Day 24 - "Mother of God...they'll kill all of us!"

As someone who is vehemently opposed to humor in all forms, I tend to avoid horror-comedies. Sure, a little of one in the other is fine, but I like to keep the funny and the scary separate like a cinematic McDLT. That's my excuse, anyway, for being an animals run amok aficionado who had never seen Piranha (1978) before last night.

I can think of no other reason why I wouldn't have chomped this one down ages ago. Everything else point to it being made just for me. A 70s animal attack movie from Joe Dante, with a cast one only dares to dream of:  Bradford Dillman, who famously fought the fire-farting cockroachs of Bug! Keenan Wynn of television's Dallas! Barbara Steele, star of this year's SHOCKtober! Dick Miller! Kevin McCarthy! Paul Bartel! Melody Thomas Scott of The Young and the Restless! It goes on and on. And just went you sit up on your fainting couch, you find out that John Sayles wrote this shit and you say "WHAT!" and you immediately come down with another case of the vapors.

All this to say, the three people who called Piranha a favorite horror movie in 2020 were really on to something, because it's a lot of fun. Yes, I say this even though it has some comedy in it!

A couple of horny young folk break into a disused military testing facility and decide that a giant murky pool is a great place for some skinny dipping. After something (spoiler: it's piranhas) in the water noms them a shitton of times, the horny young folk are dead.

Feisty skip tracer Maggie (Heather Menzies) searches for the horny young folk with the help of local reclusive drunkard me Paul (Dillman); they make their way to the testing facility and drain the murky pool, only to be scolded by local weirdo scientist Dr. Hoak (McCarthy). Hoak explains that the murky pool was not only full of the leftovers of the military's biowarfare experiments, dubbed Operation: Razorteeth...it drained right into a nearby river. 

Two points of note: one, I never thought I'd get the chance to describe a character as a "feisty skip tracer," so Piranha has already proven to be a gift. Second, I loved the little stop-motion dude in Hoak's lab and was really hoping to see more of him!

Maggie, Paul, and Hoak set off down the river on a raft to warn as many folks as they can about the incoming piranha threat, making stops at the summer camp where Paul's daughter is staying and a new resort run by Dick Miller. The military is called in to help clean up the mess, and Barbara Steele is one of the military scientists. Yes, Piranha keeps giving and giving.

There is a lot of carnage in this movie: women, children, Paul Bartel...those piranha don't care who you are, they will swim in, make a gurgly woobwoobwoob noise (not to be confused with a Three Stooges woobwoobwoob noise), and nibble you to death, turning the river red with your blood. It's so great. 

The characters were charming and weird (thank you, John Sayles), there was no skimping on the attack scenes (thank you, Joe Dante), and abrupt-as-hell ending aside, I enjoyed the heck out of this (thank you, three voters). Except, of course, for all the times something funny happened. Those parts were the worst. If anyone says I so much as cracked a smile during this movie, I'll say I was hacked! 

Day 23 - "I told you it was gonna be too dangerous and now look what she's done!"

When I saw that Silent Scream (1979) earned three votes and landed at number 274 on the 2020 list of your favorite horror movies, I was psyched! It didn't quite land for me when I originally reviewed it, as I found it a case of "the parts are all there, but they are not assembled into a completely satisfying whole." I was therefore eager to revisit it and see if time might weave some magic.

Well, spoilers, I still feel that Silent Scream isn't quite satisfying overall, but time has indeed woven a wee bit o' magic, because I find that I'm more than satisfied with the parts.

Though it's often billed as a slasher flick--and, yeah, some people do get killed with a knife all slasher-style--Silent Scream is too odd a duck to be put into such a narrowly-defined box. It predates the the stalk-n-kill subgenre's heyday by a couple of years, but I'm not even sure if I'd call it a proto-slasher, exactly. It's more like a gothic soap opera walked through a slasher movie perfume mist, maybe. 

It feels a bit underseen in the mainstream, I think, so I'm reluctant to give away too many spoilers, although I certainly gave them away in that old-ass review. Four college students rent rooms in a seaside mansion owned by an eccentric family. Maybe that's all you need to know? Well, that and the fact that Avery Schreiber and Cameron Mitchell are our intrepid police detectives. For those of us with discerning taste, that's definitely a selling point!

