: Bernice Stegers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The character played by Bernice Stegers in Lamberto Bava's <b><i>MACABRO</i> </b>(<b>MACABRE, </b>1980) is having the worst day of her life and she doesn't even know everything that <i>we </i>know.<br />
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Racing in a car through New Orleans after having received the news that her young son has died, Jane Baker cannot know that her own daughter was the killer, motivated as she was by extreme jealousy and anger over her mother's affair with another man.<br />
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Then the vehicle in which Jane is an aggrieved passenger goes out of control and her lover is killed at the wheel. Decapitated. <br />
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Jane will spend the next twelvemonth in a sanitarium, her release from which is <i><b>MACABRO</b></i>'s true starting point in a very strange and certainly unique if not all together persuasive tale of madness, obsession, betrayal, sexual repression, and throat biting. <br />
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Stegers (Mrs. Mike Newell to you) denies Bava<i> fils</i> nothing for the purpose of his proper directorial debut. You probably need one complete pass through the film before you can see past the aggregate <span class="st">outréity and understand the depths one plumbs willingly when one has lost everything. </span>Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-33646736773737914692012-10-28T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-28T00:00:03.774-07:0031 Screams: Jo Morrow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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William Castle's <b>13 GHOSTS </b>(1960) doesn't really carry the ball, though it has a lot of things going for it.<br />
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First and foremost, it depicts a perfectly normal, health, and loving American family that has an abiding interest in the occult and schedules Ouija for game night. No judgment! <br />
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And there's a decent scare, too, in this scene in which daughter Jo Morrow awakens by dark o'night to an annoying banging at her window sash. She rises to right the problem...<br />
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... only to be confronted with a dusty, shambling I don't even know what but he looks like a Fulci zombie, which is also a happy thing.<br />
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Morrow screams good as she backs away. Backing away from horror is never a good idea. If William Castle taught us nothing else he helped us to understand that... <br />
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... if it's not one goddamned thing it's another.Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-2813547869853126992012-10-27T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-27T00:00:07.963-07:0031 Screams: Erika Remberg<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There's a lot of damn screaming in Sidney Hayer's <b>CIRCUS OF HORROR </b>(1960).<br />
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Men <i>and</i> women. So much screaming. And what distinguished screamers! Donald Pleasence, Yvonne Monlaur, Yvonne Romain, Jane Hylton, Erika Remberg. It was very difficult to choose which one to showcase. But very often these things sort themselves out and the winner inevitably winds up being...<br />
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... the one with the biggest mouth.<br />
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Erika Remberg plays a scarred French whore whom mad plastic surgeon cum circus owner (more common than you'd believe, especially after the war) Anton Diffring transforms into a flawless high wire aerialist. Well, flawless except for mounting ambition, arguable sociopathic apathy, and big brass balls.<br />
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No one was harmed during the making of this scream. Here, Diffring and his cohorts attempt to put the fright into Remberg (aka Mrs. Sidney Hayers) by slipping a snake into her trailer. Certainly, the sight of a serpent coiling around her comely ankle gives her pause but she comes right back at her tormentors with both barrels and <b>CIRCUS OF HORRORS </b>ends in a welter of blood and everlasting regret and all the clowns have to go on the dole. Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-34082832421959357622012-10-26T00:00:00.001-07:002012-10-26T00:00:00.223-07:0031 Screams: Brenda Currin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Props to anyone who shoots Robin Williams to death in a movie but Brenda Currin has more going for her than that.<br />
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By the time she played Pooh in <b>THE WORLD ACCORDING TO GARP </b>(1981), Currin was riding a 15 (or so) year career that began with a role as the doomed Nancy Clutter in <b>IN COLD BLOOD </b>(1967), one of the most frightening non-horror films of all time.<br />
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Popping up briefly in <b>C.H.U.D. </b>(1984) in the company of enough New York theatre actors (John Heard, John Bedford Lloyd, Sam McMurray, Ruth Maleczech, J. C. Quinn, George Martin) to fill the waiting area of an unemployment office, Currin plays a resident of the Lower East Side, who notices something odd while walking her dog.<br />
