kindertrauma

Author: unkle lancifer

Pet Sematary (2019)

Posted on By unkle lancifer

I was walking home the other night and saw a cat in an alley that reminded me so much of my dear departed Figgy. It was so dark that I had to use the flashlight on my phone which allowed me to barely make out her form playfully rolling about on the cement in a come-hither way. I called to her but she wouldn't budge and I couldn't reach her myself because of a locked gate. I knew the gate on the other side of the block was open so I ran home, got some food and crept through the labyrinth of South Philly back yards to reach the cat only to find that she had disappeared. Then, as if cued by my disappointment, it started to rain. Of course, this cat wasn't Figgy but why did she look and act so much like her and wait a minute, it was so dark, I'm not one hundred percent sure I didn't hallucinate the whole thing. I've gone back to look for her several times and I'm leaving cat food in the back yard by the gate and yet I also know that what I'm really looking for I'll never find again. Figgy still seems just slightly out of my view at all times. I've mistaken a boot on the floor for her for a fraction of a second and for a flash I saw her running down the street but nope, it was a black bag blowing in the wind. I feel haunted.

In my state, I should have been ripe for the picking as far as the retelling of STEPHEN KING'S PET SEMATARY goes. Alas, I wish could say I connected with it better than I ultimately did. It spoke to me for sure, and it easily made me weepy but something about it ended up feeling detached from the deep well of guilt and grief ingrained in KING's tale. Jason Clarke is impeccable as Louis Creed so I'm certainly not blaming him. I pretty much hung on his every word and when he explains how death is a natural part of life to his dubious daughter Ellie (JETE LAURENCE), I was all ears wanting a fatherly figure to put my worries to rest as well. The most potent parts of KING's take on THE MONKEY'S PAW are nearly impossible to muddle because they are in the very bones of the story itself and this movie does right by those themes for the most part. There are more than a few alterations here and there, all of which I found at least interesting. The direction and editing are clever too, I wouldn't say the filmmakers (Kevin Kolsch and Dennis Wydmyer, the folks behind 2014's impressive STARRY EYES) have anything to be embarrassed by here; it's all reasonably sufficient and respectfully done. Yet it always feels like a product rather than a soulful exploration. It's missing madness and mojo. It's too restrained and in my opinion, not weird enough.

Frankly, I don't get how you drop a ball like Zelda. I can understand the desire to streamline the story a bit (although discarding the suicidal neighbor and the disapproving in-laws evaporates a great deal of the depressive tone) but declawing Zelda and almost refusing to look at her makes no sense to me. Anyone who has seen MARY LAMBERT's artful take on the material will remember Zelda (if they don't have her image burned into the inside of their retinas forever). Rachel Creed's sickly sister embodies the torturous guilt that frequently accompanies grief perhaps better than any other horror character I can think of.  She's still very much present in this new telling, but she's sidelined and out of focus and avoided in a way that's almost cowardly. It's as if her unseemliness was considered too gauche for this production and so she's grounded and gifted a poorly executed dumbwaiter scare and let go. Maybe I just love Zelda too much. This is possible. I have a hard time letting things go.

I truly thought I was in the exact right mind space to appreciate every iota of PET SEMATARY but maybe the exact opposite was true. I will say I have no complaints about the cat(s) who portrayed Church and really how many horror films do you get that feature a feline character front and center? I just wish that they took it all a bit further, even the cemetery itself is lackluster and missing the shabby-chic, found object wonder of the previous telling (one positive thing this movie did do for me is that it made me appreciate LAMBERT's trippy IVAN ALBRIGHT-esque colorfully cruddy visuals even more). I get the feeling that all involved believed that the new version was a more serious, grounded take and that to improve things they only needed to eliminate the broader, gaudier elements but in doing so, they also stripped out all of the effervescence.

Fittingly, PET SEMATARY may be back from the dead but this time it comes across like a lesser, blank-eyed facsimile. Maybe I was asking too much, maybe I was expecting this movie to replace the irreplaceable (not unlike that poor unreachable stray in the alley). To me, due to its subject matter, any version of KING"s PET SEMATARY is going to be fundamentally more interesting than the average studio movie coming down the pike but I'm pretty sure that the next time I want to revisit this painful tale, I'll be seeking out the still vibrant earlier incarnation. Well-groomed as it is, this new take lacks bite.

