Blogcritics

Announcement: Short-content feeds

Phillip Winn — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT

Sunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding.

Book Review: Gospel of the Living Dead: George Romero's Visions of Hell on Earth by Kim Paffenroth

Thomas M. Sipos — Wed, 27 Sep 2006 03:05:32 EDT

It's happening again. Seems an author is enlisting friends and family in a campaign to boost his Amazon presence. But before I get into that, let's examine the book in question. Academic film books suffer from two common pitfalls. First, there's the intentionally unreadable prose. The bigger the word, the more convoluted the sentence, the better. Academics will say "methodology" when they mean "method." They'll "post" everything. Post-feminist, post-industrial, post-modern. (Are we in a "post" era or after its close? Is "post" even used consistently?) The second pitfall is that academia's law of "publish or perish" encourages a slavish, Soviet-like parroting of PC politics. Books are written not to elucidate, but to impress tenure committees. Even New York's left-alternative Village Voice admitted (in a 2005 article) that in today's university film departments, scholars are pressured to ignore aesthetics in favor of political and social issues.Although Kim Paffenroth teaches at Iona College's Religious Studies Department (judging from his Acknowledgments page) and his Gospel of the Living Dead is published by Baylor University Press, Paffenroth's prose is lucid and reader-friendly, mercifully avoiding academia's pretentious vapidity. But not its politics. Gospel of the Living Dead is less a study of zombie films than an exercise in political showboating. His book reads as though calculated to impress a tenure committee. (Paffenroth informs me in an email that he already has tenure. Nevertheless, that's how his book reads.)Not that there's anything wrong with discussing the politics of George Romero's zombie films. It's a valid and potentially interesting topic. But frequently Paffenroth's own grandstanding overwhelms his film analyses. He forgets that his book is about Romero's zombies and not about Paffenroth's own views on Hurricane Katrina (a recurrent reference). Paffenroth often comes across as a drunken boor at a party who insists on telling you everything that's wrong with Bush (or Clinton, or Mideast politics, or whatever one's current bugaboo is). I expect any tenure committee would enjoy this gratuitous swipe: "It is also a telling anecdote as to the religious meaning implicit in [zombie] films that Dawn of the Dead (2004) was the first movie to edge Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ (2004) -- another low budget movie with plenty of gore and no big stars -- out of the number one place in box office sales."Gratuitous, because this segue into The Passion is irrelevant to zombie films. And can we put one urban legend to rest? The Passion of the Christ is not all that gory. To those who only view romantic comedies, maybe, but not to any experienced gorehound. Most of The Passion's gore was in the scourge scene, some eight or nine minutes total (and even then interrupted by flashbacks). Far more sickening scenes may be found in many a gore film, such as Make Them Die Slowly and the authentically misogynistic Don't Go in the House, not to mention such contemporary torture films as Saw and Hostel.Were I to see Paffenroth approaching at a party, I'd turn and run. This is a man made for talk radio. Partisan and relentless. Paffenroth denounces "scapegoating," but although scapegoating come from all sides of the political spectrum, he predictably targets only one side (in his case, the Right): Anyone who watches zombie movies must be prepared for a strong indictment of life in modern America. It is not just because of the dismemberments, decapitations, and disembowelments that these films are not 'feel good' movies, but because of their stinging critique of our society. It is this pointed critique that lifts them above the ranks of other horror movies. But it is a critique that is not wholly unbelievable or misguided. Anyone who says that racism, sexism, materialism, consumerism, and a misguided kind of individualism do not afflict our current American society to a large extent is not being totally honest and accurate. It is, moreover, a critique that could be characterized as broadly Christian, but which many modern American Christians may now find uncomfortable or unfamiliar. Many of us have been rather lax of late in offering critiques of American society, and have more often been enlisted to cheer for our wars and our 'values,' while perhaps scapegoating a few people, such as homosexuals or doctors who perform abortions or teachers who teach about evolution, as both un-American or un-Christian. But if it is a more fundamental and important description of Christian beliefs to say that Christians believe all people are equal regardless of their race and gender - and that for the only way for people to be happy is by loving God in community with other human beings, and not by selfishly loving and accumulating material possessions on their own - then the moralizing of zombie movies should not strike us as threatening at all, but as a most welcome corrective, even if presented in unfamiliar and frequently grotesque images. It's a short book. Discounting endnotes, it's only 136 pages. An Introduction, a Conclusion, and five chapters devoted to George Romero's five zombie films: Night of the Living Dead (1968), Dawn of the Dead (1978), Day of the Dead (1985), Dawn of the Dead (2004), and Land of the Dead (2005). Each chapter has a synopsis and analysis. The analyses are PC litanies of how racism, sexism, homophobia, Christianity, guns, etc., are portrayed in each film. It gets tiresome. Naturally, Paffenroth embraces identity politics. He judges characters not by their actions but by their gender. Consider his analysis of Dawn of the Dead (1978): [The men] either laughably indulge in shopping for stereotypically feminine items, like gourmet food, or effeminately primp before a mirror. In other scenes, they go the other extreme of rabidly indulging in male fantasies, driving and shooting in the video arcade, or feverishly shopping for the most hyper-masculine items, namely the enormous guns and bullets they load up on in the gun shop, a scene accompanied by faux African music and the screeches of jungle animals, as the men seem to descend into a kind of mad, pagan worship of 'the cult of the gun.'... The men seem able to indulge both their feminine and masculine sides, but much to the detriment and parody of either. Unlike the men, except for the one brief scene of cosmetic stupor from which she shakes herself loose, Fran seems unmoved by any of this, skating slowly, gracefully, and sadly on the mall's ice rink. She remains, to the end, the voice of reason, restraint, and introspection in the group, a powerful symbol of how wrong and hypocritical men are when they demean women as vain, shallow, spendthrift 'shopaholics,' a stereotype and accusation more fittingly directed back at themselves. Well, not really. Since society has fallen and money has no value, the men aren't "spendthrifts." As for the "cult of the gun," it's what protects them from zombies and the biker gang (who might have raped Fran but for the guns). But more tellingly, in good PC Orwellian fashion, Paffenroth reverses himself a couple of paragraphs later: "[A]fter Fran has thoroughly berated [the men] for their callous treatment of her, Peter readily agrees with her that henceforth she is to have a say in their plans, and is always to carry a gun from now on." Paffenroth then approvingly cites R. Wood in a footnote: "[Fran] progressively assumes a genuine autonomy, asserting herself against the men, insisting on possession of a gun, demanding to learn to pilot a machine."Through his "analysis," Paffenroth mocks men for worshiping a "cult of the gun," but celebrates gun-totting women. And when he earlier berates Americans for embracing a "misguided kind of individualism" and "myth of the lone wolf," I presume he means men, because apparently women are not misguided in asserting "genuine autonomy."Occasionally, Paffenroth does discuss zombies absent politics. And gets it wrong. He writes: "Part of the appeal of zombie movies also lies in their undeniable humor... no good zombie movie takes itself, or us, too seriously. A pretentious zombie movie is an oxymoron."Excuse me, but has Paffenroth ever heard of Lucio Fulci? Fulci's seminal Zombie (aka Zombie 2), with its legendary eye-gouging scene, is unrelentingly grim and nihilistic, from its ponderous music, to its brutal imagery, to its despairing ending. Zombie packs a raw, visceral punch without a trace of humor. Both Dawn of the Dead and Zombie blew me away when I was a teenager. But when I saw Dawn of the Dead again some twenty years later, I found it tepid and dull. By contrast, I've remained ever-impressed with Zombie. Zombie may have been inspired by Dawn of the Dead (but perhaps not, according to its DVD's Special Features interviews), but in any event, Zombie is by far the better film.Paffenroth concludes his book by writing "[Z]ombie movies have kept their edge and relevance for nearly forty years, outliving the Cold War, Soviet communism, 'free love,' the reactionary regimes of Reagan and Thatcher..." That's the second university press horror film book I've read this year that pointlessly refers to the "reactionary" Reagan and Thatcher administrations. Has this become obligatory now? Academia's answer to Hitchcock's film cameos? Such statements illustrate the hermetically sealed bubble that is academia. Paffenroth calls Reagan and Thatcher "reactionary" casually, as though it's a given. As something that "everyone knows" to be true. And I suppose in the Ivory Tower, it is. The Ivory Tower's isolation is further illustrated in the fallout to my earlier, somewhat similar review on Amazon.com. Paffenroth's book was released this September. I posted its first Amazon review last Thursday night. Friday morning I received a cordial email from Paffenroth saying he'd found my review interesting. By Friday evening there were two new 5-star reviews (from people who'd never reviewed on Amazon before). The 5-star reviews had 6 and 7 "helpful" votes. My review had 18 "unhelpful" votes. (Those votes have since increased.) Quite a sudden flurry of activity, considering the book's Amazon page had been barren for nearly the whole month the book was out. Seems I'd struck a nerve and the author enlisted friends, family, and colleagues in a campaign.Most telling was a comment posted to my review which stated, "I have a feeling I know who Thomas M. Sipos's current bugaboo is." Really? Based on what? On my distaste for the racism/sexism of PC identity politics? Yet despite this poster's "feeling," I suspect that she'd be surprised to learn that I actively opposed Bush's Iraq war from the start -- before the war, when it mattered -- and have continued in antiwar activism, both inside and outside the Libertarian Party. It may surprise her to learn that although I'm sick of the PC Left's incessant bashing of "white Christian heterosexual males," I've also vocally criticized the rising racism against Arabs and Muslims that I've seen on the Right. It would surprise her because she seems to know everything about me based on one review. She reminds me of the time I was accused online of being a fundamentalist Christian (I'm not) because I said that I did not believe in global warming (I don't). For too many people of the PC Identity Politics Left (like people on the PC Neocon Right), politics is a package deal. And so while the PC politics permeating Paffenroth's academic film analyses are not unique (anything but), they help illustrate why so many anti-Bush conservatives, libertarians, and moderates still cannot bring themselves to support Democrats. If progressives wonder why they keep losing elections despite six years of Bush's lies, corruption, and incompetence, it's not because the elections are stolen (they're not), but because so many Democrats still cling to the PC biases and superstitions reflected in this book.

