Category: General Horror

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.

Hey look it's THE DEVIL'S REJECTS the lone ROB ZOMBIE movie you're allowed to like without fear of being ostracized or spat upon! Naturally it's my least favorite of his output on account of I'm trying to be difficult. I think I'd agree that REJECTS is ZOMBIE's most technically efficient film but I've got personal reasons to find it a slightly arduous viewing experience.

First of all, I originally saw it with a friend of mine who is now dead and secondly I really have a hard time watching PRISCILLA BARNES being psychologically tortured. No, I didn't like it when Jack and Larry humiliated poor Terry in the THREE'S COMPANY season six episode "Jack Bares All." And I don't like it any better here. Don't you realize that I love PRISCILLA BARNES and want no harm to come to her? Anybody but P.B.! I wouldn't mind if it was JOYCE DeWITT who was humiliated. Hell, the Firefly family could use her as a combination footstool-human ashtray for all I'd care. As far as I'm concerned that little rat showed her true colors in the classic THREE'S COMPANY season six episode "Janet wigs out"!

Now I said THE DEVIL'S REJECTS was not my favorite ROB ZOMBIE movie but did you know that because I LOVE all of his movies that it is still super excellent in my book? "Urban Plowboy" may not be my favorite season six episode of THREE'S COMPANY but that doesn't make it any less awesome. I just have kind of a hard time relaxing and enjoying myself while I watch THE DEVIL'S REJECTS. I feel like some scary drunk person is putting his arm across my shoulder and laughing all up in my face and I can't tell if it's a genuine laugh or the crazy laugh of someone who is about to punch me in my scooter pie hole. The other night while watching T.D.R., I noticed that my arms were tightly crossed in front of my chest for half of the movie. I don't trust these guys but they fascinate me. I'd like to invite them in but I'm afraid they'll smash my Hummel collection.

One thing that I like about ZOMBIE's movies is the fact that he likes to screw around with the idea of "good guys" and "bad guys" and that there's no morality net. One can accuse him of stripping away the magical supernatural element from HALLOWEEN but I think what stings more is that the notion of order in the universe is kicked to the curb too. Suddenly things are not going to go a character's way just because they play nice and that's a hard pill for viewers to swallow. It pretty much goes against everything we are raised to believe. In fact, civilized society kind of relies on people buying into the idea that if they behave they will be rewarded with safety. What ZOMBIE usually ends up with is an arena uncomfortably like the reality we're unwilling to face: random, justice free and dog eat dog, everything I go to the movies to escape. It's not pleasant but I find it strangely exhilarating all the same, like a citywide anarchy baiting blackout.

BOB-ZOB's gotta lotta nerve if he wants me to hook my cart to the insane, murderous, despicable Firefly family and yet I find that, against my better judgment, I do. How is that possible? It should take more then a few minutes worth of too cute dialogue about tutti-fruity ice cream to get me to snuggle up to these sicko characters. Yet there I go strapping on my tin man outfit to stroll down the blood stained yellow brick road with cackling, Dorothy-witch Baby, scary blasphemous scarecrow Otis and rolly-polly repugnant lion, Captain Spalding. What's my dealio? Even the unsinkable E.G. DAILY gets shot in the forehead after hanging out with these ruffians, why am I here?

Here's the thing, as an adult I understand that what I'm watching is fiction, that the atrocities and the murders shown are not real. What does read as "real" to me are the feelings expressed throughout the rest of the film, the longing for freedom and the commitment to life outside of the tunnel vision of our culture. That's what I find seductive and that's what I take a way. Watching BONNIE AND CLYDE as a kid, BADLANDS as a teen, THELMA AND LOUISE as a young adult and NATURAL BORN KILLERS as a less than young adult, I felt the same pull. I'm not justifying the actions of any of the wanted individuals in the movies mentioned but I can't help smelling the fact that they all wear the same cologne, "eau de fuck you!" I love that scent!

