Television Review: BODY BAGS (1993, John Carpenter & Tobe Hooper)

Stars: 4.2 of 5.

Running Time: 95 minutes.

Tag-line: "Zip yourself in tight!"

Notable Cast or Crew:  Stacy Keach (FAT CITY, NEBRASKA), Robert Carradine (REVENGE OF THE NERDS, THE LONG RIDERS), Mark Hamill (STAR WARS, CORVETTE SUMMER), David Warner (WAXWORK, TRON), Alex Datcher (PASSENGER 57, NETHERWORLD), Twiggy (THE BOYFRIEND),  Deborah Harry (of Blondie and TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE: THE MOVIE), Tom Arnold (TRUE LIES, SONS OF ANARCHY), Peter Jason (DEADWOOD, PRINCE OF DARKNESS), David Naughton (AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON, MIDNIGHT MADNESS), George "Buck" Flower (THEY LIVE, THE FOG, BACK TO THE FUTURE), John Agar (TARANTULA, MIRACLE MILE), Charles Napier (THE BLUES BROTHERS, THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS).  With cameos by Tobe Hooper, Wes Craven, Sam Raimi, Greg Nicotero, Roger Corman.  Written by Billy Brown and Dan Angel (GOOSEBUMPS the TV series).  Special effects by Rick Baker, Greg Nicotero, Howard Berger  Produced by Carpy, his missus Sandy King, and Dan Angel.  Music by Carpy and Jim Lang (IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS, RANSOM).  Cinematography by Gary Kibbe (A FEW GOOD MEN, THEY LIVE).

Best One-liner:  "Natural causes, natural causes, natural causes...  I hate natural causes!  Give me a big stab wound to poke at and then I'm happy."  –John Carpenter as "The Coroner"

[Note that this is not intended as a continuation of "Poor Man's Carpy," as though that series will live to see the light of day again, BODY BAGS is in no way indicative of a poor man's anything– this is vintage "Forgotten Carpy."]

In a familiar, darkened alley, two Thunderbird-swilling cineastes make small-talk:

"Watcha got there?"
–"BODY BAGS."
"What's that?"
–"Only the best omnibus horror movie you've never seen."
"That's a bold claim.  Put it in terms I can understand."
–"Not as good as CREEPSHOW.  Better than CREEPSHOW 2.  Slightly better than TRILOGY OF TERROR.  About on par with TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE: THE MOVIE."
"Why have I never heard of this?"
–"Well, back when HBO was on the rise and TALES FROM THE CRYPT was enjoying widespread popularity, Showtime decided it was time to get into the horror anthology game and enlisted the likes of John Carpenter and Tobe Hooper.  Carpenter ultimately decided that he couldn't make the work he wanted to for the budget they were offering, so Showtime called it even and made a three-part anthology TV movie."
"Who hosts it?  A rip-off Cryptkeeper?"
–"Funny you should ask.  Why don't you sit down for a spell?"
"Why?"
–"Trust me, you're gonna want to be sitting down for this."
"Okay, so who's their Cryptkeeper?"
–"He's called 'The Coroner,' and it's none other than.... John Carpenter himself! 

Wearing scrubs, ghoulish makeup, and a sort of Beetlejuice-ish demeanor, Carpy does not disappoint as he mugs about, dropping one-liners, handling disembodied heads, and the like.  He's no actor, but it doesn't matter, because he's having fun."

He's also their MGM lion!

"Nice!"
–"Yeah, right?  Check it out– here he's making himself a martini out of formaldehyde."

