Only now does it occur to me... THE WRAITH (1986)

Only now does it occur to me... that THE WRAITH is the only opportunity you'll have to see the ghost of Charlie Sheen wearing a faux-H.R. Giger stillsuit 

 

and seeking revenge on a gang of the world's oldest teenagers, a utopian coalition of punks, jocks, nerds, tweakers, and middle-aged bad boys,

 including everyone from Clint Howard with an ERASERHEAD hairdo

to a smug and scenery-devouring Nick Cassavetes.

 

Throw in Randy Quaid as the surly Sheriff and between this Sheen/Cassavetes/Howard/Quaid nexus, you begin realize that almost everybody involved has a significantly more famous relative!

 

This is technically a horror movie, but it has a lot more in common with MAD MAX or HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER, as it's a part-sci-fi/part-supernatural/part-Western inflected revenge actioner featuring a vigilante specter driving a cyberpunk murder car around the American Southwest. It's an '80s movie that's drenched in nostalgia for the 1950s; so much so that the inciting incident is "murder by drag race." It's set in Tucson, Arizona (like the '80s Cannon giallo, WHITE OF THE EYE!) so there's plenty of saguaro cacti

 

and roadside charm.

 

Large chunks of the film take place at "Big Kay's Burger," an AMERICAN GRAFFITI-style teen drive-in hangout with roller-skatin' waitresses,

 

 

and at one point there's an extended "Makin' Burgers" montage set to Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love"

 

which is a nice reminder that the director (Mike Marvin) also directed the (very real) HAMBURGER: THE MOTION PICTURE.

There are a number of John Carpenter references sprinkled throughout: the supernatural car element certainly speaks to CHRISTINE, at one point someone describes ghost-Charlie Sheen as "weird and pissed off" (referencing a line of dialogue from THE THING), and Randy Quaid's character is named "Loomis," like Donald Pleasence from HALLOWEEN.

I would also be remiss if I didn't mention Sherilyn Fenn ("Audrey Horne" from TWIN PEAKS), who is trapped in a love triangle between ghost-Sheen and the man who killed him (Nick Cassavetes). Here, Fenn has none of the stylish charm that defines and elevates her iconic role in TWIN PEAKS (this particular role is severely underwritten, and all of her scenes with Charlie Sheen were rushed into a single day's shoot), and the best part of her performance is probably the parade of terrible/amazing Southwestern '80s outfits they forced her to wear.

 
Lotta fringe  

 
Were there supposed to be pants? 

Spray-tan overdose

Also, word on the street is that Oliver Stone hated THE WRAITH, and believed that Sheen's presence in such a B-movie would make a negative impact on PLATOON's Oscar chances. He didn't need to worry, as he still walked away with a Best Director statue, and PLATOON won Best Picture. (I'd have given it to THE MISSION or A ROOM WITH A VIEW, myself.)

Only now does it occur to me... WITCHBOARD (1986)

 In this, the first installment "Of Whitesnakes and Witchboards... a Tawny Kitaen Retrospective":

 

Only now does it occur to me.... that Tawney Kitaen's acting skills are... um... pretty good, actually! She acts circles around basically every other performer (with one slight exception) in WITCHBOARD, a delightfully half-assed 80s horror flick (which spawned two sequels) about a killer Ouija board.

 

Tawny doesn't need competent scene partners to ply her trade

Tawny Kitaen––whose real surname is indeed "Kitaen" and whose first name is a childhood sobriquet––is probably best known for performing in a series of music videos by Whitesnake, whereupon she was draped across the hoods of cars, giant staircases, grand pianos, etc. I imagine these videos were a blessing and a curse––they seemed to pigeonhole her as "exhausted babe lightly gyrating on the hood of a expensive car" and catapulted her to a form of stardom she could never quite escape. I actually grew up thinking her last name was the quasi-sleazy nom de guerre "Kitten."

I suppose you wouldn't know it from the "Here I Go Again" or "The Deeper the Love" music videos, but Kitaen is a likable, versatile actor who absolutely deserved a Sharon Stone/Mimi Rogers/Gina Gershon-sized career; she's the sort of performer who can navigate the Scylla-and-Charibdyean passageway between "sex object" and "talented character actor," whether she's messing around on a Ouija board while wearing a statement bow

 

or totally possessed by a Depression-era axe murderer (who apparently teased her hair mid-possession). At any rate, we see a whole range of acting here that doesn't involve reclining on random luxury objects while fans blow at her hair.

