All posts by Shane Wilson

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: THE FLOOD (1985)

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“The Flood” has been posted by the director on Vimeo, where it is available to watch for free.

DIRECTED BY: Jaap Drupsteen

FEATURING: Pauline Daniels, Julian Beusker, Sylvia Millecam, Rudi Van Vlaanderen, and the voices of Laurence Harvey, Sebastian Cabot,

PLOT: Adam and Eve betray God by eating the forbidden fruit of knowledge, learning shame and being cast out of Eden; later, Noah builds an ark for his family as well as the animals of the Earth to survive the coming deluge.

Still from The Flood (1985)

COMMENTS: In relatively recent memory, opera was not only broadcast on American television, but was commissioned specifically to be shared with the masses. The most famous example is probably ’s 1951 holiday offering for NBC, Amahl and the Night Visitors, but other notable composers of note have been enlisted to tackle the medium, including Benjamin Britten, Norman Dello Joio, and Duke Ellington. Igor Stravinsky, the musical mind behind “The Rite of Spring,” a work so avant-garde it nearly sparked riots, is possibly the greatest composer to be tasked with bringing opera to TV. The commission for the opera we attend today came at a time when Stravinsky was looking forward and backward simultaneously: he was adopting 12-tone serial techniques in his composition while pursuing spiritual and scriptural themes in his subject matter. The piece he crafted for CBS Television’s Breck Golden Showcase was right in the sweet spot, a blend of opera, ballet (choreographed by George Balanchine), and spoken word narration and dialogue that tells two of the most familiar tales from the book of Genesis. In these days of traitors and real housewives, we should probably not expect this mindset to return anytime soon.

“The Flood” has not endured as one of the landmarks in Stravinsky’s catalogue, which makes it interesting that Dutch video artist Jaap Drupsteen excavated it some two decades later. One account suggests that he was inspired by the rising waters threatening his homeland (an interesting parallel to Stravinsky himself, who said that the idea for the piece came to him on a visit to Venice), but there’s not really an environmental or political message in his production of “The Flood.” This is a fairly straightforward retelling of the two parables, re-envisioned using the video tools then seen throughout the day on MTV. In fact, “The Flood” evokes the video art of Zbigniew Rybczynski, whose work was in regular rotation on the channel, and who further developed his vision in films such as “Imagine” and  “Orchestra” piling layer upon layer of green-screened action like a funhouse mirror that stretches into infinity with only the slightest variation. The sound is Stravinsky; the look is The Art of Noise.

In some respects, “The Flood” is a bit of a stunt, repurposing old audio with new imagery like an episode of “Drunk History.” The modern cast lip-syncs to the original 1962 recording of the opera, particularly the spoken word segments, which means, for example, that the older gentleman in the neat black suit is mouthing the voice of Mr. French from “Family Affair.” The visuals, however, are so 1980s as to thoroughly redefine the work. Adam and Eve appear on a Tron-like grid, as though they had been generated in a computer, and their knowledge compels them to cover their nakedness with shiny party frocks that would have been at home at a happening nightclub (presaging their ultimate walk of shame). The city to be wiped out in the coming cataclysm is a Dali-esque keepsake box that vanishes into the horizon. Lucifer is an androgynous Ziggy Stardust-type figure who slinks around in spangled bodysuits and barely-there dance belts. Most notably, God spins overhead as a trio of baritones inside the finest spinning triangle a video toaster could generate.

There’s irony in the realization that the showiness and the high-tech-for-its-time trappings make “The Flood” more like its source material, the York and Chester miracle plays. These staged scriptures brought the tales of the Bible to the illiterate medieval masses, dramatizing the most compelling tales with pageantry and potency. So too does Drupsteen’s take on Stravinsky’s take on Genesis. What was prestige becomes fancifully odd, and the passage of time has made it even more charmingly peculiar. With this kind of approach, maybe opera could find its way to the small screen once more.

(This movie was nominated for review by Tyler. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.) 

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APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: MALATESTA’S CARNIVAL OF BLOOD (1973)

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DIRECTED BY: Christopher Speeth

FEATURING: Janine Carazo, Jerome Dempsey, Daniel Dietrich, Lenny Baker, Hervé Villechaize

PLOT: Vena and her family come to work at a strange amusement park marked by an ever-growing number of disappearances, deaths, and unusual goings-on.

