Birthday, Baby Bugg…Birthday!

Though I typically avoid all things ventriloquism due to the art form’s innate sense of PURE EVIL, it felt fitting to bestow some upon my blogging brother in arms, Zach T.L. Bugg Kelly. You see kids, this month marks the five year anniversary of The Lightning Bugg’s Lair, one of the Internet’s most splendifically splendiferous sources for genre movie writing.

And that same Internet tells me one celebrates a five year anniversary with wood.

 

Shudder

Zach is not only a great writer, but also, a true friend. I can assure the world that no man rocks a smoking jacket quite like this southern gentleman, and rarely is there a better movie swapper than the same South Carolina stud. Hence the return of the Deadly DollBugg’s Lair Crossover!, wherein Zach and I assign each other a film to watch and review. This being a celebration, I of course had to dig into Netflix Instant’s top shelf output for what I would deem the very best:

Tony Curtis dressed like a wizard, a muscular little person Native American born through a neck tumor , AND lasers?

All I got for my fifth birthday was a lot of Care Bear stuff.

On my end, Zach also went benevolent with Mario Bava’s 1966 ghost story, Kill, Baby…Kill! Overly punctuated title aside, it’s a good one.

Quick Plot: In the early 20^th century, an Italian village is cursed by the vengeful spirit of a bitter 8-year-old girl who died during a drunken town festival. The spooked locals know that anyone who catches a glance of the eerily blond Melissa Graps will inevitably meet their own bloody end, though visiting out-of-town coroner Paul Eswai brings the typical man-of-science doubts. As bodies begin to pile up, Paul and the lovely Monica Schuftan—a long-lost daughter of the area who’s returned at exactly the wrong time—must defeat or escape the evil haunting.

As stories go, Kill, Baby…Kill! is quite straightforward. There are a few mysteries thrown around the narrative (Monica’s secret past, Mama Graps ambiguous place in the mechanics of the haunting) but very simply, this is the tale of a ghost. A creeeeeeeeepy girl ghost who giggles incessantly, throws her ball around like she’s auditioning for The Changeling kickball team, and telepathically convinces otherwise normal (if extremely anxious) townies to stab themselves or impale their bodies upon strategically placed spiked fences. Throw in a few dizzying spiral staircases and a whole lot of very thick spider webs and you’ve essentially got the perfect ghost story for a dark stormy night.

A film like this requires the proper design and atmosphere, and Bava nails it with his camera. From winding overhead shots of carefully colored stairs to the slow suicidal terror that manifests in an ill-fated tavern girl’s wide eyes, Kill, Baby…Kill! is clearly devoted to being a good old fashioned scary story.

And it succeeds.

High Points

Considering so much of Italian horror can stumble when it comes to handling female characters, it’s incredibly refreshing to see how Bava portrays his women. They’re both the chief instigators of the horror AND the only ones fully equipped to fight it. There’s also some intriguing subtext to how Paul, your typical leading man, can’t seem to quite comprehend some of the power inherent in the good and evil woman around him, and it’s the men in authority that seem to pay the highest price

Also, dolls. Lots of freaky ass dolls

Low Points

There’s a rather glaring plot/character hole regarding the character of Monica, primarily in how the town’s burgomaster assigns her to assist in an autopsy despite her secret past (that only HE knows of) rendering such a move quite dangerous to all concerned

Lessons Learned

Touching the dead is against nature. Also, kind of icky

Poverty and ignorance + superstition = something sorta like the devil 

The best way to expel an evil ghost child is to beat yourself a little with a birch branch, Russian banya style

Rent/Bury/Buy

Kill, Baby…Kill! is streaming on Instant, and at just under 90 minutes, it’s the perfect answer to a quiet night at home. The film has some flaws (dubbing that nibbles at the tone, an oddly paced ending that mishandles its tension) but overall, it’s an outstanding exercise in atmosphere, from the period setting to the grandly conspicuous instrumental score. It may be the Lightning Bugg’s Lair’s birthday, but this was a true gift.

I mean, it didn’t have LASERS, but still…

Not Your Average Sperm Donor

Based on its premise, I assumed Demon Seed was a kind of “Julie Christie gets raped and impregnated by a supercomputer” sorta flick. Something along the lines of the “there’s a little Native American medicine man growing on my neck!” absurdity of The Manitou. 

It’s actually really serious.

For someone who genuinely DIGS the kind of movies about, you know, Tony Curtis dancing in wizard garb and petite Native American muscle men shooting lasers, this is a slight disappointment.

Quick Plot: Dr. Alex Harris (Fritz Weaver) Is putting the finishing touches on Proteus 4, an advanced computer along the lines of Jeopardy!’s Watson. 

Back home, he’s about to move out of his techno paradise from his therapist wife Susan, played with all the typical class and grandeur of Julie Christie. The pair seem to still be in love, but the death of their daughter from leukemia and Alex’s increasing coldness and work obsession have driven a rift that calls for a trial separation.

Relax folks: Demon Seed isn’t Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf via The Sims.

Although now that I said that, I would LOVE to see a Who’s Afraid of Virginia Sims? 

