Category: General Horror

There ain't no cure for the summer time blues but 1981's GHOSTKEEPER works as a mighty fine placebo. Director JIM MAKICHUK thankfully resists gilding the lily and permits the frozen Canadian landscape to play its own chilly tune. There's no spray-on frost on these windowpanes. Snow encrusted trees tower like glittering skyscrapers and we're shown that walking a few feet through the accumulation is a feat in and of itself. Filmed on location in a preexisting lodge/hotel, the devil's in the details everywhere you look. Some accuse this movie of being a poor man's THE SHINING but you'll find no clean, calculated imagery here, it's all very worn and haggard and the dark, damaged indoor photography reads like bad memories better left avoided. There's a vibe established and it's pretty powerful even if the spine of GHOSTKEEPER is frustratingly brittle.

Stop me if you think that you've heard this one before; malfunctioning vehicles result in the seeking of shelter in a seemingly abandoned whatever. Hoary as it may be, this is my jam; this is my favorite song on the radio. Let me introduce you to Jenny (RIVA SPIER) an introverted doormat-in-training who lives in fear of losing control like her insane mother once did. Then there's Marty (MURRAY ORD) her too casual boyfriend who understands that ambivalence is the sharpest knife in the drawer when tormenting your partner. Our "three's a crowd" trio even comes complete with a bubbly flirtatious blonde ripe for punishment named Chrissy (SHERI McFADDEN). I think we're meant to dislike Chrissy, but thank God she's present. Sure, she's a floozy and macking on Marty but at least she's lively. It's New Year's Eve gang, lighten up!

These characters don't sound particularly likable because they're not but their dysfunction adds to the grim mood. There doesn't seem to be any space for gallantry and we sense early on that Jenny stands alone. The three eventually encounter the caretaker of the hotel, a foreboding older woman (an invaluable GEORGIE COLLINS) who apparently buys her apparel at "Gap for witches." The crone wastes no time sprouting ominous warnings and suggestively compliments Jenny on her "inner strength." I don't want to give away the ending but there's a bit of a lift from THE HAUNTING going on here. Jenny is being groomed and her so-called "inner strength" seems to be her advanced ability to stay tight-lipped while catering to others. The point is made that Jenny is a seasoned pro at keeping certain monsters at bay and that the old woman is getting a bit long in the tooth for whatever her mysterious racket may be. I should also mention that the hag has a son who runs around with a chainsaw and that there is a weird igloo prison in the basement housing a ghoul.

Now I know that all sounds inviting but don't let's everybody jump on the GHOSTKEEPER train just yet. Exactly half of you will hate it. There's zero gore and it loses some major steam toward the end. In other words, you need to put two quarters in for every gumball you get out of this machine and I don't think everybody is going to have the patience for that. It's really rather frustrating because it does such a fine job of setting you up and then just when it has you where it wants you, it loosens its grip. It whispers in your ear, expertly tunes your fork and just when you're preparing for the bite down it mumbles something about Indian legends and lets the moment pass. Still, somehow some of the seemingly throw away imagery (for example: a long line of empty chairs facing windows filled with nothingness) wedge their way under your skin and set up camp there. A chase scene through the attic is not exactly miraculously staged but the attic itself is an authentically unnerving space where you'd never want to be.

The ultimate ending is gratifying enough but things do get murky just as they should be crystallizing. If you happen to favor misty ghost stories that linger rather than jack in the box scares though this is a true find. Personally, I've never met an early eighties Canadian horror film scored by the guy who did MY BLOODY VALENTINE and edited by the guy who did BLACK CHRISTMAS that I didn't like. It's true that I craved for it to gel and be less gentle but the apprehension it inspires (at least for awhile) is pretty impressive. It's hard to forgive a film for not dropping the hammer when it has you in the position to do so, but it certainly deserves some credit for getting you in that position in the first place. So O.K., maybe my snowshoes were not exactly blown off but I did feel a chill in July during a hellish heat wave and that my friends is pretty darn cool.

NOTE: Thanks to Amanda and Taylor for pushing me to see this one!

NOTE 2: The above video has nothing officially to do with GHOSTKEEPER but who cares. I think they make a good team.

Kinder-friendly Andre Dumas of HORROR DIGEST recently posted a list of her "Top Ten Willy Inducing Moments" and what an intriguing list it is. I love the idea of diving right down to the nitty-gritty of what gets under your skin. As far as I'm concerned, you can buy as many posters, T-shirts and DVDs as you like but if you don't know the willy first hand, then you're really just a horror tourist!

