Hump-Day Harangue: Why Hammer Beats Universal (Almost) Every Time

As a fan of classic horror—by which I mean anything before Romero’s zombies threatened the countryside and Rosemary had her baby—I’ve often gotten caught up in that eternal debate: Which studio was superior, Universal or Hammer? And by writing this, by no means do I want to denigrate one or the other, or imply that one is subpar. Rather, both the Universal Studios output of the 1930s/40s and the Hammer output of the 1950s/60s/70s represent high watermarks in the history of horror. It’s just that, given the choice, I usually go with Hammer.

That’s right, I’m choosing the Brits over my own countrymen. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy Universal’s iconic cycle of horror flicks, which first introduced moviegoing audiences to the likes of Dracula, Frankenstein, the Mummy, the Invisible Man, the Wolf Man and more. I just believe that by reinvigorating the gothic genre in the era of radioactive monsters and exploitation, Hammer did Universal one better and set the benchmark even higher.

Let’s get one thing out of the way, first and foremost—in my estimation, both James Whale’s Frankenstein and The Bride of Frankenstein are superior to any film ever put out by the Hammer studio. That said, outside of those two films, I generally find the Hammer body of work to be more enjoyable than the Universal body of work. There are a number of reasons for this.

Maybe chief among them would be that Hammer represented my original introduction to the horror genre. I like to think I’m not so prone to such a subjective view, but I must at least entertain the possibility that I’m biased. As a very small child, I first discovered what horror was all about thanks to those weekend afternoon showings of Hammer gems on syndicated TV in New York. Channels 5, 9 and 11 were my tutors in pop culture, and among the gifts they gave me was Hammer. In fact, Hammer’s Lust for a Vampire may have been the first horror movie I ever saw.

But beyond this mere nostalgia, there’s more. As time went by and I came to discover Universal not long after, I also developed a strong love for their brand of horror as well. But it never supplanted Hammer in my heart.

Not to sound like a Philistine, but a large part of this had to do with Hammer’s vibrant Technicolor. One of the main elements that the studio itself took pride in was that it was reinventing these classic horror tropes in a color medium, replacing Universal’s crisp black and white with the garish, comic book-like hues never before seen in gothic cinematic horror. And while generally I deplore the attitude that black and white is somehow inferior, in this case—especially as a child—I was more drawn in by those bold, almost shocking colors.

Needless to say, one of the main uses Hammer made of that full color palette was to show blood. And by “blood” I mean some of the first major instances of simulated bloodshed ever seen in horror movies, especially of this kind. Whereas the Universal canon was more staid in its presentation, leaving more to the viewer’s imagination (often due to constraints from the Hayes Committee), Hammer let it all hang out, splashing the camera with more bright red plasma than had ever been seen. This meant that instead of a fangless Dracula (all due to respect to Bela Lugosi), we got a fanged and fierce Christopher Lee, gore dripping from his lips, his eyes ringed in scarlet. For an eight-year-old, literally the stuff of nightmares.

Hammer made a splash (pardon the pun) through their then-liberal usage of blood, but they also became known for something else: beautiful women. Although it may sound silly to harp on it, Hammer’s unprecedented emphasis on sexuality was a big deal, and also helped usher horror into a new era just as much as the blood did. The buxom and often exotic women who populated Hammer’s films brought blatant sex appeal like never before, in stark contrast to the often prim and buttoned-up sexuality occasionally glimpsed in Universal. This is not to say that Universal horror was not dealing with sexual themes, just that they did it in a much more (necessarily) subtle and subtextual way, whereas Hammer—in typical studio fashion—loved bashing you over the head with it.

Another aspect of Hammer that they often don’t get enough credit for is the return of gothic horror to its proper Victorian roots. Whereas Universal’s films often took place in some vague, unknown time period that seemed like a confusing cross between modern times and the 19^th century, Hammer was careful to set its stories firmly in the Victorian era (or earlier in some cases). 

This worked especially for many of the tales, like Dracula and Frankenstein, which were set in earlier time periods and were for the first time being presented that way—but Hammer went much further than that. Perhaps out of a sense of national pride in their own fabled history, they enjoyed making nearly all their films period films, delighting in breathtaking costume and set design that really gave you a sense of being in an earlier time. It would be a new standard that would be copied by all gothic horror going forward, right up until today.

