I Heart: HELLO MARY LOU: PROM NIGHT II

1987, what a year, what a year! I saw The Cure in concert. I played In My Tribe, Strangeways, Here We Come, and The Lion and the Cobra so incessantly I can't believe my parents didn't murder me. I had an ill-advised perm and fashion sense so bad, it likely distracted from said ill-advised perm. And as for movies, A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors and Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night II ruled my world. Dream Warriors is still bandied about on the regular in horror circles, but what of Prom Night II? Poor Mary Lou never gets her props, not even from me. Though it was my everything back in the day, I admit it'd been years since I'd really thought about it, much less seen it. Recently I indulged a sudden hankering for the film, and I admit, I was a bit anxious. I mean, 27 seconds after I got that perm I knew it was a bad, bad idea, but I had wanted it and I had done it and so my judgment is forever questionable. Could Prom Night II possibly hold up after 27 years? Was it ever okay to begin with?

Yes all of this and more this movie is still so much fun and I still heart it so hard in perpetuity amen!

Quintessential bad girl Mary Lou Maloney (Lisa Schrage) is named Prom Queen at Hamilton High, but before she can don her crown a tragic stink bomb accident sends her up in flames. Tragic stink bomb accidents...how many lives do they cut short every year?

30 years later, prom night approaches and Mary Lou's vengeful spirit is released from a steamer trunk when senior Vicki (Wendy Lyon) finds the dead student's sash, tiara, and cape inside. Soon, likable good girl Vicki begins acting very...un-Vicki and bodies begin to pile up. 'Tis the angry spirit of Mary Lou that's possessed her, you see, and it's time for the Prom Queen's revenge!

It's all very Asian horror premise done '80s American horror style, which means that it's a hell of a lot of fun. There's plenty of black humor and knowing nods to the genre, whether in dialogue pulled from The Exorcist or character names like Carpenter, Henenlotter, Dante, O'Bannon, and more. Prom Night II falls shy of being completely tongue-in-cheek, though, and make no mistake- this movie has a delightfully nasty streak a mile wide. Mary Lou is an unrepentant villain with not a single fuck to give, and this doesn't let up when she's in control of the church-going Vicki. Mary Lou will kill pregnant teenagers and, as Vicki, make out with Vicki's father. It doesn't matter. She wants to be Prom Queen, and she wants to kill anyone who stopped her the first time around...and anyone who gets in her way now.

I promise never to forget about you again, Prom Night II. I promise always to sing your name from up on high (or, at least, from wherever my mouth is) because you are still the best...and I am not just talking about the fashions.

It's so great to revisit the things you were into and discover you still love them just as much. It doesn't always happen (Caveman is my go-to "How could I ever have loved such a piece of shit?" movie...I can't even make it through that trailer), but when it does, it's so validating. I've always had such great taste...I think I'll go get a perm!

I Heart: The Amityville Horror

I came across a copy of John G. Jones's The Amityville Horror II in a bookstore the other day and I got excited in that bug-eyed, hand-clapping simpleton way I have. Somehow this book had escaped my notice for decades despite the fact that I consider myself to be an AmityManiac! Well, to clarify, I'm an AmityManiac who still hasn't seen all of the films, and who didn't know that there were so many goddamn books beyond the "classics" by Jay Anson and Hans Holzer. It's just that The Amityville Horror is as much a part of my formative years as Star Wars and comic books and Donna Summer records and KISS records that I can't help but get my simpleton on whenever 112 Ocean Avenue comes up.

112 Ocean Avenue. What other addresses do people actually know like that, beyond their own and grandma's? 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, maybe. I am just saying.

So, this book. I start flipping through it, giving it a read here and there, and I was shocked- shocked, I tell you- at how it read like fiction. I'm not talking about how "it reads like fiction" is used to compliment history books to reassure the masses that History Can Be Fun and Not Dry! (I made that slogan up, but if you run a history club or whatever you can use it.) (Oh, and a great example of a history book that "reads like fiction" is Erik Larson's Devil in the White City, great book, highly recommend, love you)...I mean that The Amityville Horror II reads like straight-up fiction, as if John G. Jones bent over and pulled the narrative right out of his ass.

I felt...confused. Was this book a work of fiction, further adding to the Amityville mythos? You know, like Amityville 4: The Evil Escapes and the possessed floor lamp (aka the greatest thing to ever grace a screen)? I took to the best source of information: Amazon reviews. There, I was reassured by a helpful reader. Let his (or her; "whytewolf" is a pretty gender-neutral screenname, I suppose) words ease your doubts as well:

WHAT I DON'T UNDERSTAND IS HOW SOME REVIEWS I HAVE READ,PEOPLE PUT THIS BOOK DOWN AND DEPLICTS THE WRONG INFORMATION ON ITS STORY. HERE IS WHAT IT IS ABOUT! IT IS NOT ALL ABOUT THE LUTZES HAUNTED ATTACKS. YES THERE IS ENOUGH HERE TO PLEASE YOU. BUT MORE ABOUT THE AFTERMATH TO THE STORY OF THEY'RE UNBILIEVABLE 28 DAYS IN 112 OCEAN AVE. THIS BOOK COVERS WHY GEORGE SOLD THE FAMILY BUISNES,HOW THE ATTACKS CONTINUED,WHY THEY MOVED AROUND SO MUCH,ALL THE HOWS AND WHYS CONCERNING THE BOOK BEING WRITTEN.HOW THEY FELT ABOUT THE NEGATIVE PRESS SURROUNDING THEM,THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS OF THEM TRYING TO ENSURE PEOPLE THE STORY IS TRUE! SO IT ABOUT HOW THEY HAVE HANDLED EVRYTHING AFTER THEY FLED 112 OCEAN AVE. TO CLEARIFY THEY'RE STORY BETTER! WHO HAS THE RIGHT TO DETERMIN IF THE STORY IS TRUE OR NOT, WE WE WERE NOT THERE. BESIDE IT DOES MAKE A GREAT HORROR STORY ANYHOW!