Thomas M. Sipos is the author of the anti-Communist satire, Vampire Nation and Manhattan Sharks. Some of his essays on horror film aesthetics appear in his horror collection, Halloween Candy. He founded the Tabloid Witch Awards horror film contest and festival. He is Vice Chair of the Los Angeles County Libertarian Party.

DVD Review: Blood Relations

Thomas M. Sipos — Sat, 5 Aug 2006 18:47:10 EDT

The video box says "horror," but Blood Relations is more of a mildly erotic noir thriller, at least for the film's first two-thirds. Marie (Lydie Denier) is the Eurotrash femme fatale, engaged to Thomas (Kevin Hicks), a young heir eager to inherit his grandfather's fortune. Granddad (everyone's favorite Martian, Ray Walston) is already dying, so all Thomas and Marie need do is kill Thomas's dad (Jan Rubes) to ensure Thomas is the sole heir.Thomas brings Marie home to meet the family: just dad and granddad. All three generations of men take a liking to Marie, who resembles Thomas's dead mother (Rubes's dead wife, Walston's dead daughter). Things get kinky. Granddad asks Marie to call him "father." Then he asks her to strip naked and kiss him. So she does. Hey, he's worth a fortune, right?Blood Relations threads noir terrain, so there's the requisite shyster lawyer to draft the will, his faithless wife (girlfriend?), and a creepy servant. No one is to be trusted, everyone plots against everyone else, forming shifting alliances over who might inherit the dying granddad's estate. There are faked deaths, lies and betrayals, and a dead cat. Dad romances both his lawyer's wife and Marie, bedding one and telling the other that his son "is not a real man" and will inherit nothing.Blood Relations's milieu resembles that of The Shining and Curtains. All three films feature small casts wandering within vast snowbound mansions. Yet while The Shining and Curtains are enhanced by their stark wintry milieu, Blood Relations is diminished. Shorn of padding and distractions, the former two films reveal compelling stories, gripping emotional subtexts, and strong casts; Blood Relations is left with nothing but a banal hackneyed script, performed by competent but unspectacular actors.Despite its lavish mansion set (the only location aside from a few hospital rooms), Blood Relations feels surprisingly cheap. Just a handful of characters wandering spacious halls. It doesn't feel spooky or claustrophobic (as does The Haunting). It only feels empty and low-budget and... cheap. Only one servant in sight.It's not until the film's final third that the suspense/noir elements are discarded for horror. I don't want to spoil too many surprises. Just know that dad is a brain surgeon. In a horror film, that means he likes to transplant brains, whether the subject is willing or not. And serendipitously for horror fans, brain surgery is often best conducted while the subject is conscious.Blood Relations isn't the first, nor last, film to feature consciously aware brain torture. Bloodsucking Freaks (1977) and Hannibal both come to mind. Happily, despite its tepid noir elements, when Blood Relations (finally) shifts into horror, it manages some disturbing and effective scenes. Not many, but they're there. Also some artily shot "dream" sequences.The ending confuses. I'm not sure where all the brains went. One was cooked, one was transplanted, but what of the rest?If you enjoy hackneyed low-budget noir, perhaps you won't mind waiting to get to the gory horror. Poor Marie. All that noir buildup, then the rules change. For while femme fatales often triumph in noir, horror is a mad scientists' genre.