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It's a cheap, fake scare early on that sets the tone for the body of the film, which uses New York's mounting homeless situation (aggravated by President Reagan's slashing of the budget for H.U.D. by something like 75%) as a springboard for mutant mayhem.<br />
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Currin had, and has, a wonderfully expressive face that sadly goes underutilized in <b>C.H.U.D., </b>which never quite lives up to its potential in unalloyed stupidity. It's kind of like a fake scare, getting your blood up and then dropping you like a bag of shit.Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-28041603648989685762012-10-25T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-25T00:11:24.077-07:0031 Screams: Carroll Baker<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Corrado Farina's <b>BABA YAGA </b> (1973) filters Russian folklore through the sexy scrim of cartoonist Guido Crepax, achieving results that fall short of immortality but give you, nonetheless, something to whistle on your way home.<br />
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Baba Yaga was one of several Continental films made by Baker, a Hollywood actress groomed as a successor to Marilyn Monroe who proved longer-lived but just as uneasy in the role of glamor puss... not that she had any trouble with taking her clothes off. Here, she plays a woman of mystery who latches onto Milanese fashion photographer Isabelle De Funes<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,Arial,Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span></span></span><br />
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Given the film's preoccupation with picture-taking, with pop art, with TV commercials, and the distorting nature of photography, you know Baker wants to steal the younger woman's body, to live again. She sends the photographer through a dizzying trial of sights and sensations and nearly succeeds until her plan goes pear-shaped in her cluttered townhouse, where a sizable hole in the floor leads to God knows where.<br />
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Baker and De Funes struggle and the witch puts a fot wrong. She falls backward into the abyss, into oblivion.<br />
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Farina employs alternating bands of light and shadow to attend her descent, mimicking the flash of a camera.<br />
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Baker's scream is one of extreme thwartation. Though her characterization never becomes fiery or grandstanding, Baker puts a persuasive spin on her evildoer and her failure is like watching Erzabet Bathory in a dinner theatre production of <b>THE KILLING OF SISTER GEORGE</b>.<br />
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In the film, Farina suggests that the pit is bottomless. So forty years later, she's still falling. And, we may well believe, still screaming. Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-4536483747697447162012-10-24T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-24T00:00:12.052-07:0031 Screams: Merle Oberon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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And we turn to John Brahm's <b>THE LODGER </b>(1944) for some old school chokery-screamery, courtesy of villain Laird Cregar and victim-to-be Merle Oberon.</div>
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B<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">arré Lyndon's adaptation of the Marie Belloc Lowndes novel recasts Jack the Ripper as the grieving brother of a brilliant artist brought to ruin and suicide for the love of a stage actress. Well, grieving and insane, of course. And compelled to cut out the bad parts o<span style="font-size: small;">f good <span style="font-size: small;">women, purifying them and the world.</span></span> </span></span></div>
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Oberon plays an actress... well, a dancehall singer pointed towards greater things... who both typifies all that Cregar hates about the world and touches his heart with her beauty. It's a conflict of interest, I guess you could say, or a conundrum, or something. <br />
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Brahm makes a neat little scene of Cregar working through his emotions, wanting on the one hand to run away with Oberon and on the other hand... well, you see where the other hand rests. And Oberon, an actress for whom I've never had any particular use, is very good as a potential victim who understands all too well where this conversation is going and attempts -- with varying degrees of success, obviously -- to lead Cregar off-message.<br />
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Brahm has director of photography Lucien Ballard push in slowly as the meter runs out on Cregar's denial that this woman is any different than all the rest and Oberon's play at pacification turns into a throaty scream of terror. <br />