HERE IS WHAT IT IS ABOUT! indeed.

I know in my heart of hearts that all the Amityville hoo-ha is a crock of shit. I know this, but I choose to ignore this. Total case of willful ignorance. Does that make me a crazy person? I care not! For you see, the seeds of love were sown early and they were sown deep. And that sounded way dirtier than I intended.

Look, here's the thing. Anytime I have a rational thought regarding The Amityville Horror, such as "everything George and Kathy Lutz put forth as evidence of supernatural goings-on has been debunked or greatly obfuscated", I counter it with something like "But George and Kathy Lutz were so good-looking! In the movie! Good-looking people never lie!"

EVIDENCE IT'S ALL TRUE: look how beautiful George and Kathy Lutz are when they are portrayed by beautiful people James Brolin and Margot Kidder!

See what I mean? And every time I think some negative thought about it all, something along the lines of "Wait, so Jody the evil presence...was...a giant purple pig?", I banish such a thought with "The cover of Jay Anson's book said it was all true so it was ALL TRUE. And be honest, if you saw a giant purple pig with glowing red eyes, you would be scared shitless once you made sure it wasn't simply a side-effect of too many Motrin IBs."

And just like that, easy, breezy,  I choose to believe in The Amityville Horror because it's not simply a cinematic juggernaut (holy crapping crap, ten movies), it's become a part of American folklore, dammit. I choose to believe that the Lutzes weren't simply trying to cash-in on the tragedy that occurred in the house before they moved in. I choose to believe that it wasn't all a fabrication because if crazy wall-bleeding shit can happen at 112 Ocean Avenue, it can happen anywhere. Maybe your house has a red room in the basement. You just need to look harder.

Look in your heart.

(Clutching a copy of The Amityville Horror II, Final Girl is carried aloft by a billion teeming houseflies. You bellow "Get out!" after her, but it's too late. She's already gone.)

(Just kidding. I didn't buy the book, it's total crap.)

(But Amityville 5ever though.)

I Heart: Black Christmas

Originally, I'd intended this post to be one of those quickie afternoon delights in the "Scenes I Love" series: a screen cap, a comment (or not), in, out, wham, bam, I would say "thank you ma'am" but now I'm all itchy and burny and worried, done. Then I ran afoul of a most serious problem, one entirely unrelated to my itchy and burny condition: see, once I start thinking about Black Christmas, I can't stop. Choosing just one scene in the film to highlight was impossible, because I heart the whole damn thing. Of course, I've talked about this movie so many times that you probably already know of my unhealthy obsession with it; this post, for example, talks a bit about why I'm so cuckoo for...err...for...Black...Christmas...puffs.

Wow, that's bad. But my intentions are true! I couldn't pick one favorite scene over any other, so I decided to simply list a bunch of reasons why I Heart Black Christmas.

And if you think I'm talking about the 2006 version, then...well, I was going to say that Final Girl may not be the place for you, but that's not true. I welcome all! You like what you like, I'll like what I like, and we'll still be friends. Fear not, for I see your true colors shining through and they are, in fact, beautiful like a rainbow. Like a rainbow made of macaroni.

Seriously though, I fucking hated Black Christmas '06. But here are eleven reasons why I love the original film!

1. The booze wreath

Sorority sister Barb has a wee bit of an alcohol problem, only in that she's always drunk and even proffers booze to kids at the holiday party. Maybe she acknowledges her weakness via holiday crafts; maybe the girls gave it to her as a joke. Whatever the case, I want one.

2. The phone tap

3. The body in the park

Mr Harrison is relieved to discover that the body of a young girl found in the park is not that of his missing daughter, Claire. She was still someone's daughter, however. It's unclear whether or not the girl was killed by the sorority house killer; there's a possibility that it's a tragedy entirely unrelated to the tragedy about to unfold a block away, meaning there are two killers in this tiny college town.

4. The body in the attic

Her last breath was an inhalation.

5. The bodies in the bedroom

Finding the bodies of all your friends has become such a slasher trope it's entirely expected in this day and age. Though John Carpenter really popularized the archetypical scene in Halloween, Bob Clark was doing that up in Canada years earlier.

6. The phone calls

They just get to me, what can I say?

7. Death by crystal unicorn

This really needs no explaining, but in case you don't get it: someone is killed WITH A CRYSTAL UNICORN.

8. The abortion subplot

Hey, remember the days when there was a bit of characterization, even in slasher films? Yeah, me too.

9. Margot Kidder

Speaking of characterization, how 'bout that Barb, huh? Everyone loves the "Fellatio 2-0880" bit, sure, but it's the "Mating Rituals of Turtles" bit that's really the keeper. Barb's the obnoxious, embarrassing drunk that no one really likes- including her own mother- and it's in the moments after she makes a fool of herself when Barb lets on that she knows no one likes her, so why should she be anything but her obnoxious, embarrassingly drunken self? Kidder brings it, y'all.

10. The eye

Recently good ol' Arbogast left a comment on one of my posts: "Nothing, but nothing, beats an eye looking through a hole." Now, to be honest, I have no idea whether or not he meant it. I have difficulty telling sometimes. I, however, agree with the sentiment..and while Black Christmas employs "eye through crack" instead of "eye through hole", it really doesn't get any better than this shot. Really. It's completely terrifying.

11. That moustache on the left

Sorry for the oversight: this film deserves three entries in the Horror Moustache Hall of Fame, not a mere two.