Schreiber and Mitchell aren't the only draws on this cast though, not by a long shot. Perhaps you recognize Rebecca Balding of The Boogens under that mushroom cap? (If not, get thee to The Boogens stat!) 

And of course we get horror icons Yvonne De Carlo and Barbara Steele--Steele in particular is a real treat, emerging from the cobwebs (as she tends to do) and turning in a delightfully unhinged performance without saying a word.

So yes, Silent Scream straddles a few subgenres and isn't enough of any one of them to knock your socks off...but boy is it fun nonetheless. The entire film takes place over two days or so, and it gets really bonkers for all the folks involved in that short time span. It sort of keeps unraveling and unraveling as secrets are revealed, and then it's suddenly over, just shy of the 90 minute mark. It's missing some essential ingredient to bring it all together, though I can't quite pinpoint what it is. But I'm also completely fine with that--I really dug its strangeness this time, and it'll be thrown into a much more regular rotation around Stately Final Girl Manor, that's for sure. It's got a charming cast, a few terrific jump scares, a bit of atmosphere here and there, and Barbara Steele stole the show. That's definitely not unheard of for her, but still, I was really into the creepy weirdness she brought to this one.

Even just writing about it now, I feel my fondness for Silent Scream growing. Hot dang, SHOCKtober, you've done it again!

Day 22 - "This island didn't have a murder rate until you people showed up!"

Ooo-wee, SHOCKtober really has me wilding out! Look at me, after...disregarding? ignoring? avoiding?... it for 25 years *cough hack die* I watched I Still Know What You Did Last Summer (1998) because one reader out there calls it a favorite. I don't use the word 'hero' lightly, but I think we can all agree that because of this brave step I took, it certainly applies to moi.

1997 was the year of ascension of one Sarah Michelle Gellar. Though she already had a lengthy filmography and an even longer television resumé under her belt--not to mention a Daytime Emmy award--it was the trifecta of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Scream 2, and I Know What You Did Last Summer appearing in a single year that really catapulted her into the realm of bonafide pop culture stardom. I liked Scream, so I went to see Scream 2 when it opened. I liked Buffy, so I went to see I Know What You Did Last Summer when it opened. Though each film had some definite high points, overall I'd put both of them in the "eh, fine" category. The latter, in particular, felt very...young to me. I'm sure part of that is the fact that its roots lie in Lois Duncan's YA novel of the same name. But it was more the vibe of them: This was a new breed of slasher film, and the grit felt gone, somehow. It's the point where I mostly tapped out on slashers, in fact. And that's okay! It's also the point where other folks tapped in (some so hard that they end up writing books about it). It's the subgenre that acts as a gateway to horror for many a horror fan, and it's heartwarming, in its way, to think that some yoot out there is in love with Scream VI, no matter what I might think of it. 

The thing I liked the most about IKWYDLS (even the acronym is exhausting to type, for fuck's sake, Lois Duncan) is perhaps what everyone likes the most about it, which is Helen Shivers's death scene. It's scary! It's exciting! It's sad! I say it's the best part of the movie not only because I am a Sarah Michelle Gellar enjoyer, but also because as someone whose last name is a verb, I feel a kinship with Helen. 

But because my feelings about the movie--and, again, slashers in general--were decidedly meh, or maybe because Helen Shivers was not the returning Final Girl, I left I Still Know What You Did Last Summer to others. That is...until last night!

Julie James (Jennifer Love Hewitt), the returning Final Girl from the previous film, goes on a trip to the Bahamas with her best friend Karla (Brandy), Karla's boyfriend Tyrell (Mekhi Phifer), and...Will (Matthew Settle). Will has a crush on Julie, who is experiencing some strife in her relationship with fellow First Movie Survivor Ray (Freddie Prinze, Jr). Yes, Will is the new guy, played by an unknown actor, who doesn't appear on the poster. He probably has nothing to do with all the murders that start happening around the island resort!!

While overall a tepid, if harmlessly entertaining film, it's got a rather high-caliber supporting cast: Jeffrey Combs, Jennifer Esposito, and Jack Black (with ill-advised dreadlocks and blaccent!) all appear in sizable roles, and holy shit, it's John frigging Hawkes as Ray's pal? John Hawkes is the first person to die in I Still Know What You Did Last Summer? What a world!