By rights I should be siding with Sheriff Wydell (WILLIAM FORSYTHE) who is on a mission to avenge his brother's death at the hands of the trifling trio. If anyone besides ZOMBIE was orchestrating this show, I'm sure that would be the case but…no. I can't help noticing that Wydell is just as vicious but half as fun. He's a monster too but he finds no joy in being a monster, He's a monster who thinks he's better than monsters, by God, I think he's a tool! That may be more of an emotional assessment than a rational one but that's why I'm here. Am I crazy to want to feel things when I watch a movie, to be pushed out of my comfort zone a bit, to want to experience things without harm that I would not like to experience in life? I take this trip with these psychos because a part of me luxuriates in how much they don't give a shit what you think. Personally, I probably worry too much about stepping on toes so a couple hundred f-bombs tend to let the sun shine in like bullet holes in metal siding.

I try to understand why the end of THE DEVIL'S REJECTS is so moving to me but the reasons I suppose, are infinity pronged. It's sad really, our little monster toys have gone as far as they've been wound to. We are shown snapshots of the psychos in happier times and it's almost insulting all things considered but it falls into the borderline embarrassing sentimentality puddle that R.Z. likes to splash in so I'm sold.

As screwed up as these people are they have forged their own family. They choose to die guns blazing rather than give in to the established order. There is acceptance among the unacceptable and good for them. There are some bonds made in life that will never be understood or accepted by others and it's important to know that they can't be destroyed by others either. Maybe I'll never be able to fully understand my sympathy for these devils but I feel it just the same. Remember, polite society frowned upon Jack, Janet and Terry's lifestyle choice too ya know!

(If you think about it, so much of the horror genre's power hinges on the viewers ability to accept and identify with antiheroes and outcasts. You're only watching half of FRANKENSTEIN if you view the creature as simply a beast and you're missing out on a lot of DRACULA if you are not taken in by the Count's charm.)

I'm sure there are some folks who can hear LYNYRD SKYNYRD's "Freebird" and remain unmoved. Such people should be avoided like the oil spills they are. For me that song will now forever be permanently linked in my head with my poor dead friend just like THE REJECTS always will be. I wonder if my late pal (who bore an uncanny resemblance to RICHARD KLINE) would have lasted longer in this world if rather than trying to force his square peg into a round hole, he had allowed a little violence and vitriol into his heart; ("Take a step that is new…"), I guess I'll never know.

I do know that with THE DEVIL'S REJECTS, ZOMBIE set aflame any and all previous ideas about what a sequel could be and where it could go and that alone recommends it. (It's not everyday you see a neon splatterfest transformed into a dusty road movie after all and ultimately REJECTS does stand alone.) I guess I come and dance on Baby, Otis and Spaulding's floor because as reprehensible as they may be, I still secretly hope that they'll live and any movie that can leave me feeling the exact opposite of the way I'd expect to can come and knock on my door anytime it wants to.

NOTE: One of the all time best endings to a movie EVER can be found HERE

The film CANDYMAN is highly regarded but not highly regarded enough for me. Not only is it the cream of its decade, I'd say it deserves to stand among the best of all time. Director BERNARD ROSE's obsessive, God's eye geometric visuals are positively KUBRICK-ian, the score by PHILLIP GLASS is gloriously inspired and the acting, most particularly that of VIRGINA MADSEN is award worthy for any genre. Based on the short story "The Forbidden" by CLIVE BARKER, CANDYMAN hides a bee's hive of intricacies behind a deceptively basic slasher coat. Perhaps the reason many don't appreciate the film's full exquisiteness is because they walk away overpowered by the mythos of the title character. The figure of Candyman, as in the tale itself, is a dynamic catch-all Rorschach sponge of urban fears but inside his shadow lies an even stronger presence, that of MADSEN's character Helen Lyle.

When we first encounter Helen she is working on a thesis involving urban legends. She is particularly drawn to the story of Candyman, a murderous phantom that can be summoned at will. We learn early on that her relationship with her husband Trevor (XANDER BERKELEY), a university professor, is important to her yet strained. There is a competition of sorts at play as Helen's research coincides with her partner's expertise. Helen clearly suspects infidelity and Trevor hides his fears of being challenged and surpassed with condescension.

