Monday, November 26, 2012

Only now does it occur to me... RIDE WITH THE DEVIL

Only now does it occur to me...  that RIDE WITH THE DEVIL is rife with such moments of unintentional hilarity.  My favorite moment might be this:  after gunning some Union men, the gang of Southern militia guerrilla warrior Bushwhackers- including such backwoods hayseed types such as Skeet Ulrich and Jonathan Rhys Meyers– whip off their hats and twirl their finely conditioned 1990s 1860s manes in cold-blooded ecstasy,


looking at best like the fleecy-locked members of Testament:

 and at worst like the finely coiffed members of Tangier.

Er- maybe I mixed those best/worst classifications up.  Anyway, you can watch the whole grisly affair here:


Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Film Review: CAT'S EYE (1985, Lewis Teague)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 94 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew:  James Woods (VIDEODROME, VAMPIRES), Candy Clark (AMERICAN GRAFFITI, THE BLOB), Drew Barrymore (E.T., GUNCRAZY), Kenneth McMillan (DUNE, RUNAWAY TRAIN), Alan King (CASINO, THE ALAN KING SHOW), Robert Hays (AIRPLANE!, FIFTY/FIFTY), James Rebhorn (THE GAME, INDEPENDENCE DAY), Charles S. Dutton (SURVIVING THE GAME, ALIEN 3), James Naughton (THE PAPER CHASE, THE FIRST WIVES CLUB).  Produced by Dino De Laurentiis.  Music by Alan Silvestri (BACK TO THE FUTURE, PREDATOR).  Cinematography by Jack Cardiff (THE AFRICAN QUEEN, THE RED SHOES).
Tag-line: "Through the eye of the cat, a twisted tail of macabre suspense from the author of CARRIE, THE SHINING, and THE DEAD ZONE."  That's a mouthful.
Best one-liner:  "YOU FLYING SHIT HOUSE!"

CAT'S EYE is an omnibus horror flick, which longtime fans of this site will note is one of the best horror subgenres to watch with friends on a Saturday night.  This genre brought us CREEPSHOW, CREEPSHOW 2, TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE: THE MOVIE, TRILOGY OF TERROR, TWO EVIL EYES, THE TWILIGHT ZONE: THE MOVIE, and plenty of lesser fare like TRAPPED ASHES, and several others that ought not even to be named (CREEPSHOW III– shit, I said it!).  Some years ago, back when I wrote reviews on Netflix, I chose to tackle the beauty and complexity of CAT'S EYE.

I had a limited word count, and it went something like this:

There's so much to say about this sprawling epic, but since I don't have a lot of space, I'm going to center my comments on two aspects  of the film which merit discussion: the cat's performance, and the closing credit music "Cat's Eye" by Ray Stevens of the Village People.  First off, the cat delivers a first-rate,  nuanced performance, the best in the film.  No small feat considering James Woods and Candy Clark are two of the cat's co-stars.  Now before you assume I'm joking, I challenge you to watch the movie and say otherwise– this cat is gonna blow your mind.  The cat is a veritable powerhouse.  And the cat is uncredited.  Nowhere on the internet can I find any information about this cat or its career, and words can't do justice with what the cat manages to do with a basically non-written role.  
Finally, Ray Stevens' closing credits music "Cat's Eye" begins with perhaps the finest intro to any pop song of the 80s.  There's no way that any song can live up to that intro.  And, of course, the song doesn't.  But it's still pretty damn good.  And the lyrics shed some light on a few of the more obscure plot points, so if you choose to reflect on the film you've just seen during the end credits, like I do, you'll find it a lovely counterpart to your post-film musings and ruminations.

Obviously, I didn't have enough space to properly discuss CAT'S EYE, but I certainly don't disagree with my past self.  In fact, now, with the benefit of screen captures, I can show you the exquisite nuances of the Cat's  (named "General" in the movie) performance.  Here, General demonstrates existential longing:

Here, General demonstrates curiosity and apprehension:
Here, General demonstrates making out with a pre-teen Drew Barrymore, which frankly makes me kind of uncomfortable.


Sure, it's presented as a Gotcha! moment where you're expecting the cat to crawl up and start stealing her breath or something, and then you're relieved to find out that it's only kissing her, but then again, I'm not sure that cat-kisses were necessarily the best-case outcome for a scenario such as this one.  I digress.

