Too Many Pazuzuzzzz

I'm sure that you think I sit here atop Mount Horror Blog, all exhausted from having seen every horror-flavored movie and read every horror-flavored book. I get it! Horror blogging is elite business, for 100% experts only. You can't just start a blog because you want to, it takes years of training and education. But here's the truth, dear reader: there's some stuff I haven't seen. There's some stuff I haven't read! For example, can you believe that I, in all of my 83 years on this planet, am only just reading William Peter Blatty's The Exorcist for the very first time? Much like me and a glass of Riunite on ice, the book is a bona fide classic...and yet here we are. Ah well, better late than never, there's a first time for everything, you're only as young as you feel, etc etc.

(aside: now I have "beautiful Mount Horror Blog!" stuck in my head to this tune)

Now then, my telling you all this isn't solely to brag that I do, in fact, know how to read. Nor is it to dazzle you with erudite insights like "Hey, The Exorcist is pretty good," oh no no. I'm telling you all this because the book got my brain all a-buzzin' with The Exorcist (duh) which got me watchin' the movie which got me thinking "Hey, there are way too many Pazuzus in The Exorcist Extended Director's Cut Version You've Never Seen."

The wholly terrifying subliminal demon face is used quite sparingly–and to great effect–in the original cut of the film. It scared me so badly that I really couldn't handle it. I hated it! It was great. Then along came The Version You've Never Seen and the floodgates were opened. Excised footage was unexcised, Friedkin got all George Lucas about it and added a bunch of stuff, like that awful Regan computer face when she grab's the doctor's junk. You know what I mean. It's bad. Heck, I'd just forever opt for the original cut, but I admit: I am a sucker for the spider walk. It's over-the-top and silly but I love it. So sue me.

Perhaps the worst, though, is that the latest editions of the film include a baker's dozen or more new subliminal demon faces. Let's face it (omg "FACE" it lol lol) once this shot happened...

...it was obvious that this was no longer your mama's Pazuzu. It's everywhere! And so it's really no longer scary. Less is more, more is way less.

On my most recent watch, though, I realized just how many Pazuzus are lurking. It is some Where's Waldo shit for real. Look at these screencaps!

Some of those aren't even subliminal! Yes, William Friedkin is a great director and a master of the craft and all that, but to be honest I don't know what he was thinking with all of this.

FFS, you don't need to remind me, Netflix.

VHS Week Day 1: SHADOW DANCING (1988)

If there's one thing my mother has told me time and time again throughout my long life, it's "Stacie, don't be so damn easy." Maybe someday I'll take this advice to heart, but how many times must I be burned before that happens? How many times will I take home a movie like Shadow Dancing, thinking we will have the greatest night ever...only to find myself waking the next day saddled with bitter memories and a videocassette taking up space on my shelf? How many times?

Heavy sigh. I suppose I should simply accept that waking up with herpes a bad movie is what you get sometimes when you live life on the edge. But then...would it hurt for my tastes to be a bit more discriminating? Heavier sigh. I just don't know. I mean, you want to know why I brought Shadow Dancing home? Here's why:

1) I saw the word "dancing" in the title and suddenly I was intoxicated by memories of Slash Dance and I thought, "I loved Slash Dance, I'll love this, too!"

2) I saw this picture on the back of the box:

Someone getting zapped by blue movie lightning! I'm a total sucker for it.

That's it! That's it. That's all it took for me to fork over $0.30 and get all hepped up for this movie.

YES ONLY THIRTY CENTS. Why am I making a big deal out of this when the movie cost less than one-third of a dollar, you're wondering. Hmm, now that I mention it, I'm kind of wondering, too. I guess maybe even a mere thirty cents is too much for 100 minutes of crapola, and it makes me think "Well why did you assume it would be good in the first place?" and then I reminisce on my reasoning and then I wonder if I was dropped on my head a few times as a child.

But then I think, what is life without risking thirty cents?

Ugh, do you see how I go back and forth? Do you see how I am conflicted? DO YOU SEE WHAT SHADOW DANCING HAS DONE TO ME?