If you really want to dig, there's some nuggets in there about trauma, courtesy of Julie, who is both survivor and secret-keeper. But mostly it's teens running place to place whilst all of the working folk around them are murdered. Even more than that, it seems designed as a star vehicle for Jennifer Love Hewitt, who not only gets the roving camera treatment during a tanning booth scene, lots of wet shirt action, a karaoke scene, and the honor of having her single (!) play over the end credits. I get it, she was going for a singing career to become one of those multi-threat-types. But you have to laugh resignedly at the absolute caucasity of having Jennifer Love Hewitt do karaoke and the end credits song while Brandy is right there. She's right there! Brandy! And she doesn't sing a note! 

Well, here are my big takeways (aside from the blatant Brandy disrespect) with this one. The very end was very surprising! I wonder if it is at all acknowledged in I STILL Still Know What You Did Last Summer (or whatever the next one is called)? I doubt I'll ever see it...unless one of you calls it a favorite horror movie next submittin' time.

Also this movie has a pretty great soundtrack (I'm not talking to YOU, Jennifer Love Hewitt)! Several groups I haven't listened to in forever, like Lamb, the underrated Esthero, and Great Value Portishead, aka Hooverphonic. In fact, it got me to bust out some CDs earlier, so if nothing else, I'm glad I finally checked this one out.

Day 21 - "Let's die together and live forever in Hell!"

I am fairly ashamed to admit right here in public that before last night, I had never seen Death Spa (1988). The movie is almost 60 years old (close enough), surely I could have found the time to give it a peep? Sigh. Well, at least now I have rectified my lack, thanks to one reader who calls it a favorite. It should be everyone's only favorite based on the famously bitchin' poster art alone. 

PS, the Japanese VHS and chirashi art not only go just as hard, they feature its alternate/original/German title Witch Bitch.

I will never be able to say enough good things about Death Spa. Death Spa rules. There is so much in this movie that you should really witness with your own two/one/four/however many eyes--especially when things get really nuts towards the end. (It probably took me 25 minutes to get through the last 15 minutes because I kept rewinding moments to savor repeatedly.) But there are still plenty of specific things I want to mention:

• This cast! Fresh Prince's Karyn Parsons appears in a small role, as does Chelsea Field, who was EXCUSE ME Teela in Masters of the Universe, be still my heart. The cast also includes the one and only Ken Foree, who wears this outfit sometimes:

    ...as well as gay icon, the late Merritt Butrick of EXCUSE ME Square Pegs.

• The sign for STARBODY HEALTH SPA burns out and becomes DEATH SPA. This is one of my favorite horror movie devices, like when MOTEL HELLO become MOTEL HELL, or at the end of Psycho when MASTUR burns out on the sign for BATES MOTEL. (nyuk nyuk!)

• There is erotic, suggestive asparagus play:

• Yeah you could just say this is a computerized health spa where people die, but Death Spa is a matryoshka doll of red herring plot lines, none of which make any sense. You will not care!
• Death Spa feels like a Google translate error. I don't mean the dialogue (although we'll get to that in the next point), I mean the way it's constructed. The filmmaking feels like the equivalent of translating an English sentence to another language, then translating it back to English. Scenes never seemed to go on long enough, things happen and people are there and as a viewer, you feel like you're supposed to know more than you do. While the proceedings are simple on the surface, you will feel lost, somehow.
• For example, here is the entire conversation from a scene where the conversation is the only thing that happens: 

            "What is it?"

            "Hmm?"

            "What's wrong? You're upset."

            "Saw a parapsychologist today."

• Here is another conversation...

            "How many reps can you do?"

            "Eh, 15 or 20. More if I'm showing off."

            "Why don't you show off for me?"

            "I never waste effort in the gym. Besides, I'm Beta. You're VHS."

    

            ...man, I bet the person who slung that last insult is really embarrassed now! (And maybe they should have been at the time? Beta was already virtually dead by 1988. Although it was technically the "superior" format...? I am going to stop trying to figure this out now. Death Spa can never be figured out!)

• There is some really crazy gore and a lot of nudity!
• There is more dance happening at Starbody Health Spa than there is exercising, and I am so thankful for it.
• I know it is every woman's dream to one day set herself on fire and then somehow possess someone and also possess a computer system to take revenge on her enemies, but after watching Death Spa I am already dousing myself in gasoline and learning how to hack (well, learning how to hack more) to ensure it will happen.  