Dead & Buried (1981)

Posted on By unkle lancifer

The other night I was struggling with the age-old question of what to watch when I suddenly realized I was in the exact perfect mood for Gary Sherman's 1981 shocker DEAD & BURIED. This must have been the very first R-rated movie I had ever seen because once upon a time, nobody asked about your age when you were in the back seat of a crowded car at the drive-in. You'd think that over the decades I'd come to find this movie less frightening than the first time I saw it and you'd be partially correct but the truth is, it still leaves me thoroughly creeped out. Here are some of the reasons I still find this underrated and relentlessly bleak, paranoid classic uniquely disturbing.

THE OPENING SCENE. D&B opens with a photographer taking photos on a beach. He meets a beautiful young woman (Lisa Blount) who slyly seduces him and just when he's about to seal the deal, he is instead beaten by random townspeople, tied to a poll with a fishing net and then set on fire while the mob encircling him smiles and take photos. No matter how many times I see this movie, this startling introduction never fails to alarm me. Perhaps even more unsettling than the brutal violence is the way the fish netting twists, distorts and mutates the victim's face. I can't think of a more distressing visage, it's as if it foretells the burn scars he's about to acquire. Somehow the poor dude lives and is taken to a hospital but his recovery is short lived. Completely vulnerable and covered head to toe in bandages, he is visited by the same treacherous young lady who instigated his assault. Dressed in nurses' garb she presents the worst remedy ever conceived- a hypodermic needle administered straight through the eye! Imagine surviving so much only to endure a crueler fate when you're in the most vulnerable state imaginable- it all still upsets me. 

THE LOST FAMILY. Right smack in the middle of the film we are unceremoniously introduced to a couple and their young son who are lost in the remarkably foggy town. To avoid hitting a man that darts in front of their car, they crash into a telephone pole. Although we'll find out shortly the car is quite operable, the beyond befuddled couple decides to venture into an abandoned dilapidated house to search for ice for their child's head (yes, these people are insane). Making matters all the more surreal, the original sound of this scene must have been lost because this entire portion of the film is abysmally dubbed, resulting in tons of superfluous dialogue and general awkwardness.

It seems every move and decision the trio makes is frustratingly ill-advised. At one point the mother even surmises that the owners of the (clearly abandoned) abode must be in the basement fixing the fuse box and suggests that her husband go down to verify her demented fantasy. It's truly crazy-making watching this family stumble about while the shadows of maniacs wielding weapons loom just out of their view. Nonsensical and partially infuriating as this entire segment is, it's also beautifully shot and genuinely unnerving to me. Eventually, crazy townsfolk are jumping out of every closed door and crevice like demented jack-in-the-box clowns engulfing the terrified trio. As the family somehow makes it back to their vehicle, the way the ravenous mob is presented as a mass of menacing silhouettes following them is stunningly nightmarish (and brings to my mind the finale of THE DAY OF THE LOCUST). It's hard not to feel bad for the hapless child, who is dragged about like a suitcase throughout and has no say in the blundering decisions of his ineffectual guardians.

THE FOUND FOOTAGE. The entirety of D&B is filmed in a gloriously gauzy and grainy way that rather resembles peering through dusty cheesecloth. Remarkably the murky-visual-ante is upped even further when Sheriff Dan Gillis (James Farentino) develops a mysterious roll of film for his wife (Melody Anderson) and decides to check out its horrific contents. I won't give away the devastating plot point he discovers but I will say it is presented in a POV semi-snuff looking way that leaves you with the unclean feeling of having witnessed something vile and atrocious. Years before THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT, D&B presented this grittier than a Philly mascot slice of visual miasma and it still feels as disorienting and downright icky as ever. I don't know if it's the leering oldsters, the decrepit surroundings or Joe (CHILD'S PLAY) Renzetti's persuasive score but combined with the clips sleazy revelation it really gets under my skin. I can almost smell the moldy dank air as I write this and I also get a poisonously putrid Lovecraftian vibe. 

Not everything in D&B makes sense but I believe that is part of the reason I find it so disturbing. Some folks are able to "fall out" of a movie when it presents something that is unlikely to occur but I sometimes find such lapses in logic remind me of the relentless way an inescapable nightmare works. I get the feeling that the writers didn't fully lock down exactly what is going down in Potter's Bluff, there are mentions of voodoo, witchcraft, and pseudo-science but when a definite explanation is teased by the central culprit it is soon nipped at the bud with, "I'll take my secrets to the grave." I'm fine with that. I find the horror in DEAD & BURIED especially potent because it is so darn amorphous and impossible to fully pin down. You get the sense that Potter's Bluff is a town abandoned by light and rationality long ago and now it's kind of stuck in an endless death spasm. I wish I could chalk up the way DEAD & BURIED hits me in my psychological Achilles' heal to mere nostalgia. The truth is the inescapable mortality that engulfs the town like an impenetrable fog may be even more unnerving to me today than it was when I witnessed it in my youth.