Fellow bloggers have followed suit and the results have been equally compelling. Unfortunately, my tardiness to the willy party (that sounded better in my head) means that many a good willy is now already spoken for (that did too.) Christine over at FASCINATION WITH FEAR mentioned Father Karras' mother from THE EXORCIST and the chilling last lines from SESSION 9 and I couldn't agree more. Johnny Sandman of PARADISE OF HORROR nabbed the furry ghost from THE SHINING and my favorite scene from HALLOWEEN. The Mike of FROM MIDNIGHT, WITH LOVE jumped on that last chilling shot from PRINCE OF DARKNESS and the creepy as hell parents from THE GATE. Mike of ALL THINGS HORROR included the famous window scenes from both SALEM'S LOT and THE OMEN and BJ-C of DAY OF THE WOMAN dug up creepy laughing Linda from THE EVIL DEAD! Andre herself mentioned such goodies as the not so ghostly apparition from THE INNOCENTS and that damn Zelda from PET SEMATARY!

Well, I had to join in even if some of my favorite creepy scenes had already been mentioned, so here goes…

I've mentioned the daddy long leg spider hive from THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE before. I consider myself a friend of spiders but these guys I can do without. I really believe that they are up to no less than chewing a hole into the universe. Bad spiders!

DOLORES CLAIRBORNE is not a scary movie but the scene where JENNIFER JASON LEIGH looks into a mirror only to see the back of her own head is as startling as being doused with a bucket of ice. It's a shock that reverberates through the rest of the film and it is a brilliant representation of her disowned self.

Speaking of shaky identities, the ultimate reveal of ANGEL HEART may be cliché by this point but it blew my brains into smithereens when I first encountered it. MICKEY ROURKE (who has the best man-scream in the world) crying; "I know who I am!" still gives me the goose bumps.

DAY OF THE LOCUST lulls you into thinking you are on firm ground and then shakes you like a snow globe. Suddenly, the whole world turns violently surreal and there's just no going back to normal. This is herd behavior at its most nightmarish, a flattening bulldozer of chaos.

INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHER's final moment is cruelly sadistic and outrageously pessimistic. Man, how did DONALD SUTHERLAND pull that unearthly trick with his face? I'm sure they would distort his mouth with CGI these days but that all natural howling mug's only competition is a MUNCH painting.

UGH, this has always haunted me. I can't stand MELODY ANDERSON's smirk when we find out she's moonlighting as a murderous zombie in DEAD AND BURIED. First of all, it's all filmed in BLAIR WITCH grainy-cam and secondly, not my MELANIE ANDERSON! Not she of the cherub cheeks, not DALE ARDEN! I can't stand it. I have to throw up.

I don't know how they achieved the evil face at the end of DON'T GO TO SLEEP, but I think it involves worshipping Satan.

Speaking of Satan, this face from SATAN'S TRIANGLE jump started my relationship with horror. It is the most evil thing in the world and I wish it would take a rest from spooking me. This atrocity is, in actuality, my number one willy but I refuse to allow it the satisfaction of knowing that.

You'd think that becoming an adult would save me from the worst of what the willy has to offer. I can use my rational mind to protect myself now right? Enter DAVID LYNCH. Hello, folks, my name is Unkle Lancifer and I am currently too scared to watch MULHOLLAND DRIVE. I saw it twice in the theater and it made me feel like I was going nuts. The old people, oh good lord, the old people! Their out of control maniacal smiley faces were bad enough, bringing back memories of both DON'T GO TO SLEEP and SATAN'S TRIANGLE but then they had to go one pounce further and become tiny berating imps. Welcome to my hell, this is pure unmitigated insanity dumped right out of the box. DAVID LYNCH, for future reference, I scar and sue easily.

At this present date I decree that the wall/face from THE HAUNTING may be my personal ultimate willy. I believe it to be the willy in its purest form. If I've learned anything from compiling this list besides (1) I hate mobs (be them man or spider) and (2) I have serious identity issues that I should look into, it's that (3), I can't stand smiling faces!!! Please everybody stop smiling you are FREAKING me out! My one refuse from the smiling masses is my home where smiling is prohibited but THE HAUNTING seems to want to tell me that a smile can be found anywhere even on a wall. Damn you THE HAUNTING, is nothing sacred? Are you, THE HAUNTING, trying to suggest that all of my willies exist only in my head? Why would you say that THE HAUNTING, and more importantly why would you smile when you say that?

