Movieline Online

Michael Venus’ feature debut, Sleep (2021), although it becomes almost Lynchian in its obtuse imagery, is, at its heart, a mystery; one that uncovers personal, family and generational secrets.   And it’s that narrative drive that makes it so compelling…despite its sometime maddening attempts to keep audiences in the dark.   Mona races to a hospital in the small village of Stainbach where her mother, Marlene, has suffered a psychological breakdown.  Booking a room in the same hotel where the “incident” occurred, she becomes suspicious of the proprietors, Otto and Lore, whose helpful demeanor seems to disguise a sinister agenda.  The proximity triggers a series of dreams (flashbacks?) that Mona struggles to piece together, unearthing the history of a series of suicides that seem related to her own family tree and a ghostly presence that uses her for its own ends. By the time the credits roll, Sleep has resolved all its loose ends…which, in itself, separates it from the Lynchian oeuv

Directors like Mario Bava are the reason cult movie fans exist.  Working under miniscule budgets with fly-by-night foreign producers who distributed the final product under a seemingly endless number of alternative titles, often just tracking down the muddy lineage of Bava’s work is a genealogical case study unto itself.  But it’s the thrill of the chase that fans enjoy most, sifting through the pseudonyms and cinematic dead-ends to unearth something truly special from a man who was 30 years ahead of his time. The last ten years have made things much simpler, with several companies stepping up to the plate to deliver stellar version of the maestro’s films.  Arrow Video’s Blu-ray special edition of  Shock  is the latest, featuring a brand-new 2K restoration from the original negative of what would be his final film, a family affair with assistance from his son – and future director himself – Lamberto Bava.  It’s a familiar tale of ghostly revenge and murderous madness that winds up bein

After humbling themselves post-WW2, Japanese war films took on a decidedly grim tone early on, casting aside the propaganda that continued in American cinema until the late ‘60s.     Armed conflict was brutal, ugly and pointless; and Yasuzo Masumura’s   Red Angel   (1966) makes sure audiences get the point. Sakura Nishi (Ayako Wakao) is a nurse serving on the front lines during the Second Sino-Japanese War, not only dealing with ravaged bodies and severed limbs but the violently overactive libidos of soldiers who fear no consequences.  After being raped on the medical ward, Nishi struggles to rise above her feelings for revenge, even pleading with Dr. Okabe (Shinsuke Ashida) to save her attacker’s life.  Her mercy strikes a chord in the cynical physician and the two develop a complicated relationship that struggles to survive in the midst of near constant chaos.   Red Angel  is a love story of sorts.  Nishi does more that stitch up wounds and plug bullet holes; she uses her endless sup

For most people martial arts films begin and end with Bruce Lee.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  Lee’s filmography contains some of the most stunningly choreographed fight scenes ever put on celluloid and his charismatic execution rightfully made him an international star.  But the catalog of work released by Shaw Brothers, a Hong Kong studio which specialized in kung fu exports throughout the ‘60s and ‘70s, puts its own particular brand of genius on display.  Sure, Bruce Lee might have taken on fifty guys at once…but did he ever do it with a hatchet buried three inches deep in his solar plexus?  I think not. Starting off with  King Boxer , the curated list of titles don’t follow any sort of release pattern but instead provide a loosely connected theme for newbies and experienced fans to follow.  From the satisfying training montages of  Shaolin Temple to the bugnuts insanity of  Mighty Peking Man , an Asian take on  King Kong  that’s even more entertaining than the Dino D

From an outsider’s perspective Japanese pop culture seems to have an unhealthy obsession with teenage girls, skimpy outfits and the ‘ol ultraviolence.  But when you actually sit down and watch something like  Sailor Suit and Machine Gun (1981), in which a high school girl inherits a run-down gang of yakuza, it’s surprising how the unseemly scenario actually plays out.  There’s an innocent undercurrent at work, a longing for family, acceptance and emotional connections that intermingles with the seedier exploitation elements.   Orphaned after the death of her father, Izumi Hoshi is met at her school by a gang of yakuza thugs who inform her she’s next in line for the position of Chairman.  Her youth, gender and inexperience don’t detract from the gang’s loyalty however as they take her under their wing in an attempt to build up the family name.  But enemy rivals are quick move in on their territory, setting the stage for a showdown over a missing shipment of drugs that could determine wh