Anyway, Susan is left alone to be cared for by the butler software (named Alfred, a cute touch). Before you can gasp some British colloquialism, Proteus 4 manages to infect the home system, locking down the estate and holding the lovely Susan prisoner…

To make computer babies.

Based on a Dean Koontz novel I haven’t read, Demon Seed flirts with some incredibly disturbing concepts. The idea of Susan essentially being raped—even if the actual impregnation is never taken sexually—and forced to bear someone else’s child is truly horrifying. No matter where your politics might fall, I think anyone would agree that what Proteus forces upon Susan—that is, giving birth to a completely new hybrid species--is wrong. It’s a violation of her right not just as a woman, but as a human being in control of her own body.

Unfortunately, Demon Seed doesn’t quite have enough confidence or care in the deeper implications of its premise to be truly interesting or thought-provoking. Sure, we get a groovy death scene involving a big techno-cube-thing and an excess of laser shooting, but most of the deeper questions seem to be skirted in favor of a more emotional, yet somehow emptier ending. It’s a shame, even if part of the end result calls to mind a mating of Chucky with Bicentennial Man. 

My point is, there's a fascinating film inside Demon Seed, one that flirts with ideas about reproductive rights, evolution, and the moral costs of technological advancement. I wish the film stayed on that course.

High Points

Remember that brilliant scene in Wayne’s World 2, where Mike Myers pleads with the camera to replace a bit role player with a better actor? Seeing an actress of Julie Christie’s caliber in the type of genre movie that on paper might seem silly easily elevates the material

Low Points

The aforementioned third act, that seems to lose its philosophical ambitions in favor of easier character-based closure

Lessons Learned

7:40 AM is the optimum time for morning fuel ingestion

Getting knocked up by a supercomputer can best be compared to dropping acid or watching a screensaver on loop

Never trust a computer that can’t remember how you drink your coffee

The Winning Line

“I have not had time to brainwash you, so listen carefully.”

Makes perfect sense to me!

Rent/Bury/Buy

Demon Seed falls in an odd place for me: it’s far better than any computer-impregnates-Julie-Christie movie should be, but it ultimately misses the mark on what could have been something utterly new and thought-provoking. That being said, it remains a curious taste of intellectual ‘70s sci-fi horror, similar in vein to the unique Phase IV. Sadly, the DVD is devoid of extras, a shame since this is clearly a film that merits discussion. Ah well. That’s what comment threads were made for.

Morty the Mannequin, On the Move!

Even the most fervent devil’s advocate won’t take up the defense when I say that the 1990s were one of the worst decades for the horror genre. Theatrical releases were (for the most part) uninspired and unmemorable, while direct-to-VHS films generally took that route with good reason. Movie maniacs of a certain age bracket have mediocre memories of prowling the video store aisles for something--ANYTHING--that offered even the mildest of entertainment.

For me, one such attempt was The Fear 2, which sucked me in one Halloween night for its cover art involving wood people and clowns. Like so many Blockbuster rentals, it was a disappointment but that didn’t seem any reason whatsoever to not track down (some 12 years later) its source material, 1995’s The Fear.

Quick Plot: Richard, a grad school psychology major, has recurring nightmares of running through the woods into a pair of Troggish/Tusken Raider-esque villains digging a grave while chanting “diametric” in ominous tones. His advisor urges him to investigate these dreams, but Richard would much rather pitch his final project of dragging pals to a cabin and making them face their own phobias in the name of science. 

Silly Richard. Don’t you realize your teacher is played by none other than Wes Craven (!) and is therefore the most intelligent person associated with your film, the one directed by a man whose most notable imdb credit is “Locations Liaison” for Kindergarden Cop?”

Kids never learn, so Richard and a gaggle of pals head out to Evil Dead territory where they immediately discover Richard’s wacky Uncle Peter, his blonde trophy girlfriend, and most notably, Morty, a life-sized wooden doll that used to be Richard’s childhood friend.

Yes folks, this is a horror movie wherein its monstrous villain is named...Morty.

No offense to any readers named Morty (I should've learned my lesson with the name 'Troy' following an unwarranted rant on GleeKast). I’m just convinced it’s a title reserved for middle-aged butchers or husbands who pull their backs cleaning out the gutters.

It doesn’t take long--actually, it really does--for Morty to animate, possessing some of the gang and killing the rest as Richard tries to recall a childhood memory and his girlfriend attempts to figure out who amongst the group is the famed Campus Rapist. Oh, and Richard’s tiny dreadlocked friend--get this--Troy (who bares an incredibly strange but definite resemblance to The Manitou) is trying to make out with his adoptive big sister who is all for it though she kind of maybe reveals that she’s actually sorta his mother.

I’m serious.

On one hand, I appreciate the effort that clearly went into The Fear. It would have been easy to strip each victim down to his or her defining characteristic without saddling everyone with a soap operatic backstory. We’re used to that in our Wes Craven ripoffs. But maybe the mere presence of the man inspired only-time director Vincent Robert to aim for the stars.

Unfortunately for The Fear, its closest thing to a star is Monique Mannen whose best credit is Boring Girl/Dancer in the classic Eddie Murphy hit, Coming to America.