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A simple quarter turn by Cregar and Oberon seems to be swallowed whole in the folds of his Ulster. Brahm cuts away as others hear the scream and we are left to wonder if there is hope.Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-77946523883648315542012-10-23T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-23T00:00:05.435-07:0031 Screams: Brigitte Lahaie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Vampirism is a tough room. Necessarily. Sentimentality will be the death of the subgenre. Or is.<br />
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In Jean Rollin's <b>FASCINATION </b>(1979), Brigitte Lahaie starts off at the top of the food chain, or at least the blood chain. As one of a deuce of female vampires, she is in control. She is proactive. She is full of life... and seemingly hungering for more.<br />
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What occurs over the next 90 odd minutes, however, throws the viewer off balance, challenging what he or she assumed and thwarting expectations. A mere tick of the clock after Lahaie's character has dispatched some meddlesome B-plot villains with a scythe, she herself becomes a victim of insatiable thirst, betrayed by lover/unlife companion Franka Mai and left to the ravening of her sistren, who smell blood and fall on her.<br />
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And she doesn't die like a warrior, oh no no no. She dies like a bitch. Consumed. Bled out. Used. <br />
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It's horrible. It's disheartening. You thought she would go the distance. You thought she would bury them all.<br />
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But all bets are off in Rollinville. Bless his work. How will we ever manage without him?Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-28269652648044624092012-10-22T10:39:00.001-07:002012-10-22T10:45:01.463-07:0031 Screams: John Colicos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If a man dies screaming and no one is there to hear it...<br />
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Rhetorical question. Sometimes the best screams are the ones we've<i> just </i>missed, where there's nothing left but reverb.<br />
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John Colicos shoulders his way into Peter Medak's <b>THE CHANGELING </b>(1980) as protagonist George C. Scott inches too close to aging senator Melvyn Douglas with questions about his involvement in a decades-old mystery and the ghost of a dead child.<br />
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It's one of the great movie bait-and-switches. We think Colicos is going to drive the film into the third act by sheer force of his cop-on-the-take will...<br />
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... and then he's taken out of the frame before he's barely gotten out of the driveway. We're left wondering about the specifics of the car crash that kills him and we're given nothing but aftermath. And reverb.<br />
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And we know it's not good. Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-24771346500679330612012-10-21T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-21T00:00:09.297-07:0031 Screams: Joan Prather<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Fobbed off as kitsch due to the casting of a post-<b>STAR TREK</b>/pre-<b>TJ HOOKER </b>William Shatner, John Travolta in his feature film debut, and Ernest Borgnine as a goaty Satanist, <b>THE DEVIL'S RAIN </b>(1975) is, if accepted on its own terms, quite a nasty piece of work.<br />
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In the film, directed by Robert Fuest, the ancestors (Shatner, Ida Lupino, and George Sawaya from <b>THE BLACK SLEEP</b>) of Puritans who burned Borgnine's diabolist at the stake hundreds of years earlier are hagged by horrific events in the American southwest.<br />
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Meanwhile, the wife (Joan Prather) of the youngest branch on the family tree (Tom Skerritt) has consented to be a test subject in an academic investigation into extrasensory perception. If you know your horror, you know where this is headed.<br />
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A natural adept, Prather begins to jack into the sulfurous doings out in the desert and even sees, poor thing... <br />
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... a flash vision of her own fate in the final reel. <br />
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To have grown up, as I did, in the 1970s and to see such venerable character actors as Lupino, Keenan Wynn, and Shatner suffer such ignominious and deeply disturbing fates, and to be left with such a gutpunch of an ending all under the flag of a PG rating, was to have experienced something very special indeed.Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-67773057441143234482012-10-20T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-20T00:00:00.117-07:0031 Screams: Suzan Farmer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Suzan Farmer was such a little bun, so neat and tidy, that you couldn't help but want her to scream. And how she teased you!<br />