There are people who do not like Black Christmas. As you may have gathered, I...am not one of them.

I Heart: Wrong Turn

Much like my love for House on Haunted Hill, my love for the underrated Wrong Turn (2003) is deeply rooted in the circumstances of my personal life at the time of the film's release. I realize the film is not without flaws, but it was just what the doctor ordered a few years ago and it's had a place in my heart ever since.

See, I'd moved from the pricy east coast to the less pricy midwest in the hopes of launching a career as a freelance comic book artist. To support myself on my quest, I needed what one might call a "shitty day job". How hard can it be to find a shitty day job? Well, sometimes it can be very hard. I sent out resume after resume and application after application for weeks and weeks and never got a peep in reply. Feelings of dread rose while my bank account dwindled...I started to sell stuff on eBay in the hopes of turning a buck- including my French edition of Madonna's Sex which still bums me out to this day (That's right, people- I love Madonna and I don't care how uncool that makes me. As far as I'm concerned, she's the speedboat and everyone else is just the Go-Gos on waterskis, you dig?). I was too concerned about finances to have any fun, or even work on my art without feeling guilty. Until I had some income, I couldn't do anything.

Then along came Wrong Turn. It hit theatres moments before the huge horror renaissance we're experiencing now, when a horror film on the big screen was still a bit of a novelty, and oh, how I yearned to see it! But if I couldn't watch a DVD I already owned without feeling terrible because I should be looking for a job (yes, I felt that way day and night), then how could I possibly justify- gasp- paying to see a movie in the theatre? I was lamenting my lamentations to my mom on the phone when she simply said "Ten dollars isn't going to make any difference. Go see the movie!" With said blessing I promptly marched to the local AMC, saw Wrong Turn, and fell in love.

It's got a plot that's as old as the hills- or since the hills got eyes, anyway: a group of people get lost in the middle of nowhere and fall prey to a family of inbred cannibals (the awesomely named Three-Finger, Saw-Tooth, and One-Eye; they're like the inbred cannibal version of TLC).

Sure, it's formulaic, but writer Alan McElroy and director Rob Schmidt are smart: they stick to the fucking formula. Countless horror films have been bogged down and ultimately ruined when a simple, straightforward idea just isn't good enough for the filmmakers. The example I always point to is Jeepers Creepers: a scary man driving a scary truck living in an abandoned church and stuffing bodies down a well is a great, simple premise that has potential. When the man turns out to be a weird bat creature- a weird bat creature who only feeds once every 50 years! For...um...3 days every 50 years! And...he, like, wears a fedora! And...umm...he only eats certain body parts from certain people! And...let's run the idea into the ground completely!- then the movie becomes a ridiculous clusterfuck and loses everything that made it good in the first place.

Yup, Wrong Turn is chock full of some of my favorite horror movie tropes, from the weirdo gas station attendant to the car graveyard to the gross stinky house filled with gross stinky stuff.

That's what I like about this movie so much: it simply is what it is and it doesn't try to be anything else. The straightforward story and the decent amount of gore recall the horror films of the 1970s- it's just got that vibe about it, and it doesn't ever feel put-on or fake. That's what separates Wrong Turn from, say, the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake- yeah, in the latter film the narration tells me it's set in the '70s and wow! Jessica Biel sings "Sweet Home Alabama" and they're going to a Skynyrd concert!- but the film feels every bit like a 2003 film. Wrong Turn isn't full of jump-cuts and frantic music video editing. In other words, the filmmakers don't point out how "cool" they're trying to be- they just tell the story. You know, like in the good old days, dagummit.

There are some incredibly effective scenes and sequences in Wrong Turn that prove Rob Schmidt knows a thing or two about tension: when the kids are exploring the cannibals' house and the cannibals return home and the kids have to hide and keep quiet? Oh yeah, that's good. Or how about when Scott (Jeremy Sisto) is running through the woods trying to escape and he gets pegged by some arrows? Uh huh- bring it on.

As I said earlier, Wrong Turn certainly has its flaws. The supporting characters (and the actors who play them) are far more interesting than the two leads- let's face it, Eliza Dushku (Jessie) and Desmond Harrington (Chris) have about 1.75 facial expressions between the two of them- and the main characters aren't terribly fleshed out. While the pace is fast throughout, the longer the film goes on the more preposterous it becomes: I'm thinking specifically of the tree-top battle that's like something out of Crouching Cuckoo, Hidden Nutso. The film loses steam at bit in that sequence, but it picks up again for the final showdown at Casa de Cannibals.

None of these shortcomings really detract from the film for me, however, and I still enjoy the hell out of it. There's a direct-to-DVD sequel due this fall, and you'd better believe I'll be checking it out the moment it hit shelves- and I won't even ask my mom if I can first!

I Heart: The Convent

It's 1959. A young woman in sunglasses, Christine, walks into the St Francis Boarding School for Girls to the strains of Lesley Gore's "You Don't Own Me". She's got a shotgun, a can of gasoline, and a lit cigarette. She uses the shotgun to blow away all the nuns and the priest, than sets the convent on fire.

40 years later, as can be expected, a group of kids breaks into the condemned convent for wacky teenage hijinks. As can also be expected, the evil of the convent is soon unleashed (in the form of fluorescent zombie nuns...yeah, read that again and you'll have an inkling why I heart this movie so much) and things quickly turn to shit. It's up to Christine and her shotgun to set things right for good.

Oh dear god, I love The Convent (2000). It perfectly skirts the line between horror and comedy and has a decidedly 80s vibe to it. I don't mean it feels dated or it's trying to emulate an era superficially (as the remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre did)- I mean it's got that balls-out, over-the-top, ludicrous fun vibe of flicks from that era, like Night of the Demons, Dead Alive, and Evil Dead. It takes its non-seriousness completely seriously...does that makes sense? It makes sense to me.