Holy crap, that's too many willies for one day even for me. Now I'm depressed. Well, in all my time on planet Earth I've only found one sure fire cure for the heebie jeebies, the willies and the blues and it's called watching FLASH GORDON! Here's the MELODY I know and love. Go Flash Go! Go Flash Go!

Note: MULHOLLAND DRIVE oldster images courtesy of CHILLY SCENES OF DREADFUL VILLAINY!

UPDATE: Stacie Ponder of FINAL GIRL fame has posted her 10 williest willies HERE! While you're hanging out at the Ponder palace make sure you check out her bloggenaire feature on Kinder-pal Amanda by Night HERE!!!

PLUS: Dod from THE WGON HELICOPTER joins in HERE!

PLUS: MAGNIFLORIOUS does some good willies HERE!

PLUS: THINGS THAT DON'T SUCK and HORROR EXTREME!

And don't forget Pax Romano of BILLY LOVES STU and a ton more HERE!

I've somehow been able to elude seeing 1984's FATAL GAMES for decades. I've never heard much praise thrown upon it and I've always been turned off by its beyond bland VHS cover art… avoidance has been a breeze. A friend even loaned it to me once and it sat on my T.V. for months quietly gathering dust until I returned it unviewed. Who was I kidding though, FATAL GAMES is an eighties slasher so it was only a matter of time until I broke down. I could run but I could not hide, I had to get it over with. I watched FATAL GAMES and now a new chapter of my life begins…

Overall, FATAL GAMES (a.k.a. OLYMPIC NIGHTMARE) sucked as much as I thought it might but I can't say it was completely without entertainment value. If it was just a wee bit better it would be a complete and total washout but its perpetual atrociousness makes it strangely worthwhile for those of us with a masochistic need to scrape the bottom of the barrel. I would have jumped off of this maladroit mobile early on but several things kept me clinging. First of all, I owe SALLY KIRKLAND my attention because she was in THE HAUNTED, which rules, second it was nice to see SUZANNA LOVE's BOOGEY MAN bro NICHOLAS again, and third, I kind of liked the kills, monotonous as they are.

If you've seen 1981's GRADUATION DAY then you've run this lap already. A mysterious maniac, instead of killing humans, has decided to kill athletes instead (yes, I suck at sports and don't act surprised.) This time the killer hides in the shadow of a hoodie, ala URBAN LEGEND, and utilizes a signature pointy weapon, the javelin. I know it's wrong but even a terrible movie deserves some points for showing people being impaled on a javelin. I have no desire to now own FATAL GAMES on DVD, but I do have a strange desire to go out and buy a javelin, maybe two.

I have a feeling that director MICHAEL ELLIOT had some fun and was enthusiastic about filming the film's crazy climax and its bizarre deaths but had no love for filming the rest. I say that because it shows. The filler between the mayhem is pretty damn laborious and I'm not a stickler for continuity, but I sure miss it when it's M.I.A. It's night, it's day, they're in the school they're not in school, "characters" say they're going out for hamburgers and then end up in a Mexican restaurant, I don't get it. Furthermore, plot lines are presented and never followed through with and you have to hear excuse after excuse about why people don't catch on to the obvious. Speeches about "winning" and being "the best" also tend to make me want to blow my brains out (or at least nose dive onto a javelin.)

FATAL GAMES must have been simply intolerable on release but being from 1984 it does have a great deal of chewy nostalgia to offer now. I know I usually wave an invisible cane and bitch about the good old days but my eyes done been opened. I'm really glad that boys don't have to wear nylon Daisy Dukes anymore and that women have abandoned the macramé leg warmer. Some people may find it absorbing that, because of the locker room atmosphere, there is a plethora of nudity going down. If you want to see a completely naked lady chased down a hall then you are indeed in luck. Poor me, I was left cringing at dudes in billowing, bloomer-like "tighty whiteys" that looked like they were stolen from my dead grandma's laundry basket, talk about your double standards and also, blech.