"You said there's ghoul makeup on him?"
–"Yes..."
"Isn't that what Carpy looks like all the time?"
–"Why don't you just shut it."
"Hey, I'm just telling it like it is."
–"Drop it."
"But–"
 –"Annnyway, there are three segments and a frame story.  'The Gas Station,'  'Hair,' and the morgue frame are all directed by Carpenter.  The third segment, 'Eye,' is directed by Tobe Hooper.  All the segments are written by Dan Angel and Billy Brown, whose careers as R.L. Stine TV-adapters should give you a pretty good idea of their strengths and their weaknesses.  Angel, Carpy, and Sandy King (Carpy's missus) produced everything, though, so it has a very uniform feel."
"What about the music?  Those TV people didn't clip Carpy's wings, did they?"
–"It's Carpenter and Jim Lang (his collaborator on IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS), so it's definitely a more rockin' soundtrack, as opposed to one of pulsing dread like PRINCE OF DARKNESS.  They keep it light for the most part (I'd compare it to the high-reverb drums and roaming bass of BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA), dipping into TWIN PEAKS-ish jazz for the comedic moments.  But it's certainly capable of conveying a darker atmosphere when necessary, sometimes veering into CHRISTINE-ish territory or something similar to Mike Oldfield's 'Tubular Bells' from THE EXORCIST."
"So it feels cinematic?"
–"Oh yes.  And Gary Kibbe (Carpenter's cinematographer in his post-Dean Cundey era, from 1987-2001) provides very workmanlike, evocative visuals, using wide-angle lenses and dolly set-ups to great effect.  It doesn't feel like something intended for the small screen, not by a long shot."
"Sounds pretty good.  Why don't ya tell me about the segments?"
–"Alrighty.  So the first one is called 'The Gas Station,' and yep, it takes place entirely at a gas station.  In tone, it feels a lot like a condensed version of HALLOWEEN (Haddonfield, Illinois even gets a mention!), but it's not too shocking, just a straightforward, well-made suspense piece with those two key elements: a slasher and an unsuspecting lassie.  Alex Datcher is our likable heroine, a college gal who's first time pulling the night-shift solo proves to be a memorable one.
 

The Carradine named Robert shows her the ropes (it's got that nice blue-collar cred that you see in everything from THE THING to VAMPIRES), and Carpenter uses a great economy of storytelling to

introduce the characters, the rules, and the spatial relationships. 

As her shift begins, we're treated to a rogue's gallery of horror cameos and familiar faces, and it almost begins to develop a quirky, Jim Jarmusch-style flavor of 'late nite slice-of-life,' like NIGHT ON EARTH or MYSTERY TRAIN.  There's 'Buck' Flower, playing (predictably) a scary hobo:

a sleazy Peter Jason wearing a brilliantly awful tie (just as bad as Chris Sarandon's in BORDELLO OF BLOOD, for sure) and urging our heroine to party:

AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON's David Naughton as what seems to be an unassuming, decent guy:

and Wes Craven

as a creepy fellow buying himself some cigarettes."

"Oooh, Wes Craven is sooo scary.  I'm afraid he's gonna teach me some liberal arts or something."

–"Oh, hush.  Then it kicks into high gear, and Sam Raimi gets a cameo as a corpse tumbling out of a locker:

 "Aieee!"

–"I must make an aside to mention that in the special features, Carpenter speaks at length about the production, saying 'I thought Wes was especially smooth in his part,' for instance, and of course, he knows everyone's name– except Sam Raimi, whom he refers to as 'Uh...Spider-Man.'  I find this for some reason to be fantastic."

–"Ha!"

"Anywho, then the shit hits the fan and doesn't let up.  I won't spoil how it ends, but it has a nice visceral payoff while remaining entirely uncomplicated."

–"Sounds pretty good.  What's next?"

"Probably my favorite segment of the three:  'Hair.'  It's played more for laughs than the others, but it's got some freakier elements to it, too.  One of my favorite actors, Stacy Keach, plays a man undergoing a midlife crisis:  he's losing his hair and letting it ruin his life.

 

For what is ostensibly a 'comedy' segment, Keach infuses his role with an incredible pathos– his misplaced anger, helpless frustration, and existential sadness play effortlessly across his face.

(Keach and Carpenter got along quite well, with Keach comparing Carpenter in the special features to John Huston.  They'd work together again on ESCAPE FROM L.A., with Keach taking on the Lee Van Cleef role.)
Keach tries everything– hairpieces, posh stylists, painted on hair– until he sees genre legend David Warner in an infomercial, promising the results that Keach has found elusive:
 
 
He makes an appointment and meets with Dr. Warner and his lovely nurse, Debbie Harry (of Blondie!) who, in an apparent in-joke, does not have her trademark blonde locks.  Coupled with VIDEODROME and her TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE appearances, I think we have to refer to Debbie as a bona fide genre actress!

