Book Review: THE FOG: THE NOVELIZATION (1980, Dennis Etchison)

Stars:  3.7 of 5.
Length:  180 pages.
Publisher:  Bantam Books, NY.
Tag-line:  "The terror filled novel– based on a motion picture written by John Carpenter and Debra Hill."
Back cover blurb:  "Before the light of dawn, you will know the vengeful fury of the dead.  Tonight the fog that rises off the California coast is different.  And deadly.  A writhing icy mist pulsing with terror.  It is too late to escape.  Even now the people of Antonio Bay are cut off, engulfed.  Along darkened streets, death searches them out.  There is no sanctuary for the living.  Those who are doomed will die horribly.  Those who are spared will suffer the endless fear of a soul-chilling night when the dead, finally, return for revenge.  THE FOG: NOW A MAJOR RELEASE FROM AVCO EMBASSY PICTURES."

Now here's some real Carpy marginalia– the novelization of THE FOG!  Longtime readers will note that THE FOG is one my all-time favorite horror movies, and I did a write-up about it a few years back which you can read here.  (Others will note that I was even so moved by THE FOG that I wrote a three-part series of John Carpenter fanfiction entitled "Carpy & the Cap'n" which chronicles the fictitious attempts to combine a CAPTAIN RON sequel with a spin-off of THE FOG.)

Anyway, as to the novelization:  surprise, surprise– it's basically the movie.  But amid its cheap and yellowed pages there's some nice ghostly atmosphere, the clear influence of writers like Ray Bradbury and M.R. James, and some fine horror nostalgia for fans of Young Adult lit in the 1980s.

A little background:  from page one, you can tell that Dennis Etchison is a higher caliber of writer than those who usually pen these sorts of trashy mass-market rush-jobs.  His C.V. is of interest, too:  he  was the President of the American Horror Writers' association in the early 90s, wrote an un-produced adaptation of THE MIST in the early 80s, was Stephen King's film consultant on the nonfiction DANSE MACABRE, and was a staff writer on TV's THE HITCHHIKER (you can read a rundown of my love/hate relationship with that particular series here).   Later, under the pseudonym of Jack Martin, he wrote the novelizations for HALLOWEEN II, HALLOWEEN III: SEASON OF THE WITCH, and VIDEODROME, one of which will be the subject of a forthcoming review.

Now, without further ado, my Top Six favorite moments from the paperback novelization of THE FOG:

#1.  The opening lines:

     "The moon rose over the bay, round and burnished as a golden doubloon.  It hung there high above the black waters, breaking the even waves with yellow tips and tinting the flat sand and the beach houses and the jagged trees behind them with a faint, ghostly pallor, a reflection of its polished, uneven face."

Etchison really sets the stage– evocative, ornate, maybe even a little overblown.  But that's good.  He's not a hack, and this isn't simply a paycheck for him.  Right off the bat, he's letting us know that he intends to take the novelization of THE FOG very, very seriously.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.

#2.  Father Malone (Hal Holbrook in the movie)'s alcoholism: 

     "Ought to put the wine away, he supposed.  But why bother?  The boy had smelled it on his breath enough times.  ...He turned slowly and gave the boy a sleepy smile, rotating the stem of the crystal wine glass in his fingers." 

and his self-condemnation:

     "His robes flowed open, rustling over the uneven stones as the material filled with dank air and blossomed around his thin body.  From time to time his bare heels caught and tripped on the hem, but he took no notice of the tearing of the vestment as he drifted on, circling the pews beneath darkling stained glass, doomed to visit, again and again, without end, the stations of his dispensation."

Malone's soul, racked with guilt over the misdeeds of his ancestors, has become that classical archetype of the "whisky priest."   This is what movie novelizations are all about– the writer has to fill his paragraphs with something extra– so why not explore in depth what is mostly alluded to in the movie?


#3.  Evocative prose.

     "He marched across the sand, packed smooth again during the night, the red float at the end of his fishing line swinging in the sky in front of him like a brave winking eye, leading the way. ...  Already his cheeks were burning as the breeze combed his hair back with a fine spray from the riptide.  Far down the beach at the cusp of the bay, a big dog, an Irish setter or golden retriever, pawed for sand crabs and then broke into a loping run at the gulls that were sunning themselves at the waterline, kicking up a muddy trail and then dashing for safety, his legs splaying wildly and his pink tongue flying, as the water washed in to fill his footprints with clear bubbles."

The seaside has always impelled writers to employ poetic language, and Dennis Etchison is no exception.  And though it's not quite worthy of William Faulkner, that closing sentence up there is pretty damn lengthy for a movie-based paperback, intended to be disposable reading for people on summer vacation!


#4.  That stomach-pounder reference!

