It's become quite fashionable to bash Universal's Dracula, American cinema's first foray into supernatural horror. (All previous American horror films featured monsters that could be explained away with mad scientists, lunatics, greedy schemers or all of the above.) And there's plenty to criticize here. The screenplay is based not on Bram Stoker's novel, but on a Broadway play based on the novel. Consequently, many scenes seem stage-bound and lack energy, and Tod Browning's direction does little to enliven the proceedings. His actors all stand on their marks, throwing lines of dialogue at one another that endlessly describe off-screen action without giving us much on-screen juice to care about, while his camera rarely moves (A crime, considering that his cinematographer was the gifted Karl Freund, who would provide glimpses of what could have been with his own directorial efforts, The Mummy and Mad Love), taking little advantage of the often enormous, expensive, highly detailed sets.
There are problems amongst the actors as well: Helen Chandler makes for an oddly listless Mina (being drained of blood is no excuse for being boring, dear girl), while David Manners plays the first of his many Useless Boyfriend roles. (In later years, Manners would admit that he thought the film was "a stinker.") And the lack of any kind of musical score makes Dracula seem at least twice as long as it really is.
With all of that said, there is still much to praise in Dracula as well. The opening scenes in Transylvania remain as moody and evocative as they were when Dracula was first released, mainly due to the efforts of Freund. (Why he was unable to work this magic on the rest of the film remains a mystery.) Bela Lugosi became a superstar based on his rich, energetic, sensual performance as the immortal vampire who comes to England in search of new blood. His exotic accent and measured delivery (which issued forth because he spoke little English and memorized his dialogue phonetically) only enhance the otherworldly quality of his performance. Edward Van Sloan is Lugosi's equal as Van Helsing, the man of science who nonetheless believes in the corrupting power of the supernatural. The scenes between Lugosi and Van Sloan stand well above much of the rest of the movie, and the two actors play well off of one another. (They should: each played his respective part from Dracula on Broadway as well.) And Dwight Frye gives a bug-eyed, toothy-grinned, thoroughly demented performance as the insane realtor Renfield.
Credit must also be given to studio head Carl Laemmle Sr., who, despite his misgivings, gave the go-ahead for this project to be produced by his son, Carl, Jr. It was a substantial risk for Universal to make a movie in which you couldn't come up with a reasonable, rational explanation for the goings-on. There had, in fact, only been one American vampire movie before: the long-lost London After Midnight, also directed by Browning and starring Lon Chaney as a razor-toothed nightmare who turned out to just be a police inspector in disguise. (Chaney has long been rumored to have been Universal's first choice to play Dracula--even though he was under contract to MGM at the time.) To offer a supernatural answer to what was happening simply hadn't been done in American films before, and the consequences could have been catastrophic for the studio or, at the very least, for the careers of the elder and junior Laemmles. Instead, Dracula was a smash hit, Lugosi a certified matinee idol, monster movies a proven commodity.
Dracula may not have aged as well as the horror films Universal would subsequently produce, such as Frankenstein, The Mummy or The Invisible Man, but it served its purpose: it opened the coffin lid and let all the crawling and shambling and howling things come out to play with our minds and hearts. And for that, at the very least, Universal's Dracula must be given its due.
NOTE: Universal recently re-released Dracula with a musical score written by noted composer Philip Glass and performed by the Kronos Quartet. While such retrofitting would ordinarily be frowned upon, this move seemed like a natural. After all, the film had been criticized for decades because of its lack of a score, and adding one well after the fact seemed not only logical, but kind. The music does, indeed, help Dracula, for the most part, heightening mood in scenes that had otherwise seemed merely dull while enhancing scenes that were already intense.
Occasionally, though, Glass falters, adding music to scenes that would have been better off silent or, at the very least, subdued; his notes sometimes step on dialogue that would have been better left to stand on its own. Still, overall, the experiment was a success, and purists who find such a concept repulsive can, should they choose, ignore it altogether: the DVD edition of Dracula includes both the newly scored version and the original scoreless one.
Friday, November 21, 2003
Thursday, November 20, 2003
Review: Maniac (1934)
You have to see this one to believe it.
Well...actually, even after you see it, you still might not believe it.
Nutty Dr. Meirschultz (Horace Carpenter) has come up with a way to revive the recently dead. He wants to steal the body of a suicide victim from the morgue because she's "perfect" for his experiments. (Why somebody who wants to be dead qualifies as "perfect" for being brought back to life is beyond me. Guess I'm just not mad-scientist material after all.) He tells his assistant, former actor Don Maxwell (Bill Woods) his plans, to which Maxwell replied, "It's horrible, I tell you--working with the dead, trying to bring back life. It's not natural. You with your weird ideas. Haven't I stayed here nursing dying dogs?" The doctor's response to this bit of overacting is precious: "Once a ham, always a ham!" (Tell it, brother, tell it!)
