⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Following Dracula less than ten months later, James Whale’s Frankenstein crafted a far more entertaining macabre feature and helped bring the first true horror boom to America. Utilizing stellar set design, a quicker pace and one hell of a cast, Frankenstein made for a true classic. Colin Clive is perfect as the man slipping into mania as he falls deeper into obsession, Dwight Frye gives another winning performance as the hunchbacked assistant Fritz and Boris Karloff became a legend with his beautiful portrayal of a sympathetic monster doomed to tragedy. Dr. Frankenstein is causing anxiety in his loved ones as he obsesses over his quest at playing God. With his loyal assistant in tow, he robs graves to collect the body parts his experiment necessitates. Fritz collects an abnormal brain (he accidentally destroyed the normal one) and when an electrical storm arrives, he’s ready to bring life to that which no longer lives. The arrival of his fiancée, best friend and former professor grants him an audience for his final triumph. As successful as his initial experiment was, he seems to be having trouble acclimating his creature to the world. The over exhaustion mixed with what may just be failure due to the creature’s savagery (exacerbated by Fritz’s abuse of the poor thing) leads Henry to suffer a nervous breakdown. It’s decided that he shall return home and Dr. Waldman (who has been working beside Henry since his successful animation of dead flesh) will destroy the creation. It doesn’t exactly work out that way and the monster escapes. Of course, Henry doesn’t realize that his failed experiment is haunting the countryside and making its way back to him... guaranteed to ruin his wedding day. From the atmospheric graveyard opening to the climatic windmill encounter, Frankenstein never really gives you a chance to catch your breath. It’s wonderful how quickly everything plays out. This first true American horror masterpiece has rightfully earned its spot in genre history. There will never be a more recognized monster in the filmgoing psyche.
aka Bloodlust/The Black Forest Vampire/The Vampire of Nuremberg
⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2
Depressing and disturbing Swiss flick manages to make you feel yucky all over but is so well done it's hard to dismiss it as exploitive crap. So... win? Beaten deaf and dumb by his abusive, sister-molesting father, our introverted protagonist (?) goes about his life excelling at his accounting job and living a quiet existence in his depressing and doll-filled apartment. There's a looney neighbor girl who dances and dreams constantly, that he has developed some kind of innocent and non-physical relationship with. He cares for a pet mouse and seems to enjoy putting red liquids on his skin (ketchup and ink to be exact). But we won't be staying in this admittedly creepy but less than harmful atmosphere for too long. After a prostitute pickup ends in ridicule, some cracks (well, deeper cracks, begin to show) and our man begins tumbling downward into psychosis. He makes a habit of breaking into funeral homes and drinking the blood of female corpses. He even brings one home, sets her up in a creepy room made to look like a funeral parlor viewing room and slowly dismembers the body. Corpse desecration and eyeball snatching eventually draws the attention of the police and press. He's named himself Mosquito and leaves his name in red marker at the site of every crime. As you probably already knew, corpse abuse can only take you so far and Mosquito's addiction escalates to murder. The death of his creepy girlfriend (she dances herself right off a roof) seems to break him completely and a poor banging couple pay the price. But when you're more concerned with blood drinking than getting rid of evidence, things have a way of falling apart. Dealt with in a completely serious fashion, Bloodlust, never feels like it's exploiting the true-life crimes it's loosely based upon. Solid performances abound and there's a generally chilling atmosphere the whole way through. A dark classic given star treatment from Mondo Macabro.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
Newly married George and Kathy Lutz (Josh Brolin and Margot Kidder) move into a piece of beautiful Long Island real estate along with Kathy’s three kids. It does not take long for them to discover there is something very evil in the house. A son murdered his entire family with a shotgun one year prior in the house and blamed it all on demonic possession. Thanks to that horrible bit of recent history, the Lutz clan get a good deal on the place and are able to ignore the current tragedy because “Houses don’t have memories.” The family priest (Rod Steiger) comes over to bless the place, encounters a fly infestation and gets violently ill. A spooky voice growls at him to “GET OUT” and he wisely listens. Homeowner nightmares include cold spots, more voices, an unsettling sealed-off basement room, plumbing issues, a sick nun, missing money and one nasty pig-lookin’ thing that pops up briefly. George starts feeling like shit and mentally breaking and it seems like he may be heading down the same path as the young family slayer. The youngest daughter makes a new invisible friend named Jody, a babysitter gets locked in a closet and any religious interference is dealt with maliciously. A convenient clairvoyant shows up to explain things and it ties into some bad Native American ground and some sicko called Ketcham who was run out of Salem. Based on the pretty much debunked story of the Lutz family and Jay Anson’s best selling book about the horrors experienced by said young family that got in way over their heads. Brolin’s epic beard/hair combo steals the show and Margot Kidder is a got-damn fox. The opening is still pretty effective and there’s a few jolts but it’s not exactly a classic and loses focus at the pivotal juncture where things start slipping out of control. Don Stroud and Murray Hamilton show up as priests and Rod Steiger does some serious scene chewing.
⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2
A middle-aged man leaves the hustle and bustle of Washington D.C. for a beautiful home in the remote wilderness of West Virginia. It does not take long for things to get downright creepy when a possible supernatural presence begins doing whatever it is supernatural entities do. This all plays out through the recorded video diaries the man makes for his OCD support group back in D.C. Genuine unease settles in mostly from strange audio recordings the man catches as darkness envelopes his new secluded environment. Solid found footage flick only let down by its somewhat nothing of an ending. Still, the journey getting there is worth your time.
aka Vampire Killer Barbys
⭐️⭐️⭐️
An injured man flees from a castle into the fog-shrouded night, an older gentleman with a crossbow follows behind and gives chase and the rotting corpse of a female seems to be watching all of this from an upstairs bedroom window. The bloodied man evades the elderly man but is soon grabbed by some hobo-looking man and has his throat slit. And then the most Jess Franco thing outside of an unnecessary zoom happens... we cut to a club where folks are dancing and a live act is entertaining. It's 96 and Uncle Jess is still that same psychopath he's always been. The band in question is The Killer Barbies (like anyone from Mattel double checked) and they sound like a mixture of No Doubt and cigarette stains. The older gentleman from the opening scene is also at the club, watching from the back and obviously plotting. The man's name is Arkan, the barely living corpse in the bedroom is Countess Von Fledermaus and The Killer Barbies have exactly what the Countess needs. Ya see, her and her secretary/lover Arkan have figured out the key to eternal life and I quote: "To drink the hot blood of the young people!" Well this band is young and I'm sure their blood is hot as hell. So, on their way to the next gig in a shitty minivan, The Killer Barbies almost hit a stalled steamroller and get their tire stuck in the mud. Luckily, a helpful Arkan appears and offers to put them up for the night. Three of the band members agree but the drummer Billy and Sharon (who I believe has the responsibility of dancing in her underwear during performances) decide to spend the night in the van and bang till dawn. So that's three in the castle including vocalist Flavia, her boyfriend/guitarist Rafa and Mario who I'm sure does something besides being a virgin and the two having a very intense grind session in the tour van. There's also Arkan showing the braindead dips around, the Countess in the bedroom slowly regenerating as she consumes blood, the creepy hobo halfwit servant and two midgets he calls "the children" creeping around the property and behaving like morons. There's also a legend about a satanic monk and love and an actress from the 1920s who bears a shocking resemblance to the Countess and talk of a blood and semen potion. I'm mentioning all of this here because even though the ideas are interesting, in pure Franco fashion, they're barely explored. Flavia and Mario are suspicious of Arkan but can't seem to get Rafa to give a shit. The two band mates in the bone-zone are attacked which leads to a butt-naked Sharon fleeing from her attackers in nothing but go-go boots. She eventually gets beheaded by a scythe and Mario gets his throat slit. Time kind of gives up and nobody really notices anything. Finally restored from the hot young blood, the Countess joins her guests. In a beautiful casting choice, Mariangela Giordano (Burial Ground) plays the Countess. Giordano still radiates electric sex on the eve of 60 and makes for one convincing centuries-old vampiric sex-bomb. At least, before the dialogue hits but everyone loses any believability when the wretched dialogue is delivered in this, so we'll just let that be. The Countess wastes no time and takes Rafa to bed leaving a pissed-off Flavia slack-jawed and angry. Rafa doesn't last long and the ageless fiend writhes around in his blood making what sounds like a mixture of growling and moaning. Flavia begins snooping around the castle in her underwear and we eventually come to the climax which involves the burnt homeless man getting run over by a steamroller and the Countess being tossed from her bedroom window. Thanks, Jess. Somewhere between a dream that unsettles due to boredom and a hazy heroin-plagued recollection of Kiss Meets the Phantom of the Park, Jess Franco's flick vibrates on an eternal loop. Loose threads dangle in the wind, just out of reach and our eyes are constantly being forced to focus on some mundane idiocy as opposed to the almost touchable excitement. It's so damn Franco it hurts.
⭐️1/2
The titular paranormal investigation team head out to the Scottish highlands for their popular YouTube series. Hikers find their cameras and we get ourselves another found footage flick. The group was seeking a paranormal portal which may explain the appearance and disappearance of various supernatural entities. They goof around and ramble for a bit but their camping excursion in the forests around Loch Ness begins to get creepy when team leader John comes to believe there may be a Bigfoot hanging around. One guy goes missing, one night gets active and people begin thinking it may be time to get the fuck out. They hit the bricks and come across what remains of their buddy (it ain’t much). The cops get called but the group may not last long enough to be greeted by the comforting arms of the local law enforcement. Ninety plus minutes of tedium picks up somewhat as it draws to a close but nowhere near enough to recommend it. The cast is fine, so it gets a minor leg up on some of its predecessors but that’s about it. Finally. Proof that camping in Scotland is just as boring as camping in America.
aka Blood of the Zombie
⭐️⭐️1/2
A Louisiana setting adds some much-needed spice to this butt-numbing low-budget oddity. A honeymooning couple head to New Orleans to take in Bourbon Street and check out the family estate the husband has just inherited thanks to his marriage. Along the way, the husband invites a stranded showgirl to spend the night at the family home (this is the first night of marital bliss and John is what we call an idiot) and the trio receive a cold welcome from John’s cousin, Monica. She wants the plantation for herself and is not above murder to get her way. She’s a voodoo practitioner and has resurrected her gangly dead brother (who looks like how I imagine Keith Richards feels) to do her homicidal bidding. The zombie is goofy (and somehow a little creepy) looking and it’s great having a chance to get a glimpse at 1960s Bourbon Street but the whole thing is a bit sleep-inducing.