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In Daniel Haller's <b>DIE, MONSTER, DIE! </b>(1965), Farmer has motive and opportunity but the scream either dies in her throat, stifled by a hardwired British disinclination to show emotion, or she is off camera when she lets rip. Only near the end is she allowed to put out.<br />
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Mind you, the scream is no classic. It's adequate and in-character. More interesting is how the moment anticipates a better regarded later horror film. Here, Farmer is menaced by her father, Boris Karloff, whose experifiddlements with a glowing meteorite have rendered him a mutated murderbobber. Watching hero Nick Adams face off with the stiff-legged, steadily-advancing, seemingly unstoppable predator, I couldn't help but flash on John Carpenter's <b>HALLOWEEN</b> (1978).<br />
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Part of it is Monster Karloff's indomitability, coupled with the fact that his mutated noggin is played by a whole head mask, which freezes his features <i>a la</i> Michael Myers. And then the action moves out to the hallway...<br />
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... where the mutant Karloff (or, more accurately, his stuntman) goes over the railing, falling to a sputtering death below. Which is a fair approximation as well of how Michael Myers goes out in <b>HALLOWEEN</b>, over the railing, only to disappear... leaving in his wake only wisps of ground fog, similar to the puffs of smoke that attend the dematerializing monster Karloff. Coincidence? Probably. But it's these very questions that touch our dark hearts, eh?Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-14213831113790732122012-10-19T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-20T08:37:01.848-07:0031 Screams: Krista Barrymore<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Truth be told, this is all about the hair.<br />
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In Renato Polselli's <b><i>RITI MAGIE NERE E SEGRETI ORGE NEL TRICENTO</i>... </b>(<b>THE REINCARNATION OF ISABEL/BLACK MAGIC RITES</b>, 1973), Krista Barrymore (no relation, so far as I know, and probably a stage name) plays one of many attendees of a fabulous party, given by Jack Nelson (Mickey Hargitay) in honor of his daughter or niece (translations vary) Laureen (Rita Calderoni), who has just announced her engagement and her intention to occupy the family mansion. <br />
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Turns out Jack Nelson is Dracula and that he is attempting to revive the long-dormant corpse of his Medieval lover Isabel (also Calderoni) by using the blood of various virgins. Barrymore's super-annoying (well, everyone at this party is annoying) gadfly to further the cause.<br />
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Isolating herself from her fellows, Barrymore's character (also named Krista, or Christa) is grabbed from behind, her attacker's hand tangling in her long hair and forcing it into her mouth as she opens it to scream for her life.<br />
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It's an inspired bit of business and a perfectly feasible consequence of Dracula's posterior line of attack. It's remarkable that this bit hasn't popped up in any other movies, <i>gialli</i> or slashers, as there is something so deliciously perverse about it. Barrymore's character winds up vampirized and consigned to a premature burial (Polselli quotes from his own <a href="http://arbogastonfilm.blogspot.com/2010/04/love-is-colder-than-death.html"><i><b>L'AMANTE DEL VAMPIRO</b></i><b>/THE VAMPIRE AND THE BALLERINA</b></a>), where she becomes the only undead'un I can think of who reposes in her coffin with her mouth open. Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-85976404666347482742012-10-18T11:31:00.001-07:002012-10-18T11:48:44.862-07:0031 Screams: Patricia Blair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Patricia Blair's reaction in <b>THE FLY</b> (1958) to the revelation of what her scientist husband has become is one of the great horror movie screams... and maybe <i>the</i> greatest. Dig...<br />
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The film's Canadian setting -- you do remember it's set in Canada, right? -- deflects slightly <b>THE FLY</b>'s unflattering reflection of middle class American life in the blush of the postwar boom. The land is at peace, technology is offering cleaner, more efficient, and more orderly lives, and consumer confidence is high. <br />
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Though etched sympathetically, with charm and nuance, the characters played by Blair and David Hedison are such Arrow shirt ad cliches, so four-square and Rinso white, that it's hard not to cluck a bit or at least nod knowingly when their dream goes nightmare. <br />
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Blair's scream comes from the bottom of her soul but I can't help but feel that if her husband had turned into a werewolf or hideous sun demon she wouldn't be nearly as upset. No, he turned into a fly, a filthy, shit-coveting fly, tattletale signifier of a dirty, unkempt home. Hedison's transformation couldn't be any more disadvantageous than if he'd turned into a nigger. <br />
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<b>THE FLY</b>'s classic POV shot is meant to represent Hedison's perspective but it really reflects more tellingly Blair's reaction...<br />