DVD Review: Invasion of the Flesh Hunters

Thomas M. Sipos — Wed, 2 Aug 2006 13:13:44 EDT

The Italian cannibal film can be divided into two categories: zombies (Zombie, Night of the Zombies - the latter not to be confused with the Nazi zombie film of the same title), and non-zombies (Make Them Die Slowly, Grim Reaper). Invasion of the Flesh Hunters features non-zombie cannibals - mortals compelled to eat human flesh by a virus that's contracted when one is bitten by an infected cannibal. Much like spreading lycanthropy, vampirism, or the murderous nymphomania in Cronenberg's They Came From Within (aka Shivers, Frissons, The Parasite Murders).Invasion of the Flesh Hunters opens in Vietnam with the prolific John Saxon leading an assault on the enemy (NVA or VC, I'm not sure). A cheesy battle scene with extras running about aimlessly, flinging their guns while dying theatrically amidst fiery explosions. One enemy woman is set aflame in her cleanly pressed pajamas. All enemy pajamas look cleanly pressed and many things are set aflame, but mostly leaves. I don't think grenades can set tropical leaves aflame, but they seem to here, although there's also a flamethrower. Some of Saxon's troops carry M-16s, but Saxon holds what looks like an Israeli Uzi. The Vietnamese jungle looks like a Temperate Zone forest, and there's even a cave. The battle culminates when Saxon discovers two American POWs trapped in a pit - eating an enemy woman.Saxon wakes up, nightmare over. It's been many years since the war ended. So why his persistent hunger for human flesh? Saxon's nightmare turns real when one of the POWs in his dream (and his former subordinate) phones with a request that they meet. Seems some vets contracted a cannibal virus in 'Nam, they're beginning to devour civilians, and soon the body count mounts.The simple storyline follows Saxon's struggle to resist succumbing to his disease while aiding his infected comrades, all amidst the spreading rampage of flesh-hungry vets and civilians. Plot holes abound. Why does the cannibal nurse unstrap the cannibal vets rather than eat them in their state of helplessness? They're not zombies, after all; their flesh is still fresh albeit infected. And as in so many zombie films, one wonders why the cannibals only appear nibbled upon - why weren't they consumed more thoroughly when previously attacked? Nor is it ever clear where Saxon intends to lead his men, or why they're traversing the sewers. They certainly never get anywhere.The film ends with a familiar scene. The veteran calmly dons his old but pristine uniform before a mirror. His chest covered with medals. Finally, he polishes and loads his gun, preparing either for suicide or carnage.Invasion of the Flesh Hunters is another horror film about the men ruined by Nam, returning home to inflict their pathologies on the civilians who sent them abroad, then discarded them. In Spaghetti Nightmares, director Margheriti expresses his own personal distaste for screen violence, and explains, "My initial intention was to make a film which carried a sociological, anti-war message. I wasn't aiming at making a 'splatter' at all, but, in the end the producers, who wanted to copy the popular trend launched by Romero's Dawn of the Dead, had the last word."Margheriti works an old but reliable metaphor. The first explicit entry in this Vietnam horror subgenre, and a superior film, was 1972's Deathdream (aka, The Night Walk, Dead of Night, The Night Andy Came Home, The Veteran). Romero's Night of the Living Dead has also been interpreted as such, but its message was implicit. And in Jacob's Ladder the vets alone suffered the war's aftereffects, they themselves inflicting no harm on the civilian population.It's always curious to see foreigners portray Americans in foreign films. The 1982 Italian futurist film, 1990: Bronx Warriors, is laughably entertaining for its incongruous juxtapositions, featuring white South Bronx gangstas mouthing lengthy Euro-existentialist speeches. Likewise, while Invasion of the Flesh Hunters is set in the US (it was filmed in Georgia and Italy), its biker gang dresses like trendy Euro-trash.This being a European film, there is an illicit affair subplot and some trashy but bland music. John Saxon performs well, as do the supporting cannibals and shapely actresses. The jungle battle was cheesy, but the crazed-vet-in-a-stripmall-shootout (shades of Dawn of the Dead) and cannibal feasts should please gorehounds.A respectable entry in Italy's cannibal cinema oeuvre.

Movie Review: Hollow Man

Thomas M. Sipos — Fri, 9 Jun 2006 07:18:34 EDT

Invisibility is a dangerous thing. In James Whales' The Invisible Man (1933), a scientist discovers the secret of invisibility, goes insane, and begins a killing spree. Okay, maybe that was just him. But, in Hollow Man, a scientist discovers the secret of invisibility, goes insane, and begins a killing spree.Coincidence?Hollow Man had been nominated for a Best Science Fiction Film Saturn by the Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy & Horror Films, but it could just as easily have been nominated for Best Horror Film. Not because it's such a great horror film, but because it's more horror than sci-fi.There's not much of a plot. Kevin Bacon plays a brilliant young scientist heading a top-secret military project in an underground lab near Washington, D.C. His team includes Elizabeth Shue (his former lover), Josh Brolin (secretly bedding his former lover), and several bodies...er, other young scientists.They've already turned several animals invisible. The difficulty lies in bringing them back to visibility -- alive. The story opens as they finally manage to do just that with an ape. Bacon announces that they're ready to take the experiment "to the next level" --experimenting on a human.It's dangerous. The ape nearly died in the attempt to restore its visibility. Shue and Brolin oppose Bacon's recklessness. But Bacon is the gonzo genius (as he keeps reminding everyone), so it's settled. Without informing their military sponsors, Bacon's team injects the invisibility serum into him. As his flesh fades, his personality is revealed. Always conceited, blatantly comparing himself to God (this is not a subtle film), Bacon is liberated from human society's rules and expectations. He teases his teammates, playing voyeuristic games in the restrooms with one woman, fondling another's breasts as she sleeps.Several days later, the team discovers that what worked with apes won't work on humans. Bacon's visibility cannot be restored. At least, not yet. The team insists that Bacon stay underground while they seek a cure.Bacon grows frustrated. He does not like being treated like a lab rat. He does not like being ordered about by his underlings. He grows embittered, paranoid, and jealous of his teammates. Antsy, he sneaks in and out of the underground lab. Outside, he discovers that invisibility confers power.Bacon assaults his neighbor (possibly raping her -- it's not clear). When he discovers Shue with Brolin readying for love at Shue's apartment, Bacon's jealousy and fury increase (as in The Invisible Man). Once everyone is back in the underground lab, Bacon cuts off all means of communication, seals all exits, and the body count mounts!That's what riled so many critics. What began as a sci-fi thriller with human drama morphs into a yet another slice-n-dice horror film, with Bacon determined to kill his entire team.It's not a bad body-count film. Until the killings start, we're treated to some cool invisibility special effects. And once they're underway, the killings are violent, visceral, and mildly imaginative. But while exciting, Hollow Man is not as suspenseful as it might have been. An invisible killer stalking his prey has much suspense potential. The Invisible Man delivered on that potential. But in Hollow Man, the gore and effects overwhelm any suspense.It's a cartoony sort of gore, the kind seen in martial arts films. There's no mention that the serum conferred any superhuman strength, yet Bacon withstands brutal physical abuse (at one point he's set afire with a flame thrower), and still he returns for more killing. Much like Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees.And not only Bacon. At one point, Bacon slams Shue's head full force against a steel pipe. Her head bounces back, a large gash along her forehead. It's the sort of thing that might easily kill a person, or at the very least cause severe brain damage. But Shue just arises from the floor and the two continue pulverizing one another.The gore and destruction are exciting to behold, but insanely implausible. Shue, Brolin, and Bacon (scientists, not combat soldiers) battle inside an elevator shaft, an elevator rocketing past them, then plummeting back down, crashing against the walls, explosions shooting huge fireballs up the shaft...violence and mayhem as thrilling as in any James Bond film. And just as likely.No, Hollow Man is not of Arthur C. Clarke. It's not even Gattaca. It's not really science fiction at all. It's horror. As in Alien, The X-Files, and Frankenstein, the "science" is mere window-dressing. Bacon's character is no scientist. He's a mad scientist. One of horror's progeny. One of ours.Hollywood likes young, attractive characters, thus, its sci-fi films normally feature brilliant, accomplished scientists too young to be so accomplished. Hollow Man follows that formula. Bacon and his team look like attractive Gen-Xers. In reality, both Bacon and Shue are nearly forty, but as neither looks it, the film (if not the story) capitalizes on their youth appeal.Hollow Man is a stupid film. Really stupid. And long, running at nearly two hours. Much of its potential for suspense was wasted. So, too, was its potential to explore character, the extent to which self-identity stems from what we, and others, see of ourselves. Bacon could have made for an interesting mad scientist. Instead, watching the film, one often feels compelled to shout: "No way!" and "Get out!"If you're the sort who was satisfied with Twister because of its cool tornado effects, you'll likely be satisfied with Hollow Man because of its cool invisibility effects. And once the novelty wears off, you'll be treated to a generous and graphic body count, plus extensive scenes of laboratory destruction, and many explosions.