I'm glad I finally did succumb to FATAL GAMES because really the killer reveal is hilariously awesome and the final fifteen minutes or so are almost up to snuff. The kills throughout too, were acceptable for the most part (we even got a traumafession about one of them HERE.) But even I, master Turdpol (stands for turd polisher) cannot pretend that there is much to the rest of the film besides the type of pain you are usually accustomed to experiencing in a dentist's chair. If you have lots of friends and you are all raging, sarcastic alcoholics who need to feel superior, you should join together one day and watch this one as a group and trade barbs, YOU will have a blast. Don't be like me and watch it alone during the day on Youtube eating Sour-Blast Skittles, because that may destroy you or at the very least, leave you making a mental note to update your drawers.

If I've learned anything doing time on planet kindertrauma, it's that there's no way to predict what's going to disturb you. More than anything, fear is an emotional response and your rational mind can blow the whistle all it likes, fear is going to keep doing its crazy jig if it wants to anyway. Now, I can't say that 1982's THE SLAYER actually scares me but I will admit that it never fails to creep me out.

I caught THE SLAYER back in the day on VHS and I remember my first thought as the film began was, "Oh crap, it's one of those cheapie backyard homebrews and poor me is in for a world of boredom." Little did I know that by the movie's end I'd be left with a strange feeling, a feeling of being genuinely unnerved. That the movie was able to leave a stain on the shag carpet in my brain is even more startling when you take its not very good acting, chalk board scratch dialogue, and MS. WIGGINS pacing into account.

I wish I could say J.S. CARDONE's THE SLAYER was some expertly built mind fuck machine or something but it's just not. There are some nicely done suspense scenes, a few better kills than you should reasonably expect and an interesting pre-ELM STREET death by dream mechanism but none of that is really enough to explain why it creeps me out. Maybe I'm just hanging on to the effect it had on me in my youth but a recent watch did nothing to change my opinion that THE SLAYER has the goods, even if I can't explain it on a technical level. It's like an abstract painting more or less, the feeling you're left with is more than the sum of its parts.

Maybe it's a victory of ambiance and milieu. THE SLAYER takes you to a crusty remote island, shoves you into an authentically dilapidated theater and milks a raging thunderstorm for all it's worth. There are scavenger crabs dancing on a dead woman's face, folks getting trapped in nets, and death by oar and fishhook. It all feels very natural and lived in so much so that no wooden acting can deter the coastal climate from leaving its mark. Feel free to throw this one into a spooky sea shanty marathon with TOWER OF EVIL, DEAD AND BURIED and THE FOG. I may even be able to use THE SLAYER as an other example alongside SESSION 9 and the original CHAINSAW that nothing beats real on location shooting. No art director in the world can counterfeit the power of an environment with genuine history.

I also have to give plaudits to the main character here, Kay (SARAH KENDALL) she's somewhat unconvincing, certainly annoyingly repetitive, and unapologetically, narcissistically neurotic. She'd never fly in the modern post RIPLEY age but her ghoulish face and cornered, feeble disposition adds an extra depressive coat onto the rack. I miss this type of almost Victorian female horror protagonist whose main contribution is to be the seer or the voice of dread. That may mean heavy fretting and zero kick-ass but in a supernatural, psychological tale it quite simply works. Feminists may cringe, but I think it adds to the bleakness of the situation if the main character is dwarfed and quivering in awe of the phantasmagorical. In other words Kay's not a hero, she's not even likable and that's what the story (yes there's more than one kind of story!) needs.

So will everybody love THE SLAYER? I really doubt it. Like I said, the acting is stiff, the dialogue makes you want to light yourself on fire and the music is simultaneously the greatest and most intrusive thing you've ever heard. Still, good kills and mood up the wazoo, you can't beat that! I watched it super late the other night, in probably the best of circumstances (in air conditioning, from my bed) and it still got to me after all these years. Whether it's the winged clipped desperation of creepy Kay or just the singular barnacle busted atmosphere, I'm thinking this captures something unearthly and unique. As far as I'm concerned, pimples and all, it's a dream (or nightmare) come true, a gory slasher movie with a surprisingly convincing air of the uncanny and an eerie "wrongness" I still can't quite put my finger on.

Just as the original 1956 film adaptation of JACK FINNEY's novel THE BODY SNATCHERS unintentionally provoked a variety of interpretations (boo communism!…No, boo McCarthyism!), so too does PHILIP KAUFMAN's accomplished 1978 reconsideration (it's just too good to call a "remake"!) How fascinating is it that no matter what your angle or bias is, FINNEY's pod people scenario has always got your back? Worried that conservative ideology is spreading like a virus? It's got you covered. Feel like plant hugging lefty pop psychology is creating a cult of soft dolts? It's got you covered too. Everyone is invited to the paranoia party! All you need to know is that the world is falling apart and it's all thanks to THEM, those other people; the ones who aren't smart enough to think like you.