Here's the trailer, let it do a little bit of that to you:


Geezalou, even the trailer feels long.

So there was a dancer named Lili La Nuit (authentic French name) and...I don't know. Guys fell in love with her and then she was murdered on stage, or maybe it was an accident. And now 40 years later the theater opens again and a dancer finds Lili's shawl and puts it on and is maybe possessed? Or Lili is a ghost?

Trust me, that makes it sound way better than it was. Lili doesn't do anything except laugh and dance. And dance. And fucking dance and I know that the word "dancing" is right there in the title, but there's so much dancing. And it's all to music that's truly awful. Like, so awful that when my neighbor came home during a particularly interminable dance number, I thought "Oh dear, I hope they can't hear this music and they think I'm just, like, listening to it." I'm not one to care about such things, but it was actually embarrassing.

I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what the hell was going on in Shadow Dancing- not because a true mystery was afoot or anything, but because the film's structure was so damn janky. The "plot", as it were, was essentially pooped out in a couple of piles of exposition in the last seven minutes. Until then, it was unclear why things were happening or even what was happening. I wish Shadow Dancing ended up being the movie I thought it was going to be, because after one scene I thought maybe there was a telekinetic baby. After another scene, I thought there was a telekinetic parrot! But nope. Nothing so exciting, just dancing and laughing. No one even dies in this! (SPOILER.)

So, yes. I wasted $0.30 and 100 minutes of my life on this movie. I'd hoped it would be, like, the love child of Slash Dance and Ninja III: The Domination, which, let's face it, would probably be the best movie ever made. But why did I think that? Because of the title and that picture on the back. Stupid brain.

Oh well. I must admit, a few good things came out of Shadow Dancing, so there's a bright side to all of this.

1) It made me finally admit that I just don't like watching people dance. In fact, I really kind of hate it! I admire the skill and all that (jazz), but as an art form, dance does not appeal to me at all. If this makes me sound like some sort of rube, so be it! At least I'm living an honest life now.

2) There's a scene where Christopher Plummer says, "Oh damn, my corn niblets are burning!" Yes this is a high point of the movie.

3) Thinking about that Slash Dance/Ninja III love child means I'm thinking about Ninja III, which sure I do that a lot anyway, but more is always better. And since I'm living an honest life now, I'll admit that if Lucinda Dickey starred in Shadow Dancing, this review would probably say "Can you believe this movie was only thirty cents!"

Stupid brain.

ki ki ki meh meh meh

Came across this yesterday and I was so shocked I almost spat my leftover Thanksgiving stuffing all over my computer screen.

Can you believe this shit? Mind you, I thought that the remake was a big waste of natural resources- no wait...actually, I pretty much wanted to set it on fire- but I'm surprised that instead of hopping down the sequel trail, they're re-reboot-ening.

But then, on the older, wiser, perhaps more boring hand...I find that I do not care. You see, I no longer live in Los Angeles, so my days of press screenings and free screenings and movie openings are past. Having to pay for something, well, that makes me a far more discerning viewer because the idea of spending some of my precious few dollars on another remake of Friday the 13th makes me want to puke. I'll have to wait for it to show up at Redbox or Netflix or something, and I have a feeling there's always going to be something I'd rather watch. But who knows! I've done worse things in the interests of science, so maybe I'll take a reckless plunge when the time comes.

Moreso, however, it got me thinking about slashers in general, their place in the horror movie pantheon, and how much appeal they hold for me these days. Heck, I started Final Girl to talk exclusively about 'em! Now here I am, unable to achieve a metaphorical boner of love or hate for the idea of a new Friday the 13th.