Everybody has a favorite slasher they’ll champion to the end.  The reasons vary:  creative kill scenes, great soundtrack, retro clothes, Pauly Shore, creative use of – wait a second!  Pauly Shore?!  Yes, 1989’s  Phantom of the Mall:  Eric’s Revenge  doesn’t have a whole lot to recommend it beside an early appearance by the Weasel as an ice-cream slinging mall employee who gets caught up in a mall massacre. Director Richard Friedman, whose previous genre films  Scared Stiff  and  Doom Asylum  were equally inept, can’t make heads or tails out of the re-jiggered script built around the idea of a burn-victim hiding out in airshafts protecting his true love from a corrupt businessman.  While the teens shop, Eric practicing his crossbow and Gymkata skills in the back room hoping for a chance to get revenge…instead of, ya know, revealing he’s actually alive and pressing charges against the guy who murdered him?   Phantom of the Mall  (the whole  Eric’s Revenge  thing makes it seem like a fran

Slow to develop, the Italian gothic genre is less consistent in quality than the Hammer movies filmmakers were quick to emulate.  But amidst the genuine classics by Mario Bava and Ricccardo Freda there are a number of fascinating one-offs that are still worth attention.   Mill of the Stone Women  (1960) just so happens to be Italy’s first horror film  in color , making for a lush, expressionistic debut that does more than just splash some blood around. Structured like a Poe film, but based on an original screenplay, the story follows a young journalist, Hans, assigned to write about the lifelike stone statues created by Professor Gregorious Wahl.  Of course, there’s a reason why the professor’s art is so realistic; his sculptures are the petrified female victims used to supply his daughter, Elfie, with blood transfusions to keep her alive.   Hans, torn between his attraction to Elfie and his shock at the travesties being committed in the name of science, must overcome a plot to drive h

Low-budget horror hit a peak in the 70’s with films like Tobe Hooper’s  The Texas Chainsaw Massacre  and Wes Craven’s  The Hills Have Eyes  breaking the barriers of good taste and the heretofore predictable rules of scary movies audiences came to expect.  These were the pioneers of the “anti-Hollywood” horror movie. Despite its rabid cult following,   Hills  isn’t the most accomplished film of Wes Craven’s career.     The editing is clumsy, the acting is weak and the make-up is corny (actor Michael Berryman’s misshapen bald skull makes him the only convincing inbred hick in the bunch).     At best,  Hills   is a jury-rigged minor masterpiece, held together by sheer brute force and an overwhelming sense of dread.     The film feeds off the momentum of its stripped down story about a family of whitebread vacationers fighting for survival in the desert against a family of cannibalistic madmen (and women).     The set-piece scene - and the one that likely earned the film its reputation - i

With the release of his fifth feature film,  Deep Red , Dario Argento was probably starting to believe his own hype.  As the “Italian Hitchock,” he’d proven himself a bankable director of international thrillers (and one obscure Western) who’d inspired hundreds of imitators in his own country and abroad.   The competition was getting fierce.  So Argento fired off one last salvo into the crowded  giallo  genre that would end the debates and put him firmly back on top.   Deep Red  is one of those films that catches a director working at the top of his game with deceptive ease. David Hemmings, in a variation of his role in  Blow Up , is the witness to a brutal crime who believes he saw a vital clue to the killer’s identity…but can’t quite recall the evidence of his own eyes.  With the help of a nosy reporter (possible killer #1) and a fellow musician (possible killer #2), Hemmings stays one step ahead of a string of vicious murders that target anyone involved in the crime. Unlike many  gi