As I explained in-depth in my review of HALLOWEEN 6, a throwaway line in THE FOG has led to much debate about what, exactly, a "stomach-pounder" is.
Here, is that section from the novel, replicated in all of it's glory:

     "'Mom, can I go get a Stomach Pounder and a Coke?'
How quickly they change gears, she thought.  Exit the wood to the junk pile, enter the Golden Arches.  'After lunch.  Did you eat your breakfast?'
     "Yeah.  I'm gonna go look for another one [piece of driftwood -SG].    Maybe this time I can get the gold coin!'
     He jumped off the bed and raced out of the bedroom."

Well, now it certainly looks like the person who theorized it meant "Quarter Pounder from McDonald's" was right, given the reference to the "Golden Arches."  But again this raises the question– why would he get a Quarter Pounder after lunch?  Perhaps we will never know. 

#5.  Added material.

There's not a whole lot here that's not in the movie, but, for example, Stevie (Adrienne Barbeau) notices a crucified starfish on her property; we spend a lot more time with Dan O'Bannon (Charles Cyphers) and his daily routine, which involves a daredevil coastal drive to the weather station; and Andy (Ty Mitchell, who plays Adrienne Barbeau's son) has an extended dream sequence with evil pirates, Davy Jones, and a giant manta ray ("...the remains of the great pirate Davy Jones himself.  An electric eel was slithering alive inside the empty skull, lighting the eyesockets with a blinding florescence.  A host of plankton jetted by, tinging the water around Andy with a glow like Greek fire.")


#6.  Like the movie, it leaves plenty to the imagination.

The violence is muted and atmospheric, remaining true to Carpenter's vision.  From the death of Mrs. Kobritz:

"Had he looked back over his shoulder one last time to argue, he would have seen a tall shape solidifying behind Mrs. Kobritz, a stringy black hand reaching around her head from the outside, closing at her chin, covering her mouth so that she could not scream, and lifting her as if she were a rag doll straight up into the air, leaving her empty shoes toppling on the welcome mat." 

And so there you have it.  THE FOG: THE NOVELIZATION.  Not an essential work of literature by any means, but far better than it needed to be! 

–Sean Gill

Read More

Film Review: NEITHER THE SEA NOR THE SAND (1972, Fred Burnley)

Stars: 3.8 of 5.

Running Time: 96 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew:  Starring Susan Hampshire (LIVING FREE, THE LEGEND OF DOOM HOUSE), Frank Finlay (LIFEFORCE, THE PIANIST), Michael Petrovich (TALES THAT WITNESS MADNESS, ESCAPE 2000), Michael Craze (DOCTOR WHO, SATAN'S SLAVE), David Garth (SUPERMAN IV).  Cinematography by David Muir (GIRLY, AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT).  Based on the novel by Gordon Honeycombe.

Tag-line: "A bizarre story of love, life, and death."

Best one-liner:  Not really that kind of movie.

Readers of this site know of my obsession with "melancholy horror," the designation I gave to a sub-genre of mostly 1970s films that are incredibly atmospheric and just as likely to depress you as they are to scare you.  The seaside is a melancholy horror standby (THE LITTLE GIRL WHO LIVES DOWN THE LANE, DAUGHTERS OF DARKNESS, THE FOG, DEAD AND BURIED, many stories by H.P. Lovecraft and M.R. James, et al.), as it's a site of desolate beauty and primal, existential mystery.  The mood practically builds itself: the crashing of waves, the calling of the seagulls, the overcast skies, the hands thrust in overcoat pockets, the windblown hair...

Now, every once in a while, I like to venture up the coast and spend the weekend in a fishing village.  I always go in winter, and that's a matter of personal preference; I'd much rather spend time on an barren, snow-covered beach than a crowded, sunbeaten one.
Having received a heartfelt, anonymous endorsement of NEITHER THE SEA NOR THE SAND from a reader last fall, I figured that the perfect ending to the day would be to have a glass of brandy outdoors in the cold ocean breeze, and then to watch the film before retiring.  It was a fine choice!

Atmospherically, NEITHER THE SEA NOR THE SAND is brilliant; David Muir's cinematography capturing that primal, existential mystery of the ocean that I alluded to earlier.

Neither the sea nor the sand?  Well, I'm happy to report that there's a hell of a lot of sea and sand in this movie, and that's a big part of why I like it.

There's also a nice, haunting, Morricone-esque score by Nachum Heiman that goes a long way toward establishing the proper ambience.

NEITHER THE SEA NOR THE SAND is primarily a love story, albeit a tragic and occasionally ghoulish one.  On the beaches of Jersey (no, not New Jersey), Anna (Susan Hampshire) and Hugh (Michael Petrovich) begin a whirlwind romance, the sort that feels oddly natural because they're both brooding, solitary-types.