While The Convent is certainly a movie to watch with your friends over a few beers, there's a huge amount of originality and skill lurking beneath that fine patina of cheese. Director Mike Mendez employs some clever camera tricks that are never too clever- the style fits the substance. Film is sped up and slowed down, the zombie nuns move in a jerky style and titter like chipmunks...and it works. The opening sequence, where Christine lays down the law in the chapel, is beautifully shot and synched up nicely with the soundtrack. There's insane amounts of gore- not realistic gore that will make you cringe (a la Fulci), but rather crazy silly exploding head-style gore that doesn't always look real. I'd love to see him tackle a more straightforward horror film to see what he'd come up with.

And dammit, Chaton Anderson's script is funny. From the shroom-induced hallucination scene to the inept suburban satanists (with their "dagger of despair"), the movie is a good time throughout. One of my favorite sequences is a flashback to 1959, wherein Christine tells the story of how the nuns at the convent originally became possessed. Everyone in the school knew something wasn't right, but business continued on as normal. The nuns, though...man, they sure were acting weird! It's hilarious.

What really swings The Convent clearly into "I Heart" territory is the inspired casting of Adrienne Barbeau as adult Christine. She's stated in interviews that Christine, along with Wilma in Creepshow, is a favorite role in her long career. It's obvious that she's having an absolute blast as the foul-mouthed, cranky, tough woman who's ready to drive her motorcycle into a nest of day-glo zombie nuns to heave some molotov cocktails and end their reign of terror.

Every five years or so you stupid kids think it'd be great fun to break into the convent and see where it all happened. Then when all hell breaks loose, you come lookin' for the chick who started it. Well, fuck that noise!

God bless that woman.

Simply put, The Convent has it all: whiskey, flaming nuns, Lesley Gore, baseball bats, day-glo makeup, sawed-off shotguns, molotov cocktails, exploding heads, virgin sacrifices ("They fuckin' love virgins! Goddamn demons- it's always something with a virgin!")...the list goes on. I mean, if a leather jacket-wearing, motorcycle-riding, machete-wielding, foul-mouthed Adrienne Barbeau isn't enough for you, then what is? What could be? What more could you possibly want from a movie, people??

I Heart: The Fog

Midnight 'til one belongs to the dead.

Insomuch as that my last name is "Ponder", I feel it is my birthright to think...to ruminate, to mull, to dwell, and to philosophize. It then follows that I spend a good amount of time staring at the wall, asking myself such questions as "What is the nature of man?"..."What is art?"..."What time is it?"...and "If I were to be executed, what what would I request for a last meal?". Then I ponder, I stroke my metaphorical goatee, and I try to answer myself: "The nature of man is to be good and productive, free to act according to himself"..."Art is intent"..."It's 7:42" (or, if I'm feeling sassy, "Time to buy a new watch!")...and "Hmm, let's see...pizza from Adriatico's, Rachael's lasagna, malai kofta from that place on 27th & Lex, Nutter Butters with Nutella on top, and mint chocolate chip ice cream". Sometimes I also think "Given the seriousness with which I take the meaning of my surname, the world should be thankful that my name is not Stacie Killandeatallbabies". My rivers run deep, you see. Deep.

Folks, I promise...I'm only a little drunk and I will get to a point eventually. Wait, I think it's coming...ah yes, here it is.

I was watching The Fog (the 1980 version, of course) recently, and a few minutes into it- during the credits- I thought "Wow. The Fog is so awesome. In fact, there are so many of my favorite people in it and so many kickass elements throughout, it just may be my perfect dream movie. It is totally exactly like what my last meal before my execution would be- made up of a little bit of everything I love. OH MY GOD THERE HAS NEVER BEEN A BETTER METAPHOR FOR ANYTHING IN THE HISTORY OF EVER!"

In case you don't know what I'm talking about (since that metaphor doesn't seem so great after the crack high wears off), I'm talking about all these ingredients that make The Fog like a spicy jambalaya from heaven:

*The writing/producing/directing wonder twins John Carpenter and Debra Hill doing their thing!

*Oh, honey, the cast: Jamie Lee Curtis, Tom Atkins, Hal Holbrook, Nancy Loomis, John Houseman, Janet Leigh, Charles Cyphers, and...Adrienne Barbeau!

*ghost ships and drippy dead sailors that come out of...the fog !

100 years ago, the elders of the coastal fishing village Antonio Bay sent out a false light signal on a foggy night, sealing the fate of the sailing vessel Elizabeth Dane and the merry band of lepers she carried. As Antonio Bay celebrates its centennial, the long-dead Captain Blake and his crew from the Elizabeth Dane emerge from an otherworldly fog to claim their vengeance by taking six lives.

John Carpenter has stated that The Fog is his attempt at telling an old-fashioned EC Comics-style ghost story, plain and simple. While it certainly gives off a sweet let's huddle together under a blanket near the campfire for a scary story vibe, the movie is also undoubtedly 100% USDA prime John Carpenter.

Carpenter's earliest works, such as Halloween, Assault on Precinct 13, The Thing, and The Fog are a slow, slow burn. As a filmmaker, he is (or is that was?) a man of patience, unafraid to give audiences a slow and steady climb to the film's climax. Rather than being hit head-on with bombast from the get-go, Carpenter's audiences need to settle in for a long drive, and the resulting effect is simple: dread. Simple, I say, yet it's an element largely absent from most modern horror films. I don't know if audiences have changed over the last 25 years or if Hollywood has simply convinced audiences that they've changed, but horror is all jump cuts and gore now. Halloween went on for about an hour before the action really started- an hour that slowly filled audiences with tension as Michael Myers stalked Laurie Strode on the streets of Haddonfieldto the tune of Carpenter's haunting score. I'd hazard a guess that that patience on Carpenter's part is what you can expect to be missing from Rob Zombie's upcoming Halloween revamp. Instant gratification doesn't leave the viewer drowning in fear, but anticipation surely does. What I consider to be some of the finer modern horror films (The Blair Witch Project, Session 9, The Ring, and yes, The Descent) use this same slow approach to great effect.