I suppose it's a combination of things. Tastes change, after all, and right now my horror tastes generally run in directions other than "young attractive people are stabbed in creative ways". I say "generally" because hey, every once in a while a new slasher flick comes along and I really dig it. And, of course, I still adore the slashers of mah yoot and indulge in them on the regular. Geez, I wrote a comic about 'em! I guess I've simply come to a place in life where I embrace the freedom of not giving a shit about stuff like this. Or, at least, my Internet Anger tank is running on fumes, so it'd take something particularly heinous- say, a remake of Martyrs starring Lady Gaga and Kim Kardashian- to get me all riled up. Even then, though, I think I'd run out of steam pretty quickly. After all, I've seen some of the crappiest remakes to ever crap a crap, and yet...here I am. My love for the original films continues unabated. The moon continues to wax and wane, my haircuts continue to mystify even myself. I just don't see the point of frothing over it beyond an initial ARE YOU KIDDING ME NOOOOOO. Then it's back to Thanksgiving leftovers, you know?

Thriller Parade

In light of today's chunk o' the list o' your scariest films. See you next Wednesday!

VHS Week, Day 2: WISHMASTER

The jerks like to say that horror movies are good for nothin' at all, but you know what? I learned a little something about myself whilst watching Wishmaster (1997), and that is that I am totally prejudiced! It's true. You see, I am far, far, faaaaaaaaarrrrrrrr more lenient with crap if it's on VHS. I just am. It's not that the format has any bearing on a film beyond resolution and picture quality- it's that for me, videotapes are sheathed in sheaths of cardboard and nostalgia and clammed up in clamshells of plastic and memories.

I know I've talked about it before, about how "movie night" was a thing back then, about hours spent picking out tapes, about how box art could make or break a film, about horror movies and slumber parties, about how I'm old, about where are my pants. But last night, it really sunk in- Wishmaster had that intangible something that seemed perfectly made for VHS viewing, and I was into it. I couldn't understand why everyone harshed on it! Djinn being all evil and not like the goofy genies we're all used to is a terrific idea, and during a djinn-induced chaos some dude's skeleton broke free from his body and went on a rampage. What's not to love? That's gold, friends!

As Ponyboy taught us all, however, nothing gold can stay. And, despite all evidence to the contrary, I'm not a complete idiot: crap on VHS is still crap, and it wasn't long before Wishmaster showed its true colors...and man, they were crappy like a crapbow. It's interesting, though, because it's easy to pinpoint the exact moment where the tide turned. It's here:

Or, more succinctly, it's the moment after that moment, but as you know I jammed out to this on tape and therefore can't do screengrabs. Anyway, ol' Wishie has just made a deal with a homeless guy and the homeless guys runs away in terror, blah blah blah. Then, the Wishmaster...sigh...picks up the homeless guy's discarded cigarette, smokes it, and gets, you know, "cool". Like, Freddy Krueger starting in Dream Warriors-cool, by which I mean "not at all cool". It gets worse after the Wishmaster covers up his gnarly nature by putting on a man-skin face: shit gets cornier and cornier, the lines get "snappier" and "snappier", and I hate my life.

Really, does anybody like this sort of thing? Where a terrifying, ageless demon-monster leaves pun-filled answering machine messages for someone? Do people enjoy all the quippy taunts? They're dreadful unless they're barfed out by the Leprechaun or the Rumplestiltskin. I mean, that is just Horror Movie Making 101.

The effects throughout Wishmaster are largely dodgy, given that it was made during the nascent era of CGI. "Dodgy", I can forgive...but more than that, they're as corny as the GD dialogue, with people turning into glass doors and the such. Over the course of its runtime, Wishmaster truly devolves into- to quote Pauline Kael- some truly corny-ass shit! If only I'd stopped at the 20-minute mark. Oh well. If I'd done that, I would have missed the cameo by the Pazuzu statue! (For real, Wishmaster is chock-full of familiar faces of death horror, including Robert Englund, Reggie Bannister, Tony Todd, Kane Hodder, Joe Pilato, and the voice of Angus Scrimm.)

You may wonder why, when it was all over, I immediately popped in Wishmaster 2: Evil Never Dies (which I happen to own because it's part of a DVD crap-pack, don't judge me). I guess I figured, I've sat through one, maybe the second one is better? How much worse can it be?

The answer: a lot worse. Wishmaster 2 doesn't devolve into truly corny-ass shit, it starts as such.