Meirschultz and Maxwell (disguised as the coroner) sneak into the morgue, bring the young lady back to life and sneak her out again. But is the doc satisfied? Nope. He wants to bring back someone with "a shattered heart" and do a little Frankenstein number with a beating heart he has in a jar on the laboratory table. He hands Maxwell a revolver and urges his to commit suicide, promising to bring him right back.
Maxwell, in a stunning display of good sense, plugs Dr. Meirschultz instead.
Unfortunately for Maxwell, a patient of Dr. Meirschultz's needs immediate care--the patient's wife tells Maxwell that her husband thinks he's "the orangutan killer" in Poe's "Murders in the Rue Morgue"--and Maxwell has to do an impromptu impersonation of the late mad scientist. Things go down hill here from there.
The rest of the movie skids all over the road. There's nudity (when "the orangutan killer" decides to undress and strangle the revived suicide victim), catfights (literal), more catfights (figurative, when two women go at each other with hypodermic needles in a cellar) and enough bad acting to fill two or three Ed Woods movies. Some of the actors munch on the scenery like hogs at a trough, while others are obviously reading cue cards (and at least one is blind, stinking drunk). Maxwell's rapidly exploding madness is illustrated by lifted scenes from Haxan: Witchcraft Through the Ages (an especially bizarre silent movie), while helpful title cards explain the various stages of clinical dementia he's going through.
The plot even features a partial lift from Poe's "The Black Cat" (damn, poor Edgar can't get a break, can he?) and a more-than-kinda gross scene where Maxwell appears to pop out a cat's eye and eat it like an oyster. (I've watched this scene frame by frame on DVD--yes, I own Maniac on DVD...stop looking at me like that!--but I can't tell whether the cat's eye is real or not. If I had to guess, though, I'd vote for "not" just because of the marked lack of blood involved.)
Anybody who claims Plan Nine from Outer Space is the worst movie ever made has obviously never checked out this contender.
Well...actually, even after you see it, you still might not believe it.
Nutty Dr. Meirschultz (Horace Carpenter) has come up with a way to revive the recently dead. He wants to steal the body of a suicide victim from the morgue because she's "perfect" for his experiments. (Why somebody who wants to be dead qualifies as "perfect" for being brought back to life is beyond me. Guess I'm just not mad-scientist material after all.) He tells his assistant, former actor Don Maxwell (Bill Woods) his plans, to which Maxwell replied, "It's horrible, I tell you--working with the dead, trying to bring back life. It's not natural. You with your weird ideas. Haven't I stayed here nursing dying dogs?" The doctor's response to this bit of overacting is precious: "Once a ham, always a ham!" (Tell it, brother, tell it!)
Meirschultz and Maxwell (disguised as the coroner) sneak into the morgue, bring the young lady back to life and sneak her out again. But is the doc satisfied? Nope. He wants to bring back someone with "a shattered heart" and do a little Frankenstein number with a beating heart he has in a jar on the laboratory table. He hands Maxwell a revolver and urges his to commit suicide, promising to bring him right back.
Maxwell, in a stunning display of good sense, plugs Dr. Meirschultz instead.
Unfortunately for Maxwell, a patient of Dr. Meirschultz's needs immediate care--the patient's wife tells Maxwell that her husband thinks he's "the orangutan killer" in Poe's "Murders in the Rue Morgue"--and Maxwell has to do an impromptu impersonation of the late mad scientist. Things go down hill here from there.
The rest of the movie skids all over the road. There's nudity (when "the orangutan killer" decides to undress and strangle the revived suicide victim), catfights (literal), more catfights (figurative, when two women go at each other with hypodermic needles in a cellar) and enough bad acting to fill two or three Ed Woods movies. Some of the actors munch on the scenery like hogs at a trough, while others are obviously reading cue cards (and at least one is blind, stinking drunk). Maxwell's rapidly exploding madness is illustrated by lifted scenes from Haxan: Witchcraft Through the Ages (an especially bizarre silent movie), while helpful title cards explain the various stages of clinical dementia he's going through.
The plot even features a partial lift from Poe's "The Black Cat" (damn, poor Edgar can't get a break, can he?) and a more-than-kinda gross scene where Maxwell appears to pop out a cat's eye and eat it like an oyster. (I've watched this scene frame by frame on DVD--yes, I own Maniac on DVD...stop looking at me like that!--but I can't tell whether the cat's eye is real or not. If I had to guess, though, I'd vote for "not" just because of the marked lack of blood involved.)