However, this reliance on mood and atmosphere doesn't mean that The Fog is lacking in visceral thrills. While there's nothing explicitly shown in the movie, the ghostly crew of the Elizabeth Dane are a vicious lot. The crew of The Sea Grass are dispatched in short order by knives and hooks, and the fact that the audience sees virtually nothing doesn't make the scene any less brutal. The same can be said for the scene where poor Mrs. Kobritz answers the tap tap tap at her front door as the fog rolls in...the eerie black figures raise their weapons and it's bye bye Mrs. Kobritz! I tell ya, that sequence filled me with absolute terror when I was younger and it still gets under my skin now.

Visually, The Fog is a Carpenter masterpiece. Using his trademark anamorphic widescreen Panavision, Carpenter and cinematographer Dean Cundey immerse and surround the viewer in Antonio Bay. Whether it's a sweeping shot of the coastline, a wide shot of Stevie Wayne (Barbeau) driving her righteous VW Thing, the glowing fog rolling into town, or the lighthouse where WKAB is located, the movie is simply beautiful to behold.

Is The Fog a perfect movie? Certainly not. There's some major plot holes and general "What the-?" moments that can only be explained away by cries of "It's supernatural, dammit!" But the movie does have style, and it works for me. I could go on and on about The Fog and all the reasons I love it, from Nancy Loomis's typically smartass turn as Sandy to Hal Holbrook's turn as the drunken Father Malone to the final showdown between Father Malone and Captain Blake over the bling.

Instead, though, I'll just leave it to the chilling words uttered by Stevie Wayne at the film's end. It's best if you try to imagine Adrienne Barbeau's sultry voice while you read it, trust me.

I don't know what happened to Antonio Bay tonight. Something came out of the fog and tried to destroy us. In one moment, it vanished. But if this has been anything but a nightmare, and if we don't wake up to find ourselves safe in our beds, it could come again. To the ships at sea who can hear my voice, look across the water, into the darkness. Look for the fog.

I Heart: A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors

I'd like to start things off with a little Public Service Announcement: Part 2 (of 4) of Hungry Like the Wolf is up today at Nightmare World for your reading pleasure. Read it, dagnabbit!

I'd like to continue things with a disclaimer: I have a fondness for A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987) that is so large, I'm not entirely sure anymore if the movie is actually deserving of said fondness. I'm telling you this because my opinion and glowing praise of it is completely wrapped in a gauzy haze of nostalgia-induced love. So if you see NoES 3 on my recommendation and you hate it and find yourself saying "That movie sucked! That Final Girl lied to me! I'm gonna tear her a new one!", well, I simply can't be held responsible. I have disclaimed!

But look at that poster art! Can a movie with poster art that sweet really suck? And can I be a Dream Warrior when I grow up? Pleeeeease?

Most of you probably have seen this bright spot in the Freddy Krueger saga by now, but for those of you who haven't, the premise is simple. Freddy's back, and he's trying to kill off the "last of the Elm Street children"- the children whose parents burned him alive years before. These kids are a rag-tag group of ne'er-do-wells whose suicidal tendencies have landed them in a mental hospital. Lucky for them, one fellow failed suicide, the plucky Kristen (Patricia Arquette), has the ability to pull people into her dreams. Also lucky for them, Nancy (Heather Langenkamp) from the original Elm Street is an intern at the hospital! She leads the charge and the Dream Warriors jump into Kristen's nightmare and head off to "kick the motherfucker's ass all over dreamland". Yay!! Go, Dream Warriors, go! I love you, Dream Warriors!

As I said, I no longer have any idea if NoES3 is actually good or not. Is it good? Is it bad? Is it good/bad? I'm pretty sure it falls into all three categories at once, which in and of itself is quite a feat. There's a few undisputably great moments, but then there's also some moments that are so...so...so cringe-worthy that my cheeks almost burst into flame from embarrassment whilst watching. Let's just break this bad boy down and see what we get, alright?

THE GOOD

- while Nancy's hair is bigger than ever before, it seems she has, at long last, become acquainted with the product known as "conditioner".

- the creepy girl on the tricycle in Kristen's opening dream sequence. While standing in the basement, she says "This is where he takes us" and for a moment you realize and/or remember what a monster Freddy Krueger was. People end up rooting for Freddy with his quips and his creative kills (which is a whole other topic in itself, the "rooting for the bad guy" impulse), but while alive he would take children to a basement and kill them. Treated more seriously, the Nightmare series could have been terrifying.

-the battle with Freddy's re-animated skeleton in the car yard. Yeah, it looks pretty fake and it's pretty silly, but it's just so Ray Harryhausen that I can't help but love it. Fuck CGI, man.

-learning Freddy's origins: the ghost of Amanda Krueger tells how Freddy is "the bastard son of 100 maniacs". That's an awesome layer to add to the character. Treated more seriously, the Nightmare series could have explored the nature of evil.

-the marionette sequence. Freddy pulls long strands of muscles out of a character's four limbs and guides him out of a top-storey window like a puppet. Grody to the max.