Linda Blair, eat your heart out

Speaking of THE EXORCIST, director Kevin S. Tenney––who would go on to perfect his schtick a few years later with the lovable NIGHT OF THE DEMONS––turns in a film clearly inspired by Blatty's leftovers. It suffers from many of the (pacing) problems that plague freshman indie pictures, but it's really not bad! There's inventive, lively, Sam Raimi-esque cinematography by Roy H. Wagner (NINE DEATHS OF THE NINJA, A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 3: DREAM WARRIORS)

and, obviously, there's Tawny Kitaen. But I must conclude with a shout-out to a performance I alluded to earlier: Kathleen Wilhoite's. You may remember her as Dr. Lewis' sister in the early seasons of ER, or you may remember her immortal role in Cannon Films' MURPHY'S LAW, where she called Charles Bronson "Scrotum cheeks," "Jism breath," "Camel crotch," and "Dinosaur dork," among other poetic nicknames. Here she plays Zarabeth the Medium, and while she only appears in one and a half scenes,

she is the 80s witchy woman/subculture valley girl that we all deserve. Amen.

Only now does it occur to me... THE HAUNTING OF JULIA

Only now does it occur to me...  that in THE HAUNTING OF JULIA, I've found a new entry for my Melancholy Horror genre.  

 

A couple years ago, I laid out a subcategory of 70s horror called "Melancholy Horror," describing it as "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."

THE HAUNTING OF JULIA is no masterpiece: it's not as good as DON'T LOOK NOW or THE CHANGELING or AUDREY ROSE, three films that it resembles thematically.  But in Melancholy Horror, atmosphere often trumps narrative quality, and JULIA has atmosphere in spades, taking place in a soft and hazy autumn climate that somehow avoids overwhelming fall colors. 

 

It rests beautifully in that overcast, spooky, unsettling color palette well-known to residents of the American Rust Belt, the Pacific Northwest, large swathes of Canada, seaside communities, and the British Isles...

Furthermore, this film (made nearly a decade after ROSEMARY'S BABY) stars Mia Farrow, still looking exactly like Rosemary Woodhouse, cropped haircut and all.

Like the best of Melancholy Horror, it's a film about loss– loss of life, loss of identity.  Mia plays a sensitive, depressed mother whose daughter has died in an accident  (nobody knew the Heimlich Manuever, I guess), and who has now moved into a new and mysterious abode; a place that may have in the not-so-distant-past hosted horrific and mind-numbing happenings– a place that may be haunted.

 

It seems to be hitting every Melancholy Horror bullet point along the way, even the "seance scene" and "ghostly research at the library sequence."

And keep your ears peeled for creepy, synth-y strains courtesy of Colin Towns (RAWHEAD REX, VAMPIRE'S KISS) that complete the picture.
In closing, this film doesn't particularly break any new ground, but it's nonetheless a solid entry into the genre; a dark, restrained horror film steeped in narrative ambiguity and the vapors of death...

Film Review: RIDING THE BULLET (2004, Mick Garris)

Stars: 1.5 of 5.
Running Time: 98 minutes.
Tag-line: "The dead travel fast."

Notable Cast or Crew: Jonathan Jackson (GENERAL HOSPITAL, INSOMNIA), David Arquette (SCREAM, RAVENOUS), Barbara Hershey (THE STUNT MAN, HOOSIERS, BLACK SWAN), Chris Gauthier (FREDDY VS. JASON, INSOMNIA), Matt Frewer (MAX HEADROOM, every Mick Garris movie), Cliff Robertson (UNDERWORLD U.S.A., CHARLY, ESCAPE FROM L.A.), and Nicky Katt (THE LIMEY, DAZED AND CONFUSED). Makeup effects by Greg Nicotero, Rachel Griffin, and Howard Berger.  Written and directed by Mick Garris.

Best One-liner: "You're a ghost..." –"BOO!"

I'll try and keep this brief.  So I'm watching this movie, an adaptation of the lesser known Stephen King e-book/novella "Riding the Bullet,"  and I'm not gonna lie– I knew it was a Mick Garris flick beforehand, and I watched it anyway.
You've probably heard me talk Mick Garris/Stephen King before (DESPERATION, QUICKSILVER HIGHWAY, SLEEPWALKERS, THE STAND, etc.) and know by now that my condition is pathological.  It can't be helped.  Mick Garris is going to keep making bad Stephen King movies, King is going to keep sanctioning them, and I'm just gonna keep watching 'em.

 No exaggeration: that font might be the best thing about this movie.

So we got all the Mick Garris standbys- the Cynthia Garris appearance, the Nicolas Pike music, and the obligatory Matt Frewer role.  I've called Garris a one-man Frewer employment agency (they've worked together six times)

and his appearance here amounts to a walk-on as a groovy art teacher with a "cool" earring and a stiff turtleneck.  So yeah.
Anyway, with all these Garris-isms going on,  I started getting excited about seeing Steven Weber (ex-WINGS star and another Garris standby) put his unique acting "spin" on some role in this mess.
 
 Here he is, for instance, out-Nicholsoning Nicholson in THE SHINING '97.

I'm excited for Weber.  I'm jonesin' for Weber...  Where's my Weber?... and then I look it up on IMDb and find out that there's no Weber.  Could it be?  Could it be that there was no role for him?  No room at the inn for Weber? Then who is going to give us a Steven Weber-caliber performance?  We'll return to this pressing issue later on.