Warner's having a blast, too– you get the sense that they were on set for a day or so, and just went for it."

"I do loves me some David Warner."
–"Yeah.  I wish he'd get more high-profile work.  I thought for sure TITANIC would have opened some doors for him.  Eh.  Annnyway, Keach receives the hair transplant,

and his childlike glee could move mountains.  Keach is simply phenomenal.  I'd like to take a moment to plug FAT CITY, too, a Huston film that he's masterful in.
"Stay on topic!  So what happens?"
–"As if I'd tell ya.  Let's just say that the hair may have a mind of its own..."

"Well, now I'm intrigued."
–"Good.  So that brings us to our final segment, 'Eye,' the Tobe Hooper one.  It's by far the weakest, but I don't think that's entirely Hooper's fault.  Mark Hamill plays a baseball player with a mustache and a Southern accent who gets into a car wreck and loses his eye.

 Luckily, his doctors (including Roger Corman, pictured center)

have developed a technique for eye transplants, and they think he's a candidate for a new and exciting transplant surgery."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Mark Hamill plays a guy who gets in a car accident and needs reconstructive surgery to save his career?  Don't you think that hits a little close to home?"
–"Yeah, I suppose so.  But Hamill's a trouper.  He even shows his balls in this movie."
"WHAT?  Why are you telling me this?"
–"I don't know.  It seems like it'd be a trivia question.  'What movie does Luke Skywalker show his balls in?'"
"Correct me if I'm wrong, this segment is called 'Eye,' not 'Eyeballs.'  Right?"
–"Yep.  It's just that thing where if you see something traumatizing, you have to tell someone else to lessen your own trauma.  It's this damn HD era, really."
"Well, thanks a lot.  Moving on..."
–"Well, after the eye transplant, he starts wearing sweatpants and having eerie visions and mistreating his wife Twiggy."

"Twiggy?  There's some pretty weird casting in this movie."
–"Yeah, there really is.  In the special features, Sandy King says that some of the Carpenter stable came from her connection to Walter Hill's THE LONG RIDERS, where she was script supervisor.  This includes Stacy Keach, Peter Jason, and Keith Carradine.  As for the others, I have no idea."
"Wow, so Peter Jason is in six John Carpenter movies, just because of a random connection on THE LONG RIDERS.  Pretty cool."
 –"Yeah.  Anyway, Hamill tries to uncover where the unholy eye came from, and..."
 
"Well, where did it come from?  Lemme guess.  A convict that was executed?  Right?  Am I right?"
–"Oh, hush.  I'm not saying.  Also, his eye surgeon has the vanity plate, 'I BALL,' which I thought was worth mentioning."
 

"Fascinating." 

–"Yeah.  Then we round things out with the frame story, which closes with morgue attendant cameos by Tom Arnold and Tobe Hooper and delivers one final twist."

 

"Nice.  This all sounds up my alley."

–"I highly recommend it.  It's out on a new(ish) DVD/Blu-ray release from Scream Factory, and I gotta say, it looks great.  So let me leave ya with one last sentiment, courtesy of The Coroner:

 

NIGHTY-NIGHT!"

 -Sean Gill

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Junta Juleil's Top 100: #60-56

