Archive for October, 2018



By J.D. Lafrance

Anticipation was high among horror fans when it was announced that three giants of the genre were going to collaborate together on a film. Author Stephen King, director George A. Romero and makeup effects wizard Tom Savini decided to pay tribute to the classic EC horror comic books from the 1950s with an anthology film called Creepshow (1982). Coming off the personally fulfilling, but commercial failure of Knightriders (1981), I’m sure Romero was eager to move on to something else and hooking up with King made sense. The two men had originally met over the possibility of collaborating on an adaptation of the author’s novel Salem’s Lot, but when the film rights were sold off to television, Romero moved on.

Making a horror anthology was a bit of a risky gamble at the time. They were all the rage in the 1970s with Hammer and Amicus cranking out films like The House That Dripped Blood (1971), Tales from the Crypt (1972), and From Beyond the Grave (1973), but by the end of the decade they had fallen out of favor. King and Romero wanted to bring these kinds of films back while also celebrating the horror comic books, like House of Mystery and The Vault of Horror that they grew up enjoying as kids. The project was given a decent budget and populated with a mix of up-and-coming movie stars and veteran character actors. While receiving only mixed reviews, it was a sleeper hit.

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© 2018 by James Clark

      In some ways, the output of films by Ingmar Bergman could be called an early rendition of serial drama, minus the TV and plus the theatrical rhetoric. That medieval couplet, The Seventh Seal (1957), and, The Virgin Spring (1960), introduces an “impossible” and necessary “trick,” pertaining to acrobatics and juggling. And the rest is about how the hell it’s done.

The weighty reflective saga therewith, coincides, for us in the new millennium, with a film market allergic to “weighty reflective sagas.” Getting on with bucket lists becomes a particularly insidious concern, insofar as the temptation to dip into a so-called masterpiece (and nothing else) is exactly anathematic to the tenor of the work. This difficulty requires an acrobatic feat in order to prime the spectacle to its best futurity. Included in this maneuver, therefore—and we have to admit that even in the 1960’s when the supposed Mona Lisa, namely, Persona (1966), was making some noise, no one, including Woody Allen, had a serious clue—would be pretty much disregarding the pretenders and watching for the few who well know what investigative popularity is worth on this questionable planet.

Persona is not a one-off and any effort to approach it that way is doomed. The opening passage of the film entails a young, bespectacled boy, played by child actor, Jorgen Lindstrom. His action spans a corpse in a morgue and a fervent stroking of a large portrait of a beautiful woman’s face. In the film, The Silence (1963), that same child, called Johan, encounters, with those same schoolboy, round-lens glasses, turbulence in trying to come to a harmony with his attractive, dangerously reckless mother; and, as a default choice, his beautiful, careful aunt. The painful and obscure action of Persona cannot come to coherence in the absence of a rigorous examination of The Silence. As it happens, Elisabet, the protagonist of Persona and a famous stage actress, stages a many-months refusal to speak and refusal to deal with her husband and son—sharply curtailing her paying career but getting down to business with the unfinished business of reckless, elusive Anna, in the film of three years before, where interplay shatters upon irreconcilable intentions. Whereas Anna shoots the works and hopes for serendipity, Elisabet, the occupier of designs, has a plan. Seemingly inert, particularly at the first stages when she is bedridden, she will soon  be more overtly acrobatic, in her own eccentric ways. Moreover, despite Olympian disdain, she will, with characteristic undemonstrativeness, endeavor to put into play a juggling act whereby seemingly errant trajectories become welcomed constituents.

