Japan-uary XV Quick Picks and Pans

 

The Red Angel (1966) Set during the second Sino-Japanese War in 1939, The Red Angel follows Sakura (Ayako Wakao), a young Japanese army nurse stationed in China. The soldiers who end up in the military hospital are regarded as nothing but expendable components of the machinery of war, while nurses are told to look the other way and not become attached to the sick and dying. In spite of everything, she does her best to keep the injured troops happy before they die or return to the front lines. Ultimately, she falls in love with a disillusioned, morphine-addicted doctor (Shinsuke Ashida), who spends most of his time deciding who lives and who dies. While Yasuzō Masumura’s bleak, unflinching film isn’t an easy watch, it’s superbly acted, and its theme of retaining one’s humanity in the most inhumane of circumstances resonates just as strongly today. 

Rating: ****. Available on Blu-ray, DVD and Kanopy

Tokyo Chorus (1931) When salaryman Shinji Okajima (Tokihiko Okada) stands up for a fired co-worker, he’s let go as well. Thus begins his search for a new job in a time when work is scarce. Contending with various financial setbacks (including a sick daughter and a son who wants a new bike), he struggles to keep his chin up. Shinji finds renewed purpose when he has a chance encounter with an old college professor, forcing him to reassess what’s most important. This early silent film by Yasujirô Ozu hits all the right notes, with moments of drama tempered by gentle humor - a bittersweet, albeit life-affirming portrait of family life in pre-war Japan. 

Rating: ****. Available on DVD (Included in Eclipse Series 10: Silent Ozu - Three Family Comedies)

Daimajin (1966) The first in a trilogy by Daiei (followed by Return of Daimajin and Wrath of Daimajin), set in ancient Japan, is a bit of an anomaly in the world of kaiju that somehow got lost in the shuffle over the years. A benevolent feudal lord is murdered by an outsider who covets his position. When the new despot takes over, enslaving the villagers, he endeavors to wipe out any remaining heirs to the former leader. Still loyal to the Hanabusa clan, Kogenta (Jun Fujimaki) takes the surviving son and daughter (Tadafumi and Kozasa) for refuge in an enchanted mountain nearby. Ten years later, they’re back to recapture the village, with the help of a giant statue/god, Daimajin. The movie takes a while to get going, but it’s worth the wait for the ensuing kaiju mayhem. The Daimajin itself is a sight to behold, with its stern face and all-too-human eyes, making it a unique and terrifying creation. 

Rating: ***½. Available on Blu-ray (The Daimajin Trilogy Arrow box set) 

Inflatable Sex Doll of the Wastelands (1967) Don’t let the lurid title (the eponymous doll only has a cameo) mislead you. Writer/director Atsushi Yamatoya’s surreal neo noir about Shô, a hitman (Yûichi Minato) seeking revenge against those who murdered his girlfriend, is full of surprises. This unconventional film switches between reality and fantasy, depicting the hitman’s imagined revenge, versus the reality of the situation. Minato does a great job as the diminutive and unassuming cold-blooded killer Shô, who’s no better than his nemesis, Kô (Shôhei Yamamoto).   

Rating: ***½. Available on Blu-ray and Kanopy

Undertaker (2012) Writer/director Naoyoshi Kawamatsu’s low-budget, shot-on-video flick is set in an unspecified number of years after a zombie outbreak has devastated Japan. Ryouichi (Yoshito Kobashigawa) performs a service for family members grieving over their loved ones who have turned into zombies. He hunts down and dispatches the infected, so the families can experience a modicum of closure. His latest clients are parents whose grown daughter has succumbed to the zombie-creating virus. Undertaker makes the most of its brief running time, with animated butterflies representing the souls of those who have passed on (I think), and some appropriately gruesome practical effects. 