Director Lewis Teague made a career out of drawing terrific performances out of animals.  Cujo in CUJO, the alligator and alligator puppets in ALLIGATOR, etc., etc.  Hell, Cujo even makes a cameo appearance in this film:

As does Christine the Plymouth Fury, who's driven straight out of the John Carpenter film and now outfitted with bumper stickers that proudly proclaim "Rock n Roll will never die!"  and "Watch out for me.  I am Pure Evil.  I am CHRISTINE."
Before I get ahead of myself, let's talk about the film's structure.  The frame story concerns the eponymous cat and his journey from New York City to Atlantic City to Wilmington, NC [side note:  Wilmington was Dino De Laurentiis central (i.e., BLUE VELVET) and home to such King adaptations as MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE, SILVER BULLET, THE NIGHT FLIER, and FIRESTARTER)] ostensibly in search of multiple-part playing Drew Barrymore who is in desperate need of his assistance.  On his way, he passes through– and plays a small part in– a few tales of mystery and imagination ("Quitters, Inc." and "The Ledge") before meeting up with Drew and starring in "The General."  It's not as good a frame story as Tom Atkins' EC-comic-hatin' father in CREEPSHOW, but I'm willing to go with it. 

Then the whole thing is shot by Jack Cardiff, one of the finest cinematographers to ever work in the medium– and the range of his credits is extraordinary.  He did Technicolor classics like THE RED SHOES and THE AFRICAN QUEEN and BLACK NARCISSUS and Hitchcock's UNDER CAPRICORN.  He shot big budget 80's muscle-bulging trashterpieces like CONAN THE DESTROYER and RAMBO: FIRST BLOOD PART II.  And then he directed films such as the madness that is GIRL ON A MOTORCYCLE or the rough n' tumble actioner that is DARK OF THE SUN.  And here we got 'im on CAT'S EYE.  Pretty terrific.

Anyway, the first tale is "Quitters, Inc." from the first King story collection, NIGHT SHIFT.  Though published under King's name, it's more of a 'Richard Bachman'-style tale (King's pseudonym for a series of novels that were stripped down, grittier, meaner, and more nihilistic versions of King's mainline work).  Without giving too much away, this tale stars James Woods as a smoker looking to quit.  On the recommendation of a friend, he engages the shadowy corporation "Quitters, Inc." to assist him – without realizing to what lengths they'll actually go to make sure he kicks the habit.  
 
It feels a lot like David Fincher's 90s thriller THE GAME, and curiously enough, both co-star classic "that guy!" actor James Rebhorn.
Pictured here in a hallucination.

Anyway, since I don't want to spoil the major twists, I'll point out a few of my favorite things from this segment.

#1.  Smarmy James Woods.
Smarmy James Woods was really hitting his stride in the early-to-mid 80s.  Truly one of the great sleazemasters of his– or any other– era.  Even when he's our protagonist, you can still see the trails of slime he leaves behind.

#2.  The Kronenberg Konnection.
 
At one point, James Woods sits at home watching TV in a nicotine-deprived, scotch-soaked, glass-eyed stupor, and what is on television but David Cronenberg's adaptation of THE DEAD ZONE!  For the uninitiated, two years prior, James Woods starred in Cronenberg's VIDEODROME, a masterful showcase of smarmy Woods featuring mind-altering television programming.  Anyway, he briefly complains about the quality of the programming, and the entire moment warms the hearts of VIDEODROME die-hards everywhere.

#3.  Unnecessary violence toward golf bags.
 
While fearing that intruders have infiltrated his home, Woods grabs a bludgeon and whips open a closet door.  Out pops a bag full of golf clubs which lands on the floor with a thud.  After the bag has been fully visible and well lit for a good second or two, he begins pounding on it and lands two serious blows at a point when anybody shy of blindness would clearly see that it was an inert, harmless golf bag.   I found this to be hilarious.
THWACKK

#4.  Taunts from tray of deviled eggs.
'Nuff said!

#5.  The line "Forget the cat, you hemorrhoid!"  Gotta love Mr. King's occasionally misguided attempts at local patois.


The next tale is "The Ledge," also culled from NIGHT SHIFT.  This, too, feels more like a Bachman tale as it trafficks in sadistic gangsters rather than the supernatural.  It even features a henchman named Westlake, referencing the hardboiled writer Donald Westlake who wrote under the pen name Richard Stark (among others).  King references Westlake again in the novel THE DARK HALF (which deals with the emotional fallout after his outing as Bachman) with a writer character who pens pulp fiction under the name "George Stark."