In order to fathom this peculiar action, we must highlight, in the spirit of the four Bergman films we have touched upon in previous blogs, the remarkable cinematic physicality raining down upon figures whom the unwary might assume to be in the midst of a fairly common medical treatment regime. That prelude, locating the same player in two films, has been designed as an introduction of the dynamics of the cosmos (which humans play an important part in), not the kick-off of a melodrama of rational souls being troubled and thereby—hopefully—rescued. One close look at the abysses of this storm, and the idea of rescue has been obviated. (The continuity of risk-takers having reached a showdown whereby a new plateau of outrageousness must be explored comprises the real “narrative” here, and everywhere Bergman chooses to aim. The Silence and Persona constitute a conclave of badass mommies fumbling the gentle love intrinsic  to their heresies. So, too, Claire Denis, carrying the Bergman crisis in our century, with, for instance, her White Material.) (more…)

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by Sam Juliano

Life has come and life has gone.
Time has gone by
with no one to tend it, 
happiness in its past, 
for it will never feel love again.      -Anne Crawford

Driving through a remote, swampy backwoods in the deep south, two young men, brothers Tim and John Branner find themselves stranded after their car gets stuck in a furrow.  John ventures forth to find a pole to help pry them out and stumbles upon a pigeon infested  plantation house that appears uninhabited and in serious disrepair.  Upon entering the house the boys see dust and spider webs everywhere, pervasive evidence that people haven’t lived in the gloomy manor house for quite some time.  Unpacking sleeping bags, the two young men resolve to spend the night, and proceed to ignite the fireplace.  The cooing of the pigeons continues to wrangle John.   This is the basic mise en scene of a television adaptation of Robert E. Howard’s 1934 short story “Pigeons from Hell” which is rightly considered to be the greatest hour of the early 60’s anthology Boris Karloff’s Thriller, and the one that even those with hazy memories seemed to recall vividly.  The episode is drenched in atmosphere, and the seemingly long-abandon manor house in a remote wooden swamp zone develops a life of its own, albeit with a terrifying twist.

Julie Fogliano and Lane Smith, through aching elegiac prose and ravishing art with a spectral underpinning, transform a derelict house into a dimension of memory suffused with a blurred point of view, one paying homage to life forces that once made this benign structure the center of the world.  Bereft of the consternation generated by the usual perception of evil spirits who find refuge in forsaken dwellings, A House That Once Was largely disavows the malevolent possibilities inherent in a place no longer tempered by humanity in favor of piecing together evidence based photos and objects that fuel interrogative word pictures.  The author’s tone is deeply melancholic if tinged by hope and a celebration of a life once richly lived.  Through searingly descriptive verse, minimalist and haunting Fogliano gives her award winning master illustrator Smith the opportunity to apply fantastical and metaphysical heft to what would on first glance to be an ordinary find, quite the flip side of the story of the woodcutter’s children published by the Germans Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm in 1812.   Few picture books in modern times have as seamlessly woven word and image from collaborating artists to establish such literary and pictorial chemistry, though it is clear enough all the way back to the first double page spread that Fogliano and Smith are simultaneously interpreting each other’s vision. (more…)

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by Sam Juliano

On Friday at the Number 3 School Annex  where Lucille serves as Principal and I as children’s literature instructor, 2018 Caldecott contender Frane Lessac (a favorite son who grew up in bordering Cliffiside and graduated CPHS the same year as I did in 1972) and her husband author Mark Greenwood collaborated on a spectacular smart board and drawing presentation that had First and Second grade students enthralled. We are all so honored that Frane, one of the most popular and accomplished students in high school, is a major contender this year for the Caldecott Medal for her ravishing art in “We Are Grafeful: Otsaliheliga” authored by Traci Sorell. Frane and Mark are pictured here with Lucille, Supervisor of Instruction Lou DeLisio and Tours Truly (holding ‘We are Grateful’ and the new Australian Animal picture book Frane recently published. What a fantastic morning in Fairview!!!   We got to see our friend Frane Lessac again Sunday at the nation’s premium children’s bookstore, Books of Wonder in Manhattan. We also saw Caldecott winner Sophie Blackall, debut author Traci Sorell (We Are Grateful), Stephanie Graegin (The Thank You Book) and Lucy Ruth Cummins (Stumpkin). Also scheduled was two time Caldecott Honor winner Laura Vaccaro Seeger, though she got tied up. She was at BOW a short time ago. Danny is seen with each of the artists, all of whom Lucille and I chatted with comprehensively.