In short, I think what makes Hammer my preferred source for classic horror is that their output generally works better as horror films, if that makes sense. While the Universal classics were usually more polished, especially those of the 1930s, and were superior as films, Hammer’s work was just downright scarier, with more of a flair for the horrific. While Universal had fine filmmakers like Tod Browning and Whale, exceptional cinematography from the likes of Karl Freund, brilliant set design from the likes of Russell Gausman, and of course the writing of the great Curt Siodmak, Hammer answered back with workhorse director and writer Terence Fisher and Jimmy Sangster, meticulous costume designer Molly Arbuthnot and the blaring musical scores of James Bernard. 

While Hammer generally worked with a smaller budget, they made you feel as if their productions were more lush. Universal may have been more mainstream and high-profile, especially in the U.S., but Hammer made up for their technical shortcomings with more of a genuine relish for horror. They threw themselves into taking the groundwork laid by Universal and ratcheting it up about five or six notches. And they were damn good at it.

So while I thoroughly enjoy my Karloff, Lugosi and Chaney just as much as the next horror nut, my soul belongs, in the end, to Cushing and Lee. Pressed to make a choice between Universal and Hammer, I’ll go with Hammer. But it’s kind of like asking me to choose between Sinatra and the Beatles, or Marvel and DC—I may go with the Chairman and the Board and the House of Ideas, but that shouldn’t take anything away from my profound love for the Fab Four and the Distinguished Competition as well. There’s room for all in my horror-lovin’ heart.

And if you, like me, enjoy a good Hammer flick—or two!—I urge you to join me tomorrow night in Bridgeport for BEDLAM AT THE BIJOU: Hammer Horror, a unique double feature in which I’ll be screening both Hammer’s version of The Mummy and the vastly underrated Curse of the Werewolf! Plus, we’ve got Hammer DVD and book giveaways, and a special appearance by the LoTTD’s own John Cozzoli of Zombos Closet of Terror! Hope to see you there, Vault dwellers…

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Retro Review: Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948)

“You don’t understand—in a half hour the moon will rise, and I’ll turn into a wolf…”

“You and 20 million other guys.”

There are the great horror films, and there are the great comedies. But great horror comedies? Films that work equally well as both, and can scare you and make you laugh in equal measure? Few and far between. Possibly the first really great one, and for many still the best, would be the 1948 timeless classic Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein. All these decades later, and it can still leave us in stitches, while delivering a healthy dose of authentic Universal monster madness. The fact that this movie even happened both was and is a gift to movie fans of all ages.

By 1948, both Abbott & Costello and the Universal monsters, two cash cow franchises for the legendary studio, were sort of on the ropes. Bud and Lou had made their name at the studio during the war years, but the act was starting to wear thin with audiences. As for Dracula, Frankenstein and the gang, they were far removed from their halcyon days of the 1930s and early ‘40s, having been reduced to flimsy team-up flicks for kids.

So what did the powers-that-be at Universal decide to do, but cross the two franchises, in one of the most inspired movie mashups ever conceived. Lon Chaney Jr. may have later condemned the film as the death knell of the classic monsters, but the hindsight of film history has revealed it as a beloved gem that, rather than tarnish the reputation of the monsters, has kept their legacy alive for generations.

In short, Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein is the perfect “gateway movie” for getting children into horror. I should know; I used it in exactly that way for my own kids. It’s hilariously funny on a level that can be appreciated by people of all ages, and the creep factor is there in copious amounts, especially for young children not too familiar with horror in general. It causes chills and laughter in equal measure, as we watch Bud and Lou mix it up with some very scary individuals.

In the end, that’s what makes the movie work so well. Neither franchise is compromising its integrity. Abbott & Costello are doing what they do best, getting into ridiculous situations and doing the whole straight man/childish fat guy routine. In fact, this film is probably their funniest moment, in a movie career that spanned nearly two decades. As for the Universal monsters, they are playing themselves here. There’s no campy hamming-it-up going on. Although Bela Lugosi’s Dracula may feel a bit different than his 1931 interpretation, he is playing Dracula to the hilt—just as Glenn Strange is playing the Monster, and most impeccably, Lon Chaney Jr. is playing Larry Talbot. I defy you to find any difference between the Talbot here and in any of his previous appearances. There is no “winking at the camera” on the part of him, Lugosi or Strange.