Late in the movie, a band performs at the spa during the Mardi Gras party. (Los Angeles is famous for Mardi Gras celebrations, especially the LA fitness studios.) A line during one of the songs says "bless this mess," and I have never concurred harder with a song lyric in all my life. 

Okay, yes, except for "let me see that thong." But I say bless this mess that is Death Spa! It is weird in so many ways. There is a whiff of the perhaps-problematique at times. It is so much fun. I've said it before (in this post): Death Spa rules!

Day 20 - "Then I am a freak, the girls are right!"

When I first reviewed Audrey Rose (1977) for a SHOCKtober past--2009, to be precise--I found it fine but disappointing because I'd been told it was terrifying, not only by someone I knew but also by the VHS box for it. Since it appeared as one of a lone reader's favorite horror movies on the 2020 list, I thought this year would be a good time to revisit it to see if I would enjoy it more than I did way back when.

Spoiler alert, no I did not! In fact, I think I enjoyed it less!

It's got a fine birth year in 1977. It's got a fine cast in Anthony Hopkins, Marsha Mason, John Beck of television's Dallas. It's got a fine director in Robert Wise. He directed The Haunting for chrissakes! 

What I remembered from last time, mostly, is that there is so much screaming and crying, and Anthony Hopkins says "Audrey Rose!" a lot. What I didn't remember is that Marsha Mason really doesn't have much to do beyond this:

Even she has admitted she disliked the role: "All I did was cry!"

I'd also forgotten just how little horror there is in all the drama. I'm good with that kind of thing usually, but once this really gets to the courtroom plotline, it is just glacial and dull and I start dreaming about the fantastic horror movie it could have been. That's pointless, I know, and unfair to the film Audrey Rose actually is. I don't care! I also know I'm giving a shitty "review" this time, and I don't care about that either! (That 2009 review is a bit more in-depth, if you are interested.) This movie made me cranky. Is that the movie's fault? I'm not sure!

But I do know that I'm counting my blessings that Chris MacNeil was a single mother, because she could and did do whatever it took to get help for her daughter and wasn't clamjammed by her stubborn husband.  

Well, I have given this film two tries and I think that's enough to say "I am happy for that reader who calls it a favorite, but it is definitely not for me." If you catch me trying it again during SHOCKtober in 2037, please knock the videotape out of my hand!

Day 19 - "That face--even your mother wouldn't love you."

I'm really digging the vibe my SHOCKtober selections has had lately, which is le comfort. Diving into the list of your favorite horror films and revisiting movies that are perfect to watch--and maybe even best watched--on a Sunday afternoon. Or perhaps a Tuesday evening, as was the case way back in 1975 with...

In keeping with not only the comfort vibes but also the "going back to Final Girl's roots" ethos of this year's celebration, you will be treated (?) to photos of my TV throughout this post, because I have yet to upgrade from my VHS copy of Trilogy of Terror. And because the tape was born last century (though I'm honestly not sure when it fell into my hands), it has seen a lot of action over the years. Wink wink! 

I mean the picture is pretty cruddy, what did you think I meant?

Also, you know what, I'm going to give you the lowdown on this one from the back of the box of that very same VHS tape. Why? Not only because you've probably already seen this movie--heck, three of you called it a favorite in 2020--but because the copy sums it up perfectly. By transcribing it, I'm not working harder, I'm working smarter!

Take three eerie tales based on stories scripted by horror master Richard Matheson, add the many talents of Karen Black, incorporate the adept direction of Dan Curtis, and you have the truly riveting presentation...Trilogy of Terror.

Karen Black stars in each episode of the trilogy, showcasing her many talents. But the real star of the show, the "Zuni Fetish Doll" is one of the most unforgettable creatures in film history. In the third and climatic tale the African head-hunting doll stalks our innocent Ms Black in a frightening battle of survival. 

I mean, the box gets it. It's like "Yeah yeah there are three stories but WHO CARES WE JUST WANT THE ZUNI FETISH DOLL." With good reason! But first, I gotta give some shout outs to the first two stories.