Anybody who claims Plan Nine from Outer Space is the worst movie ever made has obviously never checked out this contender.
Wednesday, November 19, 2003
Review: The Brainiac (1961)
I know most Mexican horror films from the '50s and '60s are pretty bloody weird, but The Brainiac has got to top them all.
The Baron Vitelius of Artera (played by the producer, Abel Salazar) is put before the "Inquisition of New Spain" in 1661 for worshipping Satan, enticing women into evil, kicking puppies, stealing candy from babies, etc. Only one friend speaks up for him, and that dude gets 200 lashes for his trouble. (No wonder everybody else kept his mouth shut.) The tribunal decides to burn the baron at the stake, and he takes this verdict very well: He says something about not wanting to die with chains on and then makes them vanish! (But...if the baron has that kind of power, why does he let the Inquisition burn him to death?)
As the baron is being toasted like a marshmallow, a comet passes overhead. He then vows to return when the comet does in 300 years (how does he know that that's when the comet will return?) and wipe out the descendants of the Inquisition tribunal. (Why not just wipe out the tribunal now and eliminate the possibility of descendants?)
Flash forward 300 years to modern Mexico, where a young couple (she's a curvy descendant of one of the inquisitors; he's the descendant of the one friend who spoke up for the baron) has a strong interest in astronomy. They visit their local observatory, where the head guy is very excited about this comet that's supposed to appear--a comet not seen in 300 years (uh oh). Sure enough, the comet returns and spits out a chunk of comet containing--guess who?--the baron.
Only he doesn't look a thing like the baron. When an unfortunate passer-by stumbles across the chunk of comet, it turns into this freaky monster with a hairy, pulsating head, furry lobster-like claws and an enormous forked tongue it uses to suck the poor guy's brains out. He then steals his victim's clothing and runs into the lovely young couple, who have come out to find the chunk of comet.
And it just gets stranger, kids. The revived baron throws a party and invites all of the descendants (including the lovely young couple). He then starts knocking them off one or two at a time, always coming over to visit them, turning into the hairy freak with the enormous tongue and trying to make it all look like an accident, even though the local cops notice the two holes that appear to be drilled in each of the victim's skulls. The baron collects the brains in a bowl and eats them with a spoon! And just as he's about to knock off the lovely young couple, the cops show up--with flamethrowers! (Now that's a SWAT team!)
All of this in just over an hour. Whew.
The Brainiac is one of those movies that will have you saying "What the fuck?" over and over again. Whether or not this constitutes an enjoyable movie-watching experience is up to the individual viewer. Me? I'm ready for another heapin' helpin' of brains in a bowl right now...
The Baron Vitelius of Artera (played by the producer, Abel Salazar) is put before the "Inquisition of New Spain" in 1661 for worshipping Satan, enticing women into evil, kicking puppies, stealing candy from babies, etc. Only one friend speaks up for him, and that dude gets 200 lashes for his trouble. (No wonder everybody else kept his mouth shut.) The tribunal decides to burn the baron at the stake, and he takes this verdict very well: He says something about not wanting to die with chains on and then makes them vanish! (But...if the baron has that kind of power, why does he let the Inquisition burn him to death?)
As the baron is being toasted like a marshmallow, a comet passes overhead. He then vows to return when the comet does in 300 years (how does he know that that's when the comet will return?) and wipe out the descendants of the Inquisition tribunal. (Why not just wipe out the tribunal now and eliminate the possibility of descendants?)
Flash forward 300 years to modern Mexico, where a young couple (she's a curvy descendant of one of the inquisitors; he's the descendant of the one friend who spoke up for the baron) has a strong interest in astronomy. They visit their local observatory, where the head guy is very excited about this comet that's supposed to appear--a comet not seen in 300 years (uh oh). Sure enough, the comet returns and spits out a chunk of comet containing--guess who?--the baron.
Only he doesn't look a thing like the baron. When an unfortunate passer-by stumbles across the chunk of comet, it turns into this freaky monster with a hairy, pulsating head, furry lobster-like claws and an enormous forked tongue it uses to suck the poor guy's brains out. He then steals his victim's clothing and runs into the lovely young couple, who have come out to find the chunk of comet.
And it just gets stranger, kids. The revived baron throws a party and invites all of the descendants (including the lovely young couple). He then starts knocking them off one or two at a time, always coming over to visit them, turning into the hairy freak with the enormous tongue and trying to make it all look like an accident, even though the local cops notice the two holes that appear to be drilled in each of the victim's skulls. The baron collects the brains in a bowl and eats them with a spoon! And just as he's about to knock off the lovely young couple, the cops show up--with flamethrowers! (Now that's a SWAT team!)
