Crypt of the Living Dead (1973)

Warning: spoilers ahead

Original title: La tumba de la isla maldita

aka (Young) Hannah, Queen of the Vampires

Engineer Chris Bolton (secret horror hero Andrew Prine) travels to a Turkish island once known as “Vampire Island” to retrieve the corpse of his archaeologist father who died there by being crushed by a sarcophagus while exploring a secret crypt.

We the audience already know that Chris’s dad was actually murdered by two vampire cultists, who did a bit of strangling and decapitating before crushing the man’s body. One of these guys we will soon enough learn is a writer called Peter (Mark Damon), supposedly a friend of Dad’s on the island to do research for a book taking place during the Crusades; the other (Ihsan Gedik) is only ever named by the credits as “The Wild Man”, and does comport himself accordingly.

Chris does of course know nothing about this, and is taken in by Peter’s charming and sane manner, his tales of his father, and his pretty teacher sister Mary (Patty Shepard). So much so, he’s staying as a guest with the siblings. While exploring the crypt, Chris learns of its history: apparently, one Hannah (Teresa Gimpera), the wife of king Louis VII. lies there, buried alive after having become a vampire by a husband who couldn’t stomach a proper staking. And her sarcophagus is still crushing down on dear dead Dad because the locals really don’t want to go into this crypt, nor do they have the appropriate know-how.

Chris, being a true engineer, believes nothing of the vampire story, of course, and for at least half the movie, he’s aggressively, rudely and condescendingly berating everyone who does, even Mary, a woman he’s clearly crushing on quite a bit. Well, at least he’s not a hypocrite. He’s also hell-bent on recovering his father’s corpse, something he does have the technical know-how for. Alas, while doing so, he has to remove the lid (well, humongous upper part, really) of Hannah’s sarcophagus, revealing a corpse completely free of any signs of decay, looking rather a lot as if the lady were only sleeping.

Of course, this provides the indeed real vampire with a nice opportunity to rise again and start to regain her powers by sucking the blood of an increasing amount of people.

Crypt of the Living Dead is usually seen in various public domain prints that leave out a lingering shot on Dad’s decapitated head and things of that sort. If you can find a decent looking version (I had the opportunity to enjoy a fan-made 86 minute composite), you might be surprised that this Spanish-US co-production directed by Julio Salvador with “additional scenes” by Ray Danton who is sometimes credited as the lone director despite Salvador most probably having done most of the work, is a good example of the virtues of Spanish horror films of this era, though neither as brutal as some, nor as loopy as others, nor as sleazy, and not containing Paul Naschy.

About half of the film is typical meat and potatoes early 70s horror filmmaking, enhanced by parts of the Spanish and Turkish landscape that look decidedly bleak and creepy as Salvador presents them, breathing the air of an earlier century. It’s pretty straightforward as these kinds of movie go. Or really, straightforward until the film makes one of various and regular small sideways moves. For example, it approaches its version of the vampire legend with a more medieval European bent, suggesting that early on, when she’s weak, Hannah doesn’t so much turn into a wolf as conjure him up to acquire blood for her, only later, when she’s actually free, truly turning into a wolf, or fog. It’s effectively vague and peculiar, putting a bit of distance between her and some of her vampire peers in the movies even though she’s still afraid of crosses, and is best killed by staking. Though she’s also very much allergic to “dogsbane”.

The film has quite a few of its best moments once the vampire is fully free, showing her gliding towards her victims while a lullaby-like melody sung by a female voice plays, suggesting psychic seduction in a rather effective and fairy-tale-like manner. Another wonderful, very effectively shot moment is her final fight with a by now vampire hunting Chris and a group of local fishermen on the beach, by night, only lit by her enemy’s torches. At this point, she has already been set aflame by Chris, looking gooey like a Lucio Fulci zombie now; the men surround her in a circle and drive her back to the bottom of the cliff she has just fell down. Then she begins to weep awfully, the men clearly being so shocked and taken aback by their enemy expressing anything so human, they barely manage to stake her before she can turn into fog and abscond again. It’s the sort of scene that alone would make the film worthwhile, but there are actually a couple of moments like this that suggest somebody involved in the production really knew how to combine their contemporary sensibilities with the more fairy-tale-like elements of horror and some good, old-fashioned nastiness.