The perfect blend of horror and comedy make this, for my money, one of the most downright fun movies ever made. There are so many unforgettable set pieces here—particularly the predicaments the hapless Lou constantly finds himself in; from accidentally sitting in the Monster’s lap, to the scene in Talbot’s hotel room with the fruit bowl. And of course, the scene most people remember from this movie, in which Lou first encounters Dracula at the House of Horrors, all the while trying breathlessly to explain it to an incredulous Bud. This is effortless, timeless comedy from two masters, and best of all, is so true to the material that you can honestly imagine that this is what would happen if Abbott & Costello were to encounter Frankenstein, Dracula and the Wolf Man.

Costello cracked up Strange so much during this
scene that it had to be shot numerous times.

We get Lugosi in his only other film appearance as Dracula after his first iconic turn in 1931. That alone is enough to recommend the film! We get an excellent score from Frank Skinner—so good, in fact, that it would be lifted outright for future A&C movie installments. We get a rip-roaring monster-laden finale that is the perfect payoff for all the insanity that has come before. And, at the risk of “spoiling” a 65-year-old movie, we get an unforgettable final-shot cameo by Vincent Price as the voice of the Invisible Man! What more can you possibly ask for?

Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein succeeded in redefining both franchises. Going forward, the A&C series continued trying to recapture the new formula. The series took on a decidedly fantastical slant that was very different from the releases of the early ‘40s, pairing the comedy duo up with other monsters and villains like the Mummy, Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, and even “The Killer, Boris Karloff”. It may have been a gimmick, but it was a gimmick that kept the act going for nearly another decade. As for the Universal monsters themselves, this film became their last appearance for the studio. But it needs to be said that it also reinvented them for a whole new generation of young moviegoers, and helped give rise to the kitschy “Monster Kid” culture of the ‘50s, ‘60s and beyond, raising the studio’s creations to the level of pop culture gods.

Personally, the film brings me back to those lazy Sunday afternoons of my youth, spent with family, food and syndicated New York television. If you’re a fan of classic horror, I encourage you to check it out. Particularly, this movie is a joy to watch with young children. If you don’t have your own, go and steal someone else’s—it’s worth it. I screened it at one of my kids’ Halloween parties, and few sights in my memory will ever match the sight of a room full of initially skeptical 7-10 year olds, falling out of their seats with laughter and yelling at the screen in comic frustration. 

I’m so glad the world of Abbott & Costello and the Universal monsters crossed paths, and I enjoy revisiting it whenever I can. Give it a try, and I think you’ll be hooked as well.

And if you ever wanted to catch this gem on the big screen, then you’re in luck! I’ll be screening it on Thursday, December 27, as part of my BEDLAM AT THE BIJOU series at Bridgeport’s Bijou Theatre. I hope you’ll join me for BEDLAM AT THE BIJOU: Scared Silly, in which I’ll be pairing this movie up with another classic Universal-themed comedy, Young Frankenstein. Check out the Facebook page for more info, or the official Bijou website!

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Conversations in the Dark: Universal Armageddon Part 1, w/ Miguel Rodriguez!

A little while back in Conversations in the Dark, I had as my special guest for a series of discussions, the one and only Miguel Rodriguez of the Monster Island Resort podcast. Both here, and at Monster Island Resort, Miguel and I discussed the massive 28-film Godzilla series in exhaustive detail. It was a lot of fun, and I hope a lot of people enjoyed it. However, once it was done, we were left with that empty feeling inside, and determined we should continue our discussion on a different topic.

That topic would turn out to be the classic Universal monster movies. We both agreed we would next turn our attentions to those timeless horror gems of Hollywood's home for horror during the golden age. What you have here is the first chapter in this brand new series, in which we take on the first half of Universal's Frankenstein series, arguably the studio's flagship franchise.

So join Miguel and I as we wax philosophical on Frankenstein, Bride of Frankenstein and Son of Frankenstein. You'll hear tales of Boris Karloff, James Whale, Dwight Frye, Elsa Lanchester, Basil Rathbone and more. Listen in on the embedded player below, or head over to the official Vaultcast page and download for listening at your leisure!


Stay tuned for further Vaultcasts in the Universal Armageddon series!