For a long time, it feels simply like a mildly gloomy seaside romance, and you nearly forget that you're watching what is ostensibly a "horror film."  Not wanting to spoil the plot, I'll say that it soon thereafter takes a hard turn into territory usually mined by say, NIGHT GALLERY or TALES FROM THE CRYPT.  There's a little "Monkey's Paw" in there, and a little Lucio Fulci-style filmmaking, too, which leads me to my next point.

NEITHER THE SEA NOR THE SAND is a much-maligned film, and while I did enjoy it, at times I could see why it has been beset by this reputation.  It's fairly uneven in tone, which becomes most laughably apparent in a bicycle montage that jarringly switches out the somber music to which we've grown accustomed with an unrepentantly zany tune that would be more at home in perhaps a Benny Hill sketch or a 70s gum commercial.  (Inexplicably, the Image DVD chooses this music to accompany its main menu!)

Then there's the matter of some bordering-on-soft-core love scenes that go on for a touch too long and silly melodramatic dialogue like "Is this more than an affair?... it's a love affair!" Also,  the supernatural "rules" of the film's universe seem arbitrary and needlessly cryptic, which can sometimes result in the kind of pretentious Euro-camp that is best left to Lucio Fulci.


All that being said, those drawbacks are certainly not deal-breakers, and the film overcomes its imperfections to build to a poetic, doleful finale that is pure melancholy horror.

Also, we have David Garth and Betty Duncan as a fantastic, bickering Scottish couple,

"Aye."

the prolific character actor Frank Finlay (who here sort of looks like a young David Warner) as Hugh's mincing, weirdo brother,

and, hey, they even manage to work in a van explosion.

In the end, NEITHER THE SEA NOR SAND is an emotional, intriguing misfit of 70s horror, like a  battered, hand-carved fisherman figurine collecting dust at the far end of a curio shelf, out-peacocked by the more colorful knick-knacks, but retaining a certain, rare, grim dignity.  Nearly four stars.

–Sean Gill

Read More

Film Review: THE DEAD ZONE (1983, David Cronenberg)

Stars: 4 of 5.

Running Time: 103 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew:  Starring Christopher Walken (THE DEER HUNTER, KING OF NEW YORK), Brooke Adams (INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS '78, DAYS OF HEAVEN), Tom Skerritt (ALIEN, CHEERS), Herbert Lom (SPARTACUS, EL CID), Anthony Zerbe (STEEL DAWN, THE OMEGA MAN), Martin Sheen (APOCALYPSE NOW, THE LITTLE GIRL WHO LIVES DOWN THE LANE), Geza Kovacs (MEPHISTO, SCANNERS), Peter Dvorsky (VIDEODROME, THE PARK IS MINE), Les Carlson (VIDEODROME, THE FLY), Jackie Burroughs (MORE TALES OF THE CITY, HEAVY METAL).   Screenplay by Jeffrey Boam (THE LOST BOYS, LETHAL WEAPON 2), based on the novel by Stephen King. Cinematography by Mark Irwin (VIDEODROME, SCREAM).  Music by Michael Kamen (LETHAL WEAPON, DIE HARD).  Produced by Dino de Laurentiis (DUNE, BLUE VELVET) and Debra Hill (HALLOWEEN, THE FOG).

Tag-line: "In his mind, he has the power to see the future.  In his hands, he has the power to change it."

Best one-liner:  "The ICE...  is...gonna... BREAK!!!"

THE DEAD ZONE is not a flashy film.  It possesses a muted quality, it proceeds at its own pace, it relishes its understated, tragic plotting.  As such, it's often a forgotten (or at least marginalized) film, both in the David Cronenberg and Stephen King canons.  Hell, both of them had more elaborate (King's CHRISTINE and CUJO) and ballsier (Cronenberg's VIDEODROME) films come out the very same year (1983)!  THE DEAD ZONE is more of a psychological study: its monsters are not rabid St. Bernards, nor hellish Plymouth Furies, near-immortal Walkin' Dudes, demonic clowns, nor possessed industrial machinery– THE DEAD ZONE's monsters are men, and the perversions of human minds.  It's a strong film, and an artful one.  Here are eight reasons to visit THE DEAD ZONE:

1.  Melancholy Horror.
Readers of the site have heard me pontificate at length on the joys– er, I suppose I mean sorrows– of melancholy horror, which is probably my favorite of all the horror sub-genre classifications that I've pulled out of my ass across the years.  While this is a touch late in the game to qualify as Golden Age Melancholy Horror (1969-1981), it sure fits.  The mood is pensive, our hero unravels in misery.  The soundtrack, by Michael "LETHAL WEAPON & DIE HARD" Kamen even follows suit– it's downcast and quotes Tchaikovsky on occasion.

The imagery is wintry and despondent (as Canadian locations are wont to be).  The color palette is delicate, the spaces vacant, the trees barren.


I might just have Seasonal Affective Disorder, also known as "SAD," or "winter depression." I think I'll mount a one-man campaign to have it colloquially renamed "The Dead Zone Blues."