Let's all take a moment to thank God for creating such a simple world where everything can be perceived either one way or the other; good or bad, left or right, black or white, male or female, straight or gay, dog or cat, Coke or Pepsi, Laverne or Shirley. Imagine how complicated and messy things would be otherwise!

To me, reading political allegory into the pod movies is fun yes, but it also does an enormous disservice to just how universal its larger concerns are. More than anything and regardless of its ambitions, the framework proudly stands as one of the strongest indictments of any and ALL conformity ever concocted (with the possible exception of SHIRLEY JACKSON's "The Lottery.") Putting that massive accomplishment to the side though, what's at stake here is a bit bigger than whatever side you're NOT on getting the upper hand. When the pods come it won't matter what state, country our religious background you come from, we're ALL going down. All of humanity is getting erased. You won't be blaming anyone any more, you won't want to.

Putting that vaguely appealing thought aside though, I have to say it's the acute social alienation encrusting the tale that really gets under this paranoid person's skin. No matter the incarnation, FINNEY's mold hits a tender nerve most narratives gladly stay clear of, the fear that we as people never really know one another. As if that weren't disquieting enough, the fear of losing our sense of self is nettled with equal sadistic verve. In both films, we may eventually learn the rules of the game and exactly what the space pods are up to, but before we get there we're shown a cold, apathetic soulless drone infected world that (yikes!) rings a bell that is way too familiar for any viewers comfort.

I think it's telling and ironic that when presented with a fiction about the global annihilation of the life form known as man (yes, I just quoted the Imperious Leader!) the first thing many people think of is, "Oh, this is really about those jerks that I don't like!" You can read it that way if you wish; many do but before you pat yourself on the back and pull out that cigar kindly check the neon sign flashing in the corner that says "YOU ARE LOOSING YOUR HUMANITY!" In my opinion INVASION (whichever one) is not singling out any one group, all y'all is busted! (And that includes sweet innocent me!) Perceiving it to be about "those other guys" is sort of like a dog barking at its own reflection in a pool.

Maybe we don't all suck as much as I am telling you that we do (let's leave that up to OPRAH to decide) but I believe that the reason the movie resonates and refuses to go away is because we intuitively recognize its Cassandra wail to be true. We sense its frustrating accuracy not only on a social or cultural level but also personally. Just go and walk outside your door and bask in the disconnect that modern life affords us. Better yet, just think about it the next time you're sitting with one person and "texting" somebody else. (No, you can't kid a kidder kids, they've yet to invent any advancement in the area of "communication" that can't be used as a convenient human contact avoidance device.) The premise's inherent (albeit possibly unintentional) cultural critique is damning enough, but there is yet another darker stallion galloping up just behind. INVASION knows your dirty little secret, that as every year goes by it gets a little bit easier not to give a shit. There's a reason why the film's most notorious and unshakable image is a figure pointing into the camera. That pod bastard is pointing at you!

I'm getting ahead of myself, we'll get back to INVASION's naggy accusations later…

I saw the 1978 INVASION in the theater as a youngin' and it did much to encourage my love of the genre. (Like many people in my age group it also happens to be the landmark watershed moment when I first saw boobs, I don't care about your orientation, that's not something you forget.) I'm a ginormous (beg to differ spell-check, ginormous IS a word now and has been since 2007, get with the times!) fan of the film but I am especially fond of its first quarter. I just feast upon the acrid paranoid vibe before anyone has an inkling of what's going down. It's just deliciously suspicious and distrustful and if you snatched the space plants out of the picture it would play like classic noir.

Even more amusing may be the way KAUFMAN's version exploits its premise to add some extra, not of this Earth potency to the standard love triangle. Elizabeth (BROOKE ADAMS, she of the inaugural bosom) is torn between her floppy haired, soft sweater wearing, wok-cooking platonic pal Matthew (DONALD SUTHERLAND) and her live in beau Geoffrey (THE BROOD's ART HINDLE). Geoff is a stiff, suit wearing stick in the mud shown as distant and remote (wearing earphones, enraptured by a television) before his body is snatched. He and Elizabeth seem destined for couples therapy from the get-go, this new pod predicament is just icing on an already stale cake.