As Helen learns more about Candyman, she subconsciously builds a springboard away from her marriage. Just as Trevor seems to yearn for a more submissive, child-like partner as represented by his flirtation with his student Stacey (CAROLYN LOWERY), Helen desires something deeper and more spiritual as represented by Candyman (TONY TODD). You can find characters like hubby Trevor in just about any romantic comedy, he's the shifty, superficial "Mr. Wrong" that the audience wills away from the protagonist. Strange as it may seem, Candyman reads as "Mr. Right", he is more than able to accept the entirety of Helen, which includes her attraction to darkness and her burgeoning desire to unearth the unpleasant. (Candyman may offer chocolates spiked with razor blades but hey, they're chocolates just the same.) Helen's research into his legend is really a bid to be taken as an equal. As frightening as Candyman may be he also offers validity and ultimately even immortality to Helen.

Don't worry, there's a pyre being constructed for all this lovey-dovey romance stuff. The fire that Candyman fans within Helen, even he won't be able to contain. If you're at all dubious of the film's connection to romantic melodrama though, take a gander at the snapshot of MADSEN below, lit up and oozing like a DOUGLAS SIRK heroine…

As Helen progresses forward on her path (spurred in one instance by a dismissive male colleague of Trevor's) she becomes more and more socially unacceptable and less useful as an ornament for her husband. She's publicly viewed as a possible murderess and written off as completely insane. After breaking free from a mental hospital and journeying back to her home (whispering pleads to herself that Trevor will be there) she walks in to find him shacking up with his chippy in the wings and painting their apartment PINK!

The color pink (which Helen vehemently and vocally hates) perfectly captures the mandatory traditional feminine values that Trevor requires but there's something bigger here too. This is a whitewash of a different hue, the conscious smudging out of the undesirable truth, the blatant opposite of what Helen has committed herself to. Helen surpassed her husband's capabilities the moment she stepped foot in Cabrini-Green, the hell's nest where she gathered her information on their shared interest first hand. Trevor wants to play house, he's an academic and an armchair researcher. Helen has learned to get dirty; she has learned to look into the mouth of the beast. Unlike Trevor, Helen is no longer a poseur, she has accepted a wider variety of color into her world (think of the graffiti in Cabrini-Green!) and some of the colors aren't pretty.

This is the height of feminist horror but it also speaks to the innate power and subversive bravery of the horror genre itself. In my opinion, Helen speaks for every horror fan, every true artist and every minority poised to shove back when she utters this next line to her happy to paint the whole world pink, bourgeois husband…

"What's the matter, Trevor? Scared of something?"

If he were capable of honesty or any self-awareness Trevor's answer would be, "Yes" and well it should be.

So Helen and her schismatic shadow suitor Candyman now get to walk hand in hook into the sunset right? Listen, this movie is NOT about Candyman, I don't care what the title tells you. Candyman says it himself…

"It was always you, Helen."

In case you didn't hear him, that sentiment is also painted on the wall clear as day. Now, I know that some read this sentence as confirmation that Helen is the reincarnation of Candyman's past love or evidence that everything is in her head and that she is guilty of the bloodshed we've seen. To me though, this movie is all about fables within fables and the power of legends and storytelling. The viewer can read this line anyway they like, but I believe it literally means "Hey Helen, this story, this legend, is ABOUT YOU not Candyman!"

We can give the iconoclastic Candyman some props for being a catalyst for change in Helen's life but she's the one who births him in her mind after all. He's really nothing without her. With every story she hears she adds to his vigor, but make no mistake about who made who flesh. In fact, Candyman uses Helen's desire for meaning against her. He claims that he will free an infant child he has stolen if she will sacrifice herself and become legendary alongside him. This turns out to be a rouse, a way for Candyman to in fact subjugate and shadow Helen just as Trevor wanted to, a way to keep her latched to his coattail.