-the cast. You've got "Larry" Fishburne as Max, the tough-love orderly; Jennifer Rubin of Bad Dreams as bad girl Taryn; Craig Wasson of Ghost Story as Dr. Gordon, who you know is totally in love with Nancy but won't say it; the always-welcome John Saxon; and as the doctor who just doesn't get it, the lady who also played Pam Ewing's long-lost mother on Dallas...you know I was all over that.

-Kincaid calling Freddy a "burnt-faced pussy". It just makes me laugh.

THE GOOD/BAD

I just decided, I'm not going to call any of this stuff outright bad. It's all sort of embarassing, but I'm calling it all some corny-ass good/bad goodness. So there.

-when the nerd in the Sally Jesse Raphael glasses declares "In my dreams, I am the Wizard Master!" and shoots green bolts out of his fingertips.

-when Taryn declares "In my dreams, I'm beautiful...and bad!" We know she's bad because 1) she busts out her twin switchblades; 2) she sports glitter on her chest; 3) she has a two-foot mohawk thing going on.


-Max calling Kincaid "Cool Breeze". What a delightfully uncool "cool" 80s nickname.

-the fact that Zsa Zsa Gabor is in this movie...it's just...I love it, yet...it's Zsa Zsa Gabor. In a slasher movie. Zsa Zsa. And she gets killed by Freddy Krueger...it...does...not compute. How do I feel right now?

-I'm not a fan of "funny" Freddy, and this is the movie where he starts to become the Henny Youngman of horror: "Get ready for prime time, bitch!" Bleh.

-Nancy's father's ghost floats down to her in a shower of sparkling sparkles. He's like a disco, rock-star ghost from Xanadu or something.

So there you have it, whatever it is. Yep, I heart A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors from the creepy kid at the beginning to Don Dokken's singing "We're the dreeeeam warriors!" over the closing credits and all the corniness in between. That corniness includes, of course, the giant Freddy head/snake thing that almost devours Kristen. But this picture...disturbs me. Patricia Arquette looks like she's actually having a good time, if you know what I mean...and I think you do.

I Heart: April Fool's Day

Damn right, people...it's time for me to talk about one of my absolute favorite slasher movies...April Fool's Day. Note that I am not talking about it tomorrow, which actually IS April Fool's Day. This makes me 57% cooler than all the people who will be talking about it on April 1st.

I'm telling you now- this little post is gonna be all full up with all ten kinds of SPOILERS, so if you haven't seen this movie yet (if you haven't, well, why haven't you?)- turn back. Turn back before it's too late! Turn back before the spoilers cast their evil gaze upon you, turning you to stone in a flash! Turn back, I tells ya! AAAAIIIIIIEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Err, sorry. Look, it's Friday and I just watched one of my favorite movies and I went a little crazy with the font for a second. I'm better now.

It's spring break time, and a group of college kids head to the island vacation home of their friend Muffy St. John (Deborah Foreman) for a little fun, college kid-style. Being around April 1st, the pranks begin almost immediately on the ferry ride to the island. Unfortunately, one of the jokes goes awry and poor deckhand Buck ends up smooshed between the boat and the pilings. Grody. Not a good way to start a vacation.

The jokes continue later on however as Muffy has rigged her house with all sorts of gags: there's collapsing chairs, dribble glasses, sinks that spray water in the face of the user, and so on. In each guest room, there's also a "joke" that serves as a reminder of the guest's dark secret or painful past: S&M gear, drug paraphernalia, newspaper clippings about fatal car accidents, and a reminder of an abortion. Ha ha haa! Whee! April Fool's, everybody!

The 'jokes' set everyone on edge, and soon enough the guests begin to disappear. Meanwhile, Muffy starts acting as if she's stopped taking her meds. She stares off into space, she laughs to herself, she's unkempt, and, as Nikki (Deborah Goodrich) notes, she's suddenly wearing shoes with crepe soles! What the hell has gotten into Muffy?

Once the dead bodies are discovered, the kids phone the constable on the mainland. He sets out for the island with a warning: stay away from Muffy. The warning coupled with Muffy's odd behavior lead everyone to believe that she's the killer...that is, until Rob (Ken Olandt) and Kit (Amy Steel) discover that Muffy has a twin sister Buffy who's been locked away in the nuthouse for three years. Buffy's back, though, and look out: she's nuts, she's wearing crepe soles, and she's killing everyone on the island!

Eventually, Rob and Kit are the only two people left alive. Just when you think Buffy is about to finish them off, Kit opens a door onto quite a scene: there's everyone that was thought dead, very much alive. Even Buck is there, decidedly unsmooshed. And there is no Buffy; plain ol' Muffy was hamming it up. That's right, it's all one big joke! April Fool's! It was all a test run for Muffy's grand scheme: to turn the estate into a bed and breakfast where guests can participate in a "murder mystery weekend". Good show, Muffy. Everyone drinks champagne and has fun with the prosthetic "dead bodies", the end.

April Fool's Day is a great flick that was doomed by bad word-of-mouth. The film started out strong at the box office, but quickly dropped from the radar after audiences found out about the twist ending. I find it odd that it wasn't well-received, but man, horror audiences are weird: they seem to want to be fed the same thing over and over, but then they complain about being fed the same thing over and over. In 1986, the year of the film's release, the slasher flick was on its last legs, the heyday long over. Audiences were getting bored as the second Nightmare on Elm Street and the fifth Friday the 13th movies hit the screen. The sub-genre would soon lapse into a parody of itself and be run into the ground until the release of Scream in 1996. Along comes April Fool's Day with a great cast, great acting, and a smart script that plays by all the slasher rules only to thumb its nose at you in the end. Better yet, the film wasn't thumbing its nose in the postmodern, post-Scream "it's just a stupid movie so why take it seriously anyway" fashion of the last 10 years. April Fool's Day plays it straight until the end, and the joke's on you, audience! I guess people don't like that. Or it matters somehow that the characters really die if you're going to enjoy a horror flick.