Speaking of nastiness, even though this doesn’t go for the full-on 70s downer ending, the film’s pre-credit stinger is genuinely great, effective and pretty shocking, seeing how it uses children in a way hardly any filmmaker today would dare. The stinger is also properly prepared earlier on in the movie, quite against the way most horror films do this, and another sign that somebody involved in this film’s making cared quite a bit for the art of filmmaking.


So, if you manage to find a decent version of Crypt of the Living Dead, you might find yourself pleasantly surprised by a little gem of a movie.

Three Films Make A Post: One Man's Quest is Another Man's Destiny

Innerspace (1987): Remember when they were still giving Joe Dante quite a lot of money to make his films? In theory, this one’s a pretty mainstream SF comedy starring the always excellent Dennis Quaid and the surprisingly un-annoying Martin Short and a pretty wasted in the role Meg Ryan, showing off a lot of neat effects. In practice, Dante lets things increasingly drift from mild wackiness into outright insanity (with slapstick) until an incredible scene of Kevin McCarthy and Wendy Schaal being shrunk to half size and trying to operate a coin phone becomes rather par for the course. It’s also so well timed most of Dante’s flights of craziness (of course all swathed in a big yet never intrusive dollop of movie quotes and film love because this is Dante, after all) are outrageously funny, and I say that as someone who has only a marginal tolerance for slapstick.

And by the by, hidden under what looks like a film that’s about an effeminate guy finding his inner macho, this is rather a movie about a guy breaking out of a grey life to find what he loves. Among other things.

Fright Night Part 2 (1988): At the time, Tommy Lee Wallace’s sequel to the rightfully beloved horror comedy didn’t get too much love as far as I can remember, but from my chair in 2017, it does look rather good. I like how much it works as an actual sequel that often cleverly plays with elements of the first film instead of just repeating them; I also love the cast with William Ragsdale and Roddy McDowell returning to their roles with relish, guys like Brian Thompson and Jon Gries getting space to do their respective things; how Traci Lind’s girlfriend character actually turns into the heroine of the piece for half an hour or so; how bizarre – and probably totally normal for the late 80s Julie Carmen’s outfits and hair are; how many silly and fun ideas are packed into the film. And last but not least, how good the film is at being funny (and damn, is it ever funny) while still keeping the horror parts of the film exciting.


Mind over Murder (1979): This is a very neat little thriller/horror film made for US TV in the prime era for this sort of thing. It starts like an Eyes of Laura Mars style clairvoyant versus killer movie, with vision sequences that make creative and pretty trippy use of slow motion and frozen images but turns into something that feels as close to a 70s exploitation horror movie as you probably could get away with on TV in this era, with secret horror hero Andrew Prine making great, creepy use of his experience playing crazy people in some of said exploitation films, suggestions of a nice bit of depravity (with charming moments like Prine asking the heroine if she wants him to “make love” to her or kill her first while shirtlessly preening in front of her). It’s tight, features the obligatory asshole boyfriend for our heroine Deborah Raffin, and shows its director Ivan Nagy as doing really inventive work in the aesthetic framework of a 70s TV movie.

They’re Playing with Fire (1984)

Young Jay (Eric Brown) clearly hits the jackpot of teenage dreams. His hot (if you like the type) Professor Diane Stevens (Sybil Danning) seduces him with all the subtlety and charm we know from Sybil Danning. Who’d have thought she has ulterior motives for it?

Before you know it, she and her husband Michael (Andrew Prine) ask Jay to break into the home of Michael’s – hilariously unpleasant - grandmother and mother to frighten them a bit. It’s apparently all part of a bizarre plan to have the two declared mentally unfit so that Michael and the rather costly Diane can get at their money. Diane’s veeeery convincing, so Jay agrees. However, he’s not terribly good at frightening old ladies and instead finds himself chased off and nearly shot in the back (Mum’s got guns). While he is fleeing, someone more competent murders the ladies, hiding the bodies afterwards.