The exciting 2018 Horrorfest continues with two excellent capsules reviews by Jamie Uhler on a longtime personal favorite of mine (The Four Skulls of Jonathan Drake) and Tales from the Darkside.  As always some excellent capsule reviews:

The Four Skulls of Jonathan Drake (E. L. Cahn… 1959) supernatural/thriller
A low budget chiller from an era in American Horror largely forgotten, this one displays many of the charms nonetheless. One is the total commitment to the story, however potentially ludicrous it appears on paper. Here we have the story of an exploration company that, while securing resources and new land centuries ago in a remote part of the world massacred the entire tribe in the area save one witch doctor who was able to escape. He then put a hex on every male family member of the Drake name, ensuring that they’d all be eventually visited by a descendent of the tribe, murderer, and then have their head lopped off, their skull extracted, and their head made into a shrunken head trophy. It’s happened to the three generations of Drakes, and when the fourth, and last, is targeted and nearly killed, the local authorities get involved even though they all remain thoroughly skeptical about the supernatural events clearly in the case. 
It’s a fun enough film, the type that would have played for real kicks on television in the decades after it came and went with little fanfare. No masterpiece, maybe only average, to slightly above average, but I dig this type of heavily enacted camp made by pros. Recommend.
Tales from the Darkside: The Movie (J. Harrison… 1990) anthology horror
A film that has often been called Creepshow 3 due to its involvement of George A. Romero and Stephen King and being episodic Horror, it goes a long way in explaining what this one is like. I’d never seen it, in fact I don’t even recall ever reading much about it either, so I was happy to learn of it and be able to screen it with real ease via amazon prime. Of course the films framing device—an affluent suburban wife played by Deborah Harry plans to cook the local paperboy she’s kidnapped for her nights dinner party only to be distracted by the three ‘stories’ he tells her—explains what you’re in store for as well; an eccentric, mostly funny mix of special effects laden horror of its time. 
The three stories are all successful to various degrees, especially for pure entertainment factor. The first might be the straightaway best, but produced the fewest laughs. In Lot 249 a graduate student (a young, dweebish Steve Buscemi) buys and sells antique artifacts to supplement his poor college existence at a school filled with rich students (amongst them are Christian Slater and a young Julianne Moore!). His most recent buy, a wooden crate labeled ‘Lot 249’ contains an ancient mummy whom he immediately reanimates to do his bidding and exact revenge on a few fellow students who conspired to rob him of an esteemed fellowship. A few gory deaths result, and the costumed mummy lumbers about humorously. The second one, Cat from Hell, was a George A. Romero adaptation of a Stephen King short story of the same name. The story is thin, but thankfully it only needs to stretch about 25 minutes, a feat which it does hilariously—a wealthy old curmudgeon (Uncle Lewis from Christmas Vacation) hires an assassin (the New York Dolls David Johansen, lol) to kill a black cat that he feels has demonic powers (it being a spirit of the thousands of cats he used in lab tests at his drug company). The sum for the kill, $100,000, seems great and killing a cat can’t be hard, but after being thoroughly thwarted, the cat actually climbs into the assassins mouth and down into his bowels, to then exit the next morning, killing all involved. Finally is Lover’s Vow, a symbolic Japanese Kwaidan like story where a struggling artist witnesses a monster massacre a bar owner, but, to keep his life must vow to never speak of it again. Later that night be meets the love of his life, who brings him security and stability and thus eventual artistic success. They marry and have kids, but on their 10th anniversary he feels he must no longer keep any secrets from his family. Upon telling them of the first night together, they all turn into versions of this beast, and massacre him.  


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By J.D. Lafrance

El Topo (1970), Pink Flamingos (1972), Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), and Repo Man (1984). These iconic films are examples of “midnight movies” – cinema so outlandish and bizarre that they could only be viewed at midnight screenings, typically financial flops during their initial theatrical run only to be rediscovered later by a small but dedicated following that worships every scene, every bit of memorable dialogue. These films dealt with wild elements like drugs, rock ‘n’ roll, sex and violence in extreme ways so that the act of going to see them felt like a taboo smashing event in itself. The midnight movies aesthetic nearly became extinct thanks to the decline of art houses and repertory theatres and the popularity of home video and the Internet. Like the zombies in Romero’s Dead films, however, the midnight movie experience refused to die with films like Donnie Darko (2001) developing a cult following through late night screenings. Panos Cosmatos’ Mandy (2018) continues this tradition.

