The Samhain Project #5: Creepshow Season 2: "Night of the Living Late Show"

 

     Horror Express is a little-thought about early 70's joint starring Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing dealing with a hideous monster who gets loose on a train, and raises some hot rails to hell (Had to squeeze in a Blue Oyster Cult reference, sorry, folks).  It's a joyously odd choice for this vignette episode of Greg Nicotero's cable show.  Shamefully underused almost-star Justin Long (Dodgeball, Tusk, Drag Me to Hell) wonderfully plays an electronics inventor that creates a virtual reality tanning bed that allows you to actually be in a film of your choice, which in this case is the affore mentioned Horror Express.

     So money would seem like a great reason to create something like this, but Long seems more interested in having erotic interludes with Silvia Tortosa, the seductive countess from the film, than anything else.   Of course, Long's wife has no patience for those shenanigans and has an answer that consists of tin-snips and George A. Romero. The morality tale concept that Creepshow is known for, as a direct descendent of EC Comics glorious four color horror comic books definitely presents itself here. The original 1982 Creepshow film was written by Stephen King and directed by George Romero as a direct salute to EC,  and at least to me, is a classic of horror filmdom, and Nicotero is doing his best to continue it on, albeit in the television medium. 

     Dana Gould is a writer with 20 years plus of stand up experience and a wonderful taste for horror.  He wrote this episode,  and with obvious great love and affection for the grisly medium.  As the creator of the hilarious John C. McGinley vehicle Stan Against Evil, which ran 3 seasons on IFC, he's no stranger to penning comic horror.  He's a strong comedic actor as well, as he also played a goofball cemetery caretaker on Stan, and has a great "disagreement" with James Duval in the anthology suite Tales of Halloween that is both disgusting and hilarious, and probably the highlight of the film.  

     This particular episode was directed by Romero protege Greg Nicotero himself, one of the founding fathers of the KNB effects group, and helmer of some of the best episodes of The Walking Dead.  Nicotero has become deeply entrenched in the current status of the horror genre, growing beyond just practical special effects, and every time I see his name on something, it pricks up my ears, because I know it's going to be at the very least, interesting.  And here, the mash-up of the horror anthology, technology's temptations, sprinkled with a somewhat obscure cult horror film starring two kings of the genre just feels like something people will be watching on many Halloweens, for years to come.

The Library

 In the summer of 1983,  I officially fell in love with the Public Library.   We had moved into a small house off off the alley behind a strip mall that had a liquor store, a drug store, and my barber.  Also adjacent to the corner of my yard (where my buddy Jon and I practiced head first slides) was a doorway that led to a downstairs establishment that sold accessories for train sets.  That place must have been the bomb for those into that hobby, as it was stacked.   Across the street from that alley and our house was another strip mall that was anchored by a Sentry grocery store. Next door to that was my home away from home. 

The Washington Branch of the Kenosha Public Library opened in November of 1977.  It would be six years before I discovered it.  

And practically moved in. 

It was here that I discovered that there was something called the Encyclopedia of Rock.  That a novel was written that picked up the storyline after Star Wars called Han Solo at Galaxy's End.   An aside here, one time I was early to pick a kid up from his job, which was fairly adjacent to a Half Price Books.  Having to use the restroom, I braved an intense thunderstorm to run inside and get some relief. On the way out of the lavatory, I glanced to my immediate right, and there sticking out of the clearance section was a copy of Han Solo at Galaxy's End, twinkling at me with a God's power lens flare.  What a find.

The Library was where I found Michael Medved's Golden Turkey Awards, which gave me a different way of looking at films, even some I had been fond of. Where I checked out the Urban Cowboy soundtrack so I could listen to "All Night Long" by Joe Walsh, The Clash's Combat Rock, and Steve Martin's Let's Get Small.  Speaking of Mr. Martin, Washington was where I checked out his oddball collection of musings, Cruel Shoes, and couldn't decide whether it was hilarious or disturbing.  This was where I purchased used books removed from the library's shelves, as that helped bolster my own collection. 