60. VIDEODROME (1983, David Cronenberg)

In IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS, John Carpenter nailed the H.P. Lovecraft atmosphere, possibly because he didn't attempt a direct adaptation– he was free to take what the "Lovecraft vibe" meant to him, and apply it in his own way, on his own terms. David Cronenberg does the same thing here, but with Philip K. Dick, and it's goddamned fantastic. James Woods is doin' that skeezy thing that he does, searching for cheap n' vicious cable TV thrills and engaging in a talk show-mance with Debbie Harry, who's pretty busy burning herself with cigarettes and giving herself unsanitary, impromptu body piercings. Meanwhile, cerebral cortexes are becoming infected and tainted with throbbing tele-tumors; abdomens are sprouting unexpected, vaginal VHS players; hands and guns are reshaping themselves, resculpting flesh and blood and steel; and Howard Shore's soundtrack is thrumming along in the background, threatening to drag us back into the pit, or possibly inviting us to evolve. Thankfully, it's got a (mean) streak of pitch-black hilarity, too– for otherwise we might go insane with sheer dread!– it ranges from visual puns to S&M wackiness to spit-take inducing gore to James Woods turning that Sleaze-O-Meter up to eleven and beyond. The first time I saw this was at college, alone, after hours, on a VHS player, deep in the bowels of the Audio Visual Department. Afterward, I half-expected the television to explode into a confetti of viscera; expected the tape itself to begin pulsating wetly in my hands. A powerful film; and, along with Rob Bottin's work on THE THING, Rick Baker's practical special and makeup effects here may very well be the pinnacle of "movie magic," period.

59. ALL THAT JAZZ (1979, Bob Fosse)

Bob Fosse's ALL THAT JAZZ is equal parts auto-biopic, Hollywood musical, and self-chastisement, at once both a swansong and a death rattle. Fosse didn't pass away until 1987, but eight years prior, with ALL THAT JAZZ, he submits, for our consideration, his greatest passions, achievements, nostalgias and lamentations. Roy Scheider, as Fosse's stand-in, warrants every superlative from tour-de-force to powerhouse, his performance as multi-faceted, in-the-moment, and self-reflective as Fosse's unique vision demands. The use of quotidian repetition (visually and aurally indicated in this film by contact lenses, Dexedrine, showering, and Vivaldi's "Concerto Alla Rustica") has never been more effective. Darren Aronofsky's similar stagings in PI and REQUIEM FOR A DREAM feel particularly empty . In Fosse's world, the wreckage of one's life piles on top of itself endlessly- the womanizing, the drug use, regret over familial relationships- and it can all be wiped clean by the promise of a new day ("It's showtime, folks!), everything a rehearsal for a rehearsal, a neverending series of highs and lows which one isn't forced to consider until the end of the line. Thus, Fosse sits in a cobbled-together dressing room limbo netherworld, confronted by Angelique (Jessica Lange), his interviewer, companion, and confessor, contemplating his demise and the life that led up to it. And it's all concurrent: his deathbed, his rehearsals, his family life, childhood embarrassments, in the editing room for LENNY- the comedic monologue on death alternating meanings with each iteration, budget meetings, business brunches, the final act of the last show of one's life and the ultimate send-off with one foot in the grave and one foot on the stage.
An unrivaled rumination on the life of a man who was as susceptible to flattery as he was to self-loathing, who was as much a scoundrel as he was an artist. Five stars.

58. METROPOLITAN (1990, Whit Stillman)

"Is our language so impoverished that we have to use acronyms of French phrases to make ourselves understood?" "-Yes." Like some fragile, carefully festooned porcelain ornament long misplaced, METROPOLITAN emerged in 1990, not with a roar, but rather with an eloquent whisper and an arched eyebrow. Whit Stillman's talent, initially misdiagnosed as Woody Allen-esque, was truly, autobiographically, anachronistically (think F. Scott Fitzgerald unstuck in time with a light dose of John Hughes) original, and it paved the way for such wordy American indie auteurs as Noah Baumbach and Wes Anderson. METROPOLITAN also heralded the arrival of one of the great underappreciated actors of our time, Christopher Eigeman (BARCELONA, KICKING AND SCREAMING). The craftsmanship and hilarity of this script cannot be exaggerated. Endlessly quotable, I find myself held rapt by the exquisite dialogue as one might marvel over a ship-in-a-bottle. Needless to say, it's not for everyone, and if a line like "Girls that have been degraded by you don't need the further humiliation of having their names bandied about non-exclusive Park Avenue after-parties!" doesn't appeal to you, then you probably shouldn't be watching this. The plot is simple, and it unfolds with subtlety and grace: one Christmas vacation, not so long ago, proletarian Fourierist Tom (Edward Clements) is immersed by chance in Manhattan's upper-crust deb world. Gentle, nuanced comedy ensues as he meets the snarky Nick (Eigeman), the tragically naive Charlie (Taylor Nichols), the titled aristocratic tool Von Sloneker (Will Kempe), the melancholy Molly Ringwald-type Audrey (Carolyn Farina), and many others. The film finds true, wry emotive power, however, in its last act, which finds Tom and Charlie cast adrift without their 'id,' Nick, and caught amid a sea of varying premature ideas of failure. An excellent film, and a true silver-tongued jewel in the crown of American independent cinema.