I read "Riding the Bullet" a few years ago (it's collected in EVERYTHING'S EVENTUAL) and still remember it pretty clearly.  It's a fairly satisfying, melancholy ghost story centered around an agonizing moral choice, and it plays around with the trope of the "Phantom Hitchhiker" for a while before coming in for a semi-emotional, King-ian climax.  This movie has been heavily expanded from the novella in ways that I don't really care about (which is classic Garris) and this definitely would have played out better as a 25-minute piece in a CREEPSHOW-style omnibus, but I suppose it's too late for that now.

Due to the feature-length padding, it becomes increasingly dull and most of the filler is only tangentially-related to the original story, being largely devoted to silly roadside scares and random fake-outs and dog attacks and killer hillbillies and did-it-happen-or-didn't-it moments and dream sequences that possess equal smatterings of FINAL DESTINATION and THE SIXTH SENSE.  This brings me to the wider question, which is "were people really clamoring to have 'Riding the Bullet' made into a feature-length movie?"  I have no problem with the original story, but I can think of probably forty to sixty as-of-yet-unadapted Stephen King stories that I'd rather see turned into movies.  And everybody knows that if you want to watch a Stephen King movie with "Bullet" in the title, you go for SILVER BULLET.

So this thing is a 60s period piece with an expensive soundtrack: Strawberry Alarm Clock, The Zombies, James Brown, The Chambers Brothers, The Youngbloods.  No idea where that cash came from.  (They shoulda spent it on Steven Weber!)  You can tell it's the 60s because people are referencing Tricky Dick and LEAVE IT TO BEAVER and "John 'I am the Walrus' Lennon" (yes, someone actually utters that aloud).  You can really tell it's the 60s though, because everyone has 90s haircuts and interior decoration

Pictured: The 60s.  (Shockingly similar to JAILBREAKERS' depiction of the 50s!)

 and Death smokes him some reefer, as he did in the 60s.

 This really happens, dear reader.

There's this whole terribly-thought-out narrative device whereupon our hero (Jonathan Jackson) has his internal monologue voiced by a CGI double, and it plays out in ineffective, head-scratching, and spit-take-inducing ways

That Cheech and Chong reference is a few years too early for the 1960s...  Also note: authentic beaded curtain.

that frequently plunge, headfirst, into a morass of unintentional comedy.

Would you believe that this actor came from GENERAL HOSPITAL?  WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT?!

Hey, at least CHRISTINE gets a cameo:


And speaking of cameos, we have two pretty good ones, likely responsible for all 1.5 of the stars I'm awarding this film:
There's the venerable Cliff Robertson, who shows up as an off-his-rocker, crotch-grabbing yokel:

Cliff: you deserved better.

and then Nicky Katt appears, exuding an enjoyable bit of manic energy as a VW minibus-driving fake hippie, and while he does his best to make this feel like a real movie, he only has about two minutes to do so.

Nicky Katt:  improvisin' up a storm.

Also, this movie co-stars Oscar-nominee and acting legend Barbara Hershey as our protagonist's mother.  She has been given the opportunity to utter scintillating Garris dialogue such as the following:


Wow.  Garris walked into a room with Barbara Hershey and said, presumably to her face, that "Today you will be saying 'Awful Damn Crapheads,' and you will be saying it on camera."  That takes balls, I suppose.  Or cluelessness.  And I don't mean to pile on Garris, even though I usually do– the man's contributions to CRITTERS 2, THE FLY II, and FUZZBUCKET are noteworthy, and he rather seems like a warm and enthusiastic man.  But wow.  "Awful Damn Crapheads."  It happened.  It happened and there's no taking it back.

Furthermore, I believe I have pinpointed the exact moment, on film, when Barbara Hershey fully realizes that her agent talked her into a Mick Garris movie–

It's sinking in: the contracts are signed and there's no backing out.  Study it for long enough and you can even see her internal pep talk at work: "I can handle this for two weeks.  I can handle anything for two weeks..."

Anyway, the movie's almost over when you realize that the main thrust of the novella hasn't even been addressed yet– the part where our hero is picked up by an undead messenger who (metaphorically) skewers him on the horns of a (moral) dilemma.

Said (ghoulish, zany) messenger is played by David Arquette.

Now wait one gosh-gadoodlin' minute!  Somebody call the police!  Arquette stole Steven Weber's role!  The above depiction was clearly intended for Weber.  It's in his wheelhouse.  That is Weber's wheelhouse.

The maniacal facial expressions, the vacant eyes, the dopey one-liners, the pain of WINGS that rests upon his shoulders like a shroud–  could it be?  Could it be that Arquette is playing the role as a Steven Weber pastiche?

Pictured: Steven Weber pastiche.


Pictured: actual Steven Weber.

That's my theory, anyway, and I'm sticking to it.  And despite my better judgment, I'm sure one day I will watch BAG OF BONES (the final Garris/King collaboration I have yet to see).  Whew.  Till that day comes...

 –Sean Gill