WHY IT MIGHT MAKE THE APOCRYPHA: A collection of unsettling scenarios that make their low-budget DIY components into advantages, Malatesta’s Carnival of Blood cares not for your fancy storytelling and logical progression of events. A consistent mood of unease and an off-kilter sensibility make this an underappreciated companion to other amateur horrors, both good and bad.

Malatesta's Carnival of Blood (1973)

 

COMMENTS:  Biz Markie’s ode to loss and frustration, “Just a Friend,” was one of the biggest hits of 1989. Seemingly recorded with a mic and a Casio preset, Biz howled out his pain over the cheapest, tinniest piano loop. It was awful, but by gum everybody knew the damn song, and you couldn’t help but laugh and join in with the crowds screaming out “OH BABY YOU!!!” mid-chorus as Biz shredded his vocal cords in existential pain. It’s a legendary song despite its amateurishness, and possibly because of it.

Perhaps you can see where I’m going with this. We have spoken before about the glories of the 1970s indie horror scene, a genre unto itself populated by low budgets, first-time directors and screenwriters who tend to become only-time directors and screenwriters, and a fervent hope that blood and bodies will do all the work. Malatesta’s Carnival of Blood is a masterful example of the form, with major shortcomings in storytelling that perversely enhance the atmosphere of discomfort and dread, homemade effects that betray their homemade origins yet occasionally become transcendently original, and an incompetence that’s downright charming.

Speeth and screenwriter Werner Liepolt have a couple things working for them that lift Malatesta above the other amateur one-offs. One is its location, a working amusement park, which grounds the action in a tangible, believable milieu. The filmmakers had access to Philadelphia’s beloved old Willow Grove Park, at the time d/b/a “Six Gun Territory” and only a couple years away from being leveled and replaced with a mall. The picture also benefits from some unexpectedly decent acting. The performers are by no means brilliant, but they display a professionalism that is rare in this sort of film, managing to sell scenes that would otherwise be laughable. We only have the vaguest idea why the Norris family joins up with these carnies (revenge seems to be the primary goal), but Betsy Henn and Paul Hostetler are quite charming as the nervous Nellie and her heat-packin’ husband. Villechaize brings his particular brand of oddness, only a year before The Man With the Golden Gun. My favorite of these is Dempsey as the amoral impresario Mr. Blood, who is tasked with most of the exposition and delivers his lines with the sinister gentility of playing a maître d’. He remains confident even as he demonstrates a complete inability to operate a fire extinguisher. In his most delightful scene, he interrupts our heroine and the ratty tunnel-of-love operator by sliding up in a bumper car. Where did he come from? When he departs, where’s he gonna go in a bumper car? No matter how ridiculous things get, this kind of commitment helps sell it.

Sometimes the film hardly bothers with basics of storytelling, dispensing with voice or foley during tense scenes in favor of dramatically mismatched music. It’s actually an effective method; applying an eerie synthesized sting to a chase scene is as unsettling as any number of screams and crashes. Speeth has great confidence in his ability to let the images do the heavy lifting, and every now and then, he’s absolutely right. He attaches his camera to the walls of a rotating tunnel, adding a level of disorientation to an already head-scratching attraction. He places his heroine in the center of a giant tarp that actually takes on a sinister quality as she tries to escape. Perhaps his most effective visual is the room full of ghouls who have assembled to watch Lon Chaney’s The Phantom of the Opera, equally as delighted to be at the movies as they are hungry for blood. Speeth must have recognized a good thing when he saw it, because he replicates the shot with an unconscious Vena in the foreground and the leering Mr. Blood sneaking up on her like Chaney on the projection screen. The director is unquestionably an amateur, but every now and then, a unique vision comes through.

I feel like the film’s ending speaks for the filmmakers, as the evil mastermind Malatesta celebrates another successful night of carnage by taking a spin on the park’s chair swing. As he blissfully takes in the ramshackle setting, cavalierly disregarding the likelihood that a haunted amusement park that kills its guests, employees, and investors is a park that’s going to have a hard time luring in more of them, he leans his head back in gentle bliss. A job well done, Malatesta. A job well done, Malatesta’s Carnival of Blood. You’ve got what we need.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“In a world where everything looks, feels and sounds interchangeable, it’s a thrill to see something so completely removed from normality… as if Speeth was simply cherry-picking bits from popular horror and mixing them all together in a weird, psychedelic brew.” – David Flint, Desperate Living

(This movie was nominated for review by Parker. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.) 