After debuting  Demons  and  Demons 2  on Blu-ray in an exclusive steelbook format, followed by a slightly less collectible but equally spectacular looking pair of stand-alone editions, Synapse Films goes back to the well for a 4K Ultra-HD double-feature that epitomize the gonzo ‘80s Italian horror aesthetic.  Produced by Dario Argento ( Suspiria ) and directed by Lamberto Bava (son of Mario), you won’t find a more silly, sick and visually slick double feature of Euro-splatter anywhere!   At this point in his career Argento had drifted into a pattern of disconnected imagery tied with the loosest of narrative threads, designed more like  Fangoria  photoplays than linear stories.  And apparently he developed  Demons  and its sequel along the same lines, packaging both films with a prefabricated heavy metal soundtrack built around some outstanding make-up effects by Sergio Stivaletti.  There’s a screenplay in here somewhere, but it’s practically non-essential.   Demons  begins with a disf

Just when we’d all learned how to properly conjugate  kaiju  in a sentence, along comes a whole ‘nother pantheon of Japanese monsters to remember:   Yokai .  Based on Japanese folklore, popularized by manga artist Shigeru Mizuki, and co-opted by the Pokemon phenomenon, Yokai (“strange apparitions) are the cultural equivalent of fairies, goblins or monsters, existing between the spaces of this world and the next and punishing those who misbehave.  Arrow Video’s new special edition box set collects four titles (three from the ‘60s and one from the early aughts) that capture the cinematic madness of these bizarre but usually benevolent spirits. Produced by Daiei,  100 Monsters  (1968) follows the same formula as the studio’s  Daimajin  series: ruthless feudal warlords tear down a temple and threaten the peasantry only to find themselves under attack by vengeful supernatural entities.  This first entry is slow to develop and lacking personality, but it still manages to introduce many of th

Ridley Scott’s  Legend  (1985) was supposed to be the cherry on top of an unexpected wave of fantasy films.  Instead, it was a critical and commercial failure that had less impact on pop culture than lightweight movies like  The Beastmaster and  Krull  (I love ‘em both, don’t get me wrong).  Scott quickly pivoted away from genre films and found mainstream success, leaving the legacy of his muddled and maligned vision of good and evil to age in the cinematic cellar where it’s reputation might further ripen. Truth is,  Legend  is simply a beautiful mess.    The unapologetic fairy tale begins with nature boy Jack (Tom Cruise) introducing Princess Lili (Mia Sara) to the magical wonders of his forest domicile, including a pair of unicorns.  But Lili’s naïve mistake leads to an opportunity for Darkness (Tim Curry) to steal the unicorn’s power – and Lili herself - plunging the world into a snowy apocalypse.   Meanwhile Jack, with the help of his fairy friends, heads off on a quest to right wh

If there’s one thing horror nerds love it’s passing on their appreciation for the genre to the next generation…preferably their own kids.  But finding the right content for the right age can be a challenge (full disclosure: my children are quite well adjusted despite hearing a cacophony of screams at all hours coming from  daddy’s basement ).  Twisted family fare like  Willy Wonka  and  Coraline  are excellent barometers, but, if your kids are good readers, you don’t need to limit yourself to English speaking fare.  Making its home video debut outside of Japan,  The Snake Girl and the Silver Haired Witch  (1968) is full of creepy imagery, supernatural mysteries and one instance of shocking violence.   You know,  for kids ! After growing up in an orphanage because of a clerical error, Sayuri is reunited with her birth parents and welcomed into their home.  But the fairy tale is just beginning.  Sayuri’s emotionally unstable mother has been hiding her  other  daughter, Tamimi, in the att

Time marches on.  And as collectors of physical media will tell you, there’s a sense of urgency to preserve films that are being pushed into the dusty corners of history.  I would imagine that fans of ‘50s horror and science fiction are becoming a more exclusive bunch.  But those who remain will be thrilled by Arrow’s new limited edition Blu-ray set  Cold War Creatures:  Four Films from Sam Katzman , the prolific low-budget producer who made the most of the timely atom-age trend.   Creature with the Atom Brain  (1955) combines a few genres to showcase its titular menace, a small army of undead errand boys sent out to get revenge at the command of a bitter gangster.  The man-made zombie versus the cops is a familiar trope that dodges out of fashion supernatural elements.  And writer Curt Siodmak ( The Wolf Man ) has fun playing with the reanimated corpses’ impressive indestructibility, even while the script’s sexist clichés garner plenty of unintentional laughs.                The Werew