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The Many Faces of Lionel Atwill

 

 

 

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Retro Review: It Came from Outer Space (1953)

The Second World War had been won. America seemed to be driving off into the proverbial sunset, leaving its Depression worries far behind and emerging as a shiny, happy world power. And yet, underneath that perfect Brill Cream surface, there was just as much turmoil as ever--only now it was buried down deep where no one could see. Eisenhower-era America was a very paranoid, nervous place, but to really understand and perceive that, you had to look in the place where the nation's zeitgeist so very often resided--the movies.

In particular, as they did in so many other periods in our history, genre films best epitomized the mood of the times. In the wake of World War II and the dawn of the Atomic Age, the public was inundated with a plethora of sci-fi based horror cinema. No longer were we being terrorized by fantastical and mythological figures out of folklore--rather, this time around, the dangers came from science, whether that meant man-made or from beyond the stars. The devastating powers of science unleashed were made known to us that fateful day in August 1945, when the city of Hiroshima, Japan was reduced to rubble in a flash.

Add to this the all-encompassing fears engendered in us by the burgeoning Cold War, with the whole nation caught up in a panic of potential Red infiltration, and you have a perfect storm of sorts, which would result in a golden age of science-fiction horror. Technology could not be trusted; the strange, the unknown, the outsider, could not be trusted. It was a time of rabid paranoia, and filmmakers were more than happy to step up and take advantage.

Filmmakers like New Haven's own Jack Arnold, who took his first step into the genre arena in 1953 with the 3-D groundbreaker It Came from Outer Space. At the vanguard of Universal Studios' horror renaissance of the early 1950s, Arnold would go on to direct both Creature from the Black Lagoon and its sequel, Revenge of the Creature, as well as the acclaimed 1957 adaptation of Richard Matheson's The Incredible Shrinking Man. But he set the tone with this, his initial foray into sci-fi horror, and one of the seminal pictures of its kind.

Arnold's screenwriter was Harry Essex, the same man who would deliver the script to Creature from the Black Lagoon to him the following year. Arnold also had as his star the earnest and intense Richard Carlson, who also starred in Creature, as well. And although that latter film gets all the press when it comes to Universal in the 1950s, it's entirely possible that this is the better film.

Playing on those inescapable Cold War fears, It Came from Outer Space tells the tale of an amateur stargazer (Carlson) who stumbles upon a crashed spacecraft in the Arizona desert and soon becomes the only one aware of the threat once the craft is totally covered in rubble. No one in his small town believes him, and it only gets worse when he begins to see his friends and neighbors being taken over by the inscrutable alien influence of which only he and his put-upon girlfriend (played by the doe-eyed Barbara Rush) are fully aware.

It's a classic formula, and one that delivers in spades. Part of the 3-D craze of the early 1950s that also gave us the likes of House of Wax (vying for audiences in the summer of 1953) and Creature the following summer, It Came from Outer Space is engagingly shot by Clifford Stine, who would go on to shoot such epics as Spartacus and Patton. Yes, the 3-D effects are often forced and contrived, as is so much of the 3-D of that era, but it's a testament to the forethought of both Arnold and Stine that the movie works just as well in 2-D.

Carlson and Rush give us performances typical of genre B-movies of this era, but it isn't for greating acting that audiences flocked to films such as this. We also get familiar character actors like Charles Warren as the incredulous sheriff, Joe Sawyer as a philosophical telephone technician and Russell Johnson, a.k.a. The Professor from Gilligan's Island, as his assistant and the first one to be co-opted by the aliens.

And speaking of aliens, my what a gruesome and glorious creature design we get here. The story goes that the original design for the aliens was rejected and would later be used for the Metaluna mutant of This Island Earth two years later. No matter, because the one-eyed, slime-caked, snail-like behemoths created by Milicent Patrick (designer of the the Gill-Man), are far more terrifying. These aliens would have to be among the most memorable of 1950s science fiction cinema, including the unique point-of-view photography that accompanied their scenes, executed by encasing the camera in a clear rubber bubble.

The plot, conceptualized by Ray Bradbury, is innovative for its time, portraying the aliens as misunderstood by a mistrusting and primitive human populace--it's the kind of progressive sci-fi thinking that would later give rise to the likes of Star Trek and other such thoughtful, hopeful, utopian sci-fi entertainment. The movie also has so much of what we've come to expect from genre pictures of the 1950s--an exasperated, dire protagonist; a constantly screaming leading lady; and of course, lots of lots of theremin, played by the legendary master of the instrument, Samuel Hoffman.