Rating ***. Available on Blu-ray and DVD

A Haunted Turkish Bathhouse (1975) In 1958 when brothels were officially outlawed in Japan, sex workers resorted to a workaround, the so-called Turkish bathhouse. One such worker, Yukino (Naomi Tani), is eager to leave her former life behind, with the promise of marriage to her boyfriend, Yûzô (Hideo Murota). Unfortunately for Yukino, her fiancé owes a large sum of money to a group of gangsters, forcing her to return to her previous profession. To add insult to injury, Yûzô’s not who he seems to be, running with criminals and scheming with the bathhouse madame. When deception turns to murder, Yukino’s younger sister, Mayumi (Misa Ohara) seeks revenge with the help of a cat demon. This (very) loose re-telling of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Black Cat,” told through a traditional bakeneko mono (monster cat) lens features an entertaining mix of sex and violence with a supernatural twist. It’s probably not to everyone’s taste, but I’ll leave that to you to decide. 

Rating: ***. Available on Blu-ray

The Box Man (2024) A reclusive man known only as “Myself” (Masatoshi Nagase) experiences the world from the perspective of his cardboard box. He photographs the people who pass by, logging notes and observing, but never interacting. He’s under surveillance by a doctor (Tadanobu Asano) who’s not really a doctor, and is assisted by a nurse (Ayana Shiramoto) who’s not really a nurse. As we eventually discover, whoever obsesses about the Box Man becomes the Box Man. The film might have worked better if it had been more succinct (it’s probably 30 minutes too long for its own good), starting off on a promising note, but becoming more muddled as it ambles on. 

Rating: **½. Available on Prime Video and Midnight Pulp

May Quick Picks and Pans

 

Schizoid (1980) Klaus Kinski stars as Dr. Fales, a therapist with some serious boundary issues, whose clients are being killed off one by one. Meanwhile, his patient/girlfriend Julie (Marianna Hill) keeps getting threatening letters at her work, but no one, including her soon-to-be-ex-husband Doug (Craig Wasson) appears to take her seriously. Although filled with red herrings galore, the big reveal of the killer isn’t much of a surprise (Spoiler: Surprisingly, it’s not Kinski). Watch for Christopher Lloyd in a small role as a handyman/therapy group patient. 

Rating: ***. Available on Blu-ray and Tubi

 

The Sister of Ursula (1978) In this would-be giallo by writer/director Enzo Millioni, two sisters travel to Italy to clear their heads after their father’s death. While Dagmar (Stefania D’Amario) tries to make the best of things, her younger sister Ursula (Barbara Magnolfi) remains withdrawn and reclusive, overwhelmed by grief and paranoia. The film compensates for its threadbare plot with copious nudity and a handful of underwhelming murder scenes, culminating in a less-than-thrilling climax (I guessed the killer in the first reel). There are a few stunning shots of the beautiful Amalfi coastline, but if that’s your bag, you’re better off watching a travel show. 

Rating: **. Available on DVD and Tubi 

 

Revolt of the Zombies (1936) Archeologists in World War I-era Cambodia make a terrifying discovery: a stone tablet depicting an ancient ritual to turn men into zombies. Seeing the potential military benefit of a mindless, unstoppable army, a devious general (Roy D’Arcy) steals the tablet. His possession of the artifact proves to be short-lived, however, when it’s appropriated by Armand Louque (Dean Jagger) for his own nefarious purposes. Rather than focusing on the inherent horrors of a zombie hoard, the movie spends an inordinate amount of time with a bland love triangle, comprised of Louque, his former colleague Clifford Grayson (Robert Nolan), and Grayson’s capricious fiancée Claire (Dorothy Stone). Filled with unappealing cardboard characters, a confusing plot, and a generous helping of racism (“This might mean the end of the white race!”), Revolt of the Zombies is a must-miss. 

Rating: **. Available on DVD and Prime Video

Spontaneous Combustion (1989) Tobe Hooper made some of the most memorable horror films of his generation. This is not one of them. The usually reliable Brad Dourif (who seems to be phoning in his performance) plays Sam, whose parents were part of a top secret ‘50s hydrogen bomb experiment gone awry. As a consequence of the experiment, he possesses the power to make people spontaneously combust at will (at least when the plot demands it). The plot is a confusing mess, with underdeveloped characters and hazy motivations. Skip it. 