57. BARFLY (1987, Barbet Schroeder)

"And as my hands drop the last desperate pen, in some cheap room, they will find me there and never know my name, my meaning, nor the treasure of my escape." BARFLY is not a pitiful, kitchen sink drama about down-on-their-luck losers. It's not sappy award-season fodder, manipulatively constructed for tugging upon heartstrings and emptying tear-wells. And it's not some slacker ode, designed as a pat on the back for white-bred goof-offs who occasionally daydream about what it'd be like to take a week off work to go on a bender. BARFLY is sincerely dangerous and dangerously sincere, and it is because BARFLY is a philosophy. BARFLY is about winnin' one for the bums, even if that means yankin' the pillars of civilization down on all our heads. It's about taking one's intellect- a genius that could surely have moved mountains– and applying it instead to more expedient techniques for fucking with the night bartender at the local saloon (played with knuckleheaded élan by Frank Stallone).
Its dipsomaniacal protagonist, Henry Chinaski (a recurring Bukowski alter-ego– well, let's just be honest and say 'a Bukowski with a different name'), is played by Mickey Rourke with lunatic gusto which ever threatens to escape the mere confines of the cinema-frame. He lurches about like a movie-monster, dragging his feet like Frankenstein, teetering on his haunches like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, leering like Dwight Frye. He is a gutter-poet, an amateur street-fighter, and a professional drunk. His entire life is a war waged against the status quo, the skirmishes and campaigns of which take place in stagnant, lonely flophouses; noxious, grotty gin-joints; and desolate street corners at 3:00 in the morning. His many victories against society are private ones- they are not sung from the rooftops or celebrated annually by giggling schoolchildren– they're for himself, and for himself only. A wry, split-lip smile reflected back by cracked, dirty mirror.
I did a lengthy write-up on this flick (and the accompanying Q&A) last fall, and after nearly a year of reflection, I must say that BARFLY is King of the Cannon Canon– one of those rare adaptations of a writer's body of work which really captures the spirit of the artist, and in Bukowski's case, it's like white-hot lightning in a 40 oz. bottle.

56. BIGGER THAN LIFE (1956, Nicholas Ray)

"Childhood is a congenital disease - and the purpose of education is to cure it. We're breeding a race of moral midgets." Ostensibly a tale about addiction to prescription drugs, BIGGER THAN LIFE is really about an addiction to values; even going so far as to prove the collective insanity which is our society's bedrock, simply by upholding its more respected tenets... TO THE DEATH! James Mason takes the moral code of the LEAVE IT TO BEAVER-generation and amplifies it, distorts it, makes it 'bigger than life,' makes it a grotesque. His performance is terrifying and absolutely inspired, it's one of the most impressive acting achievements of the 50s. All of this is draped across an expressionistic CinemaScope frame, bursting with bold shadows and Technicolor insanity courtesy of ex-noir standby Joe MacDonald (PICKUP ON SOUTH STREET, PANIC IN THE STREETS, CALL NORTHSIDE 777). I don't wish to give too much more away along with my whole-hearted recommendation, but it's certainly one of the bleakest, blackest films of the 50s, and, if I'm not mistaken, is surely the inspiration for All-American dad Leland Palmer in David Lynch's TWIN PEAKS. (Also, a whirlwind shopping trip whereupon James Mason forces his wife to try on fancy frock after frock after frock ad nauseum is well worth the price of admission alone.) It's astounding that this was even allowed to be made. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll cower in fear. What more do you want?