I think this movie is weirder than average
I think this movie is better than average

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: KUNG FU FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE (1982)

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DIRECTED BY: Chiu Lee

FEATURING: Billy Chong, Lo Lieh, Chin-Lai Sung

PLOT: When martial artist Chung Sing learns that his father was murdered by the sinister Kam Tai Fu, the young man seeks revenge, but he’ll need a book of magic and the help of ghost warriors to defeat his enemy.

Still from Kung Fu from Beyond the Grave (1982)

COMMENTS: Part of the glory of late 70s/early 80s low-budget martial arts cinema is its joyful lack of seriousness. Sure, there may be people fighting each other in a brutal death match, but the whole thing just feels so darn lighthearted. We’re here to enjoy ourselves, not to worry about life and death. So why should we expect anything less when the subject turns to horror? The narrator of Kung Fu From Beyond the Grave informs us that, once a year, the dead return to roam the Earth. And how does this manifest itself? A bunch of silly whooping and fruit invisibly pilfered from dinner tables. Put away your heart pills; this is not serious stuff.        

The absence of gravity is mostly an advantage for a film like Kung Fu From Beyond the Grave, which only wants to have some fun, like a haunted house that also has a judo match set up on the front lawn. When Chung’s father’s ghost (who sounds in the English dub almost exactly like Krusty the Clown) shows up to demand that his son avenge him, you might pick up some Hamlet vibes, but the allusion is undercut slightly when Chung is so surprised that he kicks his ghostly father’s apparition in the face. Screenwriter Fung Lu seems allergic to anything that would approach genuine horror. Warriors returning from the dead bicker about whether to accept their summons, and then float through fight scenes like shirts on the carousel at a dry cleaner. Bodies that rise from their graves and are more annoyed than vengeful. If it weren’t for Lo’s resourceful evil sorcerer, you might start to wonder if anyone in this film knew they were in a movie about the supernatural.

This unsteady mix of martial arts tropes and disdain for scares leads to some of director Lee’s most off-balance impulses. The evil Kam Tai Fu is desperate to achieve invincibility, but his Achilles heel turns out to be his breasts, which resist the shield treatment. The formula for said impenetrability is some obscure dark magic, specifically requiring a pair of hearts stolen from victims at the moment of orgasm, a requirement of such specificity that it feels reverse-engineered to justify the associated sex scene. In the most unexpected and delightfully strange moment, the beleaguered sorcerer escapes Chung and his battalion of ghosts by throwing a wad of cash into their air and yelling, “Count Dracula! Come to my aid!” Sure enough, a pasty European with fangs suddenly appears and flits about, flummoxing his opponents but also not really coming to anyone’s aid. It’s a genuinely bonkers moment, and knowing they had this one up their sleeve, the filmmakers could have used more of them.

Kung Fu From Beyond the Grave is serviceable martial arts action, slightly ridiculous horror, and surface-level weirdness. It lacks the will to be no-holds-barred nutty, but it does make for a nice twist on familiar genre fare. If nothing else, this will always be remembered as the film that taught us how to summon Dracula to our aid. Use that knowledge wisely.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“The weirdness never lets up in this one, what with the ghosts, zombies, vampires (Dracula himself!) and black magicians all engaging in martial arts mayhem, which consists of (as usual) a frenetic combination of gymnastics, dance choreography and sound-enhanced gesturing.” – Dave Sindelar, Fantastic Movie Musings and Ramblings

(This movie was nominated for review by daustin. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)     

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Kung Fu from Beyond the Grave is streaming on Prime Video.

366 UNDERGROUND FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: THE ASSIGNMENT: THE WITCHES TALISMAN (2013)

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The Assignment: The Witches Talisman is available for free on YouTube.

DIRECTED BY: Kelly Helen Thompson

FEATURING: Kelly Helen Thompson, Bob Glazier, Abi Burgess, Kyle Calwhite, Steven S. Singer

PLOT: College student Cassy discovers that she is the only one who can prevent the gates of Hell from opening to unleash apocalypse upon the world.