DVD Review: The Devil's Nightmare, aka The Devil Walks At Midnight

Thomas M. Sipos — Thu, 8 Jun 2006 12:42:09 EDT

Mainstream critics made much of Seven (1995, aka Se7en) for its "innovative" twist on the serial killer oeuvre: A killer who took inspiration from the Seven Deadly Sins.Not so innovative.Innovative to big Hollywood studios. Innovative to ignorant mainstream critics. But for those who follow indie, low-budget, and foreign horror... been there, done that.More precisely, it was The Devil's Nightmare that did it. Not with a serial killer, but with a succubus (Italian actress Erika Blanc). There's no reason succubi can't take inspiration from the Seven Deadly Sins while committing slaughter.In the film (The Devil's Nightmare is its most common US title, The Devil Walks at Midnight its most recent), a family of German aristocrats endures a centuries-old curse. Seems the first-born daughter in every generation becomes a succubus for Satan. She seems not to particularly target family members, so there's no reason this should be a big problem, but the family has long done the right thing by killing first-born daughters at birth. But it's 1945, and the Allies are bombing Germany, and confusion reigns. The Baron (Jean Servais), an officer in Hitler's army, kills the wrong daughter.Flash-forward to 1971, and the prodigal first-born daughter returns to the family castle. As luck would have it, that very night a busload of tourists is stranded at the castle. And coincidentally, each tourist is guilty of one of the Seven Deadly Sins. After slinking about in revealing dresses, the succubus begins killing the tourists, one by one. The women too. That's rare for succubi, as most only target men. And she's got help. When she is stymied by Father Sorel (guilty of pride, and played by Luciene Raimberg), Satan (Daniel Emilfork) steps in to help her out.Succubus films are largely and properly judged by the quality of their succubi. Even more so than vampires, succubi are erotic monsters - female demons who sexually tempt men to death and/or damnation. Why do they do so? Usually, the only explanation is that they're demons, and that's what demons do.Being sexual monsters, succubi should be alluring. Erika Blanc is that and more. She is a mesmerizing demoness, with extreme angular features, a fleshy but curvaceous body, and clear bright eyes framed by a flaming red mane. Few modern succubi can compare. Today's direct-to-video succubi (and "femmes fatales") tend to be short, scrawny, and disproportionately top-heavy, with chicken legs. Perhaps most of today's low-budget producers are "breast men" attracted to anorexic starlets. Blanc is a classy succubus, well-proportioned, the kind that best tempts European (and, I think, most) men.Personality-wise, her succubus is more pedestrian. Most succubi are heartless monsters, without feeling for their victims. Vampires often have more compassion, or at least passion. Ironically, succubi are often indifferent to sex, merely using it mechanically as a bait and/or method of execution, killing during copulation. But Blanc doesn't even touch her victims, gleefully watching them die from afar. She is an especially cold-blooded succubus, her sole loyalty to Satan.Some succubi kill to survive, but Blanc kills to win souls for Satan. She kills sinners during their transgressions, ensuring that they'll be damned for eternity. This yields some curious theological results. One young lady is killed asleep in bed, presumably guilty of sloth.Sleeping in the middle of the night - Oh wicked woman!Well, sloth is one of the Seven Deadly Sins. I dunno, maybe it was early evening. Just make sure there are no succubi around if you go to bed early.Most succubi merely reflect a surface beauty, skin-deep. At some point, their natural ugliness is revealed. In the "Demon In Lace" episode of Kolchak: The Night Stalker, the succubus's true appearance was that of a crone. Whenever Blanc kills, her true form manifests: her eyebrows shaved, her face shiny and bluish, her thin red lips in a tight sadistic smile.My favorite succubus is Karen Morgan (played by Diane DiLascio in the "Black Widow" episode of Poltergeist: The Legacy). DiLascio portrayed a rarity: a succubus-with-a-heart-of-gold. Her succubus had feelings. Feelings that could be hurt by a harsh word. I'd never before seen a succubus played that way. Other viewers must have agreed, because DiLascio's succubus returned for a rare encore episode: "She Has the Devil in Her."Erika Blanc would be enough to recommend The Devil's Nightmare, but the film is enjoyable all-around. The other actors do a fine job, and the cinematography is lush and colorful.Welch Everman, in his Cult Horror Films, says: "This Belgian/Italian spooky- castle film is really pretty good, not because the plot is particularly original but because the pacing and atmosphere make it work in spite of its shortcomings." I guess he means the film waits 50 minutes to begin the killings, but he's right, the pacing works. It allows the atmosphere to build, the succubus to toy with her victims, and the characters to become established, if only a bit. (Why do all European actors, when dubbed, sound alike?)Less kind is John Stanley in his Creature Features Movie Guide: "Campy dialogue and silly premise provide laughs in this Italian-Belgian flop ... Each generation's eldest daughter is born an evil witch lusting to kill." I wasn't laughing, and the story is plainly about a succubus, not a witch.Foreign film spellings appear to confuse everyone. Welch Everman spells the name of the actor playing Father Sorel as both Luciene Raimberg and Lucien Raimbourg. He spells the aristocrat family's name as both von Rumberg and von Runberg, whereas John Stanley spells it von Rhoneberg.Mildly annoying to me: In the dubbed version, the characters keep referring to "succubuses." The American Heritage Dictionary (1971) finds this acceptable, but I think "succubi" is preferable. ("Succubae" is also acceptable to American Heritage.)If you like succubi -- and who doesn't? -- you'll like The Devil's Nightmare.