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by Sam Juliano

A week after Princeton, we attended an even bigger festival up in Chappaqua, New York on Saturday afternoon (where the Clintons have long resided) on the specious grounds of the Bell Middle School. Jeremy, Sammy and I met up with some our friends, with whom we chatted with while securing their most recent titles. Jeremy is featured below with Florence Friedman and Wendell Minor though photos were also taken with Caldecott legends Jerry Pinkney and Bryan Collier.  There were so many others we crossed paths with as well including Caldecott Honor winner Nancy Tafuri, Susan Hood, Jason Carter Eaton, the Ransomes and others. Next week Warwick!!!!

Both James Clark and J.D. Lafrance published extraordinary essays, with Clark’s review of Bergman’s The Silence the continuation of an ongoing series devoted to the iconic director.

Jamie Uhler’s latest Horrorfest review considers The Vampire Bat (F. Strayer/1933):  “A cheapie made to capture on the success of the Lionel Atwood/Fay Wray pairing in Doctor X from a year prior (review on that to come) and the Mystery of the Wax Museum that was set to arrive in theaters imminently, looks at least a decade older than each of these in comparison given its threadbare production. Sure, it borrows sets from James Whale’s great, lavish vehicles Frankenstein and The Old Dark House, which creates an aura beyond what would’ve been there otherwise, which is talk heavy plot (hey, actors could talk in the talkies now, so some of the early ones took full advantage!) and minimal suspense. That being said, it is a curious oddity, if a slightly mundane one. When you consider the plot, it uses a red herring in an actual, deranged young man who is obsessed with bats whom the townspeople suspect to be an actual vampire when several dead bodies turn up due to ‘blood loss’. As the townspeople build towards mob justice (surely lifted from Frankenstein), lead investigator Karl (the always stiff Melvyn Douglas) suspects more earthly suspects. Soon, Dr. Otto (the lean, cold Lionel Atwill) appears to be the prime target, and when his blood transfusion experiments are revealed for their more nefarious intentsto feed the artificial lifeforms the blood they need to keep going—we build to the films climax. It’s that idea, how science and technology can drive Horror rather than the classic Horror tales of Monsters and supernatural phenomenon from the Old World that provides something interesting, and relatively original. It would certainly become the norm for the cheapies made in the Horror and Science Fiction films for the next 3 decades or so. 

The direction is compact and subtle from Frank Strayer, perhaps greatest is his idea to use slowed, diagonal wipes to denote scene ends, evoking something like a bat wing or vampire cape cascading across our visual frame. While I wouldn’t rush anyone to see this one, in an age when the heavies—James Whale and Todd Browning—were defining what Horror looked like to American audiences, this is an interesting juxtaposition that I’d say Horror fans could stand seeing (of course Browning would make Freaks after Dracula and make any easy characterization of his aesthetic moot). If it was a bit brisker and more action oriented, which is perhaps unrealistic on poverty row, it’d have been tremendous. 

A ravishing biographical period piece “Colette” stars a luminous Keira Knightley in what could well be her finest performance since ‘Atonement’ as the radical bi-sexual title character who because of her gender is denied of credit for her famed writing by her husband, Henry, an unrepentant womanizer. Colette is actually the iconic French writer Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, who was nominated for a Nobel Prize in 1948 and famously penned “Gigi” upon which the beloved Lerner & Loewe musical was based. This pioneer in women’s rights fought back with fiery determination, allowing Knighley to flex her acting chops with dynamic fortitude. Directed by Wash Westmoreland this exquisite British work features resplendent period cinematography by Giles Nuttgens and above all the absolute greatest score of 2018 by Thomas Ades, whose classical themes and melodious flow beautifully underscores the film’s temper. 4.5 of 5.0. One of the best films of the year. (Seen in Montclair Saturday night with Lucille, Sammy and Danny). (more…)

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