Rating: **. Available on Blu-ray, DVD and Tubi

 

 

The Children

 

(1980) Directed by Max Kalmanowicz; Written by Carlton J. Albright and Edward Terry; Starring: Martin Shakar, Gil Rogers, Gale Garnett, Shannon Bolin, Tracy Griswold; Available on Blu-ray and DVD 

Rating: ***

“Ed (Terry) and I were friends. We were sitting in my living room one night, after my youngest son Will was born, and we were talking about children, and how they dominate and control, strangulate, your life, especially when they’re young… and you’ve got a bunch of them And we came up with this idea about children on a bus going through a nuclear fog, and they’re looking for their parents again, and when they come back and finally find them, the essence of it is they turn them into eggplant parmesan.” – Carlton. J. Albright (excerpt from 2005 interview)

Let’s face it, even at the best of times, kids are a handful. Sure, they represent our future, since long after we’ve gone, they’re destined to live one. After all, it’s the natural order of things. But at the same time, there’s a darker, almost primal fear about being replaced by them, reinforced by the feeling we’ve outlived our usefulness. It’s an insidiously pervasive thought – the older you get, the greater the realization it’s not your world anymore. Producer/director*/co-writer Carlton J. Albright’s The Children taps into this fear, with kids transformed into homicidal little monsters who target their parents. 

* Fun Fact: Co-writer Edward Terry (who also appears as local townsperson, Hank) was originally considered to direct the film, but was fired due to a falling out with co-writer/producer Albright. They seem to have patched things up several years later, when Terry appeared as the titular character in Albright’s film, Luther the Geek (1989).

Albright and crew filmed in various locations around southern Massachusetts, as well as New Jersey, for the fictional Ravensback* nuclear power plant (represented by a now-defunct conventional PSE&G plant). In a budget-saving measure, the eponymous children were played by the non-professional progeny of the filmmakers.** Many of the same crew subsequently worked on Friday the 13^th (1980), including its music composer, Harry Manfredini.*** While the latter movie became a pop culture phenomenon, spawning numerous sequels and a remake, The Children left a much smaller albeit profitable impact, as a minor hit. 

* Not-So-Fun-Fact: The film’s original title was The Children of Ravensback, but was shortened to The Children, because of “Ravensback’s” similarity to Ravensbruck, a World War II concentration camp. 

** Fun Fact #1: In another money-saving decision, Martin Brennan (in his only role), who appeared briefly as local celebrity Sanford Butler-Jones, was cast simply because he was the film crew’s coke dealer. 

*** Fun Fact #2: Even the most casual movie fans will likely notice Manfredini’s Psycho-influenced score from The Children shares many similarities to his composition for Friday the 13^th (minus the “chh, chh, chh, hah, hah, hah” chorus).

Radioactive steam leaking from a nearby nuclear power plant creates a toxic yellow cloud, which settles on the outskirts of the sleepy town of Ravensback. A school bus full of unsuspecting kids drives through the cloud, setting the plot in motion. When Sheriff Billy Hart (Gil Rogers)* discovers the bus on the side of the road, sans driver and kids, he’s tasked with the unenviable job of notifying the (mostly) incredulous parents. Meanwhile, the children roam the countryside in a transformed state, searching for their parents. With dark circles around their eyes and black fingernails, they look like they just had a goth makeover (but they’re not here to sing about happy houses or Bela Lugosi). Their embrace means death to any unfortunate adult who happens to get too close – faster than you can say, “Three Mile Island,” they’re burned alive. When his deputy succumbs to the children, Sheriff Hart teams up with concerned parent John Fremont (Marting Shakar) to locate the missing children and find a way to deal with the pint-sized terrors.    

* Fun Fact #3: According to Albright, Kevin McCarthy was originally considered for the role of Sheriff Hart, but discussions ultimately went nowhere.

After Hart and Fremont witness the trail of death caused by the kids, they’re faced with an unsavory dilemma – the children are arguably no longer their children, but by all appearances (minus the black fingernails, perhaps), they still are. Although the children are slow-moving and thus easy to evade, their greatest asset is that they appear deceptively innocuous and loving (Who could resist a hug from their kid?). Because the children are impervious to bullets, the sheriff and Fremont devise an impromptu solution to confront the kids with the deadly touch, involving an axe and a katana.*   

* I don’t want to give it away, but let’s just say it’s quite disarming (I’ll see myself out).