Movie Review: Curtains

Thomas M. Sipos — Wed, 7 Jun 2006 11:24:29 EDT

One of the most underrated slasher films of the early 1980s, Curtains has been dissed by many genre critics, but is tops with me. John Stanley's Creature Features movie guide says of Curtains: "Irritating Canadian slasher film paints characters in muddy fashion. ... There's nothing clever or suspenseful about the murders, and the climax is neither riveting nor surprising. Jonathan Stryker's direction rambles." The Overlook Encyclopedia laments: "After a conspicuously implausible red herring opening ... Curtains takes off into a drearily pedestrian variation on the masked-marauder theme. ... the script has not bothered to provide [the killer] with a semblance of motivation, any more than it has contrived any logic or suspense in the plotting of the attacks." I first praised Curtains in the 1980s, in The Journal of Horror Cinema, then in the 1990s in Horror magazine and Horrorfind. At least some critics agree with me. In Slasher Films, Kent Byron Armstrong says: "Curtains is a very good slasher film." [Although he misspells Samantha Eggar's name throughout as Egger.] Incidentally, contrary to Stanley's remarks, Jonathan Stryker is one of the film's characters, not its director. I'd thought it was an "inside joke," but Adam Rockoff reports in Going to Pieces that the real director, Richard Ciupka, was fired or quit mid-shoot "depending to whom you speak". Rockoff regards Curtains as "a decent slasher [film], but one that occasionally hints at greatness that could have been." Well, I see more than hints at greatness. There is much to recommend Curtains, beginning with Samantha Eggar (The Brood, The Uncanny, Demonoid: Messenger of Death), who here portrays Samantha Sherwood, a classy fortysomething actress at her peak and imminent decline. Curtains also has a sociological dimension, examining two Hollywood customs practiced mostly by men: Riding a superstar wife's coattails to success, and dumping an aging wife. These customs are not necessarily connected. The discarded wife is often a quiet helpmate, not a star. But Curtains combines these themes to fine effect. And finally, there is a generous body count. In Curtains, film star Samantha Sherwood buys the film rights to Audra (a hot play about a psychotic) for director Jonathan Stryker (John Vernon). It remains unclear whether they are (were?) married, but it seems they shared "something." A house in the wintry woods, for instance. Feigning insanity, Samantha checks into an asylum to better understand her Audra character. Jonathan leaves her there to rot and sets about casting for a new and younger Audra. Six nubile actresses are scheduled for "a weekend audition at his house." An unknown woman (we never see her face) liberates Samantha from the asylum. Samantha arrives at the house to audition. Everyone playacts in Curtains, on and off stage. Samantha feigns insanity. Jonathan feigns his intent to release her. An actress is "raped" by a burglar, who turns out to be her boyfriend playacting their usual sex game. O'Connor (the comedian in the group) playacts sex games with hand puppets, the dog cajoling a snake to "give head." (Like many comedians, O'Connor hides her pained neuroses and burning ambition behind jokes.) When the ice-skater discovers Jonathan and Samantha arguing, Jonathan claims they were rehearsing an old play. After Jonathan abuses O'Connor during an interview, she accuses him of playing directorial mind games. He smiles, mum. When Brooke becomes hysterical, claiming to have seen a severed head in her toilet, O'Connor accuses her of "putting on a show, acting like Audra." Curtains is about people so desperate to "make it" in Hollywood that they are always "in character," their personal identities as contrived as the characters they portray, their selves hidden behind Curtains of their own making. After Jonathan has Samantha audition in a crone mask, he yanks off the mask, forces Samantha to face a mirror, and states, "This is a mask too." Curtains examines those willing to do anything to "make it." It's the theme of O'Connor's standup act. "Have you ever wanted something so bad you would do anything to get it? Me, I wanted to be an actress. I wanted to be in pictures so bad, I screwed the guy from Fotomat." Hollywood encourages self-deception, and with this attitude the playacting is constant. One is always in character, projecting an image, the Self ever more elusive. Samantha suffers and sacrifices to maintain her star status, including the sojourn in the asylum. But the stay affects her; the patients both frighten and move her. "So sad. Even when they're laughing they're sad." She advises O'Connor to forego a career in show business, to "get married and grow old together." O'Connor suspects Samantha of trying to thin the competition, but more likely Samantha is stating what she might do if she could begin again. Sociology aside, Curtains is an effective slasher film. The wintry location creates a coldly beautiful isolation, reminiscent of The Shining, Ghost Story, and The Brood. The slasher's crone mask, worn to hide her identity, also augurs these pretty young actresses likely fate, when they too will be discarded. Killings are stylized, shot with lyrical slow motion. One actress is chased backstage amid mannequins, discovering a dead actress hanging among them (sagacious commentary on Hollywood's meat market?). The subsequent stabbings (off camera) are punctuated by quick jump cuts amid the mannequins. Unlike many slasher films, Curtains's killer is difficult to identify (there's a reason for that). Curtains also functions as commentary on Samantha Eggar's own career. Named Best Actress at Cannes for her work in The Collector (1965), by the 1980s she had gone to slumming in Canadian slasher fare (to the genre's benefit). Notably, Eggar's character shares her first name. Curtains has other curious "insider" attributes. Actor John Vernon portrays the fictitious Jonathan Stryker, yet Curtains is credited to director "Jonathan Stryker." (Actually directed by Richard Ciupka). Curtains opens with Samantha playacting a scene from Audra. She finds closure by performing the scene for real. What has she learned? "That an actress must always be in control," she tells O'Connor. It may be for naught. The final survivor in Curtains, the one who has what it takes to "make it" to the end, ends up in an asylum. Both as a rumination on the relative values of fame and family, and as a tense and gory slasher film set in beautiful wintry isolation, Curtains delivers.