There was a large, high quality television there, where you could select from a monthly list of films to watch (with headphones on, of course) and I must have watched Jaws there 5 times. The librarians were strict about the rules, so if you started a film, you needed to finish it.   At one point, my sister had to come and get me in the middle of Steven Spielberg's masterpiece because there was a family event that was unbeknownst to me.  I lost my movie privileges for a month thanks to that shit.  The librarians were NOT happy.

They were never happy, or perhaps I would remember them as individuals, which sadly I do not.  That's unfortunate, because it would have added significantly to this piece. 

A pretty awesome periodicals section existed there, which proved awesome for school research. It also happened to have the only magazine I know of that had my childhood hero, Green Bay Packer's quarterback Lynn Dickey, on the cover. It was the fall of 1983's edition of Football Digest.  I often gave thought to sneaking out the door with that, but I knew it was wrong, and that kind of behavior didn't fit into the code I lived by.  

It was a place I snuck to on more than one occasion to duck bullies.  For some reason, my neighborhood was like the fucking Fire Swamp from The Princess Bride, but instead of Rodents of Unusual Size, it had, well.... Rodents of Unusual Size.  They may not have been large individuals, but they congregated in groups of congealed asshole that travelled in pre-pubescent attitude and odor.  On several separate occasions I had dashed into Washington Library to avoid abuse at the hands of the cults of Charlie, Franco, Scott, and Tim whatever the fuck his name was.  

These future Ted Cruz robots who thought they were David Lee Roth, seemed to enjoy being up in my shit for the horrendous acts of, oh say, bumping into them when the bus lurched, bumping into them at the bowling alley, bumping into them in the hall at school, or merely existing in their line of sight. For further on this, check out my piece, Bullies and the Revenge Fantasy right here on this blog-type thing.  Suburban America shouldn't be the kind of place you need to have your head on a swivel, but I guess Kenosha will be Kenosha.  As it ever was, and still is.  A combination of fear and Cheng Chao-an pacifism (until the medallion is torn off) made me not react more often than not, and that was smart, as I was always outnumbered.

I wonder how those guys are doing today.  Is the barren, empty void that was behind their eyes as they issued threats for no plausible reason of worth, called me names, regurgitated offenses I never committed, shoving me after sticking their noses in my face, still there today?  I often wonder.

Actually, no, I don't.  Not even a little.  Fuck them.

One of my personal favorite characters of television, Seth Bullock, once said in a particularly heated exchange with George Hearst on Deadwood: "Can't shut up!  Every bully I ever met can't shut his fuckin' mouth... except when he's afraid."   

I only experimented once to test the validity of that statement, but the end result is of a dark and scary place that I don't want to revisit. Sometimes victory is a spoilage, not a spoil for the victor.

Despite all that, the library WAS basically a truly happy place, a place of mostly calm, education, knowledge, entertainment, music, film, humor, protection from the storm, and in combination with life legends cited here, I'm grateful to it's gifts and inspirations.  

Many of my pieces end with expressions of gratefulness.  Just letting you know that I'm aware of that.  As I reminisce, I'm often reminded; reminded of reasons I'm still here, as imperfect as I may be.

Samhain Project #4: The Norliss Tapes

 

     In the 1970's made for TV movies were a key element of home viewing, and it's shocking the quality of some of the horror projects.  Dan Curtis is a guy behind many of them. If you look at Curtis' resume, he didn't finish his career in the macabre, but it sure started there.  Curtis' was behind the legendary Night Stalker movie and series, Dark Shadows, and of course the infamous Trilogy of Terror.

     The Norliss Tapes was a pilot film for a series that was intended to be The X- Files before it existed.  It surrounds investigative journalist and writer David Norliss who is looking to write a book debunking the supernatural.  Well, it doesn't take Stephen Hawking to know where that will end up leading. Norliss disappears and his publisher comes upon a series of audio cassettes narrated by Norliss himself.  A story is built from the narration involving Angie Dickinson's zombie husband, witchcraft, and Claude Akins, because it wouldn't be the 70's and TV without him. 