Kindertrauma Funhouse

Posted on By unkle lancifer

Check out this super groovy TERROR HOUSE (aka TERROR AT RED WOLF INN) poster! There are ten differences between the one above (A) and the one below (B). How many can you spot? 

Terror at Red Wolf Inn (1972)

Posted on By unkle lancifer

Mill Creek has put out a new movie collection entitled NO TELL MOTEL, which offers eight horror films focusing on ill-advised overnights in dangerous locations. The first disc sports spiffy letterboxed titles like VACANCY (a decent enough thriller) IDENTITY (love that one) and ELI ROTH's HOSTEL and its first sequel (both semi-annoying and yet very interesting and disturbing). The second disc consists of several public domain flicks with lackluster quality of various degrees. There's the ubiquitous THE DEVIL'S NIGHTMARE (a favorite) IT HAPPENED AT NIGHTMARE INN (haven't had the pleasure), LEGACY OF BLOOD (skip it) and a charming, low budget oddity that has always stuck in my brain, TERROR AT RED WOLF INN (I had to get this whole set just for this one film).

TERROR AT RED WOLF INN isn't represented as well as it should be but until a superior version is available it'll just have to do. Sadly this is a PG-rated version of the 1972 movie that is also known as TERROR HOUSE and THE FOLKS AT RED WOLF INN. This particular cut is ten minutes shorter than the one I watched on VHS back in the day but from what I've gathered (Googled), the missing scenes don't amount to too much. Ironically, this truncated, supposedly tamer arrangement contains a violent scene where a character beats a small shark against a rock and I'd much rather have that unsightly bit excised above anything else. They took out a visual of human fingers in a soup bowl and left behind a scene of actual animal abuse? I guess there's no way to understand the randomness of the rating system.

The movie introduces us to a charming, quirky and too-trusting character named Regina (Linda Gillen) who suspiciously wins a weekend vacation over the phone (much like the set-up for I STILL KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER). Soon she's jumping on a plane and taking advice from strangers that she needn't inform anyone about her dubious getaway prize. There's no doubt that Regina has made a major judgment error when the house she's meant to relax in turns out to be the same joint (Newhall Mansion) featured in DON'T BE AFRAID OF THE DARK, CURSE OF THE BLACK WIDOW and countless horror-themed TV episodes. Her hosts are oldsters Henry and Evelyn Smith (Arthur Space and Mary Jackson) and their touched in the head grandson Baby John (John Neilson), all of whom would seem equally comfortable inhabiting MOTEL HELL or AMERICAN GOTHIC. Two other contest winners have already arrived (Janet Wood and Margaret Averly) and it's not long before they're all being fattened up with gluttonous course after gluttonous course of meats of highly questionable origin. Warning: Do not watch this movie if you suffer from misophonia and object to the sounds and sights of folks with terrible table manners munching out and licking their greasy fingers.

RED WOLF INN feels a lot like a seventies made for television affair and maybe that's why I dig it so. It's got an offbeat sense of humor too that never goes far enough over the top to bring you out of the paranoid predicament. It's also genuinely unnerving in spots, utilizing distorted camera angles to disquieting effect. There's something about simply sticking an idiosyncratic tomboy-type in a giant old mansion that's always going to hit me in my horror comfort zone. I could have used a little more background information regarding just about every character overall, but there's something to be said of the simplistic approach that plays out almost like a gingerbread house fable. Plus, it's got a message that's still valuable today: Young people, please never assume that the generations ahead of you have your best interest at heart. Spoiler alert: They don't. Amusing, delightfully odd and routinely creepy, TERROR AT RED WOLF INN is an appetizing seventies offering worth making room on your plate for. It's also a great reminder that the best way to avoid cannibalism is to become a vegetarian.

Figgy

Posted on By unkle lancifer

It is with a pulverized heart that I share the sad news that we have lost an integral member of the Kindertrauma Family. Our beloved cat Figgy has passed away. She was a proud feline who was also a cherished daughter, a loyal sister, a best friend, an empathetic caretaker, a muse, a role model, a magical familiar and my most trusted ally against the darkness of this world. I have never met a cat like Figgy before and I never will again. I won't linger on her illness as it was such a tiny fraction of her spirited life but I need to say that she was an incredibly brave, noble and trusting spirit throughout her most challenging hours. I hope when it is my time to go that I can do my best to face things as valiantly as she.