Some thieves botch an art heist, shots are fired, the Wishmaster escapes, blah blah. After he's freed from his little tiny jewel house, he has a run-in with the cops on the scene, who tell him to freeze. He then turns the cop into ice, ISN'T THAT GREAT. I won't even bother to get into how the movie collapsed in on itself and defied its own logic within the first ten minutes, rendering everything else during the course of its 96 minutes pointless. I have things to do! I will say this much, though: about 20 minutes in, I thought to myself "Maybe this movie will be better if I lie down, close my eyes, and just listen to it." You know what? It was better, because I immediately fell asleep.

I realize there are two more films in the series, but I'm pretty sure that my relationship with Wishmaster is but a one-night stand. Unless I can find Parts 3 and 4 on VHS...I mean, how bad could they be, right? RIGHT?

Horror's unanswered questions: FRIGHT NIGHT

How in the Supercuts hell does this:

Turn into this?

Mind you, I have no problems whatsoever with her eyes or that mouth. But the hair! I've never been able to get over the change to her hair.

AND I NEVER WILL.

no lie!

My first thought upon waking up this morning:

The football-with-a-sword attached is really an inefficient weapon. You have to build the thing, then figure out a way to carry it around without anyone noticing, and then you have to find someone stupid enough to catch it.

I'm not sure what this says about me. Simply that it's time to watch Graduation Day? Or is it a cry for help? Should I dive deeper into the world of horror movies, or get the eff out? Madonna was so right: life really is a mystery!

The Witches Mountain

I knew going in that Category 7 of Operation: 101010, movies pulled from my 50-packs, would frequently cause me to find myself swept up in a Category 7 storm of crap. If the Spanish film The Witches Mountain (1972), the first film I'm ticking off that list, is any indication...well, I may have to upgrade it to a Category 10 and call in Nancy McKeon or Randy Quaid or someone else who's portrayed a Stormologist to help me survive.

Now, I'm not gonna lie: the first five minutes of The Witches Mountain are completely awesome and completely insane. As some of the softest soft rock plays, a woman arrives home and finds that someone has plunged a knife through a wig, pinning it to her front lawn. Wanton wig abuse! I was immediately smitten with this movie.

She goes upstairs and spies her cat all bloodied and dead on her bed. A little girl comes in, calls the woman an infidel, admits to the kittycide, then heads to the garage to play with her pet snake (not a euphemism). The woman follows and...promptly SETS THE CHILD ON FIRE. Cue The Witch Chorus Singers (redundant I know, but it sounds better), the opening credits, and a look of What the fuckery? that would remain until it was time to cue the end credits.

Wait, there are no end credits in The Witches Mountain...but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Whenever I set a child on fire, the first thing I want to do afterward is go on a nice vacation with my boyfriend. This mystery woman is no different, so she gets two tickets to one paradise or another and tells Mario (Cihangir Gaffari) to pack a bag. Mario is the very picture of delightful 70s sleaze, from his fluffy proto-mullet to his ambitious moustache to his chest carpet and medallion. He is kind of amazing.

At this point, I would like to remind everyone that a moment ago the woman SET A CHILD ON FIRE.

Perhaps he can sense that she's a nutcake, or perhaps he's just a cad. Whatever the case, Mario declines the offer of a free vacation and calls his boss to ask for a new "photo assignment" starting, like, now.

Mario must be a photographer for the CIA or something, because all we ever find out about his assignment is that he must go take some pictures of some mountains. Where, exactly? Eh, somewhere in the Pyrenees, it looks like. Why, exactly? 'Tis a mystery.

Along the way, Mario stops to take some photographs of a woman out sunbathing. The two begin talking and the woman, Delia (Patty Shepard) agrees to accompany Mario on his trip. This makes total sense. I mean, who wouldn't drive for hours deep into the middle of nowhere with a total stranger? It's not like anyone knows where she's going, so no one's going to bitch that it's a bad idea.

Anyway, they end up at a hotel run by Andorra's own answer to Marty Feldman. He is kind of amazing.