All of this in just over an hour. Whew.
The Brainiac is one of those movies that will have you saying "What the fuck?" over and over again. Whether or not this constitutes an enjoyable movie-watching experience is up to the individual viewer. Me? I'm ready for another heapin' helpin' of brains in a bowl right now...
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
Review: The Man Who Laughs (1928)
Universal's The Man Who Laughs routinely gets lumped into the horror category. This confusion is understandable, though. It's directed by Pau Leni, who had helmed the first film version of The Cat and the Canary for the studio the year before. It stars German actor Conrad Veidt, known on both sides of the Atlantic for his performances in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Waxworks (also directed by Leni) and a number of other German Expressionist-influenced nightmares. Co-starring as Veidt's romantic interest is Mary Philbin, who had previously been menaced by Lon Chaney in Phantom of the Opera. The screenplay is an adaptation of a story by Victor Hugo, the author of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, an earlier Universal smash also starring Chaney (who would have starred in this project, had he not signed a contract with MGM instead). Brandon Hurst, the villainous priest in Hunchback, is here as well, as a devious court jester. And Veidt's admittedly creepy makeup job--a wide, sickly grin said to have been at least partial inspiration for Batman's main nemesis, the Joker--was done by Jack Pierce, who would later create some of the great monster makeups in the history of cinema, including the Frankenstein Monster, the Mummy and the Wolf Man.
But as much as Universal wanted The Man Who Laughs to look like a horror film, it's just not. It's a historical melodrama about Gwynplaine (Veidt) who, as a child, is subjected to cruel surgery that carves his face into a enormous, permanent smile by no less than King James II as a further torment to Gwynplaine's family--as if torturing and executing his father, also played by Veidt, on trumped-up treason charges weren't enough. Gwynplaine survives and even saves a little blind girl in a blizzard. She grows up to be Philbin, beautiful and oblivious to the fact that Gwynplaine, now a renowned clown in a travelling show, loves her deeply and truly.
It's later discovered that poor, defaced (almost literally) Gwynplaine is, in fact, nobility. And an opportunistic duchess (Olga Baclanova, who would later play a similarly villainous role in Freaks) tries to seduce the grinning clown--at one point, looking downright sexually excited while watching Gwynplaine's act--only to be rejected. All sorts of complications ensue, like chases, escapes, misunderstandings, duels and, eventually, a tearful reunion as a ship is about to sail away with a true love's heart aboard.
In other words, damn near everything but horror.
The Man Who Laughs is a consistently good-looking movie--Universal certainly dropped some cash on the elaborate sets and costumes--and the performances are all worthy, especially from Veidt who, like Chaney before him, must give an effective performance while denied facial expression due to restrictive makeup. But unlike Chaney's characters, who inspired simultaneous pity and fear, Veidt's Gwynplaine suffers so grievously from the outset that our sympathies are immediately with him; we're never afraid of him for even a moment, despite his gruesome appearance. We want his suffering to end. We want the poor bastard to win, for a change.
Thus, the expectations set up by the pedigree of this movie--the stars, the director, the source material and the makeup--are never met, regardless of the relatively high quality of the production. The Man Who Laughs certainly isn't a bad movie by any means--it is, in actuality, a fine historical melodrama. But after years of seeing appetizing stills in various monster magazines and reference books, it's hard not to find it to be a disappointing one. So enjoy The Man Who Laughs for what it is--not what we've always been told it should be.
But as much as Universal wanted The Man Who Laughs to look like a horror film, it's just not. It's a historical melodrama about Gwynplaine (Veidt) who, as a child, is subjected to cruel surgery that carves his face into a enormous, permanent smile by no less than King James II as a further torment to Gwynplaine's family--as if torturing and executing his father, also played by Veidt, on trumped-up treason charges weren't enough. Gwynplaine survives and even saves a little blind girl in a blizzard. She grows up to be Philbin, beautiful and oblivious to the fact that Gwynplaine, now a renowned clown in a travelling show, loves her deeply and truly.
It's later discovered that poor, defaced (almost literally) Gwynplaine is, in fact, nobility. And an opportunistic duchess (Olga Baclanova, who would later play a similarly villainous role in Freaks) tries to seduce the grinning clown--at one point, looking downright sexually excited while watching Gwynplaine's act--only to be rejected. All sorts of complications ensue, like chases, escapes, misunderstandings, duels and, eventually, a tearful reunion as a ship is about to sail away with a true love's heart aboard.
In other words, damn near everything but horror.