2.  Kronenberg Kronies.
This one could easily also be called "The Villains of VIDEODROME Reunion Tour."
We got Les Carlson ("Barry Convex" from VIDEODROME) as a man being politically intimidated by Martin Sheen.  (And behind him is Géza Kovács, who played an assassin in SCANNERS.)

And then there's Peter Dvorsky ("Harlan" from VIDEODROME) as a sleazy reporter named Dardis.

An interesting side note is that in the novel, it's a sleazy reporter from fictional rag mag INSIDE VIEW named Richard Dees who comes to harass our hero, and he later shows up as the protagonist in a Stephen King short story called "The Night Flier," hunting down an exclusive about a Cessna-piloting vampire.  This short story was later made into a 1997 film starring Miguel Ferrer as Dees, which I'll review one of these days.  Miguel Ferrer (ROBOCOP, TRAFFIC, "Albert Rosenfield" on TWIN PEAKS) made for a fantastic sleazebag, but I'm going to go ahead and pretend that Dvorksy here is also playing Dees, as I feel like there's a spiritual connection between the unsavory acting choices of Dvorsky and Ferrer.


3.  The Collars.
How ya like your collars?  Popped?  I sure hope so.

We could probably call this thing "THE POPPED COLLAR ZONE."  And I'd be fine with that.


4.  Shit-Eatin' Sheen.
It doesn't happen often these days, but I love Martin Sheen as a villain.  He gives a brilliant, disturbing performance as a child molester in another melancholy horror flick, THE LITTLE GIRL WHO LIVES DOWN THE LANE, and here he taps into the same realm of performance as a sociopath enamored by the power he lords over others.

Kind of prefiguring his far more benevolent politician on THE WEST WING, he imbues the role with an incredible polish.  He probably could have been a real politician.  Gone is the immature, animalistic villainy called for in BADLANDS, this character's a far darker, rational fellow.
He's got a pretty fantastic crazy-eye, as well:


5.  Strong Imagery.
I revisited THE DEAD ZONE this week, but I had seen it once previously, probably around the age of ten or eleven.  I didn't remember a great deal about it, but what stuck in my mind (and vague spoilers follow) was the vivid, haunting imagery of some of Walken's psychic episodes.  I still remembered, as if I had seen it yesterday, the shots of children breaking through the ice and plunging into frigid waters:



and the scenes of Sheen in his presidential bunker, contemplating World War III:



It's understated, but incredibly well done.  Cronenberg can play ya like a piano even without the sensationalism of flesh pods and Brundleflies and VHS vaginas!


6.  Walken's Psychic Episodes.

I already mentioned the strong imagery which accompanies them, but when Walken's in the midst of it, uttering something like "The ICE...  is...gonna... BREAK!!!," you are there with him.  It's nearly "overacting," but Walken is so present, so connected to the material that you simply have no choice but to believe his performance.
Also, though I usually am not the greatest fan of parodies, Walken's lampooning of his DEAD ZONE role re-imagined as "Ed Glosser, Trivial Psychic" on SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE is well worth your time.

7.  George Bannerman.
In the novels of Stephen King, much attention is paid to the details of the fictional community of Castle Rock (among others), and one of the markers for chronology becomes the succession of sheriffs in the town.  Bannerman is only a Constable back in THE BODY (the basis for STAND BY ME), gets promoted to Sheriff, plays large and memorable roles in THE DEAD ZONE and CUJO, and he's mentioned in passing even in novels that take place after his time.  Then he's replaced by Alan Pangborn (who's been depicted on screen by Michael Rooker and Ed Harris) who plays a major role in THE DARK HALF and NEEDFUL THINGS.  Anyway, what I'm saying is that King lends great verisimilitude to his fictional locales, and he does it so well, that you're looking forward to seeing how even minor characters will be depicted.  Bannerman was portrayed the same year in CUJO by Sandy Ward (THE ROCKFORD FILES, POLICE ACADEMY 2, THE PERFECT STORM), and while he does a fine job, Tom Skerritt is sort of exactly who you'd imagine from the page.

It's a fairly minor role here, but he lends it a genuine credibility.  We find Walken's psychic nature far easier to swallow as an audience because it plays so realistically off of Skerritt's skepticism (and eventual belief).


8.  The SLEEPY HOLLOW connection.
Early in the film, when he's still a (relatively) carefree schoolteacher, Walken assigns his class to read Washington Irving's THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW.


Little did he know, I'm sure, that some sixteen years later, he'd be playing the Headless Horseman himself.