Platonic or not Geoffrey and Elizabeth's relationship shines like the perfect antithesis of the alien agenda. Their interactions are sublimely human, their connection unquestionable. They share in-jokes, finish each other's thoughts and blissfully engage in each other's company. So too do pals Nancy and Jack (Kinder-Goddess VERONICA CARTWRIGHT and the patron saint of geekdom, JEFF GOLDBLUM), quirky eccentrics whose individualism, if lost, really would be a profound shame. I tend to consider INVASION more of a horror film but its core manifesto is clearly snatched from the best of sci-fi. If INVASION is on any side at all, it is on the side of staying awake (the hypnotist snaps his fingers) and if it's trying to tell you anything, it is that there is something wrong with living in a world where you need to suppress your true self in order to survive. Yes, my fellow humans, feelings (whoa, whoa, whoa,…feelings!) are the currency that you can't afford to lose. Kudos FINNEY, usually we need a robot to give us that tip!

I know it sounds touchy-feely corny but don't give a wedgie to the messenger. This movie mines a worry that many don't acknowledge but feel within their bones anyway, that to function in the world a certain amount of shelving of our true selves is required. It's no problem to scrape away a little bit of your soul at a time to fit through certain doorways but how much scraping can you concede to before you stop, look around and wonder, when and where exactly did you stop being you? Again, the devastation INVASION presents may be ostensibly fantastic but its jellyfish sting lingers due to our familiarity with it.

Let's face it; we already live in a culture that sledgehammers the idea that emotions are a sign of weakness, that they get in the way. What a great trick to keep us in order and cutting ourselves off at the knees. What a great way to keep us disconnected and unanswerable to the fates of our friends. What a great way to shut people up, to put them to sleep. What a great way to starve the soul into submission. It's not for nothing that within the film that once duplicated and replaced, the first order of business for a snatched body is getting to work! Move those pods! Chop! Chop! I hate to be the bearer of bad news gentle readers but to quote both films "They're already here!"

Who needs to express themselves when you can watch people on Reality Television shows do it for you? Who needs dreams of success when you can watch the rich frolicking on the glass teat for free? Who cares about your emotional fulfillment in the first place? The better question is how's that JENNIFER ANISTON holding up? If you need some help fitting in here's a make-over show to show you how to be more presentable (it may cost you some money though!). Oh, and here's a program to show you how to decorate your home correctly but first we'll ask you to throw all of your most valued possessions in the garbage. Don't worry, it's in order to make room for your new socially acceptable dream crypt! By the way, why aren't you happy all the time? You're supposed to be happy all the time!

There's a reason FINNEY's concept won't kick the bucket.

Conformity is an ugly word but the idea of fitting in is not without its charms. In fact, if you dress up fugly "Conformity" in the pretty dress of "Acceptance" the troll looks kind of hot! We all know what emotions are, we've all had them and we all know its false advertising to suggest that all of them are a blast. Rumor has it that there are rich rewards to be found by scrambling through life's emotional trenches but isn't it easier just to buy yourself a real, tangible gift instead?

This is where INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS stops being thrilling entertainment and stars being a big fat piece of brilliant art. It's the opposite of a backhanded compliment, it's a condemnation covered with kisses. It knows how tempting it is to get lost in the crowd, to fall in step, to sell out your pain and it's looking you straight in the eye and saying you are worth more, that EVERYBODY is worth more. It warns you that sleep is the enemy and it goes one better and points out how to identify the already stricken and lost by their emotionless gaze. It does not have the side of any one group, on the contrary, it laments that such groups restrain our humanity.

I'm going to say it once again to all those Oscar winning weepies and critically lauded period pieces that didn't hear me the first time. If you ever really want to talk about what's relevant in life, you need to start taking some cues from teams horror and sci-fi, they don't fucking play around.

O.K. so I'm starting to get rowdy which is my signal to wrap it the hell up. INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS is an extraordinarily profound erupting volcano of genius. You can't go wrong with either the 1956 or the 1978 version (you're on your own with the other two). These films are beyond cautionary tales they are a rallying cry. Keep dodging those who want to douse your fire! Don't let anyone tell you what to think! Relish your emotions, don't curb them! Stop texting people and actually talk to them for crying out loud. Most importantly, if you can do a crazy, weird trick with your eyeballs, by all means do it!

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." -Howard Thurman.