Captain Cruella and I recently had the pleasure of hosting this film as part of The Avon Theatre's Cult Classics series, and despite the poorly reproduced 3-D, it was an experience I very much enjoyed. It Came from Outer Space is something of a time capsule--a summation of a very paradoxical time in our history, mixing optimism and hysteria, delivering thrills and chills while also making us stop and think. Universal of the 1950s may have been a shadow of what it was in the 1930s, but this picture is still a whole lot of fun, and proves that the studio could still be counted on to deliver a rollicking good monster movie. Amongst the massive sci-fi horror movement that took the decade of Elvis and Lucy by storm, it is one of the best.

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Retro Review: Dracula's Daughter (1936)

Easily the most underrated of the entire Universal horror cycle, Lambert Hillyer's atmospheric sequel to the classic Tod Browning original is a hidden gem and a treat for any old-school monster movie fan who discovers it, much like myself. Made a full half decade after the Bela Lugosi adaptation, it is a completely different movie and a very inventive continuation which also manages to push the envelope quite a bit, especially in the newly established Hays Code era.

I first discovered the film thanks to the old AMC Monstervision in the 1990s, and of course, like so many lovers of this picture, the element which instantly drew me in was Gloria Holden's mesmerizing performance as Countess Marya Zaleska, Drac's aforementioned daughter and a hell of an effective movie vampire in her own right. I've always felt that the character, and Holden's portrayal of it, was a direct precursor to the groundbreaking stuff that Anne Rice would do with the vampire ethos some 40 years later in print.

Following the death of her infamous father at the hands of Van Helsing, the Countess turns up in London and absconds with the body, believing that by destroying it she can rid herself of the curse of her vampirism. This is one of the earliest examples in popular vampire lore of the self-loathing vampire--a trope which has now become quite commonplace thanks to the work of Rice and others. Zaleska does not wish to be a vampire, and will try anything to cure herself, even psychiatry (which one would think would be a tall order as far as getting her heart beating again...)

It's certainly been mentioned many times before, but the film flirts quite openly with themes of lesbianism, as the Countess seems to prefer female victims to male. This is most directly explored in the very evocative scene in which Zaleska takes a beautiful young woman to her residence under the pretense of wanting to use her as an art model. It's the sort of thing that I'd wager only made it past the holy rollers on the censorship committees because they were too provincial to even get what was going on in the subtext.

In addition to Holden, also very effective is Irving Pichel as Zaleska's inscrutable manservant, Sandor. The film is highlighted as well by the work of Universal stalwarts Jack Pierce in the makeup chair, and brilliant set designer Albert S. D'Agostino.

This would be the only sequel to Tod Browning's Dracula made during the period before Universal switched its horror film production to the B-movie division. Following Daughter, we would get Lon Chaney in Son of Dracula, which although a lot of fun, is a decided step down from its previous two predecessors. From there, John Carradine would take on the cape as the Count in the campy House of Frankenstein and House of Dracula. For my money, Dracula's Daughter is the only sequel worthy of being associated with the original.

I encourage you to seek out Dracula's Daughter. Like Werewolf of London, Son of Frankenstein and The Mummy's Hand, it is one of those films in the Universal canon that deserve far more attention than it gets. A thoroughly modern vampire movie, it has a lot more in common with the genre in latter decades than it does with the horror flicks of its own time, and is one of the last of the truly great Universal monster movies.

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Monster Cereals: Eating What Scares Us

If ever there was anything dependable about the nature of humanity--other than the fact that we will always find reasons to divide ourselves--it's that we will do anything we can to mentally protect ourselves from that which we fear. And because the ultimate fear for the human race has always been death--the great unknown certainty from which none of us can escape--it's fascinating to see just what lengths we will go to bury that certainty deep down in our psyche. Horror in particular is not much more than a vast exercise of this very kind.

After all, how else to explain why the people most obsessed with all things mortal and macabre take the keenest interest in horror? Simply put, it's a catharsis; a way of coping in a fun and deflected way with something many of us have trouble dealing with, but are nonetheless fascinated by. So when my brethren in the League of Tana Tea Drinkers proposed a blog roundtable discussion on the phenomenon of "cute monsters" in horror, the whole thing was a no-brainer for me.