Yasuzo Masumura, like many other directors from Japan’s golden age, dabbled in whatever genre his home studio, Daiei, demanded at the time.   But within those confines he found a freedom that allowed him to push the creative limits while still toeing the company line.  Films like  Giants and Toys  (1958) and  Black Test Car  (1962) ,  clever cultural critiques of the “salaryman” lifestyle, were not only fun and entertaining, they were essential to the birth of the Japanese new wave.    But Masumura really came into his own during the late ‘60s, free to explore the grotesquely erotic undertones that had popped up under various disguises in his earlier work.  And  Blind Beast  may be the most accessibly shocking of the bunch, anticipating the psychosexual obsession of modern films like David Cronenberg’s  Crash  and William Friedkin’s  Bug  with disturbing precision.   Famous for a series of artistic S & M-style photographs, Aki (Maki Midori) is kidnapped by a blind sculptor, Michio

Slasher fans are often dismissed as an undiscriminating bunch.     But the fact is there’s nothing they enjoy more than poring over the cinematic fossil record looking for missing links between the   giallo , regional drive-in fare and more popular masked killer franchises.     And something like   Death Screams  (1982) provides a fascinating case study.   While a quiet little North Carolina town says goodbye to its seasonal summer business and rowdy college students headed back to school, a killer stalks those foolish enough to engage in pre-marital sex.  There are plenty of suspects...and even more victims, including the virginal Lily Carpenter (Susan Kiger) whose first date with the most eligible man in town isn’t going anything like she planned.   Death Screams  could have been written by an artificial intelligence program fed with all the classic slasher ingredients:  sex, blood, cringey comic relief and teens who look like they’re pushing forty.  Viewed in 1982 it was likely a ho

By 1971, the peace and love generation has begun to suspect there was a conspiracy around every corner.     Even the pop-up retreats and Wiccan societies were infiltrated by pagan power brokers whose sinister motives were inspired by Satan himself.     So describing   The Brotherhood of Satan   (1971) as a sort of “Brady Bunch goes to Hell!” episode isn’t really that far off. When Ben (Charles Bateman), his girlfriend and young daughter drive into the town of Hillsboro to report an accident on the road they find themselves trapped in a Twilight Zone scenario.  All the residents, including the sheriff  (L.Q. Jones) and Doc Duncan (Strother Martin), are being held captive by a supernatural force that’s stealing their children one by one.   That force – as the title suggests - is a coven of Satan worshippers who need 13 kids to make their quota before renewing their contract of eternal youth with Lucifer.   A fairly early – and obscure – entry in the save of  satanic panic  films that beg

It may be a hot mess of ideas, imagery and endless exposition, but I’m still glad I live in a world where David Lynch’s version of   Dune   exists.     Adapted from Frank Herbert’s novel (still the best example of world-building in literary science-fiction), trying to condense the story into a feature-length film was probably the first mistake producer Dino DeLaurentiis made.     And selling it as a   Star Wars -style adventure was certainly the kiss of death. Let’s face it,  Dune  was never going to be an easy sell.  Heck, even the novel needs an appended dictionary just to keep track of all the characters and invented cultural slang.  But moments of pure Lynchian weirdness break through all the political sabotage and messianic madness.  And it’s those moments that make this tragically flawed 1984 adaptation so memorably unique.   Garbage bag clad guild members mopping the floor like elephant keepers after the passage of their mutated navigator.   Baron Harkonnen’s blood soaked dallia