One of the best the finest days of my life was when Figgy and her two sisters Rory and Kevin decided to strut into our South Philly backyard. Who would have guessed it would be such a privilege to have three kittens using our garden as a litter box? We built the girls a safe abode where they could sleep dry and warm and made sure they were (very) well fed. Eventually, we realized we would have to find them homes. Originally we only meant to keep gregarious Kevin but once we got to know Rory and Figgy, they had to become part of our family too. Figgy (not unlike myself) was inherently suspicious of humans when we first brought her inside. She was a Goth loner dressed in black who hid behind anything she could and hissed at the mere sight of us. Her initial rejection inspired me to try all the harder and I made it my mission that I would turn this feral malcontent around. And turn her around I did. She became the most affectionate cat you could possibly imagine and we became inseparable. I'll never forget watching HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON with her and thinking it was our story on the TV screen. I'm not proud of much that I've accomplished in life but I am proud that I was able to steer Figgy's disposition away from apprehension and fear. The cat she became after she was properly adored held one of the greatest souls I have ever known, human or otherwise.

Let me tell you about this beautiful cat. She cared for her sisters and with the diligent concern of a well-trained nurse. If one of them had a hairball or any such ailment, she'd come running to their aid in an instant and hover until she knew they were OK. She was incredibly generous. She never fought over food and she'd constantly bring toy mice up to my room. I'd often find them in my bed or shoes. She was so clever. She would come running whenever I asked her if she wanted to take a nap and she'd speed by me on the stairs and make it to bed before me. For many years our cats hid in the basement whenever we had company but over the last few, Figgy became more and more friendly and outgoing. Just this past Christmas when we had a party she came out and lounged around on our bar like she was Michelle Pfeiffer in THE FABULOUS BAKER BOYS. Boy, did she know how to enter a room. When she slinked in she always reminded me of Sean Young's first appearance in BLADE RUNNER– she had the same walk! She had but one vice: Dum-Dums lollipops. We made sure she had a fresh bag every Halloween. She would throw them around the house like a miniature baton for hours and be seen carrying them around in her mouth like a happy dog with a bone. She wore a tuxedo every day; her black fur was impossibly shiny and sleek while the white sections were as soft and fluffy as a bunny. Her paw pads were the most remarkable mauve that resembled the gray-purple color of a half-finished grape popsicle. She had the coolest beauty mark- a kissable half-mustache of white right beneath her regal nose.

I'm going to miss her so much. I feel irrationally guilty because right before she fell ill I experienced this miraculous moment with her. She was sleeping at my side and I felt such peace and love and it was like the whole room was glowing and time stopped. I foolishly wished in my head we could be together forever. Did this perfect instance attract the tragedy? I worry that experiencing such profound contentment was the equivalent of banging on a drum in A QUIET PLACE and some ugly force was alerted and came gunning for us. Maybe that's the grief talking and my brain is just desperately looking for a reason when there isn't any. In any case, I can't allow myself to turn a happy memory into a sad one. The larger truth is that she was cherished every single day full-time and non-stop. I'll never have to wonder if she ever felt unloved or abandoned and that means a lot to me. On our last day I wrapped her in a red blanket and told her she was my Queen and no truer words were ever said.  She'll always be royalty to me.

Thoughts of heaven and reincarnation have not been helpful to me lately. Instead, I'm deriving comfort from a horror movie, which should shock few. I find myself comforted by the way death is presented in A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 4: THE DREAM MASTER. In the film, the character of Alice gains a positive attribute from each of her friends that die and essentially they become a part of her. On the surface such an idea is outlandish but if you think about it for a minute it's also an undeniable truth. Furthermore, I have witnessed proof of this phenomenon. The other day as I was going upstairs, I called to Rory and she actually came running and sped past me just like Figgy used to and she's absolutely never done that before. Later that night Kevin somehow found a Dum-Dums lollipop (I'm guesstimating there are hundreds under the couch) and she was playing hockey with it like a seasoned pro (she wasn't a fan of them before). Stranger still, Rory and Kevin who have never been close (both of them preferred the company of Figgs) have started hanging out, playing and even sleeping together (trust me, that's unheard of). Things will never be the same without Figgy, we're all devastated (Rory cries nightly) but there's no doubt in my mind that she will always be with us. I spent the last few weeks thinking how very unlucky I am to have lost a friend I cared for so dearly but today I'm thinking of how lucky I was to meet Figgy in the first place. She could have chosen any backyard to set up camp in, any garden for her litter box, I'm forever thankful it was ours.