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... how, in her horror, she explodes, fragments, goes cellular. She stops being human, just like her husband. Well, at least he's still <i>half</i> human... but she is all scream.<br />
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This scream has it all. It has primal terror (like Janet Leigh in <b>PSYCHO</b>) and abject horror (like Rika Dialina in <b>BLACK SABBATH</b>) but the two are so enmeshed that they become impossible to separate. Blair has in this moment realized her grasp on the American dream has slipped back beyond reach and she will never be able to bridge the gap. She has lost everything, in an instant, in a trice. I wouldn't have been surprised to see her dissolve into motes like Max Schreck in <b>NOSFERATU</b>.<br />
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But instead, she faints. In her dreams, at least, everything is fine. Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-53401249437380494442012-10-17T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-17T00:00:08.002-07:0031 Screams: Rika Dialina<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Some things are too dreadful to contemplate, or so Rika Dialina demonstrates in this scene from "The Wurdulak" episode of Mario Bava's<strong><em> I TRE VOLTI DELLA PAURA </em></strong>(<strong>THE THREE FACES OF FEAR/BLACK SABBATH</strong>, 1964).<br />
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In the film, the former Miss Universe contender plays a wife and mother whose provincial Russian family is being devoured from within by the pestilence of vampirism. Denial and faith have stood strong against ancient Evil (delivered by father-in-law Boris Karloff, at his most sinister) but now Dialina's young son has been enchanted into the night. And worse yet...<br />
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... he has returned. And he wants his mama. <br />
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One of my fondest moviegoing memories is of how this grim scene silenced the normally chatty patrons of New York's Film Forum during a Mario Bava retrospective nearly twenty years ago. Though nowhere near as graphic as the attack on Helen Cooper by her daughter in<strong> NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD</strong> (1968), this scene cuts deeper because it eschews shocks to touch the heartache embedded true horror.<br />
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At this point in her descent into the maelstrom, Dialina's character has, in the lunacy of grief, killed her own husband, who tried to prevent her from going to her now undead son. So she is twice-damned. And she knows it.<br />
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Bava chooses the payoff to be not a reveal of the child but of Karloff, which seems disappointing until you consider the irony at play. Dialina has committed a mortal sin out of love and now faces a damnation that she must, as a Catholic, interpret as being God's will, as being what she deserves. Consequently, there's a lot of there in that there scream.<br />
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Karloff's entrance, Dracula-like, brings the moment to a close, the folds of his cape approximating the theatrical curtain signifying "End of Act."Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-5995694583784308242012-10-16T08:01:00.000-07:002012-10-16T15:22:57.484-07:0031 Screams: Jeannine Mestre<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Tasked with nothing more noble than ripping off George Romero's <strong>NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD </strong>(1968) for his Spanish and Italian investors, Jordi Grau did something a little more special.<br />
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Rather than cut to the cannibal chase, as had been the Romero-Russo paradigm, Grau and his writers offer a measure of background for many of the characters in <strong><em>NON SI DEVE PROFANARE IL SONNO DEI MORTI</em></strong>, (<strong>LET SLEEPING CORPSES LIE/BREAKFAST AT THE MANCHESTER MORGUE/THE LIVING DEAD AT MANCHESTER MORGUE/DON'T OPEN THE WINDOW, </strong>1974<strong>) </strong>putting their lives in context before pitching them headlong into the maelstrom. <br />
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Jeannine Mestre plays the sister of heroine Christina Galbo. A heroin addict, Katie has been brought to the Lake District by her photographer husband Martin (Jose Lifante) to clean up but she has succumbed to her addiction at precisely the moment her better half is being attacked by a resurrected corpse with a ravening appetite for human flesh.<br />
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The setpiece is played against the backdrop of a camera flash going on and off in the darkas Martin struggles with the ghoul (Fernando Hilbeck) and Katie, whose sleeve is still rolled up from the act of spiking, stares ahead, at first stupified, and eventually tumbling to the horror of what is happening. <br />