The champagne celebration was not originally going to end the film; it was only going to end Act II. In the intended Act III, Muffy's friends left the island but then returned to give her a taste of her own medicine. Under the ruse of the practical joke, however, Muffy's brother Skip ends up killing her to garner her inheritance. I've read conflicting stories as to whether or not the ending was actually filmed, so the footage could be out there or it could just be words on a page.

What elevates April Fool's Day into the realm of the "I Heart..." series is the acting. Across the board, the performances are fantastic. Somehow, all of these privileged, unlikable kids become likable- and that's all because of the acting. You all should know by now that Amy Steel is one of my favorites and yeah, I'm glad she's here. Make no mistake about it, though- this movie belongs to Deborah Foreman.

I love love LOVE her performance as both Muffy and Buffy. Love. LOVE. Seriously. She's by turns sweet, kind, sexy, and really, really fucking creepy. Her Muffy is jittery, off-kilter, and somehow out of synch with everything around her. Even when she's not supposed to be weirdo Muffy, even when she's just completely normal, there's something there that's not quite right. Not quite right, but very intriguing. What I love the most is the fucked-up inflections Foreman uses for her line readings when she's weirdo Muffy, before 'Buffy' is discovered. It's hard to convey it here, exactly, but for example- when Kit tells Muffy that the constable should be arriving very soon, Muffy stares at her a moment, then replies with a solemn facial expression:

Sometimes- with the tides- it takes somebody all night to get here from the mainland. Andeventhensometimes----they don't make it.

Then she turns around and walks out of the room quickly, and it's totally creepy and totally brill, my friends. Totally brill. Deborah Foreman rocks, and she rocks hard.

So that's it- I heart April Fool's Day. And if my word isn't enough to get you on board with it, well, then, I'll leave it up to Mr. T. T? What say you?

"I pity the fools who don't like April Fool's Day! Every day is April Fool's Day for them fools!"

Thanks, T. I owe you one. Mad props.

I Heart: House on Haunted Hill

Don't hate me because I love the 1999 version of House on Haunted Hill! Yes, I know it's a Dark Castle Production. Yes, I know it's way heavy-handed with the CGI. Yes, I know it features Chris Kattan. Let it be known, however, that the 90-odd-minute cornfest also has a very special place in my heart, and nothing you can say can make me change my mind! This is the point where I cross my arms, stomp my feet, stick out my tongue, and say 'nyah'.

I'm sure you're wondering how this movie could have possibly won a place in my heart, given my high standards and impeccable taste in horror, right? RIGHT? Right. So, let me tell the tale and give you a little insight into a day, long ago in the life of moi, in a dazzling city known as "New York"...

I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar bookseller at a location to be known as "Large Chain Bookstore". Getting by in New York City on a meager book jockey's salary is, to understate it tremendously, quite difficult. Believe me, the novelty of selling books to Sally Jesse Raphael wears off quickly when you're scraping together your last dimes -literally- to come up with subway fare. Yes, dear readers, the times they were a-tryin' indeed. In addition to the daily anxiety of having no money, ever, I also felt completely deflated every time I walked up the stairs from the train to the street. The job had long since worn out its welcome with me, and it depressed me to no end to go in for each shift. While working in a bookstore might seem to be a nice quaint little job, you're still simply working in a shop...and the wealthy customers of Park Avenue, New York City wouldn't let you forget it. I loathe retail, but I loathe being treated like "the help" far more. Any dollars are better than no dollars, however, and I had no idea what to do with myself next- so I kept on going back for more.

One fine day, whilst working the cash registers, I got into a wee argument with one of the assistant managers, over what I no longer remember. He told me to take a break, so I gladly did. I'd been in the breakroom about 5 minutes, talking with a co-worker, when another manager walked in and asked if I was on lunch. When I replied in the negative and related what had happened, she told me to get back on the floor or punch out. I thought about this for a few seconds, and then in a flash came these simple words to my little brain:

I don't have to work here.

I said it out loud to my co-worker- "Hey, I don't have to work here". Then I walked into the office and told them I was punching out for good. By the time I had cleaned out my locker and swiped my timecard for the last time, the breakroom had filled with people having lunch. Word had spread very quickly about what I'd done, and I kid you not- my co-workers in the breakroom started chanting my name and banging on the tables. STA-CIE! STA-CIE STA-CIE! I felt like Norma motherfucking Rae! I held my arms aloft, smiled, and walked out of Large Chain Bookstore in the middle of the day, in the middle of my shift. I still count it as one of the best things I've ever done in my entire life. Take your Olympic gold medals and cram 'em- I walked out of my job in the middle of the day! Take that, Jackie Joyner-Kersee! I'd like to see you try, Flo Jo!

It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself. Somewhere in the back of my head was the beginnings of a panic attack- I'd been scraping by, and now I was completely jobless- but I stuck my middle finger up at said panic attack and kept on truckin'. I walked the 15 or so blocks to Times Square- I may have even whistled, or jumped up and clicked my heels together, I can't say...the journey was a blur. If the pigeons and squirrels were smiling at me, or if I spun around Sound-of-Music-style amongst twirling garbage of the Manhattan streets, I wouldn't be surprised. It was like I was a living, breathing Mentos commercial! Somehow, I ended up at Virgin Megastore and browsed around a bit. I went down to the movie theatre in their basement and plunked down my last dollars on a Coke, some popcorn, and a ticket to House on Haunted Hill.

There I sat in the theatre, all alone and terribly proud of myself, munching away and having one hell of a good time. I thought the movie itself was fantastic- absolutely perfect for my mood, and I fancied myself a total rebel, sitting in a movie theatre watching a horror movie when I should've been selling books to uptight New Yorkers!