Note the popped collar, however.  Some things never change, I suppose!  Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Read More

Junta Juleil's Guide to Melancholy Horror

What is "Melancholy Horror?"  I think it's my favorite horror sub-genre, at least for the moment.   It's sort of difficult to describe, and I may be the only one actively trying to define it, but here goes:

I'd say it's a sub-genre of especially artistic horror/thriller/supernatural drama films that fill half of you with genuine scares, and the rest with a genuine sadness– or at least a sense of overwhelming alienation.  They routinely begin and/or end with a tragedy, often of an accidental, non-supernatural variety.  They were made, by and large, between 1970 and 1981, and mostly on lower budgets that lend them a very "documentary" feel.  They always make the most of their budgets, however, and come across as very impressionistic, hypnotic, and dreamlike; the 1970s film stock often lending sunlight, candlelight, and fall colors a special ethereal prominence.

There's often a female or child protagonist slowly losing her mind, or slowly receiving a twisted spiritual enlightenment.  (If it's a child, the odds are high that they'll be wearing a creepy nightgown at some point.)  Often there's a conspiracy of dubious veracity.  At the very least, these films are wrought beneath a haze of narrative ambiguity.  Sometimes, afterward, you're not even sure that you've just seen a horror film, but you're unsettled just the same.  Rarely are they fast-paced, but this only draws you in to their exquisite atmospheres even more; perhaps you even let your guard down...

They often have soundtracks comprised of flutes, harpsichords, or atonal noise; or, equally often, a solo classical pianist.  Sometimes they're set in small towns, abandoned villas– or houses and shanties on the edge of a spooky desert, or a black forest.  They generally feature little gore, if any (otherwise something like THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE might fit in), and frequently deal with ghosts and madness and loss of identity.

Hard to say exactly what and who the grandfathers and grandmothers of this mini-genre are; I'd say perhaps the ghost stories of Henry James, M.R. James, Algernon Blackwood, and J.S. le Fanu, Japanese folk tales, European morbid fairy tales, Edgar Allan Poe, Dreyer's VAMPYR, Herk Harvey's CARNIVAL OF SOULS, Antonioni's BLOW-UP, Frankenheimer's SECONDS, and the films of Mario Bava and Ingmar Bergman.

So, without further adieu– JUNTA JULEIL'S TOP 20 MELANCHOLY FRIGHT FLICKS!

They aren't exactly ranked, per sé– but perhaps they are ordered by my enthusiasm. This is by no means a comprehensive list, and I invite you to submit your own recommendations in the comments section;  I would love to discover more films of quality that fit the bill.

1. THE CHANGELING (1980, Peter Medak)

A sheer force of atmospheric dread. Medak is a master of effectively controlling space, foreboding architecture, and ornate interior design– as well as the roaming camera that captures them.  The score, by Rick Wilkins, is hauntingly evocative, consisting of ever-flowing, swirling piano, surging and eddying like sudden rushes of air or gentle, ghostly breaths.  It's almost as if a shroud lies draped upon the film- a defeated sigh, a pensive look, a sense of loss.  As long as we fear the unknown, this film will resonate.

2. THE TENANT (1976, Roman Polanski)

One of the most frightening and claustrophobic movies I've ever seen.  Polanski directs himself through a film full of disintegrating identities, bathroom hieroglyphics, Shelley Winters, and a world gone mad.  The less you know, the better.  Based on a novel by Roland Topor.

3. 3 WOMEN (1977, Robert Altman)

Halfway between PERSONA and SINGLE WHITE FEMALE is 3 WOMEN, and for my money, it transcends them both.  (No high-heel murder, though– ha!)  Impressions?  Monstrous paintings.  Old, well-used, bloated bodies, wading through a pool with waifish companions.  People talking, but never listening.  That terrifying mechanical bar curiosity, "Dirty Gertie."  The tragedy of finger food prepared for guests who'll never come.  A mysterious pile of gravel.  I will spoil no more. Altman adapts one of his own dreams and in the process creates one of the finest films of the 70s.  (Not to mention that the incredible Sissy Spacek and Shelley Duvall are two of the finest actors of their generation.)

4. PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK (1975, Peter Weir)

Buttoned-up lace and sun-beaten earth.  Obsession.  Hysterics.  Frozen clocks.  Young girls wandering among prehistoric boulders and deep crevices, never to be seen again.  A deeply unsettling picture.  J.D. over at Radiator Heaven just did a fantastic take on it here.

5.  PHANTASM (1979, Don Coscarelli)

That spooky-rockin' soundtrack.  The yellow blood.  The Jawa-men.  The box of pain (a DUNE homage?).  That sleazy lean-to shack-bar that looks like a stiff wind could blow it over.  The noiseless, alabaster-white corridors of the mausoleum. The angry red sky of the other dimension.  The phantasm balls, and their hidden secrets.  The Tall Man.  BOYYYYYYYYY!
Few films build such a wonderful impression of the end of summer and the beginning of autumn.   Ultimately, it's a grim coming-of-age, and minus the supernatural elements, I think that its honesty and sheer quality could have even made the "establishment" critics take notice.   In fact, Coscarelli's first two films were slice-of-life coming-of-age flicks played straight (the excellent KENNY & CO. and JIM, THE WORLD'S GREATEST, the latter of which I have not seen).  But let the establishment critics have their films, and let genre fans have PHANTASM.
And despite all it's wonderful bells (and balls) and whistles, it all really comes down to a feeling, an emptiness, a melancholy born of grieving. That secret urge to wander the graveyard on an overcast day, and see what you can see...