Jay, Diane and Michael fall into the usual habit of infighting, distrust and betrayal. However, someone goes around killing more people, particularly those stumbling into the home of Grammy and Ma.

A look at the packaging and one-sheets of Howard Avedis’s film suggests some sort of teen sex comedy but in truth, all comedy included is exclusively of the inadvertent type. In truth, this is a tits and ass thriller that for the last thirty minutes or so veers into the realm of the bizarro slasher – perhaps imagining itself to be an American giallo – and ends on one of the more bizarre ideas of what the words “happy end” mean. But explaining that last one would really be telling.

Obviously, it’s not a very good film. Avedis’s direction is just sort of there and the plot feels as if someone had mashed up the pages of about three different movies without much of an interest in coherence, logic or any of those other advanced concepts of the art of screenwriting.

Fortunately, They’re Playing with Fire has quite a few other things going on that turn it into something terribly entertaining, and often pretty damn funny. From the first “seduction” scene on, Brown and Danning have all the on-screen chemistry of two rather freakish looking pieces of wood. Danning seems – as is so often the case with her – to believe that shoving her breasts into someone’s face and hugging him awkwardly is the high water mark of all things erotic (full disclosure: aesthetically, Danning never did anything for me, which is a bit of a problem since she certainly isn’t as a rule hired for her acting prowess). Brown spends most of his screen time looking like a frightened rabbit in the headlight; except in the sex scenes with Danning, where he looks so damn uncomfortable you want to give the poor guy a pat on the head. Combined, these two are comedy gold, and if the film did this one purpose, I’d probably praise it as a masterpiece that’s finally honest about how the fulfilment of male teen sex dreams would actually look. Of course, it’s just rather spectacularly inept.

I’m particularly fond of the film’s slasher elements. The killer – and his backstory – make no sense at all, the presence of the victims in the house generally even less, and there’s a glorious randomness about every single scene involving him. A particularly delightful moment is when he starts a kill by stepping out of a wardrobe dressed in a Santa Claus costume. Now, keep in mind that the film neither takes place on Christmas, nor is there any particular connection between the killer and the holiday. It’s just something someone involved in the production thought to be a good idea at the time, and who could blame them?

Then there’s the happy end, but that’s something everybody should have to go through by themselves (while imbibing some legal drugs), I daresay.

Eliminators (1986)

When mad mastermind Abbott Reeves (Roy Dotrice, whose British accent clearly denotes his evilness) doesn't need the pilot he turned into a memory-less cyborg he dubbed Mandroid (Patrick Reynolds) for his time travel experiments anymore, he tries to kill him. Fortunately for Mandroid, Reeves main scientist Takada (Tad Horino) has developed a conscience and helps the human garbage can escape, paying for it with his life.

Takada has given Mandroid (does it show how much I like writing "Mandroid"? Mandroid!) the name of a Colonel Hunter as his best bet for help taking Reeves down. Colonel Hunter turns out not to be a brilliant military lawyer but highly competent scientist Nora Hunter (Denise Crosby). Nora is shocked when she realizes that Reeves has used some of her inventions for EVIL. So off she, Mandroid and her little surely not R2D2-inspired scout robot that can turn into a ball of light go to Reeves base somewhere - and I quote - "in the wilds of Mexico" to kick evil mastermind ass.

They have to fight through evil lesbian river guides, a tribe of Neanderthals, Reeves's security force that isn't led by Richard Lynch but by a fat guy named Ray (Peter Schrum) who is fond of lumberjack shirts and a suspected escapee from a Burt Reynolds movie, and their own lack of a decent plan.

Fortunately, the duo also makes new friends in form of roguish river guide Harry Fontana (Andrew Prine channelling his inner Han Solo), and Takada's son Kuji (Conan Lee) who just happens to be a badass ninja. But will even the awesome power of cyborg, scientist, rogue and ninja combined be enough once Reeves - as part of his plan to go back in time to ancient Rome and become god king of the world - has turned himself into Cyber Cesar?

