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Love them or hate them, SyFy Channel creature features have become a genre unto themselves: cheesy monsters, bad acting, and a title so ridiculous that you simply have to check it out for a few minutes…or ten…OK, I’m definitely turning the channel after the next commercial! But the formula is nothing new. Roger Corman has been churning out quickie monster movies for more than half a century and continues to do so for SyFy from time to time. In fact, he never stopped, as proven by Scream Factory’s blu-ray / DVD combo-pack release of The Nest (1988) about a sleepy island community under attack by genetically engineered roaches. Released through Corman’s Concorde Pictures and produced by his wife, Julie Corman, The Nest is a holdover from ‘70s Jaws rip-offs like Joe Dante’s Piranha - also produced by Corman - but with an insect angle. Oddly enough, only two years later, the Steven Spielberg produced Arachnophobia would make the connection even more obvious. But this time...

He might not be the most talented, most original or most influential horror director, but Wes Craven has certainly proven to be the most durable. From The Last House on the Left (1972) to A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) to the Scream franchise (1996 – 2011), Craven has left his mark on four decades of film history. In a genre that screams for new blood every ten years or so, that’s an eternity. And he’s done it in workmanlike fashion, adapting his style to whatever best fits the story whether that be a high-profile thriller or a low-budget TV movie. By his own admission, Deadly Blessing (1981) served as Craven’s introduction to Hollywood filmmaking: the first time working in 35mm, shooting on sets, and dealing with producer’s demands. The film itself is rather lacking in style, shot with a “movie-of-the-week” detachment that is miles away from the gritty exploitation that Craven was known for at the time. Today, it’s likely best known for supplying Sharon Stone with her firs...

Even cult film aficionados (we meet at Taco Bell every Friday if you’re interested) could be excused for asking, “Who the hell is Pete Walker and why does he have his own collection ?” The name doesn’t have the same buzz factor as Romero, Argento or even Ed Wood. But that’s part of what makes the horror genre so damn interesting: there’s always some cult clique that’s ripe for rediscovery and, potentially, a new addition to one’s collection. In the case of Pete Walker, a British director who worked the seedier side cinema during the ‘70s, this might be his first cordial introduction to North American audiences outside of a VHS box. After giving Jean Rollin and Mario Bava their time in the sun, Kino’s Redemption label includes four films from the-lesser known Walker as part of their four-disc Blu-ray Pete Walker Collection . And things start strong with House of Whipcord (1974), a strange amalgamation of torture porn, gothic mystery and women’s prison film. Yet despite those exp...

While early Japanese films from serious-minded directors such as Ozu and Kurosawa won worldwide accolades from critics, often those “artistic” adventures were bought and paid for by money earned the old-fashioned way: genre movies. Horror, fantasy and science fiction were a big international market. And Japanese studios discovered that their product translated well to the burgeoning drive-in crowd of the ‘50s and ‘60s. Of course, Godzilla and his oversized friends are the most recognizable export, but the new Eclipse set – When Horror Came to Shochiku – unearths a few more sci-fi shockers that have been all but impossible to find. By the late ‘60s, Shochiku was desperate to get a piece of the action rival studios Toho and Daiei were enjoying. The most obvious route was to stick a guy in a suit and let him smash things! The X from Outer Space (1967) is almost pre-packaged for mockery. The monster – Guilala – is space chicken hatched from a smuggled spore that grows into a mech...

Thanks to the auteur theory, it’s de rigueur to put a director’s name in from of a film’s title. But really only a handful of filmmakers actually earn the distinction. In the case of Terry Gilliam’s Brazil , eventually released by Universal studios in 1985, he went to war to ensure the version movie that found its way in North American theaters was worthy of bearing his name. That behind the scenes story – detailed in the hour-long documentary Battle of Brazil – is one reason to pick up Criterion’s new blu-ray package. But ultimately it’s the opportunity to view Gilliam’s version of the film in gorgeous hi-def that makes the case for buying yet another version of the eccentric director’s masterpiece. Under the thumb of his mother, his employer and overwhelming government bureaucracy, Sam Lowry (Jonathan Pryce) escapes his dreary existence with dreams of heroic fantasies where he slays monsters, rescues princesses and flies into the sunset. His reality is a cluttered nightmare...