The question is, why do we infantilize creatures of horror the way we do in our modern culture? Why do we tend to make them "cute"? For my money, one of the most profound and telling examples of this is the beloved series of monster cereals from General Mills: Most famously Frankenberry and Count Chocula, but also their occasional friends Boo Berry, and yes, even Yummy Mummy. Here we have creatures that once inspired genuine terror in the hearts of men (and women)--turned into tasty, sugary treats for children (young and old) to eat while watching cartoons on a Saturday morning.

Think about it for a moment. Let's deconstruct, shall we? Once we peel back the layers of cuteness, what do we have? A cereal made in the likeness of a murderous, mindless being stitched together from corpses, and another in the likeness of a demonic vampire who drains the blood of the living. A cereal based on the immortal soul of a human being who has passed on, and another on the mummified and resurrected corpse of an ancient Egyptian pharoah. Granted, that's certainly reading a lot into it, but at the very base of it, isn't it true?

In the case of three of those monsters, the origins in popular culture can be traced to the classic Universal horror films of the early 1930s. Were it not for those films, there would certainly be no General Mills monster cereals. Yet those films were intended as straight-up horror, to chill the blood and inspire terror in the masses. And even before the days of motion pictures, the legends those films were based on stretch back even further into time--the novels of Mary Shelley and Bram Stoker; and further still, the dark folklore of ancient and medieval Europe, in which creatures such as vampires were wretched, repulsive enemies of humanity.

And yet fast forward a few centuries, and we're sitting on the couch munching on their little faces, soaked in multi-colored milky goodness. The ad campaigns surrounding the cereals have turned the monsters in cartoon characters, voiced in the likeness of famous horror actors of the past like Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi and Peter Lorre (again, individuals whose job was to inspire abject fear, now transformed into juvenile comedy).

Clearly, the bite of the classic monsters (pardon the pun) is dulled by portrayals such as this. I'm not saying they still don't have the power to terrify us--personally, I find Dracula, Frankenstein and The Mummy to still be frightening and powerful horror films. Nevertheless, it can't be denied that creatures which were once taken far more seriously have now become safe, tame, and consumable by children.

Why has this happened? Familiarity is part of it, to be sure. After all these years of being seared into our consciousness, Drac, Frank and the gang are more like old friends than entities out to destroy us. There's also the type of thinking alluded to earlier: Specifically, our willingness to take something which frightens us and defang it (quite litereally) so we can more easily process it psychologically.

Since death is at the very heart of horror, it's no suprise that most monsters are linked very closely to it. When we break it down, every single one of the General Mills cereal monsters is technically a dead person. Quite jarring to analyze it that way, but also quite true. They are based on beings which do nothing if not remind us of our own mortality. This is the basic source of the horror they all inspire; whether ghost, mummy, vampire, or flesh golem.

And so we do what we always do--we protect ourselves from what we fear, in this case using one of the most tried-and-true methods. We take away its power by turning it into something which is a parody of itself, a harmless representation suitable for small children--so far removed from its origins that one really has to do some mental gymnastics to make the connection.

But the connection remains--twisted, warped and mangled far from its original meaning--yet still there. We've transformed the monstrous into something more manageable, but it's still present, if only we look hard enough. So the next time you're loafing on your recliner, a heaping bowl of Frankenberry and pink milk sitting on your belly as you take in ESPN Sportscenter, think long and hard about the gruesome, undead, homicidal atrocities that inspired your delicious, cavity-inducing breakfast.

Bon appetit!

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It's the Bride of Blackenstein, Baby!

Classical Universal horror met '70 blaxploitation last night on Saturday Night Live, and the result was Bride of Blackenstein, featuring Jesse Eisenberg and Nicki Minaj. First Jim Carrey's hilarious spoof of Black Swan, and now this... I'm sensing a pattern here, Lorne Michaels--keep it up! Anyway, just thought I'd share this little video with you, Vault dwellers. It's certainly the perfect post for a lazy Sunday (oh wait, that's an entirely different SNL clip...)

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Thursday Guilty Pleasure: Week One

Because it simply wasn't argumentative enough, every Tuesday in October, to delve into the films we're too scared to watch twice, Missy Yearian of Chickapin Parish and myself are also joining forces throughout October to bring you Thursday Guilty Pleasures, in which we regale you with the movies that we know we're supposed to hate, but we unabashedly love, nevertheless. So buckle in and prepare to cringe, as we get it all off our chests. Be gentle, please...

