And we end with Michael Dougherty’s criminally overlooked horror anthology, for my money one of the best Halloweentime viewing choices you could ever make. A stylishly visualized quartet of cleverly interlocked tales, the film nails the macabre, fanciful spirit of the holiday without defaulting to a cavalcade of brutality. Happy Halloween!
Wes Craven’s finest hour as a filmmaker to date. Of all the 1980s horror franchises, the NIGHTMARE series was easily the highest on the quality totem, and Craven’s inventive metafictional deconstruction of his own creation never got the credit it deserved, especially when his next film, the thematically similar SCREAM, was a huge hit.
Cemetery caretaker Rupert Everett’s existential crisis visits him nightly in the form of the living dead; a frequently nude Anna Falchi just mixes him up even more, especially after he kills her. Dario Argento protégé Michele Soavi’s adaptation of Tiziano Sclavi’s “Dylan Dog” comic series is funny, stylish and inventive, with a memorably abstract finale.
British director Michael Powell was one of the most celebrated filmmakers of his time, responsible for classics including BLACK NARCISSUS and THE RED SHOES; after this film came out, his career never recovered from the firestorm of controversy over its “sick” and “filthy” content. 50 years later, it’s lost none of its power to divide and disturb.
Lewis Teague’s snappy monster mash blessedly refuses to walk anything resembling a high road. The witty screenplay is one of several John Sayles efforts from his days as a B-movie script doctor for Roger Corman (another being Joe Dante’s classic PIRANHA, recently remade). Social commentary for the left brain, giant gator gore for the right, and Robert Forster to top it off.
The key US release art of Neil Jordan’s second film featured a wolf’s snout protruding painfully from a man’s mouth, an appropriately disturbing image for this dreamy Freudian shocker. Jordan’s work often leaves me cold, but his Gothic fairy tale has more than its share of memorably startling moments, and a refreshingly graceful feminist slant.
Greek/Irish expatriate Lafcadio Hearn is best remembered for his 1903 collection of Japanese folk tales of the supernatural; Masaki Kobayashi’s later film adaptation won the Special Jury Prize at Cannes. Slow but engrossing, with stunning ‘scope photography and a fascinating electronic score by Toru Takemitsu that twists natural sounds into eerie harbingers of doom.
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A perfect example of a drive-in classic if there ever was one, this enjoyably dumb thriller spends a solid hour making the case that everyone in Texas is a Satanist before revving up with some groovy vehicular carnage (why else would you cast Peter Fonda?) and a classic 70s-style joybuzzer ending. Best enjoyed with a six-pack on a Saturday night – like this one.
Filmmaker David Gregory’s first fiction feature has the usual liabilities associated with a no-budget debut (most notably in the hit-or-miss acting). That said, it’s still a remarkably accomplished effort, and well worth your time. One stunning setpiece involving a character named Rosemary is a folklore nightmare sprung to unforgettable life.
Italian horror’s Big Daddy is one Mario Bava; fellow countrymen including Dario Argento, Lucio Fulci and Umberto Lenzi often struggled to escape his long-stretching shadow. Bava’s hallucinatory directorial technique was (arguably) never in better form than it was here. If you’re at all interested in the visual potential of cinema, Bava’s films are a must.
Tobe Hooper’s 1974 original is, like, my favorite horror movie EVAR, but his gonzo sequel is in a class of its own, equal parts splatterpunk epic and deranged send-up of itself. Dennis Hopper gets into a chainsaw duel with Leatherface; you should need no further encouragement. And no one will ever top Bill Moseley’s Chop-Top. Not anyone.
The French have been pumping out one brutal horror opus after another (HIGH TENSION, INSIDE, THEM, et al), but Pascal Laugier’s film gets bonus points for fully committing to a fascinating, even dangerous, central concept. (No fair telling what it is… just go see it.) It’s not airtight, and the violence is extreme, but it’s got much more on its agenda than mere bloodshed.
Easily one of the finest efforts in Vincent Price’s career as a horror icon, this grimly cynical British production went largely unseen for decades before a recent restoration rescued it from the mothballs. Potent in its depiction of the intersection between religious zealotry and political power, with a memorably sadistic (and abrupt) finale. (The film was titled "The Conqueror Worm" for its original US release, in an attempt to tie into the popularity of a series of Edgar Allan Poe adaptations, but subsequent video releases have retained its original British title.)
One of the best Asian horror imports of late is this elliptical, unnerving South Korean film from director Kim Ji-woon. A long-haired, pale-faced ghost-girl does figure into the proceedings, but the story of Shakespearean tragedy surrounding it is classically spooky and ultimately completely satisfying.
This oddball franchise offshoot does away with Michael Myers’ slasher antics (a wise move, methinks) and instead offers up an uneven but entertaining mix of gory witchcraft and paranoid sci-fi. The insidious “Silver Shamrock” jingle will lodge itself in your brain forever, and the ending is stone-cold perfect.
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Bruce Campbell plays Elvis. Ossie Davis plays JFK. Yes, JFK. Together they battle mummies in a Texas retirement home. While in wheelchairs and walkers. If you read this and remain unmoved, you are dead to me.
Cheerfully nutty farmers Rory Calhoun and Nancy Parsons bury unsuspecting travelers in the garden behind their rural motel… you know, so they can marinate. All involved with this one have the good sense to camp it up past 11; there’s a supporting turn by Wolfman Jack, of all people, and Calhoun’s final line will send you out howling.
A spoofy title sequence that turns Jason Voorhees into 007? Check. A Jean-Paul Sarte joke mid-slaughter? Check. Tom McLaughlin’s goofy sequel isn’t charmlessly inept like its 5 predecessors, but is instead a stylish, spirited horror comedy. It’s not that scary, but the zippy pace and tongue-in-cheek attitude go a long way to relieve the familiarity.
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Not the exploitation wallow it may appear to be, Harry Kümel’s intelligent and artful film incorporates the stock elements of 70s-era Eurohorror (zoom lenses, fog machines, T&A) while subtly positioning vampirism as an escape from brutish, dominating male behavior. Strange as it may seem, complexity and nuance can indeed coexist with hot naked vampires.