Still from "The Assignment: The Witches Talisman" (2013)

 

COMMENTS: To drive home the point of how far from heroic the main character Cassy is, we open The Assignment: The Witches Talisman (a title I have copied exactly from the opening credits for maximum accuracy) with a scene of her academic advisor ripping her a new one. “How did you even make it into my school?… You disgust me! Why do I spend my time on you?” Basically, he’s not poised to write her a recommendation. So when he turns out to be the very same demon sent from the underworld to destroy life as we know it, we can’t say we didn’t see it coming.

Thompson, the film’s auteur, has publicly acknowledged that she wanted to make her own story in the vein of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a journey to female empowerment through a character who has greatness thrust upon her. A plucky heroine herself, Thompson has assembled the very definition of a DIY project, featuring a cast of nonprofessional actors, props and costumes pieced together from spare closets and dollar stores, and locations grabbed wherever they could be found. The score carries with it great power and importance, selected as it is from the oeuvre of the John Williams of royalty-free music, Kevin MacLeod. Simple solutions to big problems abound; in one crucial fight scene, I’m 90% certain that the villain’s chief weapon, meant to invoke Sith-like force lightning, is in fact Silly String. As I have said before, the completion of a film, any film, is something of a small miracle, and Thompson and Co. are to be commended for the effort of getting this thing to the finish line. It’s no Avatar, but by gum, it is a movie.

Unfortunately, some of those clever solutions end up being their own impediment, and nowhere is that more true than in the look of the film, which tries to make a virtue of its shortcomings by coating them with a thick layer of intentional obfuscation. Nearly every shot is filmed with a handheld camera to keep things unsteady, and then the images are overlaid with color filters, pixilation, and intense posterization. Rest assured that the filmmakers control the horizontal and the vertical; the opening warning advises, “You may think you are tripping out watching this film. Side Effects include Dizziness, blurred vision, due to the color, cave graveyard reality effect.” This warning is not oversold. Virtually every scene is presented in a mix of solarization and shaky-cam. Sound, too, is similarly blown out with massive reverb, scratchy sound effects, and more and more MacLeod. That makes it an uncomfortable viewing experience, if not actually strange. Anyway, take comfort in the affirmation that if you find it hard to watch The Assignment, it’s not you.

It might be possible to forgive the difficulties in, you know, seeing and hearing the movie. What’s harder to wave away is the lack of storytelling focus. It’s very hard to be sure just what you should take away from a screening of The Assignment. (I’ve watched it twice and still haven’t nailed it down.) The film isn’t really built around Cassy acheiving her destiny; she’s just thrown straight into it. It’s not about her introduction into a secret world hidden to us commoners, as the lore is mostly delivered through vague exposition and polished GIF inserts. And it’s definitely not a showcase for kick-ass fight choreography: when two characters attack each other with swords, it’s less enthralling then watching a pair of boys go at it with pool noodles. The film is episodic, with many scenes giving off a strong aroma of improvisation, as if the actors were given a one-line description of the scene and told to vamp. Rather than coming together, the pieces are just placed adjacent to each other.

I have mad respect for the hustle and the determination to keep at it that Thompson shows in getting this over the finish line and continuing to develop new work. (She has made the film available on YouTube, and her other works on the channel include what appears to be a sequel.) However, I must conclude that The Assignment: The Witches Talisman, while certainly weird in the sense of being inexplicable, is so hard to access that it’s difficult to evaluate it under any other metric. That said, there is something perversely charming about how impenetrable it is. You know who agrees with me? Cassy. Following the final battle, she finds herself in an empty field and looks around in a blinding rage. “Seriously?” she demands of the heavens. “This is how it ends? What is it? What is it? It’s just some fucked-up terrible film… What was the point of all this shit?” I mean… I didn’t say it.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Weird is about the only type of films Florida churns out, not to say they are not good but something about the water here ‘em makes go crazy. Granted if you watching it and it’s Florida get ready to strap yourself in for a strange and possibly surreal ride. ‘The Assignment: Witches Talisman’ is no exception…” – Josh Darling, HorrorNews.net

(This movie was nominated for review by… well, whaddaya know, Kelly Helen Thompson. Hi, Kelly! Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)

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IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: SISTERS (1972)

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Recommended

DIRECTED BY: Brian De Palma

FEATURING: Margot Kidder, , , Charles Durning, Lisle Wilson

PLOT: A reporter witnesses a murder through the window of a nearby apartment, but her investigation leads her to a mysterious pair of conjoined twins with a dark and disturbing past.