Movie Review: Theater of Blood

Thomas M. Sipos — Sun, 4 Jun 2006 11:50:10 EDT

Although Theater of Blood is not so much a horror film as a suspense/black comedy, it keeps getting cited in horror film references. This is probably due to the presence of Vincent Price. If Theater of Blood had nothing else going for it, Price's performance alone would make it worthwhile.But Theater of Blood also has ... blood. Blood aplenty. And class, and style, and pathos, and hilarious black comedy, and ... Vincent Price.In the film, Price portrays Edward Lionheart, a hammy, egomaniacal Shakespearean actor who fails in a suicide attempt after being passed over for a Critic's Circle award, then uses his second chance at life to kill his critics by methods drawn from Shakespeare's plays.Opening credits play over old silent film footage of Shakespearean actors. While nothing in Theater of Blood indicates that Lionheart ever worked in film (it's stated he never performed anything other than Shakespeare), Lionheart, like Norma Desmond, belongs to an earlier era. Lionheart predates the rise of The Method in the 1950s, with its "naturalistic" acting style often derided by practitioners of "classical theatrical style" as producing actors who dressed dirty and mumbled incoherently. (Marlon Brando and James Dean were accused of such). Lionheart accuses his critics of denying him the award to give it to a youth "who can barely grunt his way through an incomprehensible performance."Lionheart's egomania shows when he kills one critic by cutting out his heart, thereby altering The Merchant of Venice. Lionheart's arch-foe, critic Peregrine Devlin (Ian Hendry), remarks, "Only Lionheart would have the temerity to rewrite Shakespeare." Not having a son to christen Edward Jr, Lionheart names his daughter Edwina (Diana Rigg). That Lionheart wanted a son is implied by Edwina's usual disguise of male clothing and mustache, by her incessant (insecure) desire to please him, and by finally dying happily in his appreciative arms, happy to have served him well.A darkly comic commentary on the shared egomaniacal roots of artists and political activists is drawn when Lionheart concludes a thunderous oratory to his ragged street devotees, followed by a recording of a speech by Hitler (a former artist) inadvertently played on Lionheart's applause machine.Theater of Blood depicts an actor's exaggerated view of critics. They can afford expensive homes and lavish offices, exploit young actresses for sex, and expend more effort in writing clever insults than in staying awake to see a complete play. They enjoy hurting actors. Devlin confesses to the detective inspector that when Lionheart broke into the Critic's Circle meeting after losing the Best Actor Award, they had fun at his expense.Critics are twice criticized for their abuse of power. Once when the detective inspector suggests possible motivations as to why someone may want to kill them. A second time when Lionheart justifies his murders to Devlin. In both instances, the point is made that a negative review can close a production, ruin reputations, bankrupt people, destroy lives. Few, if any, critics have such power today (perhaps more so in theater than in film, more so in Britain than in the U.S.). But to insecure actors in an insecure profession, reviews take on exaggerated importance.If Lionheart is an egomaniac, his critics are worse. They too have egos, but they lack Lionheart's cunning intelligence and perverse imagination. One lecherous old man readily accepts that a young actress (Edwina) is flirting with him. Another is unsuspicious when Lionheart selects him alone to report the exclusive story of Lionheart's comeback. Another sees nothing amiss with a TV crew arriving unannounced at his house, himself the center of attention. Another shrugs off Princess Margaret's hairdresser coming in after-hours, especially for her. Another agrees to help police toss out squatters, because the police need someone with an air of authority (something the police lack!). All traps by Lionheart, all successful because these critics' egos block their brains.The one critic who survives is Devlin, who doesn't trust Edwina's pretty, frightened daughter act. Devlin tells her there is a homing device in the car's glove compartment, but not about the police constable in the trunk. He is also the only critic of those given time to recant, who refuses to change his critical opinion of Lionheart's abilities (others deny their past comments or agree to everything Lionheart says).There is a nascent astrology motif. One critic's wife cautions him about his horoscope. Another critic wears a huge gold Scorpio medallion around his neck. Most likely, this is merely reflecting the times.Theater of Blood's gruesome murders are leavened with campy black comedy. Even as Lionheart decapitates one critic, he rolls eyes at Edwina's theatrical handling of medical instruments. And his forcing one effete critic (Robert Morley) to eat his poodles, baked in a pie, is a classic scene of horror black comedy.Theater of Blood is a sumptuous production with lavish sets and costumes. Extreme high and low camera angles heighten the melodrama. The sudden switch from a straight-on to extreme high angle just as the critics open the drapes to view Lionheart about to jump off the balcony creates a sense that we are looking down on a stage with the curtain opening upon a performance. Anthony Greville-Bell's literate script artfully integrates select Shakespearean dialogue into contemporary proceedings that are alternatingly macabre, comic, or poignant. The musical score supports the story, shifting from gentle to dramatic as required, without ever overwhelming events on screen. However melodramatically the music swells, Lionheart matches it. Vincent Price shines.A year later, tables were turned on Price in Madhouse (aka The Revenge of Doctor Death). In this film, Price is a has-been horror film star victimized by frustrated writer Peter Cushing. Yet while vengeful writers have their own subgenre, Theater of Blood's enduring fame compared to Madhouse's relative obscurity demonstrates why actors get the glory while writers more often toil in anonymity. Lionheart's extroverted exuberance, shameless scene-stealing, and indestructible ego is a crowd-pleaser, easily steamrollering over the vengeance meted out by cool Cushing's introverted writer. As the tabloids have long known, actors make for colorful villains, which is why they get the cover while writers must settle for a byline.Theater of Blood is bloody good entertainment: horrific, insightful, and wryly humorous.