In the first segment, Julie, we think that a mousy college professor is being repeatedly sexually assaulted by one of her students, only to find out that Julie psychically manipulated him into it. Uh...joke's on him and us, I guess? Then she kills him. She's done this to a lot of young men, and I would just like to give a shout out to her scrapbook of murder memories, which is one of my all-time favorite tropes.

Next up is Millicent and Therese, wherein Millicent is an uptight prude who enjoys a little Ruth Bader Ginsburg cosplay from time to time...

...and her sister Therese really GETS AROUND if you know what I mean. Not only does she GET AROUND, she smokes, breaks children's dollies, and reads books about satanism, witchcraft, pornography and the like. Millicent finally takes things in her own hands and uses knowledge she found in Therese's vast occult library to kill her. In a (not at all) shocking twist, it's a case of "dual personality" and Therese Millicent somehow killed herself. I know the Zuni doll gets all the attention, but I would like to give a shout out to the voodoo doll she used to kill herself, because look at it. 

Then, of course, we get to the goods in Trilogy in Terror, by which I mean Amelia. Listen, I'll just say it: I think it's the greatest killer doll "movie" there is. I love and love to hate others, your Chuckies and your Annabelles and the such, but the Zuni Fetish Doll is IT, baby.

I love the bit of backstory we get on why Amelia is living alone, as we hear the drama with her mama on a phone call. She also explains the lore "ugly" doll she bought for her boyfriend, how the Zuni warrior spirit is kept from animating the doll by the power of the gold chain wrapped around it. Then the chain falls off amd the doll goes completely, wonderfully HAM. It's nuts. I could watch (and listen to) that doll making rabblerabblerabble noises and running around all day. The swish swish swish of the knife as he's madly slashing at Amelia's ankles makes me glad I was born to witness it! It's so so so good.

Then after she toasts the doll in the oven, the spirit transfers to Amelia. The science on that part is solid, but I'm not so sure about how or why her teeth would change. 

But what an image to end the film on! It's just the best. It's so epic and iconic that you almost forget there are two other stories in Trilogy of Terror, even though the title tells you there will be three. I wonder how blown away people were when they settled down in front of their televisions on that Tuesday night almost 50 years ago (!!!) for a li'l movie and they got Karen Black fighting with that doll. I guess they must have been pretty damn blown away, because it's been a genre clissic ever since. Perfection!

Day 18 - "People droppin' like flies every which way!"

I try not to play favorites with your lists of favorites, but I admit: whenever I see a grand dame guignol film pop up, my heart skips like twelve beats. That impending arrhythmia is worth it because man, it's one of my favorite subgenres. Like anyone else who can appreciate a bit of camp, I adore the over-the-top histrionics. But ultimately these films are more than that to me, and I can never look at them exclusively through that lens. And while grand dame guignol tends to land on the trashier side of horror, I also can't see them as mere bottom-rack exploitation flicks poking fun at famous women who dared to age past 50 without sealing themselves away from the public eye. 

Most of all, as an avowed actressexual there's little I love more than to watch actresses actressing, especially when it's Queens of the Golden Age. So! A big high-five to the two readers who voted Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte a favorite in 2020. You know what's up!

After the unexpected success of his 1962 film What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, director Robert Aldrich said "Hey man, why don't we get the band back together?" (paraphrasing) and took another shot at guignol two years later with Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte. As with Baby Jane, writer Lukas Heller adapted a story by Henry Farrell about an aged woman trapped in her past and quite possibly insane. Aldrich cast Victor Buono (last seen during SHOCKtober as The Evil in The Evil!) and reunited Baby Jane and her sister Blanche, with Bette Davis and Joan Crawford on board as Charlotte and her cousin Miriam. After reported on-set arguing--or, as legend tells it, harassment from Davis--Crawford fell ill--or, as the legend tells it, fell "ill"--and returned to Hollywood for a hospital stay. Her lengthy absence resulted in her role being recast, although she still appears in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it shot filmed before she left. After some searching and some convincing, Olivia de Havilland replaced Crawford. (For her part, Crawford said she found out she was fired when she heard it on the radio, and she "cried for nine days" over it. We will never again see the likes of these titans of cinema, I swear!)