Instead, Helen kills Candyman (no sequel can tell me different) and crawls THROUGH FIRE to save the child. She dies a martyr's death, hair aflame like JOAN OF ARC. Her journey has been a solitary one, understood and acknowledged by few. Poetic justice prevails though, as the residents of Cabrini-Green somehow understand what she has sacrificed and accomplished. Perhaps finding a hook amongst the rubble was proof enough or maybe they just instinctively recognize that Helen raged against the same machine that they must. As her whispered story spreads she is finally able to surpass not only Trevor but also Candyman. Like a true hero her journey ends when she transforms into what she was seeking.

Trevor ends up haunted by the memory of Helen. (Like Candyman once did, she now lives in the minds of many.) The safe, unchallenging world he has created with Stacey is unsatisfactory and Stacey clearly feels the same. Without Helen as the monstrous other to seal their complacency pact, life seems quite the bore.

The last scene of the film shows Helen's full metamorphosis into her own creation, her own deadly phantom. She now IS Candyman. She's not working for him, they're not in love in some spectral plane, Candyman does not exist anymore; she has made him obsolete. Helen has absorbed Candyman's strength and now stands alone without a partner or crutch. Her first order of business is to eradicate Trevor completely (repeating the ten thousand dollar question "Afraid of something?") and then frame Stacey for the crime (perhaps sending her on a similar path.)

I don't mean to shortchange Candyman, our one truly vital African American horror icon but in the singular universe of the first film, and considering the romantic mechanisms bubbling underneath, the smooth talking psycho doesn't offer Helen much more than her husband. In other words, "Thanks for showing me the ropes on how to be an immortal, tall dark and dangerous, but maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore!" (By the way, speaking of CM's romantic undercurrents, guess who was first in line for the role of Helen if MADSEN should decline? Can you believe the then unknown, future queen of rom-coms SANDRA BULLOCK?)

As I said before, the film's fascination with urban legends and oral history is constant. History is written by the winners and stories and recollections are known to mutate as they pass from person to person (as in the game "telephone" a.k.a. "Chinese whispers".) Candyman is an undeniably seductive presence but let's not let his magnetism drown out who really carries this film, on her back, through the flames.

We all know I'm prone to hyperbole so stand back because as far as I'm concerned understatement is anesthesia. VIRGINIA MADSEN as Helen Lyle delivers what should be considered one of the best performances in the history of horror film and it's a travesty that it is not more widely regarded as such. There's never a false note that I can detect and she's asked to travel emotionally from alpha to omega and back again. She shows us everything from the absolute physical pain her character must plow through to the deep guilt and remorse she suffers as her lone confidant Bernadette (KASI LEMMONS) falls victim to the demon Helen has conjured. She convincingly conveys both authentic intelligence and earned bravado and she is able to flash from stunned awe to whimpering mental collapse within a heartbeat. How the living hell does this performance go unmentioned so often? Yo horror fans, you've gotta frickin' JESSICA LANGE level performance in your midst, you wanna do so something besides dust room off your shelf for your TONY TODD action figure?

Put aside the performance now and let's look merely at the character of Helen Lyle again. You people don't want to celebrate a horror heroine of such fortitude? Egad, what, she's too complicated for you? Forget "final girls," Helen isn't "final." She's eternal and she sure as hell ain't a girl, she's a fully realized being. She did more than conquer her boogey man for crying out loud, she leap-frogged over him and swiped his mojo. She encompasses all of the qualities that horror fans purport to hold in high regard and then some and yet her name is rarely uttered.

What's the matter fanboys, afraid of something?

Let's wrap this up before I crush the wine glass in my trembling rage fueled hand. CANDYMAN is some super fine sweets for the sweet. As for Helen Lyle (and by association VIRGINIA MADSEN) consider me among the residents of Cabrini-Greene who walked en masse to testify at her funeral. It's an ironic shame that although the film allows her character to scale over the forces that seek to dilute her that the outside world of horror fandom continues to succumb to Candyman's hypnotic spotlight stealing gaze. I love you Candyman, don't get me wrong; I'm just saying that there's a sleeping giant of a horror icon in your movie and it's high time you stepped to the side and let her get her rightful due.