I know I'm beginning at least two thirds of my write-ups of Charles Band productions that don't feature dolls, puppets, or muppets with declarations of happiness regarding their absence, but you know what? Eliminators does not feature dolls, puppets or muppets, and I am pretty happy about it. Even better, Eliminators is that rare exploitation film that keeps the promises its marketing material makes, as it does in fact feature a team of a cyborg, a mercenary, a scientist and a ninja in an awesome attempt to try and milk (at least) four slightly different exploitation markets at once, just as its poster promises.

It's awe-inspiring to say the least. Of course, that sort of character mix can only lead to a movie full of classical comic book silliness (a fact the film even jokes about) with cartoonish humour, cartoonish characters, and a decidedly cartoonish plot. Naturally, if you go into a movie like Eliminators expecting anything else, the joke's on you right from the start.

I for my part was mostly surprised by how generous director Peter Manoogian provides all the semi-thrills his budget allows for, with quite a few not exactly riveting but enthusiastic fights (when your only vaguely talented on-screen fighter is Conan Lee, you have yourself a problem; let's not even start talking about him not being Japanese), equally enthusiastic action scenes, and a whole lot of moments of gratuitous strangeness. While the former two elements make for a pleasant enough watch, it's the last which truly brings Eliminators charms to the surface. This is, after all, a movie that shows Roy Dotrice donning a plastic version of the Iron Man armour without a helmet but with a red cape as part of his plan to go back in time and conquer Rome all on his own, and a film whose Mandroid is a) called "Mandroid" and b) in possession of an awkwardly awesome tank "mobility unit" (off go his legs and on goes the rest of him onto a mini-tank thing) that to describe properly goes beyond my abilities and that will turn out to be good for nothing but making him less mobile.

You can't argue with that (nor with a tribe of Neanderthals that has invented whooshing powder and bow and arrow), and really, why should you? Eliminators is a movie that enjoys its own cheapness but isn't lazy about including everything it can afford, leaving a boy like me with the pleasant impression of having watched a film made by people who may make horrible nonsense but who also care about making said nonsense as entertaining to their audience as they can.

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In short: The Evil (1978)

Sceptical psychologist C.J. Arnold (Richard Crenna) and his M.D. wife Caroline (Joanna Pettet) have bought themselves a fine new home. It was dirt cheap, which might have something to do with the fact that the house is in fact cursed and haunted.

It's also badly in need of renovation, so C.J. calls together a group of people he once had in a therapy group (at least, if I understand the film right; clarity is not one of its virtues) and a former student (Andrew Prine) coming complete with girlfriend to help bring the house in order. Before you can shout "SPOOK!", the obligatory strange things begin to happen. Loud noises and winds from nowhere are only the beginning. Soon ghosts, very localized earthquakes, and demonic possession with frightening eyebrow growth begin to assault the protagonists. A very malevolent force locks the group inside the house and begins to kill them off one by one.

In the end, it all turns out to be the fault of the gate to hell sealed in the cellar, or rather the fault of the Devil as played by a drunken Victor Buono.

Future boring TV show director Gus Trikonis' The Evil is what happens when a guy with neither knowledge of nor interest in haunted house movies is hired to shoot one based on a script that is as rote and by the numbers as spook house movie scripts come.

Because neither Trikonis nor scriptwriter Galen Thompson have ever heard of the word subtlety, their attempts at scaring their audience consist mostly of auditory attacks in the form of loud screaming, loud "dramatic" music (by one Johnny Harris), and wind noises that at times have a striking resemblance to the noise tie-fighters make. There are no attempts at building mood, no concept of what is frightening beyond shouting at the audience very loudly, and not a single idea used in an interesting way. If I had ever looked for the true inspiration for Jan de Bont's dreadful remake of Robert Wise's The Haunting, this film would probably be it.

As it goes with shocks that aren't and lots of dramatic shouting, The Evil quickly gets tiresome, and - once the demonic possessions and attempts at more bloody effects start - unintentionally humorous.

At least the acting - if I just allow myself to pretend Victor Buono's performance doesn't exist - is as good as is possible with the script. Prine has always been fine in dubious or plain bad films, and the rest of the cast just follows suit and gives this mess a sheen of professionalism it doesn't deserve, as does the solid photography by Mario DiLeo.