6.  DON'T LOOK NOW (1973, Nicolas Roeg)

Marketed as a "psychic thriller," DON'T LOOK NOW is a subtle, bewitching marriage of virtuosic visuals with a story of genuine pathos and terrible dread– a real sense of loss accompanies the terror here.  In a way, it is a film of textures– troubling, murky waters; shattered glass; the dreary, mottled marble.  You dance in and out of consciousness, chasing that red-coated figure through the grey labyrinth of Venice and the boundless convolutions of the human mind.  Based on the novel by Daphne du Maurier.

7. LET'S SCARE JESSICA TO DEATH (1971, John D. Hancock)

If I had to pick one movie that truly embodied what "melancholy horror" represents for me, it'd be LET'S SCARE JESSICA TO DEATH.  It's handling of mental illness is eerie but always tasteful; its soundtrack is haunting and folksy, brimming with doleful sincerity; its low-budget is worn on its sleeve and only increases the film's authenticity; it's layered with intriguing, understated soundscapes; and Zohra Lampert's eponymous performance is heart-rending– everything the film needs lies in her bewildered gaze and her pitiful smile.  And there's a dangerous streak that runs beneath the surface of this film– it feels raw, it feels immediate; it knows the Summer of Love is over, and that there's something blurry on the horizon that speaks to man's darker aspects.  The sort of film that fuels sprawling, multi-layered dreams afterward...  There's even a loving cult web tribute, and the enthusiastic ramshackle mood of the site fits the film perfectly.

8. DON'T BE AFRAID OF THE DARK (1973, John Newland)

"Can you see them, Sally ... hiding in the shadows?  They're alive, Sally. They want you to be one of them when the lights go out."  As I've said before, the film begins by adhering to the 'young couple moving into possibly haunted old house' template and proceeds to -quite rapidly- outperform the cliché with a combination of skillful realism and morbid, childlike dream-logic.  The dynamics of marriage, the motif of the forgotten housewife, the attention paid to gender and overmedication, and the irresistibility of the unknown are tackled evenly, and it's tempered by a sense of Lovecraftian, ancestral doom.  Likely the best made-for-television horror movie we'll ever see.

9. THE LITTLE GIRL WHO LIVES DOWN THE LANE (1976, Nicolas Gessner)

This is an odd one.  Based on the novel and stage play by Laird Koenig, its major scenario (which I shall not reveal) is one that could just as easily occupy a child's daydreams or a child's nightmares.  Centered around a bold, confident performance by an adolescent Jodie Foster, this tale is woven in the midst of an extremely evocative autumn atmosphere.  In the midst of this cool, creepy ambiance and a damned gutsy plotline, the film even ventures to ask some pretty daring, open-ended questions about the usefulness of human society and its infrastructures in general.  There's a strong supporting role by Martin Sheen as a complex, despicable being; and a pleasant bit by BAD RONALD's Scott Jacoby as a boy on the cusp of being a man; but still, the poetry is what makes the lasting impression: the quiet roar of the seashore, the stillness of the night, the glow of the candlelight, and perhaps the faintest scent of bitter almonds...

10. THE STEPFORD WIVES (1975, Bryan Forbes)

Ira Levin's work has a way of getting to you when you're at that oh-so-vulnerable point of moving into a new space or city– you don't know where anything is, you have no established circle of friends, and you sometimes feel like a prisoner in your own home.  So you stick your neck out and discover that your environs are not so idyllic as they seemed at first glance... or maybe it's just the isolation talking.   An effective and sociopolitical film that really works even if you've already had the major twist spoiled for you (via cultural osmosis).

11. NOSFERATU (1979, Werner Herzog)

An actual army of rats flooding the village of Wismar.  Cow-biting.  Gypsy violins.  The stroke of genius in centering a NOSFERATU/DRACULA remake around the 70s' best psychotic approximation of Max Schreck: Klaus Kinski.  From the opening shots of actual, dessicated corpses from the cholera-vaults of Guanajuato, Mexico (set to the strains of Popol Vuh), Herzog is letting us know that, no, he does not intend to fuck around.  Kinski doesn't play the vampire as a villain, per sé– he's more like a resigned, intellectual animal-creature who finds himself to possess an unfortunate, unavoidable biological function:  the fact that he has to schlerp on necks to survive.   Though it remains faithful in many regards, there are plenty of twists on the well-known source material (very much in the vein of the changes Polanski made to MACBETH), and the whole affair is lightly swathed in the dreamlike, hypnotic atmosphere that Herzog perfected in occasionally macabre, but non-Horror films like HEART OF GLASS, AGUIRRE THE WRATH OF GOD, and THE ENIGMA OF KASPAR HAUSER– which makes it an excellent "Melancholy Horror" candidate.