I took a trip away from Kindertrauma Castle last weekend and landed in New York. Cops stood on every corner but I also witnessed DEBBIE HARRY on a stroll. Last time I was in this strange city it was not quite as windy and I saw JEFF GOLDBLUM sneeze and JENNIFER JASON LEIGH taking in ALICE NEEL. In other words, every time I go to New York I see someone who has starred in a DAVID CRONENBERG movie. What does it mean? My theory is that New York does not really exist. It is only a dream that I have every time I step onto a Peter Pan bus. The bus driver is my hypnotist. How else can you explain ten dollar beers?

One nice thing about New York is that, unlike post-apocalyptic Philadelphia, they have decent movie theaters. Another plus is that you are less likely to be shot for stepping on somebody's toe and you don't always have to sit next to a crying baby on a cell phone. It's as if the people who go to the movies in New York actually have a desire to watch the film they've paid to see. I think it's kind of fun to go to the movies when it's not the most aggravating experience imaginable and I don't mind spending a few extra dollars on tickets if it means that when I leave the theater my will to live is not in shreds.

Being in New York was my big chance to see THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE, a much ballyhooed movie about a mad German who wants to sew together a butt-to-mouth choo-choo train out of understandably reluctant victims. But wait, the pal I'm visiting tells me of another film playing in the same theater called HOUSE a.k.a. HAUSU (1977) and shows me this trailer on his laptop…

HUMAN CENTI-WHO? Contrary to what you may have read on the bathroom stall, when it comes to choosing between forced butt munching and portraits of Persians who spew blood, I'll always pick the later. The choice was clear I had to see HOUSE; it had a floating decapitated head in it! I know I'm not usually the biggest fan of J-horror but from what I could tell from the trailer this movie had nothing to do with haunted hand-held technology. I could catch up with that crazy German guy later; after the dour NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET remake it was high time your rapidly aging Unk had some G.D. fun. You remember fun, it's that frothy feeling that everything doesn't suck.

One thing is for sure, I would have had a much easier time explaining the CENTIPEDE movie to you. HOUSE is about as unexplainable as they come. Director NOBUHIKO OBAYOSHI tapped his young daughter's head for the film's bonkers content and boy did he find a wellspring. HOUSE has the same type of exuberant, logic-defying power as a kid's drawing. If DARIO ARGENTO took ten tabs of acid and filmed an episode of JOSIE AND THE PUSSYCATS starring SHONEN KIFE and sporting a soundtrack by ELO it would come out only half as insane as this. HOUSE makes a kaleidoscope look like a monocle. It funnels its giddy cartoon dogma directly into your eyeballs. I promise you, it's pretty much like playing "light as a feather, stiff as a board" with a very high HELLO KITTY. I can't tell you it's scary though, the scariest part of this movie is having to return to the real world when it's done.

In HOUSE you'll meet a teen girl named Gorgeous and her friends Prof (the smart one with glasses), Kung-fu (Sporty Spice), Sweet (the sweet one), Melody (musically inclined) and Mac (the girl who can't stop eating.) The sassy lasses take a super fake train ride under cotton candy clouds to Gorgeous' mysterious Aunt's house. Following them wherever they go is Blanche, a white Persian cat who apparently bought her own train ticket and steals every scene she's in. The Aunt is some kind of crazy witch with a hidden agenda and the house is as alive as the cabin in EVIL DEAD 2.

There is so much going on that it's nearly overwhelming and I'm sure that one viewing will never be enough for most. This is the type of perfect cult movie that you should have on hand to subject your friends to. It's strange and twisted enough to be embraced by horror fans and goofy and weird enough for anybody sick of the usual. Even if my entire trip to New York was not a hallucination, I'll never be completely convinced that my viewing of HOUSE was real. If movies are drugs, this is a potent one and I may never look at my cat the same way again.

NOTE: HOUSE will be released on DVD by Criterion in September and it looks like THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE is currently on IFC pay-per- view (at least here.) Looks like I made the right decision for sure, I can have my possessed cat and eat my HUMAN CENTIPEDE too.