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The flash provides a metronomic quality to the scene, adding a layer of unreality to a scenario of rapidly escalating dread and horror. Martin and Katie are apt first victims (though Katie does scramble away to survive, after a fashion, 'til the final reel) because they seem half corpse-like to begin with, making the ghoul's attack on them less a violation than a reclamation. <br />
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Jeannine Mestre has enjoyed a long career in films, television, and on the stage, where she has emerged as an acclaimed director in her own right. As humble beginnings go, this one is pretty good. Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-53201872130480656072012-10-15T00:07:00.001-07:002012-10-15T00:13:08.367-07:0031 Screams: Haley Hudson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Haley Hudson glides into Act 2 of Nicholas McCarthy's <strong>THE PACT</strong> (2012) and <em>owns</em> the joint, like Wilford Brimley in <strong>ABSENCE OF MALICE </strong>(1981) or Alec Baldwin in <strong>GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS </strong>(1992).<br />
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This is not to suggest that the movie needs saving from its leads, far from it. Caity Lotz is the horror heroine we have been waiting for (earthy, resourceful, courageous when the time calls for courage and more than courageous when the time calls for miracles) and Casper van Dien redeems himself after a decade of drek - his spin on a line relevant to his character's backstory has stayed with me for months. But Haley Hudson... the heart skips a beat.</div>
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As a grunge psychic with milky blind eyes and a restive, childlike demeanor, she is charged with the task of connecting the dots in a movie unconcerned with how far you fall behind. In her big scene (one of only three), she chills the blood from her bedrock basic reaction to a supernatural event.<br />
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Nothing here we haven't <em>seen</em> before... but the sounds. The payoff is not some special effect fieldgoal (though effects do come into play) but rather the unsettling quality of human behavior torqued by terror out of proper proportion. <br />
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Hudson's character describes in what amounts to less than ten minutes of screen time a highly effective arc, from barely cognizant interested party to scene-driving savant to pathetic victim of occult powers, wrung out like a dish towel from her experiences and disinclined to continue. She gives the film just the energy spike it needs at the midway point and then fades back into the woodwork. We move on with the plot but we never forget her, sustained in our catechism that Hell really is other people. Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-18217828180642058232012-10-14T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-14T00:00:09.098-07:0031 Screams: Hugo Stiglitz<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Time again for the full-bodied report of a proper manscream.<br />
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Of course, you recognize these frames from Umberto Lenzi's <strong><em>INCUBO SULLA CITTA CONTAMINATA </em></strong>(<strong>NIGHTMARE CITY/CITY OF THE WALKING DEAD</strong>, 1980) -- and if you don't, stop reading now! See this film cold! Do not let me spoil it for you!<br />
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Now that we've ditched the squares, we may speak freely. This moment comes at the end of <strong>NIGHTMARE CITY</strong>, as resourceful hero Hugo Stiglitz has escaped One More Time from the throng of radiation-scarred mutants running rampant o'er this breathing world (or at least Madrid). He has, altruistic and loving bugger that he is, let his wife go first up the rope to a rescuing helicopter captained by Francisco Rabal...<br />
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... only to see her falter, lose her reason, doubt her strength... and fall. It's a heartbreaker, even stuck somewhat randomly onto the end of this whoopie cushion of a horror film -- heartbreaking because he tried so hard, he fought so well, only to come up short inches from salvation. The scene is an older brother to the grim coda that caps Frank Darabont's <strong>THE MIST </strong>(2007), depicting as it does a man who has brooked the unimaginable only to shatter in the face of the unthinkable.<br />
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If you've seen the film mulitiple times, as I have, you begin to wonder if in this moment, which loops back to the beginning and contextualizes all that we have sat through for the preceeding 88 or 92 minutes as a prophetic dream,Stiglitz is screaming organically, in the moment of absolute, unalloyed horror and dismay...<br />
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... or if his scream comes from a deeper place, and a gnawing realization that this has happened before... and will keep happening... that there is no escape, no salvation, no surcease of sorrow, no end -- not even the promise of sweet obliteration.Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-21007541702047468902012-10-13T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-20T08:37:50.354-07:0031 Screams: Myrna Fahey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It doesn't take an abundance of empathy to feel for someone who has been buried alive.<br />