12. MARTIN (1976, George A. Romero)

Ostensibly a "vampire" movie, MARTIN turns the genre on its ear into a meditation on suburban malaise in the greater Pittsburgh area.  Our titular hero is a vampire.  Only he doesn't have fangs or Svengali-esque powers of hypnosis, he has to use razor blades and roofie-laced syringes.  And garlic and crucifixes don't seem to do much.  And daylight's cool, too.  But he's a vampire, yeah.
Romero's first collaboration with Tom Savini (acting and effects-wise), it becomes a psychosexual "coming of age" portrait filled with unnerving ambiguities, some great performances from some folks who are the antithesis of airbrushed Hollywood-types, and some good ole Rust Belt mysticism.  And I don't believe I've ever quite squirmed so much during a vampire film.  Romero considers it his finest work, and it's so damn well done, it's hard to argue with him.

13. NIGHT GALLERY(TV SERIES) (1969-1973, Rod Serling and others)

I know it's not technically a movie, but so frequently does it hit upon all the aspects of "Melancholy Horror" that I have defined, I feel as if I owe it a mention.  Similar to THE TWILIGHT ZONE in many ways, NIGHT GALLERY differentiates itself by being a true product of the 70s, and, by and large, by telling different sorts of (melancholy) horror stories, stylishly and cinematically.  Its avant-garde music and hallucinatory titles recall perhaps the surreal 60s work of Japanese auteur Hiroshi Teshigahara, and episodes like "The Doll," "Clean Kills and Other Trophies," "The Caterpillar," "Certain Shadows on the Wall," and the incredibly well-directed (by John Astin!) "The House" really tap into this subgenre, feeling often like mystical little fever-dreams.  Hurried production schedules give it that raw, occasionally indie feel, and nothing really can match the joy of seeing Serling striding around the Night Gallery, clasping his hands and tersely informing us of the shocks in store...

14.  TOURIST TRAP (1979, David Schmoeller)

As I've asked before, what is it that elevates this flick from 'boondocks slasher' rip-off to a quiet masterpiece of 70s horror? How about a crew defined by a dedication to genuine- and sometimes avant-garde artistry? Check it out: TOURIST TRAP possesses ethereal, soft-focus visuals courtesy of Nicholas Josef von Sternberg (DISCO 9000, GAS PUMP GIRLS), son of- yup, Josef von Sternberg; an eerie, unsettling Italian soundtrack full of echoey wailing and offbeat woodblock/slide whistle/ominous harpsicord curiosities courtesy of Pino Donaggio (DON'T LOOK NOW, TRAUMA, PIRANHA, countless Brian de Palma flicks); and mesmerizing, mood-fitting editing by future director Ted Nicolaou (TERRORVISION). All of this might sound silly on the page, but, trust me, when it all comes together, it's truly special.  Also...  MANNEQUINS.

15. PHASE IV (1974, Saul Bass)

Before you whine that it's more sci-fi than horror– please tell me what bodily and psychological sensations you were experiencing the last time ANTS WERE CRAWLING ON YOUR NAKED BODY. But, to be serious, this isn't a "killer-bug" flick, or else it wouldn't be on this list.  I've written at length about it elsewhere, but let me say that Bass creates a cruel, exotic worldscape of geodesic domes, subterranean tunnels, microscopic photography, and blistering sunlight. Brian Gascoigne's accompanying soundscapes are often electronic, high-pitched, oscillating frequencies; elsewhere they're eerie synthesized organs and low, dissonant tones.  This film is trippy as shit, and it's as beautiful as it is troubling. PHASE IV is order and disorder. Geometry and disarray. Patterns and chaos. Symbols and meaninglessness. It's something hidden- buried- within our souls and etched upon our spinal columns. It's been with us since the stone faces were built on Easter Island and since the time of the pyramids and before. Each and every image captivates us, fascinates us, because deep down we know that we are not the masters of this planet.  It's not a chronicle of a young person's descent into madness, like many of these other films, it's the chronicle of a species, an entire planet undergoing that blood-curdling journey into the unknown...