The Man Who Laughs is a consistently good-looking movie--Universal certainly dropped some cash on the elaborate sets and costumes--and the performances are all worthy, especially from Veidt who, like Chaney before him, must give an effective performance while denied facial expression due to restrictive makeup. But unlike Chaney's characters, who inspired simultaneous pity and fear, Veidt's Gwynplaine suffers so grievously from the outset that our sympathies are immediately with him; we're never afraid of him for even a moment, despite his gruesome appearance. We want his suffering to end. We want the poor bastard to win, for a change.
Thus, the expectations set up by the pedigree of this movie--the stars, the director, the source material and the makeup--are never met, regardless of the relatively high quality of the production. The Man Who Laughs certainly isn't a bad movie by any means--it is, in actuality, a fine historical melodrama. But after years of seeing appetizing stills in various monster magazines and reference books, it's hard not to find it to be a disappointing one. So enjoy The Man Who Laughs for what it is--not what we've always been told it should be.
Monday, November 17, 2003
Review: Urban Legend (1998)
You know, it actually surprises me that it took so long for somebody to make a mad slasher film in which the murders are based around popular urban legends. After all, a number of slasher films, good (Halloween, A Nightmare on Elm Street) and bad (Friday the 13th, Hell Night), have been built around the idea of a place where multiple murders have already taken place--the stuff urban legends are formed from.
It's just too bad that, once somebody got around to making such a movie, it had to be such a tiresome affair as Urban Legend, the latest entry in the self-referential, hip slasher movie trend started by the Scream movies and continued by I Know What You Did Last Summer, which dictates that a cast of young, beautiful people--at least one of whom must belong to the cast of either Dawson's Creek or Party of Five--are picked off one by one until the brightest, most resilient of the bunch unmasks the killer (or killers, as the case may be).
The cast of Urbam Legend is an unusually comely one, even by the high standards set for this subgenre: Alicia Witt, Jared Leto, Rebecca Gayheart, Joshua Jackson, Tara Reid and Natashia Wagner Gregson are among the gorgeous potential victims, while character actors John Neville (the "well-manicured man" from The X-Files) and Robert Englund (Freddy!) are on hand to act as suspects.
A killer is loose on the campus of a New England college, knocking off coeds and frat boys using various urban myths, like the "body scraping the car roof" story or the "killer calling from the upstairs phone" legend. This setup has its moments, most of them belonging to Witt, who comes to believe all of the murders are somehow connected to a shameful secret from her past. She's smart, resourceful, determined...and just as doomed to suffer as anybody else in this movie.
Some of the deaths are pretty gruesome--murder isn't pretty, kids--and most of them are entirely pointless: if the killer wants revenge on Alicia Witt's character, why not just go right after HER instead of depopulating the student body? Why knock of characters who barely KNOW Alicia? I must give credit where it's due, though: it took me a while to figure out exactly who the killer was, and there were some cute in jokes, like when Joshua Jackson starts his car and the theme from his TV show, Dawson's Creek, comes blaring out of the stereo (see, I told you at least one DC cast member had to in here somewhere).
Maybe I've just seen too many of these purportedly hip-and-funny-yet-scary ventures. Maybe I've just gotten tired of seeing talented young actors looking scared and dying horribly. Maybe I've come to expect more from the subgenre and find this to be little more than connect-the-dots filmmaking. Whatever the specific cause, Urbam Legend ultimately depressed me with its body count and lack of invention, despite an inventive, promising premise that it never does much with.
Excuse me now...I've got a taste for Pop Rocks and Pepsi....
It's just too bad that, once somebody got around to making such a movie, it had to be such a tiresome affair as Urban Legend, the latest entry in the self-referential, hip slasher movie trend started by the Scream movies and continued by I Know What You Did Last Summer, which dictates that a cast of young, beautiful people--at least one of whom must belong to the cast of either Dawson's Creek or Party of Five--are picked off one by one until the brightest, most resilient of the bunch unmasks the killer (or killers, as the case may be).
The cast of Urbam Legend is an unusually comely one, even by the high standards set for this subgenre: Alicia Witt, Jared Leto, Rebecca Gayheart, Joshua Jackson, Tara Reid and Natashia Wagner Gregson are among the gorgeous potential victims, while character actors John Neville (the "well-manicured man" from The X-Files) and Robert Englund (Freddy!) are on hand to act as suspects.
A killer is loose on the campus of a New England college, knocking off coeds and frat boys using various urban myths, like the "body scraping the car roof" story or the "killer calling from the upstairs phone" legend. This setup has its moments, most of them belonging to Witt, who comes to believe all of the murders are somehow connected to a shameful secret from her past. She's smart, resourceful, determined...and just as doomed to suffer as anybody else in this movie.