Thus begins our slog through the excruciating middle 65 minutes of The Witches Mountain. People talk, people sleep. Mario takes some pictures. Delia sleepwalks. They encounter a mysterious goat herder. They walk around. They say everything twice to the Marty Feldman innkeeper because he's deaf. Delia says she sees a face in the window in her room, but as usual, the picture is too dark for me to see anything.

mysterious goat herder

At one point, Mario and Delia are out taking pictures- well, Mario is talking pictures...Delia just sort of stands there- and someone drives off in their Jeep. They run after it and find it abandoned far down the road, outside of some little village that appears abandoned. It turns out that one house is occupied by a little old witchy-looking woman who claims she knows nothing of the Jeep thievery and she's totally the only person around.

Hey, remember when that woman set that kid on fire? Me too.

Mario and Delia invite themselves to stay with the old woman. Lest the sounds of The Witch Chorus Singers (they're back) lead you to think something is actually going to happen...well, don't get your hopes up because we're still ensconced in the 65-minute negative zone. They talk, they sleep, the old woman makes a big cauldron of something or other, Delia sleepwalks, Mario goes out and takes pictures. He stays out too long and after the sun goes down, the eeeevil fog rolls in. He gets lost, but spots some robed figures carrying torches and singing; yes, I think we've found The Witch Chorus Singers' Secret Hideout.

The next morning, Mario makes his way back to the old woman's house. He busts out his portable picture developing kit and...develops his pictures, anxious to see those robed figures again. The pictures of them are blank- however, random women appear in other photographs despite the fact that Mario did not see them and what's even more eerie, there's a photo of Mario and Delia that they did not take. Then some women drag the old woman out of her humble abode.

Finally, some GD action and stuff in this movie! Mario and Delia follow. They end up at the spot where The Witch Chorus Singers were hanging out...then they leave. Then Mario goes back. Then Mario finds some blood on a rock. Then I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that The Witches Mountain will probably never make any sense.

Now, I'm going to sum up the rest of the film using this series of rapid fire questions my roommate asked me when it was over. My answers are in parenthesis:

• So, they grab her...and she wears a bridal gown? (yes)
• Then she's in a dungeon? (y-yes)
• And there's...a hairy, oily guy in there? (umm...)
• And the witches are dancing? (It's like a failed musical.)
  
• Then someone hits him over the head? The lead guy. (I think so.)
• Then the girl he likes runs away? (yeah)
• And he chases her. (yes)
• And she runs off a cliff. (that was awesome!)
• So he sets the village on fire. (It looked like it...)
  
• Then all the witches are at his house. (I guess so.)

THE END, no credits.

The Witches Mountain leaves one with oh so many questions. What's the deal with the witches? And the bridal veil? And the dungeon? And the guy in the dungeon? And...why? And what the fuck is the thing that one of the witches is holding at the end? Seriously, your guess is as good as mine: I see a door hinge and a Zuni Fetish Doll.

AND WHAT ABOUT THE WOMAN WHO SET A CHILD ON FIRE? Well, she was there at the very end, but that doesn't explain anything. Oh, Witches Mountain, thou art verily a place of mystery.

This movie is so, so bad. So bad. Bad. Bad movie. If it consisted solely of the first and last 5-minute portions, though, I'd be sitting on a 50-pack of gold! The Witch Chorus Singers are purely and simply awesome, and they need to be heard by all. How you can achieve this without sitting through the film, I don't know. It may not be possible, but it may be worth the risk.

Nah, that's not true. The Witches Mountain may be a bad movie that's just plain bad. That's so hard for me to say, especially because of all the wig violence and singing and Mario's moustache. Siiigh.

Remember that time...

...you first heard about the original version of Bob Clark's Black Christmas which, instead of detailing the exploits of a stab-crazy wackadoo stalking girls in a sorority house, was about teeny tiny naked chicks trapped inside glass holiday ornaments, where they doze the years away as they float forever in a red-hued negative zone?

Yeah, me too. I shuddered so hard.