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The movies have offered numerous variations on this nightmare scenario, among them Roger Corman's <b>THE PREMATURE BURIAL</b> (1962), Lucio Fulci's <b><i>PAURA NELLA CITTA DEI MORTI VIVIENTI</i> </b>(<b>CITY OF THE LIVING DEAD/GATES OF HELL</b>,<b> </b>1980), John Irving's <b>GHOST STORY </b>(1980), Georges Sluzier's <b><i>DER SPOORLOOS</i> </b>(<b>THE VANISHING</b>, 1988), and Quentin Tarantino's <b>KILL BILL, VOL. 2 </b>(2004) but none has bit down quite as hard as Corman's <b>HOUSE OF USHER </b>(1960).<br />
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In this vivid realization of the short story by Edgar Allan Poe, hero Mark Damon sees inamorata Myrna Fahey, a cataleptic, entombed alive. With horrible clarity, he visualizes her waking up in her coffin, realizing the hopelessness of her situation and screaming, screaming, screaming for all the good it will do her.<br />
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But then the monochrome tint and inexplicable roll-in of fog tip us off to the realization that this is all just a terrible dream...<br />
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<i>Or is it?</i><br />
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No, this is real. This is really real. Fahey is up and out of her casket, pushed well beyond the boundary of reclaimable sanity, tear-assing through the House of Usher ready to cut a bitch.<br />
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Who can blame her, really?<br />
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Incredibly, sadly, this was Fahey's last feature film role. She did well on television for another decade, starring in <b>FATHER OF THE BRIDE </b>(1961-1962), in the role created on the big screen by Elizabeth Taylor. She dated Joe DiMaggio, She was threatened by a psychopath. She posed for <b><i>TV</i></b> <i><b>Guide</b> </i>wearing a $590,000 "dream trousseau" (more than twice the budget of <b>HOUSE OF USHER</b>). She died of cancer in 1973 at the age of 40. Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-59918480123765462742012-10-12T00:04:00.000-07:002012-10-12T00:04:57.474-07:0031 Screams: Lina Romay<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One of the things horror movies always did well was to was make for rape a somewhat more palatable, though still perfectly loathsome, metaphor. <br />
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When the vampire bared the virgin's neck, the monster shouldered the girl, or the shapeshifter tore the maiden's clothing and flesh in one fell swipe, we were confronting the legacy of rape, of the obliteration of innocence by atavistic urges that paradoxically further the bloodline while dragging us backwards to an unacceptable primal past in which there is no place for compassion and reason.<br />
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In <b><i>LES POSSEDEES DU DIABLE </i></b>(<b>LORNA THE EXORCIST</b>, 1974), Jess Franco turns the metaphor inside out to call rape by its real name but preserves the framework of a horror film because what could be more intrinsically horrific than corruption and utter debasement?<br />
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As if having boned up on Andrea Dworkin before exacting her revenge on ex-lover Guy Delorme, Pamela Stafford's vengeful Lorna uses as her model for restitution nothing more than what Delorme might have expected from a prospective son-in-law -- the co-option of his daughter (Lina Romay), her subjugation, the annihilation of her childhood, and the supplanting of her fealty to family by the (seeming) sovereignty of her sexuality. <br />
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Lina Romay (born Rosa María Almirall Martínez), who passed away this year from cancer at the age 57, had a sleepy, quasi-storybook beauty that could on command blossom into the full flower of abject horror. Her character's transformation from bourgeois purity to a guttural, cunning, feral sexuality is marked by an agonizing rite of passage, depicted here, which reveals the physical and spiritual damage wrought by psychological warfare. Many filmmakers have attempted to lay bare the dark side of the sexual impulse but Franco, that beautiful anarchist, aims low to hit us not only where we live but where we love.Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-31236226508036912942012-10-11T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-11T22:58:50.214-07:0031 Screams: Ellen Sandweiss<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Wanting to showcase Ellen Sandweiss from <b>THE EVIL DEAD </b>(1981) for <span style="color: red;"><b>31 Screams</b></span> presented me with a dilema.<br />
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My instinct was to discuss an early scene in which Sandweiss' character reacts badly to the playback of an occult tape recording discovered in the root cellar of a rural cabin, rather than one that occurs later, in which she has a rather unpleasant encounter in the surrounding woods.<br />
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You know. The tree rape.<br />