Still from Sisters (1972)

COMMENTS: Brian De Palma loves Alfred Hitchcock. Everyone knows that. Sure, he’s capable of turning a Stephen King novel into a horror classic or an old TV spy show into a -led blockbuster, but one thing we know for sure is that, once he got over his reputation as a comedy director, there’s nothing he’d rather do than a slavish impersonation of the Master of Suspense. Want proof? All you need to do is look at Body Double. Or Blow Out. Or the twisty thriller that made his name, Sisters.

The thing is, when you actually watch Sisters, what quickly becomes apparent is that De Palma is in conversation with Hitchcock as much as he is in thrall to him. Alfred Eaker compared De Palma to “a free jazz artist, filtering, reworking, improvising, and expanding on a body of filmmakers, which includes Hitchcock (among many others) to craft postmodern compositions that often are warmer and (as blasphemous as it may be to some) more startlingly original than the master.” Eaker also calls Sisters one of the best films of the decade. High praise, but quite defensible given the genuine shocks, eerie backstory, sprinter’s pace, and uncomfortable laughs the film still delivers. In the great tradition of low-budget horror flicks that rise above due to their cleverness and wit, Sisters is a welcome surprise.

Sisters does wear its forebears on its sleeve, with allusions to Psycho, Rear Window, and Vertigo among the most recognizable (to say nothing of the unmistakable sounds of Bernard Herrmann, who De Palma lured out of semi-retirement to lend his trademark screeching violins to the soundtrack), but the student demonstrates more facility with modern sensibilities than the Master, with powerful insights into racism and misogyny, comfort with sexuality, and  willingness to indulge the supernatural. Most notably, he’s found a subject that would absolutely appeal to Hitchcock, turning the true story of the conjoined Krivoshlyapova twins into Kidder’s pretty girl with a very dark past. Where Hitchcock made do with doppelgängers and confused identities, De Palma uses a genuine medical curiosity as his launchpad.

Mind you, none of this theft homage would mean a thing if the film didn’t work on its own terms. De Palma opens with a classic bit of misdirection, aping a “Candid Camera”-like show to introduce our charming hero couple, coquettish Kidder with her Québécois accent and babe-in-the-woods demeanor and the charming, unsuspecting Wilson. Their romantic whirlwind occupies the first third of the film. Wilson is an almost perfect gentleman, while Kidder tries to explain away her unusually possessive ex-husband (Finley, whose Slugworthian vibes never let up). If De Palma steals anything from Hitchcock, it’s the value of a full-blown paradigm shift that justifies admitting no one after the first act.

The film sputters a bit in Act II as the baton is handed over to Salt, who is a fine heroine but suffers from the script’s need to isolate her by setting her adrift in a sea of backstory and mansplainers. (Fun Easter egg: the headline of the news clipping from her column adorning her back wall reads, “Why We Call Them Pigs.”) It’s the final act, when she finally discovers the strange truth of Danielle and Dominique’s unusual condition and upbringing, that pays off in the form of the one scene that owes nothing to Hitchcock: a nightmare sequence in which Salt imagines herself as Kidder’s conjoined twin and gets the scoop on just what screwed up the twins so many years ago. It’s a moment that DePalma gets to claim all for himself.

It’s hard to deny that Sisters is De Palma doing Hitchcock. The parallels are just too obvious, right through to the final joke of the unclaimed MacGuffin. The truth, though, is that he does Hitchcock extremely well, with a freshness and modernity that the Master’s later works struggle to capture. If this is mere copycattery, audiences were right to demand more of it.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“From start to finish, Sisters is weird, but it rarely feels like it’s just for the sake of being weird… the story is infused with so many off-kilter details that even when you know what’s going to happen, you can never predict how you’ll get there.” – Jenna Stoeber, Polygon (Blu-ray)

(This movie was nominated for review by Jim Wolfe. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)     

I think this movie is weirder than average
I think this movie is better than average