Charlotte is a bit more star-studded, if you will, than its grand dame peers. Bruce Dern and my man George Kennedy both appear in early roles, and we get prolific character actress Ellen "Mrs Walton" Corby in a brief appearance as a town gossip. This film, of all things, features the final performance of Mary fucking Astor, who mostly did it as a favor to her friend Davis. The legendary Joseph Cotten (who would go on to reunite with de Havilland in The Screaming Woman and George Kennedy in a few of the Airport films) classes up the joint, and Agnes Moorehead...is such a spectacle in this movie. Every time I see her beyond-outsized performance as Charlotte's housekeeper Velma, I am delighted but I also think to myself, "She really needed a director who would rein her in a bit." Usually I am the person outside the grocery store wearing a sandwich board and complaining that horror performances aren't taken seriously enough, but it's actually insane to me that she was nominated for an Oscar and won a Golden Globe for this. She is a cartoon! I don't think I'm complaining. It's just very strange, is all. 

It's a subtle performance

Then again, Bette Davis was nominated for Baby Jane. I guess what I'm saying is that I have lost all of my life savings many times over because of the mercurial nature of the nominating committees. That really adds up over the years. I'm out almost eight dollars!

Charlotte begins in Louisiana in 1927, with Big Sam Hollis (Buono) warning John (Dern) to stay away from his daughter Charlotte. No man will ever be good enough for her, especially not one who is (gasp) already married like John. Though the young lovers intended to elope that night during a party, John is intimidated into breaking up with Charlotte, which she takes very well by screaming "I'll kill you!" Moments later, someone uses a cleaver to lop off John's head and hand; when a stunned Charlotte appears on the dance floor with a blood on her gown, people figure she did it.

Fast-forward to 1964 and Charlotte lives alone in her big plantation house, her days and nights spent mostly in reverie as she's attended to by Velma. She's become something of a specter, the local "crazy woman" whose house kids dare each other to approach, as it's widely believed that her father's influence and connections are what helped her avoid being charged with John's murder. When she's informed that she must vacate Hollis House because a new interstate is being constructed, Charlotte summons her cousin Miriam to help her fight The Man. Miriam's motives may not be entirely pure, however. Is she in cahoots with her long-lost boyfriend--and Charlotte's doctor--Drew Bayliss (Cotten)? Is she in cahoots with John's widow Jewel Mayhew (Astor)? Is Charlotte crazy? Is she merely acting crazy? Is she being driven crazy?

Charlotte clocks in at a whopping 133 minutes, but it's never dull and it never feels like time wasted. This is grand dame guignol meets southern gothic, and Aldrich allows the sprawling mystery to unfurl slowly, truly keeping you guessing as to just who's up to just what. It leans into the horror more than many of its peers, as well--it's not just "psycho-biddy," but we get some spooky atmosphere (Charlotte's dream sequence revisiting the 1927 party is a knock-out) and delightful touches, from the surprisingly gory murder scene to the few instances where the dead don't stay quiet.  

At the heart of many of the films in this subgenre, there is a small tragedy at the root of things, and Charlotte is no exception. Like another of my favorites, William Castle's Strait-Jacket, Charlotte is the tale of a woman unable to--or perhaps not allowed to--reckon with her past and move on. However, unlike Joan Crawford as Lucy Harbin in Strait-Jacket, Davis's Charlotte is a bit tougher to feel for, which may owe to the fact that Davis is at her shrillest here, shriek-bleating most of her lines. But then, in the film's closing moments, she wordlessly works some magic and you're brought right back to thinking "Oh right, you're Bette GD Davis."

It's also a subtle performance

But for me, Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte is really Olivia de Havilland's show. Of course, I say that about every movie she's in because I love her so much. The last half hour of this film, as things unravel in many different ways, is where she really shines. In roles that require it of her, I always marvel at her ability to shift emotions completely in a scene--sometimes in a single moment--or do some subtle thing to let us know that what we see on the surface isn't what's going on under the surface. And while I'm certainly not putting her role in Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte on par with those in The Heiress or My Cousin Rachel (to name but two), I will say that Olivia de Havilland's line reading of "Oh, I wish to God I'd never come here" alone is worth the ticket price to this. I STAN, OKAY!!!

my queen

If you can't tell by now, I love Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte. Maybe it's just the southern gothic vibe, I don't know...but it's perhaps the only film of its ilk to qualify as an epic. It's just campy enough, just trashy enough, just tragic enough. And that cast really can't be beat--ah, the actressing! I tells ya, rewatching and (finally) writing about this one...if I didn't have a "write about readers' faves" theme going this month, I'd be talking grand dame for a good while. I'll be crying for nine days just thinking about the possibilities!