Anyway, a gangster who loves to gamble (Kenneth McMillian, who played Baron Harkonnen in Lynch's DUNE)
catches his wife stepping out with a washed-up tennis player (Robert Hays of the AIRPLANE! series), and makes him a wager:  he'll grant the missus her divorce and let Hays have her if he can make his way around the entirety of the treacherous exterior ledge of his penthouse.  Otherwise, Hays will be set up on a bogus drug possession charge and go to prison for a decade.  The tennis player decides to give it a go, and there you have it:  straightforward stakes, a simple premise- a wiry potboiler with no ambition other than to land you a couple of mean-spirited, tawdry thrills.
The ledge effects possess a strange disconnect (filmed in a studio) which for me only amplifies their effectiveness.  Like all the segments, it's got an oddly-inappropriate-to-the-point-where-it-works sense of humor, and my favorite moments involve the dick moves perpetrated against our hero, like the douchey élan with which McMillan blasts Hays with a fire hose or distracts him with a bicycle horn
or this total asshole pigeon who peck-peck-pecks at your ankles just when you're at your most vulnerable.

Said pigeon also receives feathery and spit-take worthy comeuppance with a hearty kick and the poetry of:
"YOU FLYING SHIT HOUSE!"
Amen, Mr. King!

The final segment, "General," was written specifically for the film (and for the talents of the FIRESTARTER herself, Drew Barrymore).  It's your classic crowd-pleasing l'il creepy creature piece, drawing some degree of inspiration from Richard Matheson's brilliant "Prey," otherwise known as the Zuni Fetish Doll Segment from TRILOGY OF TERROR.

This segment is pretty spectacular, and it concerns primarily the efforts of a breath-stealing troll to terrorize Drew Barrymore.  General intercedes, but draws the ire of Mom (Candy Clark) and the exasperation of Dad (James Naughton) who believe the stray cat to be the cause of the late-nite shenanigans. 

The troll effect is terrific, employing SFX practical effects and occasionally a little person in a suit amid huge sets- it's in turns dreamlike and silly, and it works wonderfully.

Candy Clark gets to chew some scenery as she stuffs our hero cat in a cardboard box and exclaims "Your bird killing days are over, my friend!"
But the final showdown between General and the Troll is what truly takes the cake.  Crayons are hurled like javelins, backflips are employed, and a roller skate is used as a weapon and a mode of conveyance.  I also can safely say that I never in my life expected to see a cat dueling an evil gnome atop a child's record player as a terrible cover of The Police's "Every Breath You Take" plays in triple-time, chipmunk voices and everything!
It's also worth mentioning that this is the second time in the film that this particular Police cover gets a workout.  Way to be cost effective, Dino!

Anyway, the film ends, and then that majestic song, referenced earlier, washes over you as you contemplate the finer nuances of CAT'S EYE.   And because I could not find the lyrics poetry anywhere online, I shall print them here, for posterity:

I didn't know
I was under your spell
I couldn't know
There was no way to tell
I took a step
I slipped I fell
I didn't know whyyyyy

Deep in the dark it was too hard to see
That in the night it had come over me
Ha!
Just stole my soul
Imprison me
With your cat's eye

Cat's eye
How you caught me unaware
Cat's eye
How you hold me in your stare
Cat's eye
Want to hide but tell me where
Cat's eye
You got me spellllllbound
 Cat's eye
How you stole my breath away
Cat's eye 
How you cut me night and day
Cat's eye
I can never get away
Cat's eye 
I'm spelllllllbound

It's like a dream only when do I wake
Can't even scream every breath that I take
Belongs to you what can I do
Why should I tryyyyyyy

I look around like a boy in a trance
You pull the strings I'm a puppet I dance
You're holding me eternally
In your Cat's eye

Cat's eye 
Took my heart with just a look
Cat's eye
Every stare is like a hook
Cat's eye 
Just one look is all it took
Cat's eye
Made me spelllllbound
Cat's eye 
How you stole my breath away
Cat's eye 
How you cut me night and day
Cat's eye
I can never get away
Cat's eye
I am spellllllllbound...



Four stars.