16. DAUGHTERS OF DARKNESS (1971, Harry Kümel)

When somebody describes a film to me as a "Euro-Vampire Lesbian Movie from the 70s," I sort of assume it's going to be soft-core hilarity in the vein of Joe D'Amato–  instead, this feels like a Fassbinder flick with a little bit of blood, or perhaps an Albee play directed by Argento.  Set in an empty seaside hotel in Belgium in the wake of a series of mysterious, blood-draining murders, DAUGHTERS OF DARKNESS explores the flexibility of human sexuality (equally on the sado/masochistic spectrum as well as the hetero/homosexual one) and indeed the flexibility of human identity.  Delphine Seyrig (as The Countess Bathery) steals the show in an otherworldly, Weimar-style old-school starlet performance; she's the sort of actor who has no trouble convincing you that she could be several centuries old, and she uses it as a starting point for some extraordinarily nuanced drama.  (There's also a chuckle-inducing appearance by a sugar daddy whom IMDb user kwedgwood hilariously and accurately describes as an "older, dominant and pampered sissy.")  Anyway, there's a pensive mood, graceful seascapes, and loads of interesting and beautiful faces– the sort that surface especially in European art films from the 60s and 70s.

17. THE BEGUILED (1971, Don Siegel)

Based on a novel by Thomas Cullinan, it invokes the spirit and temperaments of Poe, Bierce, Hawthorne, and Capote, and the resulting film possesses a sort of 'Southern Gothic psychedelic existentialism.' It almost has the feel of SPIDER BABY combined with THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY.  Lalo Schifrin delivers his most mature, complex score (full of deep, echoey flutes, mournful oboes, and intricate harpiscords), and it perfectly complements the mood of the film.   Stifling, hypnotic, even baroque, the film is presented from an omniscient perspective: different characters' thoughts, memories, and hypocrisies bleed into one another, like wreckage upon wreckage. You can blame it on the war or you can blame it on human nature, but no one- not even the sweetest, most innocent of little girls- emerges from this thing unscathed.

18. AUDREY ROSE (1977, Robert Wise)

Not quite a horror film, not quite a drama, AUDREY ROSE takes a serious and sometimes scary look at reincarnation while making use of a few tropes from the "ghost story" genre.  It's anchored by strong performances by Marsha Mason (as a mother coming unraveled) and a young Anthony Hopkins (as a mysterious stranger who may have a link to her family, involving past lives).  Child actor Susan Swift does a fine job, too, and manages, uncannily, to look a lot like "kiddie Karen Black."  Though it lingers perhaps too much on courtroom scenes in the latter half, the film maintains a splendid atmosphere of discomfiture without ever overtly dipping into horror.  Based on the novel by Frank De Felitta (THE ENTITY).

19. DEAD AND BURIED (1981, Gary Sherman)

I've written about this film before, and it manages to capture all the melancholy frights of the seaside.  The waves roll in, crest, and break; smashing against the rocks.  There's a violent tranquility in that.  Dusk falls.  Colors in the sky obscured by clouds.  You smell the salty air.  There is a wonderful haze so thick on the film stock, you feel as if you could reach into the screen and run your fingers through it.  There are some fine scares at play here, too, not to mention one of the freakiest bandaged men in all of filmdom.  Similar to LET'S SCARE JESSICA TO DEATH in its claustrophobic portrayal of a small town gone (seemingly?) mad.  Like a gloom-soaked EC comic for adults.

20. VALERIE AND HER WEEK OF WONDERS (1970, Jaromil Jires)

As I've said before, some have called VALERIE a fairy tale, inspired by the likes of ALICE IN WONDERLAND and LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. It's even more appealing to pin it down as such, given its clear influence on subsequent works from Angela Carter and Neil Jordan's THE COMPANY OF WOLVES to Jan Svankmajer's ALICE to even Lynch and Frost's TWIN PEAKS, but I think it might be more accurate to say that it resembles a medieval painting 'come to life.' Imagine a sprawling vision by Bosch, brimming with disturbing, inscrutable visual metaphors and beguiling, fleeting reveries; fair maidens and old crones; men of the cloth and perversions of men of the cloth; dances of life and dances of death. It's truly as if a portal has opened from within one of these masterworks and allowed us a quite tangible, timeless taste of its fancifully macabre contents (or as tangible as twenty-four frames-per-second will allow).

Honorable Mention: Altman's IMAGES, Bergman's THE SERPENT'S EGG, Romero's SEASON OF THE WITCH, Clark's BLACK CHRISTMAS, Leacock and Matheson's DYING ROOM ONLY.

Honorable Mentions that are a little too polished and high-profile to quite qualify:  De Palma's OBSESSION, Kubrick's THE SHINING.

Movies that I haven't yet seen (as of Oct. 2012), but I am told fit the bill:  Fuest's AND SOON THE DARKNESS, Fulci's DON'T TORTURE A DUCKLING, Fleischer's SEE NO EVIL, Mulligan's THE OTHER, Benedek's THE NIGHT VISITOR, Martino's ALL THE COLORS OF THE DARK.  I'd be particularly interested in the feedback of those who have seen some of these, too!

-Sean Gill

Read More