Small coastal towns have been luring people to their deaths since the days of Lovecraft.  And director Gary Sherman’s  Dead & Buried  (1981) makes for a great double feature with John Carpenter’s  The Fog , both relying on a misty atmosphere and a secret conspiracy that spells doom for anyone who chooses the wrong day to book an overnight stay.   Dan Gillis is overqualified for his role as sheriff in the small village of Potters Bluff, but his forensic background comes in handy when a string of unexplained murders claim a series of tourists.  The perpetrators of the crimes seem to be the villagers themselves, who carefully document the victims’ demise with professional film equipment, then stage the scene as an accident.  The bodies wind up in the care of William G. Dobbs, the eccentric undertaker, who takes such pride in his work that he’s loathe see his creations wind up six feet under.   With a screenplay that credits the work of  Alien  collaborators Dan O’Bannon and Ronal Shus

Although they were responsible for kick starting the genre when it was in decline, spaghetti westerns themselves can get ridiculously repetitive.  After all, Italian filmmakers were notable for beating a good idea to death in  any  genre, be it thriller, sex comedy or post-apocalyptic zombie cannibals.  So it’s a huge relief that Arrow’s new box set,  Vengeance Trails , features four lesser-known titles that go out of their way to think outside of the corral. Massacre Time  (1966) will likely garner the most attention since it’s helmed by Lucio Fulci and features spaghetti stars Franco Nero and George Hilton as estranged brothers who come together to win back their family estate.  Fulci lays on the sadism here pretty thick for a guy who’d only directed comedies up to this point in his career.   Massacre Time  is an action-packed precursor to his gory horror titles with a memorable “whip duel” and plenty of bullet holes.   My Name is Pecos  (1966) is the most straightforward film in the

It’s always been a bit surprising to me that the  Godzilla  series was such a big hit in the U.S.  Despite being based on the Atomic Age sci-fi monstrosities already on display in theaters (particularly  The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms ) there were so many peculiar Japanese cultural hurdles to overcome.  The language was easy enough to dub, but the mysticism, models and (most of all) man-in-suit special effects seemed like a big pill to swallow, even for desperate-to-be-entertained kids.  But apparently the onscreen destruction was universal enough to cross all cinematic barriers. That wasn’t the case with the  Daimajin  films, a kaiju-samurai combo set in feudal Japan featuring a stone mountain god than stomps on any army that gets out of line.  Likely due to the period setting and rare appearances by the titular monster, the trilogy rarely turned up in syndication packages and wasn’t even on the radar for most Western audiences.   The first film is a stylized samurai adventure that pit

It’s not the tools you use to tell the story, it’s how you tell it.   That’s a wonderful mantra for filmmaking, which, up until the last decade or so, has been an exorbitantly expensive career to break into.   When digital finally caught up to the look of celluloid, it opened the door for low-budget storytellers to compete on the same stage.   So much so that even that $1000 dollar iPhone in your pocket is professional enough to put together a film that stands up quite well.   Take Threshold (2020) for example, a road movie about two siblings struggling with their personal issues; one facing an impending divorce and dead-end career, the other long-term drug addiction and, oh yeah, a body-swapping curse inflicted by a satanic cult.   Co-directors Powell Robertson and Patrick Robert Young’s creative gamble, besides shooting the entire thing on beefed up iPhones, is that neither sibling’s crisis takes center stage. Sundance dramas masquerading as horror films are nothing new.  Even in

Excuse the personal anecdote, but in this case I think it applies.   On a recent trip to Italy, my part-time career as a film critic inspired our 20-something tour guide to ask what my favorite type of movie was.   When I answered “Italian” his jaw about hit the cobblestone floor.   I explained that certain companies (like Arrow) specialize in obscure genre films from his country, introducing American audiences to little slices of Italian exploitation that had amassed quite a devoted fanbase.   Most of the titles and directors I mentioned were completely unfamiliar to him (although Argento rang a bell) and I quickly came to realize that for much of his generation, Italian films were viewed as second-rate historical oddities not worth the effort to explore.   My tastes were dismissed as wildly left-of-center.   Much like an American 20-something forced to watch something in black-and-white, this Italian was missing out on a world of cinematic entertainment that was right under his nose