Day 17 - "You just shot a dead dog."

O reader mine, forgive me if today's post comes off as a bit scattered ("When don't your posts come off as scattered?" -- You, probably), but yesterday I done got myself (double) vassinated so I can be around you heifers and it went as it always does: "This time, I will emerge from this unscathed!" I think to myself. A sore arm, no bigs. Then about 12 hours later, Lady Moderna makes her presence known and proceeds to whip my ass for a few days. Last night was The Chills portion of the Lady Moderna Revue, wherein the inside of my body felt the way the foil wrapper on a piece of Wrigley's Spearmint gum used to smell. Then there was the shaking so hard I thought my bones would shatter and my teeth would turn to dust. Very exciting! 

Side note, looking up Wrigley's Spearmint gum to make sure it was the one that had the white outer wrapper, I see that it is no longer in production due to declining sales. While I suppose I am at least partially to blame for that as I have never bought any, it still elicited an "aww dang" from me because my gramma used to love that shit! It's strange, isn't it, how the most inconsequential things can take on such sudden significance? How our memories are a--ehhhh. Before I go any further in that direction, let's get back to the SHOCKtobernanigans. I thought my more-addled-than-usual spearmint brain state was the perfect time to revisit a film I haven't seen in forever, a film that two--yes, two!--people chose as a favorite back in 2020. 

Yes, perfect. As I lay on the couch like a shivering loaf, The Children greeted me (slowly, arms extended) and demanded nothing. Of course, I knew what was going to happen in the movie so I wasn't exactly in suspense. But more so, The Children demands nothing of anyone. There is no mystery, and as a viewer you will not be tasked with figuring things out or wondering why something happens. Drips from a leaky nuclear power plant cause a big, toxic green-brown cloud (just like my mother-in-law does after we dine at Chipotle, amirite??) (I'm so sorry, I should have taken today off). A school bus drives through the cloud. The children on the bus become goth zombies: their fingernails turn black and they can set you on fire by touching you. They hug their way through the bucolic New England town of Ravensback, a-squeezin' and a-meltin' everyone along the way.

There's a lot to love about this movie, not the least of which is that it's pretty hardcore, albeit in a kind of...I don't know, a gentle way? These kids will take out anyone: moms, dads, dogs, uninfected children...they don't care, they just want to kill! But everything happens so slowly, and these are kids after all. So the carnage, such as it is, is literally just walk--hug--sizzle. Melted folks sure are gross and there's a shitton of violence against children throughout the film, but it's okay because, uh, you know, the kids are chopped up out of frame and there's no blood. While in theory it's all fairly tasteless (as expected from a Troma film, no?), the approach makes it come off as virtually quaint.

The pace really does start to drag around the hour mark, driving home that The Children is about 15 minutes worth of story stretched out to 90. When he comes across the empty school bus idling in the road, the sheriff decides to visit everyone in town rather than actually looking for the missing children and bus driver. Then we travel around to all the same stops again as the children do their thing, then again as the bodies are discovered, and so on. 20 of the last 30 minutes seems to consist of the sheriff and local dad John slowly walking through a house and barn in search of the li'l huggers; maybe it's just me speaking as the zoomer I am, but yowza, there was a lot of nothing at times.

The nothing, at least, was livened up some by Harry Manfredini's score, which is nothing if not a rough draft for his work on Friday the 13th. And the citizenry of Ravensback, one of those idyllic towns where everybody knows everybody, are a delightfully bizarre bunch. From the uber twat Dr Gould (who keeps her...daughter? live-in patient? zoned out on codeine) to the waitress who just wants a date with the sheriff to the pot-smoking, bodybuilding couple to Sanford Butler-Jones (who needs no introduction), it's fun to get a glimpse of their stories before they're charbroiled by the children.

Well, hopefully Lady Moderna will loosen her grip and my brain fog will clear up soon, lest I be transformed into a black-fingernailed goth--or should I say gother--zombie. But if you see me shambling slowly towards you, arms outstretched, calling "readerrrr!!" don't worry and don't shy away. My hugs feel like the way Wrigley's Spearmint smells, I promise.