Some of the deaths are pretty gruesome--murder isn't pretty, kids--and most of them are entirely pointless: if the killer wants revenge on Alicia Witt's character, why not just go right after HER instead of depopulating the student body? Why knock of characters who barely KNOW Alicia? I must give credit where it's due, though: it took me a while to figure out exactly who the killer was, and there were some cute in jokes, like when Joshua Jackson starts his car and the theme from his TV show, Dawson's Creek, comes blaring out of the stereo (see, I told you at least one DC cast member had to in here somewhere).
Maybe I've just seen too many of these purportedly hip-and-funny-yet-scary ventures. Maybe I've just gotten tired of seeing talented young actors looking scared and dying horribly. Maybe I've come to expect more from the subgenre and find this to be little more than connect-the-dots filmmaking. Whatever the specific cause, Urbam Legend ultimately depressed me with its body count and lack of invention, despite an inventive, promising premise that it never does much with.
Excuse me now...I've got a taste for Pop Rocks and Pepsi....
Sunday, November 16, 2003
Review: Bubba Ho-Tep (2002)
Bubba Ho-Tep is one of those movies that you decide to see not on the basis of reviews like this one, but depending rather on your immediate reaction to a brief description of the plot, like this:
An elderly man claiming to be Elvis fights a soul-sucking Egyptian mummy in an old-folks home in East Texas with the help of a black man who insists he's JFK.
Now. How did you feel about that description? Did you scratch your head and say, "...the hell?" If so, you should probably stop reading this review right now--Bubba Ho-Tep isn't for you.
If, on the other hand, you smiled broadly and said, "Hot damn tamale, baby!" then read on--Bubba Ho-Tep may be just what you've been looking for.
Bruce Campbell plays The King, who switches places with a particularly good Elvis impersonator named Sebastian Haff (also Campbell). Unfortunately, Haff has "a bad ticker" and dies on the throne at Graceland. Meanwhile, the real Elvis carries on, impersonating the impersonator until he throws out one of his swiveling hips in concert and lands in a nursing home, where, 20 years later, he lies in bed, gets around with a walker, worries that the bump on the end of his, er, royal staff is cancer, and basically waits to die. His nurse (Ella Joyce) is condescending at best and mocking at worst, and doesn't believe The King's story (the only documentation of the switch having been burned up in a "barbecue accident").
The only one at the nursing home who even halfway believes Elvis's story is Jack Kennedy (Ossie Davis), who may be operating under delusions of his own: he thinks he's JFK, despite (as Elvis helpfully points out) the fact that he's black--Jack claims his skin was dyed as part of the vast conspiracy to remove him from the presidency.
Jack is quite the conspiracy theorist--his walls are covered with photos of suspects in the Kennedy assassination--but both he and Elvis notice that something is very wrong at the nursing home. Residents are dying at a higher-than-usual rate, and scarabs crawl the walls and floors at night. Elvis is doubtful at first, but interested--more interested than he's been in anything for years. He and Jack investigate and, unlikely as it might seem, the culprit is a mummy who's sucking up the souls out of the old folks one at a time (and out of whatever orifice is handy--ew), so the souls won't go on to their final reward--and it's up to The King and The President to stop him.
The mummy himself is a cheeky devil, scrawling hieroglyphics on the bathroom walls (Jack translates them as "Cleopatra does the nasty"), wearing a wide-brim black hat and cursing out Elvis--in animated subtitles, no less. But how did he get to East Texas? How can he be defeated? What will set those souls free?
Bubba Ho-Tep is based on a story by horror/comic book writer Joe Lansdale and adapted by Don Coscarelli, writer/director of the Phantasm movies. Each likes a side of dark humor with their horror, so they're a great fit for each other, and Coscarelli has fun pitting the ancient terror against the octagenarians despite the obvious budget limitations (the scarabs look especially fake, and the mummy is best seen at a distance so his rubbery appliances don't look too phony).
With the comedy and monsters, though, there's a remarkable amount of respect and affection for both Elvis and JFK. And that's the main problem with Bubba Ho-Tep--it's so respectful of its subjects that neither the horror nor the humor to take hold properly. It's hard to laugh as Elvis muses about what he might have been and how he regrets never getting to know his daughter, Lisa Marie, the way he wanted to. Neither Elvis nor Jack display any superpowers--Elvis doesn't get back his karate moves, and Jack doesn't fly around in his wheelchair. That's as it should be, I suppose--that's pretty much how they'd move and act had they actually lived--but it might have been a better time for everybody involved--especially the audience--if a lighter touch had been applied throughout.