Coming up next... Clint Eastwood times two, the rockin' tunes of Goblin, and some Frenchie neo-noir!

Previously on the countdown:
#65-61
#70-66
#75-71
#80-76
#85-81
#90-86
#95-91
#100-96
Runners-up Part 1
Runners-up Part 2

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Film Review: TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE- THE MOVIE (1990, John Harrison)

Stars: 4.2 of 5.
Running Time: 93 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Debbie Harry (VIDEODROME, "Blondie"), Matthew Lawrence (BOY MEETS WORLD, MRS. DOUBTFIRE), Christian Slater (HEATHERS, GLEAMING THE CUBE), Steve Buscemi (MYSTERY TRAIN, RESERVOIR DOGS), Julianne Moore (SAFE, PSYCHO '00), William Hickey (ONE CRAZY SUMMER, PRIZZI'S HONOR), David Johansen ("The New York Dolls," SCROOGED, 200 CIGARETTES), James Remar (THE WARRIORS, RENT-A-COP), Rae Dawn Chong (COMMANDO, CHAINDANCE), Mark Margolis (THE WRESTLER, THE COTTON CLUB). Cinematography by Robert Draper (HALLOWEEN 5, DR. GIGGLES). Screenplay amalgamated from work by George A. Romero, Stephen King, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Michael McDowell (BEETLEJUICE, THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS). Special makeup effects by Howard Berger, Greg Nicotero, and Robert Kurtzman. Visual effects supervised by Ernest D. Farino (THE THING, THE ABYSS, THE TERMINATOR).
Tag-line: "Brace yourself for some KILLER stories."
Best one-liner: "I've never blown a hit yet, kitty cat."

Well, my anthology horror series has given me an excuse to take this lofty tome off the shelf, dust it off, and flip through its brittle, musty pages once more.

Considered by many, including Tom Savini, to be the real CREEPSHOW 3, it features stories from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Stephen King, and ancient Japanese folklore adapted by the likes of Michael McDowell and George A. Romero. Its director, John Harrison, did the electrifyingly spooky score for the first CREEPSHOW, and the crew features many series regulars. Additionally, many of the cast (i.e., Christian Slater and Debbie Harry) were alumni from the TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE TV show.

Divided into three segments, each part has a thoroughly distinctive feel. "Lot 249," a tale of mummies and revenge, has the visual consistency of an old Republic serial with post-RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK production value. "The Cat from Hell" sees a hitman going after a cursed black cat, has a very Vittorio Storaro-esque texture, and becomes very theatrical, not unlike the "Father's Day" segment from CREEPSHOW:

"Lover's Vow," which sees a struggling artist make a pact with a monster to avoid evisceration, feels most like it's embracing a contemporary style, and it features a thick, 'desolate yet metropolitan' atmosphere. The wraparound story is basically "Hansel & Gretel" meets "Scheherazade" in suburbia. With Debbie Harry.

So, while giving away as little as possible, I shall thumb through the veritable reams of these darkened pages- TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE features immeasurable insights into a number of scholarly disciplines. Prepare to have some thoughts provoked:

The Wrap-around Segment:

PHILOSOPHY: Is Debbie Harry a good actress? I don't know. Can we say for sure? ...Should we say for sure?

How about this: if a radio is playing "Rapture" in the woods and no one's around to hear it, does it still have that schweet rap part?

No wait– I'm sorry I said that, Blondie. Er, I mean, Debbie Harry. Yes, I know Blondie is the name of the band, not you. Sorry.


Lot 249:

ZOOLOGY: TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE affords us an outstanding glimpse of the Slater Factor in its natural habitat. Not until KUFFS in '92 would we see it quite this unrestrained. Look at the following images. Rarely has the Slater Factor been captured with such gleeful, manic precision. And rarely has it been captured holding such a wicked electric knife.





SOCIOLOGY: How is it possible that I'm always rooting for the proletariat... unless the ruling class is Slater?