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I wanted to avoid the tree rape because, well... because people call it "the tree rape." And because there is a small but pernicious strain of Internet bandiage about the scene that is both woefully (but of course not surprisingly) misogynistic in general and in particular cruelly pointed at Ellen Sandweiss, whom one Angelfire goat went so far as to dub "a woman who will do anything for some money."<br />
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All this to say that I would have been happy to discuss the early scene, which ends with Sandweiss letting rip with a gorgeous scream of instinctual horror... but in the end these things always come down to the visuals. And so the tree rape scene won. As you can see, I've not isolated the specific moment of penetration, in which Sandweiss is tangled/tied up in vines, stripped semi-nude, and violated in an almost Inquisitional manner, but one in which she runs in a blind panic through trees that seem to have it in for her. <br />
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Seeing the film for the first time many years ago, I gravitated toward Sandweiss, whose Semetic good looks ran toward my aesthetic preference for exaggerated features -- long noses, wide mouths, prominent teeth. She is the one I would have gone for, had I been a character in <b>THE EVIL DEAD</b>, and her suffering remains personal to me, as her gradual corruption and consumption by the forces of ancient evil breaks the heart I would have offered her.<br />
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In this scene, Sandweiss is resisting that corruption. She's fighting a losing battle, of course, but nonetheless opposing that influence with all she has. In some ways, it's the ultimate horror scene, it is primal, and her screams are more than just a reaction of terror -- they represent her animus, her soul, going on the defensive, fighting back. Clearly, she is not going gentle into that bad night. <br />
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It's remarkable how spot on <b>THE EVIL DEAD </b>was thirty years ago, and how a gaggle of Michiganites got horror so right with so few resources. It takes a certain twinning of honesty and sincerity to cut to the bone of what truly frightens and a particular level of sophistication to court the ridiculous in order to reveal the soul-shattering. As for Ellen Sandweiss, who certainly took one for the team to play Cheryl, she can at least claim bragging rights as one of the rare horror film actresses to bridge the gap between wholly sympathetic and 100% motherfucking fearsome. Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1434090889864005890.post-32800383385713137822012-10-10T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-10T00:00:01.787-07:0031 Screams: Virginia Field<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is shaping up to be a right meme.<br />
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In Terence Fisher's <strong>THE EARTH DIES SCREAMING </strong>(1964), alien-controlled cyborgs are combing the British provinces turning the citizenry into white-eyed drones, shambling automatons who rise up from their places of death to point ahead to the ghouls of <strong>NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD </strong>(1968) and the zombies of <strong>HORROR EXPRESS </strong>(1972). <br />
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Virginia Field appears as one of the survivors who must outmaneuver the walking dead. It takes a bit of doing and can be accomplished, if only one can remain perfectly quiet.<br />
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But of course, one cannot.<br />
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<strong>THE EARTH DIES SCREAMING </strong>marked the last feature film appearance of Field, a British actress who had enjoyed a busy if somewhat undistinguished Hollywood career playing the second female lead in support of Gene Tierney, Loretta Young, Vivien Leigh, Rhonda Fleming, and Paulette Goddard. She fared better in crime films, as the leading lady of a few Mr. Moto and Charlie Chan mysteries, and in Gerald Mayer's psycho-noir <strong>DIAL 11119 </strong>(1950), which shares with <strong>THE EARTH DIES SCREAMING </strong>the central setting of a drinking establishment. <br />
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Pushing 50 here, the ever-winsome but decidedly second string Field is disarmingly attractive in the role of a purposeful older woman and romantic interest to even older star Willard Parker (Fields' third and final husband). She keeps her cool as long as she can, is helpful, nurturing to and protective of her fellow survivors (including pregnant newlywed Anna Palk and and a tuxedoed Thorley Walters), and when the time comes...<br />
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... she screams like a champ. I happen to think -- because <em>I'm</em> old now -- that Field got better looking as she aged. More interesting-looking. Without losing a bit of attractiveness (those lips! That dimple!). I'd follow her anywhere. Too bad (for me, anyway) she faded away, albeit into a seemingly happy personal life with Parker. She died of cancer in Palm Desert, California, in 1992, at the age of 74. Arbogasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12670776992289080245noreply@blogger.com1