Bruce Campbell has always been a fine physical comedic actor, as amply displayed in the three Evil Dead movies, and those abilities serve him well here--he convincingly moves like an old man about ready to give up on life until he finds he has one last chance for self-respect, if not a graceful exit. (Campbell is less successful mimicking the younger Elvis's stage moves, but those scenes are brief.) Davis has more fun with Jack, maybe because his assertion of being the former president is more obviously absurd (though Jack does have a suspicious, large scar on the back of his head...could he be...?). He and Campbell have nice chemistry, and their scenes together are the reason to see Bubba Ho-Tep--they generate enough laughs and sympathy to make the whole movie worthwhile, especially in their preparations for the final showdown with the soul-sucker. Together, Campbell and Davis seem to be having some fun.
Bubba Ho-Tep could have done with more of that spirit. There's fun to be had as it is, for what it is--a comedy/drama/creature feature--but it could have been a whole lot more.
An elderly man claiming to be Elvis fights a soul-sucking Egyptian mummy in an old-folks home in East Texas with the help of a black man who insists he's JFK.
Now. How did you feel about that description? Did you scratch your head and say, "...the hell?" If so, you should probably stop reading this review right now--Bubba Ho-Tep isn't for you.
If, on the other hand, you smiled broadly and said, "Hot damn tamale, baby!" then read on--Bubba Ho-Tep may be just what you've been looking for.
Bruce Campbell plays The King, who switches places with a particularly good Elvis impersonator named Sebastian Haff (also Campbell). Unfortunately, Haff has "a bad ticker" and dies on the throne at Graceland. Meanwhile, the real Elvis carries on, impersonating the impersonator until he throws out one of his swiveling hips in concert and lands in a nursing home, where, 20 years later, he lies in bed, gets around with a walker, worries that the bump on the end of his, er, royal staff is cancer, and basically waits to die. His nurse (Ella Joyce) is condescending at best and mocking at worst, and doesn't believe The King's story (the only documentation of the switch having been burned up in a "barbecue accident").
The only one at the nursing home who even halfway believes Elvis's story is Jack Kennedy (Ossie Davis), who may be operating under delusions of his own: he thinks he's JFK, despite (as Elvis helpfully points out) the fact that he's black--Jack claims his skin was dyed as part of the vast conspiracy to remove him from the presidency.
Jack is quite the conspiracy theorist--his walls are covered with photos of suspects in the Kennedy assassination--but both he and Elvis notice that something is very wrong at the nursing home. Residents are dying at a higher-than-usual rate, and scarabs crawl the walls and floors at night. Elvis is doubtful at first, but interested--more interested than he's been in anything for years. He and Jack investigate and, unlikely as it might seem, the culprit is a mummy who's sucking up the souls out of the old folks one at a time (and out of whatever orifice is handy--ew), so the souls won't go on to their final reward--and it's up to The King and The President to stop him.
The mummy himself is a cheeky devil, scrawling hieroglyphics on the bathroom walls (Jack translates them as "Cleopatra does the nasty"), wearing a wide-brim black hat and cursing out Elvis--in animated subtitles, no less. But how did he get to East Texas? How can he be defeated? What will set those souls free?
Bubba Ho-Tep is based on a story by horror/comic book writer Joe Lansdale and adapted by Don Coscarelli, writer/director of the Phantasm movies. Each likes a side of dark humor with their horror, so they're a great fit for each other, and Coscarelli has fun pitting the ancient terror against the octagenarians despite the obvious budget limitations (the scarabs look especially fake, and the mummy is best seen at a distance so his rubbery appliances don't look too phony).
With the comedy and monsters, though, there's a remarkable amount of respect and affection for both Elvis and JFK. And that's the main problem with Bubba Ho-Tep--it's so respectful of its subjects that neither the horror nor the humor to take hold properly. It's hard to laugh as Elvis muses about what he might have been and how he regrets never getting to know his daughter, Lisa Marie, the way he wanted to. Neither Elvis nor Jack display any superpowers--Elvis doesn't get back his karate moves, and Jack doesn't fly around in his wheelchair. That's as it should be, I suppose--that's pretty much how they'd move and act had they actually lived--but it might have been a better time for everybody involved--especially the audience--if a lighter touch had been applied throughout.
Bruce Campbell has always been a fine physical comedic actor, as amply displayed in the three Evil Dead movies, and those abilities serve him well here--he convincingly moves like an old man about ready to give up on life until he finds he has one last chance for self-respect, if not a graceful exit. (Campbell is less successful mimicking the younger Elvis's stage moves, but those scenes are brief.) Davis has more fun with Jack, maybe because his assertion of being the former president is more obviously absurd (though Jack does have a suspicious, large scar on the back of his head...could he be...?). He and Campbell have nice chemistry, and their scenes together are the reason to see Bubba Ho-Tep--they generate enough laughs and sympathy to make the whole movie worthwhile, especially in their preparations for the final showdown with the soul-sucker. Together, Campbell and Davis seem to be having some fun.