What is this, velvet?

It’s not the worst mid-90s straight-to-video horror you can find on an oddly overdesigned barebones DVD. So it does have that going for it...

High Points

The score for The Fear is actually quite good, with nice carnival undertones creating a strong mood

Any film that references the hilariously un-PC Danish myth of Santa’s evil henchmen Black Peter instantly gets my horrified wink

Low Points

Ah, cheap and dirty DVD releases. How nice it would have been to see what happens in the film once in a while

Lessons Learned

Psychology is a spectator sport

The quest for wholeness is not all it’s cracked up to be. Who knew?!

If going on a coed camping trip with a bunch of college students, expect that every attached male will be aggressively hitting on every attached female

Rent/Bury/Buy

The Fear is not easy to find on DVD (official ‘Long Wait’ on Netflix) so unless you just really enjoy a challenge, I wouldn’t advise investing your energy into seeking it out. It’s not overly awful compared to some of its timely rivals, but eh. Should it fall into your lap, you might enjoy the random oedipal themes and silly woodman killings (which mostly equate to closeups of him cut with closeups of carousel horses). The choice is yours.

It's Notta Too-mah!

I’m not going to lie: about 84% of the reason why I’m writing about The Manitou is so that I could use my favorite Ahnold line ever in the title for this post. 10% comes from the fact that the titular baddie of this film is petite, hence fitting with February’s Vertically Challenged Villainry. Finally, the remaining 6% comes from the following synopsis:

When Karen (Susan Strasberg) tries to have a tumor removed, she discovers it's actually the deformed fetus of an ancient Native American shaman ready to be reincarnated. Soon, the evil spirit bursts forth, and Karen turns to a sham psychic (Tony Curtis) and a contemporary medicine man (Michael Ansara) for a showdown with the murderous creature. Stella Stevens, Burgess Meredith and Jon Cedar co-star in this campy chiller.

Deformed Native American shaman fetuses AND Burgess Meredith? Life, you are a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Quick Plot: Pretty much what I just said. Susan Strasberg plays Karen, a normal by most means woman who just HAPPENS to discover a fetus growing on the back of her neck. The doctors aren’t much help (though at least they avoid being administrators) so she runs back into the arms of her bogus (but well-dressed) psychic ex-boyfriend, played by Tony Curtis. His name is Harry, which is easy to remember because he has his very own tagline: Harry’s the name and Tarot’s the game. Rock. On.

As Karen’s little surprise grows bigger and her talents expand to speaking a tribal language, it becomes universally accepted that she’s actually some form of surrogate mother to a manitou, i.e., the reincarnation of a Native American medicine man. This is a rare ailment probably taught in the final semester of med school, where wily young folks are too hung over while coasting through senioritis and don't have the time to say 'what the f-"

So what does one do upon discovering that one will be birthing an ancient spirit on the back of one’s neck? Abortion is apparently off the table, as an attempted surgical removal turns the doctor’s scalpel into a weapon of self-destruction. Research seems limiting (“after that, it just goes into rain dances,” bemoans a frustrated study buddy). Harry starts shopping around Native Americans, settling on John Singing Rock to perform an exorcism of sorts (because, you know, it’s the 1970s and all genre films were legally required to include one). All he asks for in return is $100,000 donated to the Indian Education Association. Plus tobacco. I probably would have tried to throw in some popcorn balls or movie passes, but that’s why I’m not a seer.

I don’t know how far I should go in recapping the magic of The Manitou. If you like Star Wars, you will eventually rejoice at the sight of space lasers. If you like The Exorcist, you will drool at seeing a kind-of exorcism. There are also boobs and fake snow. A giant hologram that makes every episode of Sightings look positively horrifying. Spontaneous combustion. Lines like “I’m just a South Dakota Indian with a bag of tricks.”

Oh, and one of February’s most exciting Vertically Challenged Villains ever, a little person Native American who spends more time in the gym than Ahhhnold during his pre-Kindergarten Cop days. 

Need I say more?

High/Low Points

Much like the equally laughable The Devil Within Her, The Manitou’s strength and weakness comes primarily from just how seriously it insists on taking itself. The fact that poor Tony Curtis can deliver his lines with so much earnestness is simply hilarious

Lessons Learned

Say it with me: whatever you do, don’t be an administrator

The best way to rekindle romance is to be impregnated in the back by a Native American medicine man

Duh, like, every machine has its own manitou!

I don’t know that the following is any form of a lesson, but The Manitou seems so gosh darn intent on telling it over the end credits that I feel as though I MUST include the epiologue:

Fact: Tokyo, Japan, 1969: A 15-year-old boy developed what is doctors thought was a tumor in his chest. The larger it grew, the more uncharacteristic it appeared. Eventually, it proved to be a human fetus.

Rent/Bury/Buy

The Manitou is one of those 1970s relics that simply can’t be explained. It must be experienced. It has virtually everything you’ve ever wanted to see onscreen, plus an inconsistent sore and floating elderly possessed woman. I can’t for the life of my cats understand why anybody that breathes would NOT want to watch this film. You do breathe, right?