Oh THE FOG, even when I don't feel like watching anything I can still watch THE FOG. As soon as JOHN CARPENTER's haunting score begins, forget it, I know I'm going to be transfixed until the closing credits float by. It's just such a splendid ghost story and the atmosphere is so convincingly dank I can actually smell the salty air. (In fact, I feel like if my air conditioner should ever break down I could just put in my FOG disc and it could cool the room with comparable results.) CARPENTER wisely calls forth two of the great gods of ghostly storytelling here, both H.P. LOVECRAFT and ARTHUR MACHEN are given nods, and you can almost sense them looking down upon the proceedings with approval. CARPENTER's impeccable use of shadow and the widescreen frame are present throughout and there's a keen sense of place that is uncanny and rare. If it only existed, who amongst you wouldn't want to take a trip to Antonio Bay?

To me, THE FOG shimmers and glows on all fronts but during a recent viewing, I was particularly impressed by the respectful way it treats its multitude of characters. As written by one of the greatest collaborative horror teams of all time, JOHN CARPENTER and the late great DEBRA HILL, we are shown a symbiotic multi-generational community of equals who all play a believable part in overthrowing a supernatural menace. No character is ever shown as being of lesser value than another and even though one might want to automatically cram TOM ATKINS into the role of "hero," the truth is, his actions and screen time are comparable to nearly everybody else around him.

If you think about it, this approach is rather unusual in the world of horror. Usually you'll find some kind of forced drama or conflict between the characters and almost always some folks are presented as "good" and other folks (usually those who are killed) are presented as "bad." In 1980, while everyone was busy trying to duplicate CARPENTER and HILL's previous theatrical horror effort HALLOWEEN, JOHN and DEBRA seemed to have been making a great effort to work against their earlier, now more common design. Hell, we're even given some elbow room to sympathize with the vengeful zombie ghosts causing all the ruckus. You have to admit, the betrayed, leprous crew of the "Elizabeth Dane" do have a valid, honest to goodness beef. Yes, they mean to kill six people but from what we're shown in the movie, it's nothing personal.

There is much to be found in THE FOG, I notice new things every time I watch it but what impresses me the most is what's NOT in THE FOG, how it smoothly twists and snakes itself around genre clichés. This is my favorite type of film, its creators know what they are doing and are committed to telling a story rather than randomly stitching together scenes designed to appeal to its target audience's base expectations. Let's say we turn on the lighthouse and take a closer look at what's NOT in THE FOG:

Young Andy is NOT shown as a precocious brat with his head hypnotized by the latest gadget. He is NOT shown as incapable of sitting still long enough to listen to a story.

Mr. Machen, an older gentleman, is NOT shown as an object of ridicule and scorn. He is NOT presented as crazy or suffering from dementia.

Stevie Wayne is a single mother who is NOT shown as harried or incomplete. She is NOT shown longing for a male suitor.

Dan has a thing for Stevie. He is NOT depicted as a sleazy stalker just because he knows a good thing when he hears one.

Elizabeth Solley is NOT judged for having sex. She is NOT depicted as someone without aspirations or an inner life. The camera does NOT linger on her famous boobage.

Nick is NOT in his early twenties. We are NOT awarded gratuitous visuals of his wash board abs. He is NOT wearing designer jeans. He is NOT a douche.

Kathy Williams is a woman of a certain age in a position of power. Miraculously, great effort is NOT made to depict her as a bitch.

Nancy is Kathy's assistant, she is NOT shown as an incompetent moron.

Father Malone is a religious man who is NOT painted as corrupt, mustache twirling hypocrite.

Nick is NOT seen as soft just because he cares about the well being of his friends. Elizabeth is NOT shown to be unaffected by death.

This black guy is NOT used for comic relief.

Mrs. Kobritz is a babysitter, she is NOT sixteen years old.

These people are NOT shown to suddenly have incredible fighting skills when encountering zombie ghosts.

Our heroes are NOT depicted as unfazed by supernatural attack.

Blake does NOT talk your ear off.

Father Malone does NOT say things like, "Leper me entertain you bitch!" or, "Church is in session Blake, first sermon is your ass on the collection plate!" during the film's finale.

The ending is NOT happy. (But it sure is awesome!)