Look at that sweater. We should hate him. But the eyebrow has won us over. An important lesson. Conversely, Robert Sedgwick and Julianne Moore, in their respective squash court and aerobics attire, garner no such sympathy.

Smart-alecky-ness vs. pomposity. An age-old struggle, and one which is always won by the smart-alecks.

ARCHAEOLOGY: Julianne Moore handles an actual Zuni fetish doll, in an in-joke directed at TRILOGY OF TERROR's slaveringly (inaccurate) bundle of teeth.

Though I must admit, a small, polished stone carving of an animal is infinitely less fun than a 'YAAAAAH YAH YAH NUMMM NUM' yammering little fellow with a predilection for edged weapons.

PHYSICS: Can three heads occupy the space intended for two heads?

This case study shows that it is, in fact, possible.

LINGUISTICS: Why does uttering the ancient hieroglyphic curse in English cause the mummy to awaken?... More importantly, who cares!

Young Buscemi utters the malediction.

The Cat From Hell:

GERIATRICS: Is it possible for a human being to have never been young? I swear that William Hickey was like eighty years old for a span of about forty years.

"Bring me its tail, so I can throw it in the fire and watch it burn!"

And it's always the greatest actors, like Harry Dean Stanton, Walter Huston, Walter Brennan ...I could go on. Unless somebody can provide me with evidence to the contrary, I'll have to assume that Hickey sprung forth from the womb as an oldster–

I stand corrected. Though he kinda looks the same, even then (the 1960's).

MUSIC THEORY: Who'd have thought that one day we'd see New York Doll member-turned-Buster Poindexter songster David Johansen stalking a cat with a laser-sighted gun in a suspenseful horror anthology? Not I.


And who'd have thought that he would have such a subtle, classy Dirk Bogardish quality to his acting? Or that he could pull off the whole 'internal monologue externalized' thing like a true professional?

According to Harrison and Romero, Johansen and Hickey drained a great deal of gin in their down-time and held the cast and crew rapt with their constant banter and ridiculous anecdotes. Ah, to have been a fly on the wall on the set of TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE...

Lover's Vow:

ART HISTORY: Balsa wood artists are an angst-driven bunch. Theirs is a fleeting art, one that can be easily smashed in fits of impassioned fury.

To be fair, we see him work with different media, but our first glimpse of him is as he's smashing a balsa construction that looks culled from an 'Odyssey of the Mind' competition.

This is easily the most dramatic segment, as nearly every omnibus requires a straight-up tragedy. And James Remar, one of my faves, has been cast against (villainous) type as a sensitive artiste. I like it. Hell, I'm always rooting for him anyway. [See also: The Slater Factor.]

HISTORY HISTORY: Speaking of factors, the RDC factor is pretty high, too, and it's occasionally wearing a fringe hippie jacket. For the uninitiated, that's the Rae Dawn Chong factor. She was comin' into the home stretch of a pretty mindblowing run of films from '81 to '91. We're talkin' QUEST FOR FIRE, BEAT STREET, Ferrara's FEAR CITY, CHOOSE ME, AMERICAN FLYERS, COMMANDO, THE COLOR PURPLE, SOUL MAN, THE SQUEEZE, THE PRINCIPAL, and Ironside's CHAINDANCE.

This was one of her great last hurrahs, and I can't decide if seeing her romantically paired with James Remar makes me happy or uncomfortable.

CRYPTOZOOLOGY: The monster is great. A detailed latex n' rubber construction, you can only shudder to think of how they'd handle it today, maybe with a CGI creature that resembles DRAGONHEART or something. At best.


ALTERNATE UNIVERSE-OLOGY: A glimpse of James Remar in an eyepatch reveals what it would have been like had Walter Hill directed ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK.


In the end, one of the stronger horror anthology films. Not as good as the original CREEPSHOW, but it's leaps and bounds above CREEPSHOW 2. There's not a weak segment or a groan-inducing moment in the bunch, and that's the highest of compliments for an omnibus film. A little over four stars.

-Sean Gill

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