Bubba Ho-Tep could have done with more of that spirit. There's fun to be had as it is, for what it is--a comedy/drama/creature feature--but it could have been a whole lot more.
Saturday, November 15, 2003
Review: Samson vs. the Vampire Women (1961)
In the late '50s and early '60s, American producer K. Gordon Murray imported, dubbed and re-edited numerous horror films from Mexico, some of which feature a popular wrestler named El Santo ("The Saint"). El Santo's face was never seen, hidden beneath a silver mask, and he had (and has) an enormous cult following, with many appearances on TV and in movies and comic books. For the American market, though, El Santo was renamed Samson (even though, in one scene at a wrestling ring, the crowd can clearly be heard chanting "SANTO! SANTO! SANTO!").
In this movie, El Santo...er, Samson fights against the stunningly beautiful vampire women, whose queen is seeking a successor in the daughter of a professor. The professor dials up his videophone(!) and tries to call Samson, but our hero isn't working in his crime lab (professional wrestlers have crime labs?), so the professor leaves a message. Yes, Samson has an answering machine. (Wonder what his message is like..."Hello. You have reached the Samson residence. I'm out fighting crime right now, but if you leave your name and number and state the nature of your emergency at the sound of the beep, I'll get back to you as I can. Thank you and have a pleasant day.") Samson shows up later to confer with the professor, then goes off to battle the vampire women, who have resurrected some hunky male vampires for Samson to tangle with. (Who knew half-nelsons were so effective against the living dead?)
One of the male vampires takes the place of Samson's opponent at the evening wrestling match and proceeds to kick our hero's ass. The vampire/wrestler even tries to tear Samson's mask off! The fiend! When the vampire/wrestler's own mask is finally removed, he's turned into a werewolf! The crowd runs in terror and, when they can't get out one way, they run in the opposite direction! When the werewolf is surrounded by Samson and the police, he turns into a bat! (I'm using way the hell too many exclamation points, aren't I?)
Of course, Samson triumphs in the end, burning the vampire women (and men) before driving off in his silver sports car (to match his mask and cape?), only to return to fight evil again another day. Like most Mexican horror films of the period, this one looks like a Universal picture from the '40s, with nice gothic sets, decent cinematography and respectable model work. But the sheer craziness of the plot is overwhelming, and the dubbed voices (most of whom sound like radio announcers) add to the hilarity.
All in all, Samson vs. the Vampire Women is wild fun, as are most of the El Santo movies, many of which are now available on DVD--some in their original language and widescreen!
In this movie, El Santo...er, Samson fights against the stunningly beautiful vampire women, whose queen is seeking a successor in the daughter of a professor. The professor dials up his videophone(!) and tries to call Samson, but our hero isn't working in his crime lab (professional wrestlers have crime labs?), so the professor leaves a message. Yes, Samson has an answering machine. (Wonder what his message is like..."Hello. You have reached the Samson residence. I'm out fighting crime right now, but if you leave your name and number and state the nature of your emergency at the sound of the beep, I'll get back to you as I can. Thank you and have a pleasant day.") Samson shows up later to confer with the professor, then goes off to battle the vampire women, who have resurrected some hunky male vampires for Samson to tangle with. (Who knew half-nelsons were so effective against the living dead?)
One of the male vampires takes the place of Samson's opponent at the evening wrestling match and proceeds to kick our hero's ass. The vampire/wrestler even tries to tear Samson's mask off! The fiend! When the vampire/wrestler's own mask is finally removed, he's turned into a werewolf! The crowd runs in terror and, when they can't get out one way, they run in the opposite direction! When the werewolf is surrounded by Samson and the police, he turns into a bat! (I'm using way the hell too many exclamation points, aren't I?)
Of course, Samson triumphs in the end, burning the vampire women (and men) before driving off in his silver sports car (to match his mask and cape?), only to return to fight evil again another day. Like most Mexican horror films of the period, this one looks like a Universal picture from the '40s, with nice gothic sets, decent cinematography and respectable model work. But the sheer craziness of the plot is overwhelming, and the dubbed voices (most of whom sound like radio announcers) add to the hilarity.
All in all, Samson vs. the Vampire Women is wild fun, as are most of the El Santo movies, many of which are now available on DVD--some in their original language and widescreen!
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