     It's dated of course, but you can see where a hell of a series would have formed from the adventures of Norliss' tapes, and how those who remembered the film had trepidatious memories of being freaked out.  Does it hold up? Probably not all the way, but it has some genuinely creepy moments, and Roy Thinnes is rock solid as the skeptical but curious Norliss.  

     There's enough aura and tone generated here to make this a worthy Halloween watch.

     If you can find it.  You can't have my long out of print Anchor Bay DVD copy, so don't even.

 

    

How Can There Be No Jay?

       Today I found out Jay Johnstone passed away.  I stumbled across that upsetting piece of information on a 80's baseball facebook page, and I was taken aback.

     I shed a few tears, tears of a clown perhaps.  Johnstone's first book was the perfect storm of two the most important things in my life during the mid 1980's; baseball and laughter.  He was the clown prince of baseball, cut from the same cloth as Bob Uecker, just a bit younger.  His first book, Temporary Insanity, went with me everywhere.  Living in Waco, Texas circa 1986, and not knowing anyone, I buried myself in books (and baseball).  Insanity documents not only what was a really original baseball career story, but a life lived that was often inspiring, and always hilarious. 

     The chapters of this book point out how no one was safe in the circumference of Jay Johnstone.  He was a hell of a pinch hitter, one of the best the game's seen, but was unmatched as a prankster.  You'd probably feel sorry for his primary targets Phillies and Dodgers managers Danny Ozark and Tommy LaSorda, if you weren't laughing so damn hard.   He also flat-out illuminated in the department of finding out and illustrating slips of the tongue and malpropisms, no matter who they originated from, and they're listed in perpetuity in the last chapters of the book.  This first of his three books was so funny in so many ways, and so moving, that I have probably read it 8 or 9 times.   This may be a conservative estimate.

     It's not unknown information that baseball is the sport that probably lends itself best to comedy due to the long periods of inactivity, and the interaction that falls between pitches.  The sport is full of quirky characters.  It's not unlike fielding a roster of 24 field goal kickers.  Johnstone took that weird to a next level, sought it out in others, and made sure he remembered and documented it. 

     Left to my own devices much of the time in Texas, as I was pretty much everywhere I lived, when I needed a smile or a chuckle, it was there in that book.  At least in the first volume, it almost felt like you were being regaled with classic stories by a friend. It really felt like I knew Jay.  The resultant condition of the book explains my dependence on its words and images.

     Life moves on, we all age, grow, mature, move on.   I hadn't thought about Johnstone in some time, and maybe that humor should be something I ought to look back on in these dark fucking times we're endlessly wallowing in. So, in actuality, I wish I could have thanked Jay for being one of those figures that helped me crack grins when they were a rarity, and may be soon giving me some once more.   A friend once told me; everything that is old becomes new again.  Pick that book back up, Rob.  Hilarity awaits.  

  You see, I still have that original paperback copy, worn, dog-eared, yellowed, and partially separating, though it may be.  However, It's definitely got miles on it to go before it sleeps, and it sure as hell is not going anywhere.  I may actually still need it.

     Thanks, Jay Johnstone.  And please, rest well and with much laughter. Somewhere you're giving hot foots, locking managers in their offices, and wearing a Budweiser umbrella hat like the one you sported on your 1984 Fleer baseball card.   I'll miss you, your giant glasses, your stories, and your smart ass sense of humor. 

Samhain Project #3 "Fade to Black"

 

     The early 80's were a weird time.  It was an era of technological in-between, we were coming off the second golden age of cinema, and beginning a rather blase' one, minus the horror genre, and Reagan was about to try to convince us that trickle-down economics works.  Not good.

     Fade to Black fits right in there.  Eric Binford is the best thing about this movie.  A snivelling film-obsessed whelp who just can't catch a break while born into terrible circumstances, you know he's gonna snap. Which he does. Resulting in murders.  Despite the fact that everyone in his life uses him as a toilet, it's a complete innocent accident by an empathic love interest that results in him going straight over the edge.  Dennis Christopher is wonderful in this nerdy little role.  You don't know whether you want to give him a hug, or slap the stupid out of him, and that takes a hell of a performance.