-Sean Gill

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Post-Hurricane Theater Round-up


For our New York City-based brethren:  there are a number of Halloween and seasonal-related performances from friends and colleagues that were delayed or extended because of the hurricane: 

Through November 18th:
•CONEY
From Blue Coyote Theater Group comes a vibrant, humanist, Altman-style tapestry of characters interwoven with their eponymous locale, Coney Island.  It is a place which has changed substantially even in the six short years since my first visit, a place which has endured an unfortunate thrashing from the corporate elements and more recently, Mother Nature.  It's a strong piece, carefully crafted, meticulously staged, and fervently acted. For cult film fans, there are shades of the carny subculture from FREAKS to NIGHTMARE ALLEY, and there's plenty of WARRIORS references in there, too. 
Directed by Gary Shrader, written by David Johnston, and starring Frank Anderson, Eboni Booth, Alex Carmine, John DiBenedetto, Andrea Gallo, Tracey Gilbert, (Junta Juleil's own!) Jillaine Gill, George C. Hosmer, Boo Killebrew, David Lapkin, PJ Sosko, Stephen Speights, and Amy Staats.
Final performances are Thursday, November 15th at 8:00 p.m.; Friday, November 16th at 8:00 p.m.; Saturday, November 17th at 8:00 p.m.; and Sunday November 18th at 2:00 p.m.  Tickets are $25.00 and are available HERE.

On November 18th:
•BEDTIME STORIES OF BAKERY, BUTCHERY, AND BASTARDS

From the makers of MR. LONG SPINDLY FINGERS: STORIES OF MURDER AND MADNESS, comes an evening of spine-tingling tales from author Kristen Lee, whose work combines a genuine, spooky charm with an escapist's sense of nostalgia– your own morbid childhood, revisited!  It is described as "Dr. Seuss meets Edward Gorey meets a blender" and will be featuring readings by Peter Aguero, Brad Lawrence, Julia Young, and Rory Scholl.   It shall be presented at the Red Room, upstairs from the Kraine Theater (85 E 4th Street between Bowery and 2nd Avenue) at 9:30 p.m. on November 18th.  Tickets are $10 at the door.  There will be treats also!

On November 29th & 30th:
•DANCE MAYHEM: A GRINDHOUSE BALLET

From David F. Sloan, Esq. and the Love Show comes an action-packed homage to the gritty films that Hollywood didn't want you to see. Combining the ballet and jazz infused choreography of underground favorite Angela Harriell with the pop and lock b-boy style of street dancer Nobuya Nagahama, Dance Mayhem tells the tale of a louche nightclub, owned by a beautiful yet ruthless drug dealer who will stop at nothing to get what she wants, and the man she pushes one step too far. Intrigue lurking at every turn. Sex! Murder! Horror! Not a ballet for quiet contemplation, this show will have you on the edge of your seat from the opening number to the curtain call.

Directed and choreographed by Angela Harriell.  Additional choreography by Nobuya Nagahama.  Featuring Dorian Cervantes, Duane Gosa, Angela Harriell, Atsunori Hayamizu, Miku Kawa, Rachael Ma, Takushi Minami, Nobuya Nagahama, Toshihiko Nakazawa, Tsubasa Ogawa, Julie Megan Smith.

It shall be presented Thursday, November 29 at 8:00 p.m. and Friday, November 30 at 8:00 p.m. at Theater 80 (80 St. Marks Place between 1st and 2nd Avenue).  Tickets are $20 in advance here, or $25 at the door.  

Monday, November 12, 2012

Only now does it occur to me... GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER

Only now does it occur to me...  that this is my favorite scene in GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER:

Ah, yes– in a frantic display of 60s kookiness and racial harmony, the meat delivery kid dances on-screen, picks up the assistant maid, and they then both dance their way completely out of the narrative.  It's progressive, out of place, and completely nuts– just the way I like it!

Saturday, November 3, 2012

A Blast from the Past: Sean Gill's SLEEPY-TIME TIME

In honor of its five year anniversary (I can't really quite remember, though it didn't screen anywhere until 2009), I present to you another one of my short films, this one the first in four installments of the SLEEPY-TIME TIME series.

It is described thusly:
"A young man's dreams are interrupted by a ghastly spectre."

Originally conceived in one manic night as an installment in a series of jokey, eerie public service announcements, SLEEPY-TIME TIME took on a life of its own and has, thus far, spawned three sequels. Based on director Sean Gill's personal experiences with sleep paralysis.


I hope you enjoy!

Sleepy-Time Time from Sean Gill on Vimeo.