It's just too bad that Trikonis just doesn't have a clue what to do with their efforts.

 

Technorati-Markierungen: american movies,horror,in short,andrew prine,richard crenna

Simon, King of the Witches (1971)

We first meet our anti-hero Simon (Andrew Prine), when he has to leave his home, a storm drainage, to avoid drowning due to a rain storm. He is quite unimpressed by the weather and rants directly into the camera, shouting at us of his magical powers and his grand destiny as a future god. Shortly thereafter, he is arrested for vagrancy.

His arrest turns out to be a very helpful thing for his career, since it is in his cell where he meets Turk (George Paulsin), a young casual prostitute, who is a true innocent (not to say The Fool) at heart. Turk is fascinated by the charismatic Simon and drags him to the daily party in the house of rich gay semi-decadent Hercules (Gerald York).

It is here where Simon takes two important steps on his way to godhood - he meets Linda (Brenda Scott, two-times ex-wife of Prine), the pill-popping daughter of the local DA, who falls for him as soon as she has set eyes on him and he starts selling amulets of dubious use to the party-goers.

Simon becomes a regular fixture at Hercules' parties, selling stuff and making Tarot readings. When one of his customers pays with a fraudulent cheque, Hercules provokes Simon into putting a curse on the man. Simon agrees if Hercules will carry half of the weight of the deed.

Then, with the help of Turk and the life of a poor innocent goat, Simon curses the man. Soon, his victim dies under somewhat strange circumstances - to my glee by daylight.

Afterwards things go a lot smoother for the magician. His business provides him with enough money to leave his drainage and rent a basement as living room and place for magical practices.

His next step on attaining his precious godhood is loading a magickal thingum with energy. His use of sex magick with Linda doesn't achieve the craved results, though. If we follow his thoughts, destiny has caught him in a trap: his love for the girl prevents him to correctly complete his working, while sex with someone he doesn't love wouldn't provide the proper amount of energy.

There is a another way to acquire the energy through more negative emotions. Turk helps him to talk an aging gay man into a ritual consisting of ritual (and mostly symbolic) violence against the poor guy, a method that finally works. Simon plans on doing a great working to be able to step through his magical mirror.

Unfortunately all his plans come to nought when Linda's Dad finally has enough of his daughter's obsession with this shady madman and pressures a narcotics cop into planting drugs in Simon's place. At least, Turk is able to warn Simon of the cops looking for him. The magician still misses the proper time for his working, though.

Two minor drug dealers persuade the irate Simon easily into doing a different kind of working altogether.

He sacrifices the narc cop to curse the whole higher echelon of the city. Soon, the place is nearly drowned by a torrent of rain and one by one high ranking officials are implicated in a large corruption scandal.

Of course, this kind of magick has its price.

This is a strange one. I don't know what drove TV director Bruce Kessler to make this film (a spell, perhaps?), but highly approve of the fact that he did.

On first glance, the movie has all the trappings of a typical occult scare exploitation flick of its era. It stands out against his peers through the way it treats its subject matter.

Firstly, there is the simple technical accomplishment to mention. This is a product of professional, sometimes even inventive film making that doesn't use a low budget as an excuse for static camera, bad sound and everything else we know from (and sometimes love about) classical exploitation.

The script is another reason for the effect the film has. At once more intelligent and actually slightly knowledgeable about the subject matter of the film, it never takes the easy road of making people black or white. There's a palpable sympathy for the countercultural characters like Simon or Turk, but neither are they treated as heroes that can do no wrong, nor are the "straights" depicted as evil to their bigot bones. Also very worth mentioning is the film's sense of humor, mostly discernable as slightly distant, slightly ironic view of the proceedings. I never had the feeling that it took itself all that seriously, although it evades the trap of low-brow comedy.

Lastly I have to talk about the wonderful performance of Andrew Prine as Simon. He portraits a deeply weird, amoral, self-ironic, delusional, sentimental and cynical man as well as one can wish for, never going so much over the top with it as to make Simon unrelatable or unlikable.

 

Technorati-Tags: american movies,exploitation,horror,andrew prine,bruce kessler