Movie Review: Nadja

Thomas M. Sipos — Sun, 4 Jun 2006 05:42:20 EDT

Nadja is a difficult film to review, if reviews are meant to guide others, partly because others' reactions will vary wildly. Cinephiles and Goths may regard Nadja as a profound masterpiece, whereas Fangorians might think it turgid crud.A black and white vampire film, Nadja falls into that small but intriguing category of the horror art film (e.g., Blood and Roses, Spirits of the Dead, The Company of Wolves, Gothic). Its cast includes such Hal Hartley alums as Rumanian-born Elina Lvwensohn (Flirt, Amateur, Basquiat, Schindler's List) and Martin Donovan (Flirt, Amateur, The Opposite of Sex), and executive producer, David Lynch (who cameos as a morgue attendant).Nadja's plot is a lethargic (some would say moody) retelling of the Dracula tale in contemporary Manhattan. Lvwensohn stars as Nadja Dracul, Dracula's daughter. Early in the film, Nadja senses Van Helsing destroy Dracula, both roles played by a longhaired but balding Peter Fonda. In effect, Fonda kills himself. I don't know what this is meant to symbolize, if anything, but throughout most of the film Fonda plays Van Helsing, as Dracula is now truly dead (except in flashbacks).And there are flashbacks aplenty. Every film school/art house gimmick is on display. The black and white photography is variously beautiful, rich, stark, stunning, moody, sumptuous, smoky, blurry -- everything an Anne Rice fan on acid could desire. Images are framed from every conceivable angle. Rainwater drips on the camera lens. Some scenes are shot with a toy Pixelvision video camera. (Yes, there are slow motion shots.)The soundtrack features diverse musical styles and discordant nondiegetic noises, sometimes fading in and out, sometimes cutting in and out with jarring abruptness. The black and white photography, discordant noises, and languid pace all evoke David Lynch's Eraserhead. (Yes, there are voiceovers.)Lvwensohn begins one voiceover amid sound effects while in her castle. We cut to events outside and, although her voiceover continues seamlessly, all else is silenced. Moments later, the sound effects fade back up. No real reason for this audio gimmickry, but some viewers may think it eerie. Some may even regard it as profound.If it sounds like I'm reviewing form rather than content, it's because Nadja is about style rather than substance. This film is to be watched rather than understood. Its story is as disjointed as its editing. (Yes, there are jump cuts.)Characters flitter about aimlessly; only Van Helsing is consistently driven. Van Helsing destroys Dracula and then wants to destroy Nadja. He enlists Jim (Martin Donovan), who's sort of married to the boyish Lucy (Galaxy Craze), who is seduced by Nadja. (Lucy, as in Stoker's Dracula -- get it?) There's also a Renfield (Karl Geary), Nadja's "slave." Nadja also wants to nurse her non-vampire brother with blood plasma. Instead, Nadja seduces his lover/nurse Cassandra (Suzy Amis, of Titanic). (Yes, there are lesbian vampire sex scenes.)Nadja is burdened with flashbacks, jump cuts, torpid pacing, and vapid dialogue, obfuscating a thin story. Many will be too bored to prune away all the pretty padding and make an effort to follow the story. Nonsense lines abound, often spoken in a monotone, Hal Hartley style. Jim stares blankly at Lucy while he expounds his love for her to Van Helsing. Lucy responds: "Tuesday I ate two diet cokes and a bit of pizza. Today I had some M&Ms." She's under Nadja's spell, but she's not all that different for it. Her conversations with Jim are both fatalistic and trite. (Yes, there's enough fatalism, pessimism, and gloom in this film to delight a whole mausoleum-full of Goths.)The story ends in Nadja's Transylvanian castle, which looks like an abandoned New Jersey tenement; the walls are brick rather than large cut stone. That's okay; it's an old low-budget trick. And the tracking shot of a Rumanian map is a stylishly nostalgic manner in which to depict the characters' travels. Goths especially will love the darkly draped bed Nadja shares with Cassandra.There is a surprise twist ending, but I saw it coming. So should anyone who is familiar with Roger Vadim's Blood and Roses (a retelling of Carmilla, and a far better film). Since Nadja features a female vampire, one may argue that it, too, is informed by Carmilla rather than Dracula, but Nadja's characters' names are lifted from Stoker's novel, not Le Fanu's.There are some trendy modern themes. Nadja laments her dysfunctional family. Seems Dracula was a lousy dad. That, and the gender-bender lesbian sex, the longhaired puffy-shirted men, the vapid philosophizing that sounds profound if you don't think about it, and a film textbook's worth of cinematic stylistics, makes for a film that many an Anne Rice fan could stare at for endless hours, imagining that they were watching some insightful statement on transcendent love, or whatever. Others will be screaming, "Get on with it!"Nadja's story could easily have been compressed into a half-hour short, resulting in a quicker pace without losing any substance. Its lavish stylistics are impressive, but its slight story, silly dialogue, lack of philosophical insight, and lethargic pace are a drag on the film. Nadja will enthrall some, bore others. I presume you, dear reader, know which camp you're likely to fall into.

Film Festival Mistakes to Avoid: Lessons From the Tabloid Witch Awards

Thomas M. Sipos — Thu, 1 Jun 2006 22:26:08 EDT

I'm in my third year of reviewing films for the Tabloid Witch Awards, sponsored by the Hollywood Investigator. It's an easy contest to enter; any short or feature length horror film is eligible, no entry fee required. Thus, I've received entries from across the spectrum of experience, from camcorder hobbyists, to film students, to professionals. I also see the same recurring mistakes among the losing films. Yet they're easy enough to avoid. Follow the below rules, and your film should be far more competitive in any festival you enter. 1. Writing Counts"If it ain't on the page, it ain't on the stage." If you insist on writing your own script, you must study the art of storytelling as seriously as you'd study your camera. Too many filmmakers think screenwriting is only about format. Too many directors want to be "auteurs" and write their own scripts without learning the art of storytelling. If you're not a writer, and don't plan on learning the craft, then find someone who is. Successful directors often film someone else's screenplay. There's no shame in it. Poor writing creates many problems, such as... 2. A Vignette Is Not a StoryI've seen too many entries that confuse the two. "X rises from the grave and kills Y. The End," or "Zombies eat people. The End." Nor should you rely on a (often predictable) twist. "X is a serial killer who dates Y who turns out to be a vampire. The End." I've probably seen over a thousand horror films and TV shows so I know every "surprise" ending. Festival screeners tend to be well-versed in cinema history, especially in their festival's genre, so don't rely on your film's ending. You need more. Tell a story. And if you don't know what that is, see Rule 1. 3. Keep It Short and SweetEven a good film can be ruined by fat. Rich Mauro trimmed Mole to its perfect length. Distributors had advised Mauro that a one hour feature was a hard sell, but Mauro chose the best length for his tale of reporters seeking "mole people" in the abandoned subway tunnels under Manhattan. And it worked. Apart from winning a Tabloid Witch for Best Horror Feature Film (and Best Actress, and Best Supporting Actor), Mole also found distribution as part of a four film horror DVD package. Jamie Renee Williams's Slinky Milk (Honorable Mention), a black and white surreal film reminiscent of Un Chien Andalou, was intriguing at its five minutes. Were it a half hour, it would have overstayed its welcome. I've seen many losing entries that would have been stronger at half their lengths -- films sabotaged by overlong expository shots, or directors in love with shots that fail to contribute to the story, or characters wandering around or engaging in pointless chatter. If a line is unnecessary to the story, don't say it. And if a line is necessary, say it in a way that's sharp, funny, clever, intriguing, memorable, or interesting. Dialogue should reveal character or move the story forward. Characters should not sound alike. Vapid chatter that achieves nothing may sound realistic, but banal banter makes for a dull film. 4. Acting CountsActing quality was the single biggest element separating winning films from the losers. Actors who are wooden, self-conscious, affectatious, or chew scenery can tank an otherwise decent film. I rejected one film that did a decent job of recreating the 1860s, in costumes and furnishings, only to populate this period piece with some painfully bad acting. There's no excuse for this. Big cities teem with trained actors willing to work cheap, or even for free. And even small towns usually have a college or community theater with trained actors. Of course, I've also seen horror "parodies" in which I suspect the director thought his bad cast was an asset. Wrong. An amateurish cast rarely produces a film that's "so bad it's good," but more often a film that's "so bad it's unwatchable." If you still insist on casting your friends and family, insist they get professional training. Seriously. Otherwise, you're shooting a home movie, and home movies can rarely compete against polished work. 5. It Doesn't End With the ShootMole, Legion, and Human No More all underwent extensive post-production to optimize their camera footage. The results were beautiful, with Legion (Best Horror Short Film, Best Visuals, and Best Supporting Actress) resembling such studio fare as Lost Souls in its dark and moody cinematography. On the low end of the scale, many losing entries had a flat "home video" look: poorly lit, with dull, fading colors. Yet post-production needn't be prohibitively expensive. Human No More achieved its impressive visuals with Final Cut Pro. 6. Sound CountsGeorge Lucas understood this, which is why he founded Skywalker Sound. Christopher Alan Broadstone also understands this, which is why his Human No More (Best Sound, Best Actor, and an Honorable Mention) is a densely layered audio feast. And he did it with off-the-shelf computer programs like Bias Sound Soap and Bias Peak 4. It didn't require much money, only much effort. 7. Rule Are GuidelinesRules can be broken. Human No More is a vignette rather than a story. And Slinky Milk has no story and no trained actors. But Broadstone's film remains powerful because of its artistry and originality; and Williams's experimental genre doesn't require a story or acting. Even so, rules are rules because they usually work. Violating them is a risk that rarely pays off. 8. Entertain UsWhile skillfully shot and acted, Cadaverous and SuperStore are conventional horror tales of no great originality. Yet each won an Honorable Mention because, while we can predict their endings, these films maintain our interest. They entertain us. The writing contains no fat and the story moves at a good pace. We are not bored or driven off by an amateurish cast. These eight rules are simple to understand, but require much study and effort to master. However, a film that is well-written, well-acted, with beautiful visuals and a clear soundtrack, and is entertaining to boot, will more likely win an award. To learn how to win a Tabloid Witch, see: Tabloid Witch Awards.