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Happy Halloween!... and GROWING BOY

Well, we survived the hurricane here at Junta Juleil, but it's sort of put a damper on all things Halloween.  Far more time was spent watching news reports and stockpiling water/peanut butter/beer than was spent watching CAT'S EYE and HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN and BASKET CASE– though rest assured, time was made for those fine films.

Anyway, speaking of horror films, I have a new one that debuts tonight at the First Annual Spooky Fest in Bushwick, Brooklyn– it's called GROWING BOY, and promises to frighten and appall.   



It stars Joe Stipek and David F. Slone, Esq.  I wrote and directed and edited and all that jazz.  Music by Jesse Carlson.  It was made with the helpful participation of Jillaine Gill, Rachel Klein, and Daisy Tainton.

I hope you all weathered the storm and are enjoying your Halloweens– and remember– Halloween's not truly over till Thanksgiving!

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Theatrical Halloween Happenings in NYC!

For our New York City-based brethren:  there are a number of Halloween-related performances that I must bring to your attention: 

On October 26th & 30th:
•DANCE MAYHEM: A GRINDHOUSE BALLET

From David F. Sloan, Esq. and the Love Show comes an action-packed homage to the gritty films that Hollywood didn't want you to see. Combining the ballet and jazz infused choreography of underground favorite Angela Harriell with the pop and lock b-boy style of street dancer Nobuya Nagahama, Dance Mayhem tells the tale of a louche nightclub, owned by a beautiful yet ruthless drug dealer who will stop at nothing to get what she wants, and the man she pushes one step too far. Intrigue lurking at every turn. Sex! Murder! Horror! Not a ballet for quiet contemplation, this show will have you on the edge of your seat from the opening number to the curtain call.

Directed and choreographed by Angela Harriell.  Additional choreography by Nobuya Nagahama.  Featuring Dorian Cervantes, Duane Gosa, Angela Harriell, Atsunori Hayamizu, Miku Kawa, Rachael Ma, Takushi Minami, Nobuya Nagahama, Toshihiko Nakazawa, Tsubasa Ogawa, Julie Megan Smith.

It shall be presented Friday, October 26 at 11 p.m. and Tuesday, October 30 at 8:00 p.m. at Theater 80 (80 St. Marks Place between 1st and 2nd Avenue).  Tickets are $20 in advance here, or $25 at the door.  


On October 30th:
•BEDTIME STORIES OF BAKERY, BUTCHERY, AND BASTARDS

From the makers of MR. LONG SPINDLY FINGERS: STORIES OF MURDER AND MADNESS, comes an evening of spine-tingling tales from author Kristen Lee, whose work combines a genuine, spooky charm with an escapist's sense of nostalgia– your own morbid childhood, revisited!  It is described as "Dr. Seuss meets Edward Gorey meets a blender" and will be featuring readings by Peter Aguero, Brad Lawrence, Julia Young, and Rory Scholl.   It shall be presented at the Red Room, upstairs from the Kraine Theater (85 E 4th Street between Bowery and 2nd Avenue) at 9:30 p.m. on October 30th.  Tickets are $10 at the door.  There will be treats also!


On November 4th:
•A one-night only remount of the now-classic TRAGEDY OF MARIA MACABRE!

Back from the dead (sort of), the RKP theater ensemble will resurrect their whimsically morbid dance drama on the prestigious LaMama stage.  Conceived, designed, and directed by Rachel Klein.  Story by Rachel Klein, Sean Gill, & the ensemble.  Sound design by Sean Gill and Rachel Klein.  Choreographed by Rachel Klein and the ensemble.  Starring Elizabeth Stewart, Michael Porsche, Danielle Marie Fusco, Preston Burger, Megan O'Connor, Eric Schmalenberger, Freddy Mancilla, Brian Rubiano, and special guest the Love Show's Angela Harriell as Maria Macabre!

THE TRAGEDY OF MARIA MACABRE has played to sold-out houses and critical acclaim at Dixon Place, the Access Theater, the Wild Project, the Kitchen, DUMBO Dance Festival, the LES Festival at Theater for the New City, the House of Yes, the premiere of Banzai! at the Red Lotus Room, and the Bushwick Site Fest at 3rd Ward.

The remount performance shall be at November 4th at 5:30 p.m. at the Club at LaMama (74A E 4th Street, between Bowery and 2nd Avenue).  Tickets are $15 and can be purchased here.  Proceeds go to the Howl Emergency Life Project.

Friday, October 19, 2012

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 of its 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