Van Helsing (2004)

Wow, you're still reading? Yes, B-Sol of The Vault of Horror enjoyed the hell out of Stephen Sommers' gauche, gaudy Universal mashup starring Hugh Jackman as Gabriel "I'm too cool to be named Abraham" Van Helsing. Am I proud of that fact? No. But I'd be a fool to deny it.

Maybe it's the thrill of unleashing it on my kids, who had already been exposed to all the classic Universal monsters, and so got all the references. Maybe it was just the coolness factor of having all those classic monsters in one movie. But whatever it was, I would be lying if I didn't say that this loud confection of a horror/action flick held my attention, and then some.

I fully understand why people generally hated it--it's approach is in many ways completely anathema to the classic horror cinema it's trying to emulate; the camp factor is totally off the charts; the guy playing Dracula is pretty dreadful. Still, there were just enough old-school Universal references peppered without, and a certain respect for the lore of the classic monsters, that gave my inner horror geek a treat and a half.

I defy you to tell me, also, that this film doesn't feature one of the most faithful representations of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein Monster ever put on the screen. Say what you want about the rest of the painful hamminess going on in this flick, but Shuler Hensley is magnificent in a role which somehow seeks to translate the creature of the novel, while still giving a nod to the 1930s movie series. And I proudly admit to the childish grin that crossed my face when he shouted out "Friend!"

My only regret about seeing it is that Sommers' previous helming of The Mummy remake for Universal prevented everyone's favorite bandaged ancient Egyptian from making an appearance amongst his monstrous brethren. Van Helsing is a deeply flawed movie, and not at all what hardcore fans of classic monster cinema were hoping for, but I can't help but have a whole lot of fun with it.



And now, I yield the floor to Missy, and her first guilty pleasure of the month...

House of Wax (2005)

Look, I don’t have a good excuse for having seen this. I mean, it’s got everything working against it. It’s a remake (ew) and it stars Paris Hilton (double ew). And I really should have had the strength to say NO! But I didn’t. And as such, here we are staring down the barrel of week one, and I am about to admit a few shameful things to you.

Thing the First: I love The Simple Life. I own every season on DVD, and anytime I am feeling a little bit sad, I’ll pop them in (season two is my favorite) and a big ole stupid grin will spread across my face. I mean, really, if you let these entitled jerkwads into your lives, you deserve everything you get, right? Right?

It’s possible you’ve stopped reading now that you know this shameful secret. For those of you who are giving me the benefit of the doubt, let me explain why I tell you this. In watching five seasons of this show, I developed a keen understanding of Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie. Mostly, I discovered that Nicole is the smart (and devious) one and that Paris has no identity at all. Because of this lack of personality, I thought, “Gee. Maybe she’ll be like Brad Pitt.* And it will be like she’s this blank slate onto which any character can be painted! Maybe she’ll be the greatest actress of all time!” What can I say? I am like a child, and I have great, great optimism. And that’s why I went to see House of Wax.

I was definitely wrong about Paris Hilton.

Thing the Second: I effing loved House of Wax. I loved it way more than it deserves to be loved. I mean, like, if you had kids, and one of them was like The Changeling or something, and the other was House of Wax, you would totally love The Changeling more, right? Yeah, me too. Everyone knows parents don’t really love their kids “the same but in different ways.” House of Wax is totally the DJ Conner of the family. You can’t help but forget he exists when someone as awesome as Darlene is around. (Well, until the later seasons when you have to deal with Becky 2, and then all bets are off. Wait, what was I talking about?)

Thing the Third: That CGI ending with the titular house catching fire and the knife separating the wax babies is totally like the most awesome thing in the history of CGI. And I want to marry it every time I see it, which is a lot because I watch this movie a lot, and I guess that’s Thing the Fourth.

Thing the Fifth: I would probably stalk Elisha Cuthbert, but only after that crazy garage guy chops off the tip of her finger because that’s when you know she’s a badass, and that’s when I realize that House of Wax is actually awesome and totally fun and not something I should be ashamed of at all.

Wait…. What are we doing here?

* Please note that I do not actually like Brad Pitt, but I do believe he has put in some convincing performances, and I believe that is because he is a non-person, and as such, he can become anything.

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