For those of you who don't know the story, the movie is a remake of the 1959 flick starring Vincent Price- I've never seen the original, so I've no idea how the two films compare. Geoffrey Rush (Shine) stars as Stephen Price, a man who's made his wealth by scaring people with thrill rides and 'haunted' amusement parks. He's hosting a birthday party at the titular house for his wife Evelyn (Famke Janssen), although he could be throwing the party simply as a lark- his real goal may be to kill his unfaithful spouse. She's got nefarious plans of her own, however, and it may be Stephen who doesn't live to see dawn. Also in the house are the party guests- a whopping 4 of them, who will each receive a check for one million bucks if they can make it through the night in the house. It's a renovated insane asylum, you see, and it's haunted, of course. Scary things happen, corny things happen, and lots of people die.

I watched House on Haunted Hill again today, and even without the taint of my personal rebellion, it's still loads of fun. Geoffrey Rush and Famke Janssen are fantastic as the warring couple- Rush particularly chews the scenery like it's made out of Laffy Taffy. There's gore a-plenty, some genuine scares, and plenty of twists and turns to keep you guessing as to who's fooling who. It's mindless enjoyment- and there's not a damn thing wrong with that, right? So turn off your brain and have fun with House on Haunted Hill- quitting your shitty job in addition is completely optional.

I Heart: My Bloody Valentine

I'd been toying with the idea of making some sort of list of my favorite slasher flicks, but then I came up with a sweeter alternative: the "I Heart" series. Every once in a while I'll write about/review one of my super faves, and I'll stick "I Heart" in front of the title like a stamp of approval. Then I won't have to deal with that whole pain in the arse numbering system...I mean, lists are so 2 weeks ago, you know? I'm like that lady Kool & the Gang sang about: I'm fresh and exciting.

The inaugural entry in the series hails from the magical far-away land known as "Canada": 1981's My Bloody Valentine. Made early-on in the slasher heyday, MBV is obviously an attempt to cash in on the "holiday" craze prevalent in the genre. While the movie does hold with certain conventions of the slasher flick, it's a polished and mature effort that's a cut above most.

20 years ago, in the sleepy town Valentine Bluffs, an explosion trapped several miners thousands of feet below the earth. It was the night of the town's annual Valentine's Day dance, you see, and a few supervisors were so hot to trot that they left their posts unattended. Of the miners, only Harry Warden survived...and when he was finally rescued weeks after the accident, he was a stark raving nutso who had stayed alive by eating his fallen brethren. Harry was rightfully committed to an asylum, but got out and took his revenge on the neglectful supervisors years later- on the night of the Valentine's dance. Harry warned the town that so long as they held the dance, people would die. The town cried 'uncle' and has been danceless ever since...until now! The townspeople felt it was finally time to stick a metaphorical middle finger up at Harry Warden and get on with the V-Day festivities. Soon after the red construction paper hearts get taped up, however, folks end up getting killed. It seems that Harry's back and mighty pissed off at Valentine Bluffs...

Sounds by-the-book, right? Sure it does. But as I said, there's some small touches in MBV that set it apart from the pack.

First and foremost, the characters aren't your typical horny zit-faced teens. The men in MBV spend their days toiling away in the coal mines, and when 5:00 rolls around, it's Miller Time. These characters seem to have real lives, and the movie captures the feel of a small working-class town and its inhabitants quite well. It's as if these young men and women find themselves saying "is this IT?" regarding their lives, but they chug along anyway and do the best they can. Ex-lovers TJ and Sarah (Paul Kelman and Lori Hallier) are very real, very well-drawn characters- surprising in a slasher movie. TJ has returned to Valentine Bluffs after attempting to get away for good. He doesn't elaborate, but it seems he failed miserably at starting a new life in California. Now he's back and resigned to a life working in his father's mine. When TJ and Axel (Neil Affleck) come to blows over who's going to be Sarah's main squeeze, Sarah says, quite downtroddenly: "I just don't care anymore". These aren't simply nameless teens trying to score in a sleeping bag- My Bloody Valentine feels much more authentic. As screenwriter John Beaird said, he and director George Mihalka were trying to make "the Deer Hunter of horror films".

The setting of MBV also works to set it apart from the pack. A majority of the film was shot inside the Sydney Mines, near Cape Breton- it's not simply "the woods" or a soundstage. Low-wattage lights had to be used during filming to avoid explosions, which simply adds to the atmosphere. Harry Warden fades in and out of darkness as he stalks the mine shafts, his single head-lamp shining through the smoke. It's a fantastic place to film a horror movie, and Mihalka uses the mine to maximum effect: characters get lost, hear unidentifiable sounds...it's all exceedingly creepy.

Shot under an extremely tight timeline with a budget of around $2 million, My Bloody Valentine looks and feels better than movies with more money to play with. The cast, largely unknown, is above average in the acting department. While every single death scene was cut-up to meet MPAA restrictions, MBV still has its share of gruesome gore. Someday, hopefully, the restored footage will find its way onto DVD.

The wide-open ending sets up a sequel perfectly, and apparently there's one in the works, tentatively titled My Bloody Valentine 2: Return of the Miner. In the proposed sequel, TJ and Sarah are married with kids...Sarah's the sheriff of Valentine Bluffs, and the killings begin again.

This often over-looked entry in the slasher genre deserves more attention, and I'd certainly welcome a sequel. It was one of my favorite flicks when I was a young-un, and still...I Heart My Bloody Valentine!

For more info, check out the absolutely huge interview with director George Mihalka over at Terror Trap. They've also got a MBV gallery for your viewing pleasure.