 

Albright seemed less than enamored with Shakar’s interpretation of the character John Fremont, claiming the actor somehow made a sympathetic role unsympathetic (“It wasn’t the John Fremont that Ed and I wrote, but it was what me made it into… which was fine.”). Based on Shakar’s performance, it’s easy to agree. He’s a hotheaded creep who barks orders at his pregnant wife (“Make the damn coffee!”) and treats the sheriff like his personal chauffeur. He really drops the ball when he neglects to keep an eye on his son Clarkie (played by director of photography Barry Abrams’ son, Jessie), who’s visited by one of the children (appearing at his bedroom window in a shot reminiscent of an iconic scene from Salem’s Lot). But the Parent of the Year award goes to a missing girl’s self-obsessed mother, Dee Dee (Rita Montone), for her conspicuous lack of concern when the sheriff informs her that her daughter is missing. Instead of reacting like most fearful parents, she appears to be tickled by the prospect of her daughter’s possible kidnapping, and how exciting it would be for their small town.  

The Children shares more than a few superficial similarities with Night of the Living Dead (1968). The first attack occurs in a graveyard, and the children roam the countryside like mindless zombies, searching for more victims. When faced with the prospect of destroying the children, the adults are confronted with the existential dilemma that the children, as they knew them, no longer exist. Also, in a budget-conscious choice that tells rather than shows, a TV news reports suggests the incidents are much more widespread. Unlike George Romero’s horror classic, The Children isn’t particularly suspenseful or scary. Attacks by the slow-moving kids with their outstretched arms elicit more chuckles than chills. Nevertheless, The Children, despite its deficits, manages to wind its way under your skin, thanks to the very real concerns about contamination from nuclear power plants, negligent parents, and fears about our future in the hands of our children. Ultimately, the film bites off more than it can chew, but if you don’t dive too deeply, it’s an enjoyable 90 minutes.

 

Sources for this article: Vinegar Syndrome Blu-ray commentary by Carlton J. Albright, “Childhood Memories: Making the Children” (2018 short), Interview with Carlton J. Albright (2005)

 

 

Pontypool

 

(2008) Directed by Bruce McDonald; Written by Tony Burgess; Based on the novel Pontypool Changes Everything, by Tony Burgess; Starring: Stephen McHattie, Lisa Houle, Georgina Reilly and Hrant Alianak; Available on Blu-ray and DVD 

Rating: **** 

“I think that you want to start from a ridiculous place… You start from an enormous set of restrictions that are just impossible to deal with, and if you can make that succeed, then it’s only a matter of how big do you want to make it for that experience to be satisfying… The challenge is, we have to make everything work, a siege, the end of the world, enormous countries involved, and levels of media, all work in a six-by-six-inch space. If you can do that, from a writing perspective, and make it sort of have all these rhythms and paces and action… How much bigger do you have to go before an audience buys it – and don’t go bigger, because you’re gonna lose the tight knots of the original principle.” – Bruce McDonald (from DVD commentary)

Can words be weaponized? In elementary school we’re all taught that “sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” Carrying that mindset to the fractious world of internet discourse, some individuals claim words only have power if we give them power (which seems a convenient excuse for oppressors to continue their verbal onslaught, while eschewing any semblance of accountability). But what if words could kill? Such is the premise of Pontypool, a zombie film like no other.

It’s a particularly miserable, blustery winter morning in the normally quiet rural community of Pontypool, Ontario. As talk radio DJ Grant Mazzy (Stephen McHattie) prepares for his shift at CLSY, something is awry during his morning drive. He stops to exchange words with a woman wandering in the snow, behaving erratically and gibbering, but she disappears almost as soon as she appears. It soon dawns on Mazzy that her behavior isn’t as anomalous as he suspected, but a symptom of a much larger problem. He begins the morning show amidst news reports of strange occurrences around town. While Mazzy and his co-workers try to make sense out of the senselessness, the situation outside the confines of their radio station becomes explosive, with reports of people turning into zombies compelled to kill. Their worst fears are confirmed when impromptu guest Dr. Mendez (Hrant Alianak), at once fascinated and terrified by the sudden progression of events, describes the epidemic as a disease.