Movie Review: Mulholland Drive

Thomas M. Sipos — Thu, 1 Jun 2006 08:15:17 EDT

David Lynch is the most brilliantly innovative and interesting filmmaker working today, and Mulholland Drive is yet another masterpiece. It is beautiful, ugly, poignant, haunting, hilarious, dark, nightmarish, mesmerizing, thought-provoking, puzzling, and confounding. Is it a horror film? Like all things in the Lynchian universe, the answer is an emphatic: yes and no.What's the story about? The more proper question is: Is there a story? Again, there is and there isn't. Mulholland Drive is not so much a story as a series of events, veering off into divergent tangents, surrealistically (but only partially) interconnected, sometimes returning on a Mobius strip in new form, sometimes dropped and forgotten, or lingering on a subconscious level. Welcome to Lynch's dark and beautiful nightmare. You either love it or hate it.Like Lynch's Blue Velvet, Mulholland Drive opens in a hyper-idealized America. A perky all-American girl (from Canada) with stars in her eyes wins a jitterbug contest -- 1950s kitsch in a contemporary America permeated with anachronistic sensibilities. She arrives in Los Angeles, seen resplendently through her naive eyes. That's Betty (from Archie comics?) played by Naomi Watts. In Mulholland Drive, Betty's brunette foil is Rita (Laura Harring). Rita hails from L.A. noir. A dark femme fatale riding in the back seat of a car, moving languorously, hypnotically, down Mulholland Drive. Rita's mysterious identity is compounded by her attempted murder. Then a strikingly brutal (and seemingly arbitrary) incident drastically alters the course of events.As in a nightmare.Lynch is one of the few filmmakers who can pull off such seeming arbitrariness. His films' narrative subtext, cinematography, art direction, and music create a surreal interconnectedness that fuses events together despite drastic and seemingly arbitrary plot detours.I don't want to reveal too much. Mulholland Drive should not be spoiled for those who've yet to see it.After driving down Mulholland Drive, Rita has amnesia. She wanders into Betty's house. Betty -- who came to Hollywood to be star -- takes Rita under her wing. Like Nancy Drew, Betty is an innocent drawn to adventure. Innocent, because no modern day Nancy Drew would last long in the dark and violent world Betty is set to enter (and Rita, re-enter).This is a common Lynchian theme: The innocent who is drawn to dark strangers living corrupt lives under the Disney-fied surface of Americana. (It is tempting to see Lynch, raised in Montana, as that innocent.)In Mulholland Drive, Lynch (through Betty) pokes underneath Hollywood's glitter. Naturally, we find lies, corruption, power plays, egos, and exploitation. The pain and heartbreak beneath Hollywood glitter is an old target, extending back to the similarly titled Sunset Boulevard. Yet remarkably, Lynch breathes starling new vigor into this well-trod tale.The Hollywood power plays involve a dwarf in a red room, a cowboy, and much else that remains unexplained. That is what Hollywood feels like for many -- actors wondering why they were not chosen and directors wondering why they were bumped off a project or why a project was canceled.Oh yes, Rita has a blue key. And there is a blue box, reminiscent of Hellraiser's puzzle box. Mulholland Drive's first two hours can best be described as a noir mystery with Lynchian overtones. That's confusing enough. But then Rita finds the blue box and things take a turn into the metaphysical during the last half hour.Remember when, in Twin Peaks, Josie's form emerges from the wall at the Great Northern -- and it's never explained? No, that's not what happens with Rita's blue box, but it's in the same territory. Lynch claims to be fascinated by furniture, music, and much else. His films are less linear stories than surreal journeys through his dark fascinations. The latter half of the film journeys deeper into those fascinations.Mulholland Drive was originally a pilot for an ABC TV series that was never picked up. It was finished (as a feature film) with French money. That's one explanation for the sudden turn of events in the film. But once again, Lynch makes it work.There is so much more in this film, but I won't spoil it by recounting the events.Do see this film alone, or at worst, with a mature audience. I saw it at an IFP/ West screening at the L.A. Film School. No doubt, the crowd imagined itself hip, trendy, and sophisticated. Yet many laughed at the most inappropriate times. They laughed at Betty's idealized entry into L.A., upsetting the scene's fine balance. (As in many horror films, Lynch's films establish a delicate tension between unease and humor -- a tension whose beauty and poignancy and unease can easily be weakened and destroyed by inappropriate laughs.)Yes, Betty is naive, but we are meant to empathize with her vision, not laugh at her. Remarkably, the IFP crowd also guffawed at a lesbian scene. I thought I was surrounded by a crowd of Beavis and Buttheads.Mulholland Drive was nominated for, but did not make, the Preliminary Ballot of the Horror Writers Association's Bram Stoker Awards. That is no shame on Lynch. It does disgrace and cheapen the Stokers.