People are NOT always important in horror movies but they're always important in GOOD horror movies. Am I bonkers for thinking there is a correlation between a filmmaker's understanding of the people they depict on screen and their level of understanding of those filling the chairs in the audience? THE FOG is laudable for its high regard towards its characters, regardless of age or sex. (Please notice that regard is NOT born from political correctness but from genuine interest.) I don't mean to oversell you here. in a way, the characterizations I've mentioned are merely sketches but they are sketches without condescension or disdain and as far as I can see, that's menthol fresh.

This FOG also pulsates with an exemplary awareness and reverence toward the past that is NOT hip by today's standards. This FOG is also NOT too butch to ask its literary influences for directions.

I've heard some describe THE FOG as "dated" and perhaps they're right. It certainly brings to my mind an approach to horror storytelling sadly left far behind (you need only watch the 2005 remake to get a crystal clear view of just how far we have NOT come.) Speaking for myself, I will never NOT love JOHN CARPENTER's THE FOG, and it will never NOT rank high on my list of all time favorites. What's in it is amazing and what's NOT in it is even more so.

When I was little my brothers and I used to play a game we called "hot lava." To play the game, you simply pretend that your orange wall-to-wall shag carpeting is hot lava. You can climb and walk on the couch, the coffee table or any bureau or shelf you can reach but you can't let your feet touch the floor. If you're feeling adventurous you can throw books or sofa cushions down to make a path/walkway but if you should ever touch the ground with your feet, that's it…you're ash. Obviously this is the funnest, most challenging game ever invented so if you don't have orange shag wall-to-wall carpet, maybe you should invest in some today and check it out.

Wait a minute, my spell-check thingy is trying to tell me that "funnest" isn't a word. Are you serious? Would someone please make that a word already? It's frickin' 2010.

Where was I? Oh yea, so I was thinking about the game "hot lava" the whole time I was watching the lil' Aussie movie with a heart of gold called BLACK WATER! BLACK WATER (2007) is the story of some folks whose boat gets tipped over by a crocodile in the mangrove swamps of Australia and they end up clinging for their lives in some trees. Every time one of the survivors tries to climb down from said trees they more often than not get chomped to shreds by the cranky croc. I know that doesn't sound like much of a plot but trust me, this movie delivers the goods and it does so in a respectable way.

Rather than "hot lava" this movie will probably remind normal viewers of the same year's ROUGE, another Aussie swamp croc flick from the guy who did WOLF CREEK. Now, I liked ROGUE so I'm not going to rag on it but BLACK WATER handles similar material with a fraction of the budget and with no help from the ever persuasive RADHA MITCHELL. The biggest distinction though is that BLACK WATER actually uses real crocs rather than CGI beasts and what a difference that makes.

Don't tell the SYFI channel (it'll break its heart!) but Mother Nature made some creatures (crocodiles for instance) so scary that they need no embellishment. Your garden variety crocodile is covered with slimy dragon scales, has piercing demon eyes and a large snarly mouth which is host to about a zillion razor sharp teeth. It really doesn't have to guzzle radioactive waste and grow seventy feet tall to kick your ass. If you've only seen the depressed kind in your local concentration camp, I mean zoo, let me tell ya it's a different story on their own turf. BLACK WATER makes use of the whole "home team advantage" thing.

I hate to make broad generalizations but since this is a positive one, indulge me. Australian horror movies tend to have a genuine connection to their land that I admire. Films as varied as THE LONG WEEKEND(1978), WOLF CREEK and especially NICOLAS ROEG's borderline horror flick WALKABOUT(1971) have such a readable reverent awe towards nature that it just feeds into your primitive primal fears about how unblinkingly arbitrary survival is. Good for you, Australia! I swear to God as soon as they invent a teleporting device I'm going to come visit you! (There's really no way I could ever spend the 14 hours on an airplane it would take to visit you from where I am now.) By the way scientists, what the hell is the hold up with teleportation? I feel like if I was a scientist I would have figured that shit out by now. Do you guys already have teleportation and you're just not sharing it?

BLACK WATER is a tight little nature hates you thriller that's unlikely to inspire fanaticism but is, all and all, a guilt free satisfying experience. You get to know the characters, you care when they die and you empathize with their shitty day from hell that destroys all their pie in the sky dreams for the future in one fatal swoop. The biggest compliment I can give this movie is the simplest one; after it was done I checked IMDb to see if the directors (DAVID NERLICH & ANDREW TRAUCKI) had done anything else. Turns out TRAUCKI has just completed a shark movie called REEF, and if someone out there only had the foresight to invent a time machine (like it would be that hard), I could be watching it right now.