    Besides Christopher, Fade to Black is a bit of a mess.  Tremendously well-written in segments, and awfully underwitten in others, it's an exercise in frustration.  There are plot holes big enough to fly a 747 through, and in multiple spots in the film.  It has you tugging your moustache.  Or your ponytail.  Or your cat. Whatever. 

    Also, for the people who like to play spotter, there's a young and horribly-dressed Mickey Rourke, whose character here makes the guy he plays in 9 1/2 Weeks look like a charmer.  There's a horribly-feathered Peter Horton who many will remember from Children of the Corn, Thirtysomething, and the long underrated and forgotten series Brimstone.  And also, for B-movie buffs like me, a horribly underused Tim Thomerson. 

     This does work as a Halloween movie curio of curiosity, but prepare for a roller-coaster of weirdness, and characters that are either creepy, stupid, or just blank voids.

    Also, producers Irwin Yablans and Joe Wolf, don't think I don't spot your movie posters in the background of the film cannister warehouse Eric works at.  I see you.

     

The Samhain Project #2 : Let's Scare Jessica to Death

      

      1971.  The year I was born.  Also the year of one of the most quiet horror films ever made.   The titular Jessica, her husband, and husband's best friend move to an isolated manse in a town full of all male weirdos with a staring disorder and random bandages.  It seems our Jessica is fleeing some sort of psychological trauma, and that's not told to you as much as you surmise it.  

Great friggin' place to go to do that.  In the book about the making of Caddyshack, Harold Ramis, (rest his genius soul) says after being told that comic wunderkind Doug Kenney has gone to Hawaii with Chevy Chase to kick his drug habit: "You do not go anywhere with Chevy to clean up."  The same concept applies here.

     "Jessica" has a small cult following, and a little research show many people who watched this in the "tv era" were marked by it, and still get the heebie-jeebies from thinking about it.  I can understand that.  Beautifully shot, terrific sound design, and a score that bounces back and forth from string-based music you could use at the spa to disturbing synth beats, all add up to a very effective film. 

      It's very quiet for the first hour, before things get weird, and that's not helped by the fact that no one in this movie is an "actor" with the exception of the lady playing Jessica.  She is playing a character on the edge, and she sells it on a layered level.  She's fighting for normalcy, while everything in her senses are telling her it's otherwise. 

  Or is it?

  You're wondering if you can finish this movie.  With it's 70's tone, and slow build, and the next thing you know, you don't want to do anything else but finish it.  "Let's Scare Jessica Death" is creepy as hell, and an example of a film that can be horror, with no nudity, no graphic violence; heck, not a "shit" or "fuck" to be found.  Just locale, tone, cast reaction, and background elements.  

The Samhain Project: The Hand

 

   

     Right now I'm currently reading Oliver Stone's bio, "Chasing the Light" (it's mind-bending in its honesty) and decided number one on the Halloween 2021 viewing list is his classic 1980 film "The Hand". The term psychological horror gets used a lot, but I guess it applies here, as Michael Caine (on screen almost constantly here) wields an uncertain power carried in his eyes, (as maybe only George Clooney can do better) as he goes from stuck-up artist to possible murderous nutjob.  

      He's an artist, and his hand is severed in a car accident resultant from an argument with his wife, that his marriage to is in its death throes, but his ego hasn't allowed him to be aware of it. Needless to say, the severed hand becomes the center of the film, as a small amount of characters (including Stone in a cameo as a bum) encounter it, as it walks, stalks, and chokes. 

      Is Michael Caine a psychopathic killer, or just losing his mind along with his ability to create and support himself?  Or is there an appendage out there that is possibly linked to Caine's character's mind, doing naughty stuff in the name of revenge? I'll leave that for you to decide. This film also qualifies as one of THE SPECTRUM FILES, and the last frame of the movie stayed in my mind from the age of 9 to my current status of just turned 50. 

      This movie is recommended, and has a lot going for it, such as slick editing that plays with the viewer, a strangely creepy soundtrack by James Horner of all people, and of course, an incredible performance by Michael Caine, who I'm sure was accused of slumming here, which is straight bullshit. This is fairly early in Oliver Stone's career, and in a film lacking his usual political and conspiratorial tones, he shines anyway.