Screenwriter Tony Burgess (who adapted his own novel) thought of the film’s title after driving through the unincorporated area of Pontypool. Intrigued with semiotics (how words symbolized abstractions and objects), Burgess latched onto the concept that the name “Pontypool” lent itself to distortion, with the word “typo” in the middle. The film’s disease is transmitted through specific words (or a specific combination), which carry a virus of sorts.* The infected brain sends the afflicted individual into endless loops, “seeking” the solace of others, in a misguided effort to purge the semantic demons inside. Unlike the mindless, half-dead, brain-eating sort of monsters depicted in most zombie movies, Pontypool’s zombies are emotional creatures – their distorted speech is a desperate cry for help. 

* Fun Fact #1: Director Bruce McDonald described three components of distorted communication, as it relates to a character in the film: 1) The thing she meant to say, 2) What she actually said, followed by 3) How she reacted to the things she said.

McHattie is perfectly cast as shock jock Mazzy,* who, with his grizzled appearance, looks like he just crawled out of a honkytonk bar. He’s been around the block a few too many times, bumped around from several stations in the process (we get a clue to his past, as he prepares for the morning ahead with a shot of booze in his morning coffee). His current stint could be the end of the road for his career, but he’s still something of a diva, accustomed to big city audiences (He bristles at hosting a low-rent musical comedy act, chock-full of unfortunate Middle-Eastern stereotypes). Mazzy employs his self-professed “take no prisoners” approach, which involves inciting his listeners into debate, much to the irritation of station manager Sydney Briar (Lisa Houle).** Briar, who’s not amused by his antics, acts more like a zoo keeper than his boss, attempting to rein in his bad behavior, before he alienates the rural community where everyone knows everyone else. They become unlikely allies when their co-worker, technical assistant/gulf war veteran Laurel-Ann Drummond (Georgina Reilly), succumbs to the disease. 

* Fun Fact #2: McDonald’s original vision was to make Mazzy’s face the center of the film, with all other characters off-screen. 

** Fun Fact #3: In real life, Houle is married to McHattie.

 

McDonald described Pontypool as an “action film in a six-inch space.” Because of the small cast, largely confined to the radio studio, Pontypool is much more intimate than most other films in this genre, exploiting its low-budget trappings to its advantage. We don’t have the big picture, or the luxury of wide-angle vistas, with hordes of the infected storming the snowy landscape and overwhelming unsuspecting victims. Instead, we’re right there with a few frightened individuals as the event rapidly unfolds. Pontypool takes the tired zombie genre and sets it askew, bringing something almost miraculous to the well-worn subgenre, an ingeniously original concept. It’s a uniquely unsettling experience that might leave you unconsciously watching your words.  

The Blind Dead Tetralogy

“Do you remember the voodoo rites? Faust, and all those who make pacts with the evil spirit do so with blood. The knights performed human sacrifices, consummating the offering with a virgin’s blood. Now they’ve awakened from the beyond, and without eyes to see, they find their victims by the sounds they make, and continue to offer human sacrifices to their evil master.” – Professor Candal (Francisco Sanz) (from Tombs of the Blind Dead)

With the advent of the Blind Dead films, Spanish filmmaker Amando de Ossorio introduced a new form of zombie, an eyeless, ambulatory half-ghost/half-living dead being. Over the course of the four installments, the re-animated corpses underwent several permutations, but followed a common thread. In one way or another, Templar knights make a pact with the forces of evil, and as a stipulation of their unearthly contract, must feed off the blood of virgins to stay alive.

Of course, all of this undead mayhem requires a certain suspension of disbelief. As the slow-moving corpses inexorably make their way toward their screaming victims, we all know their prey have ample time to escape, but that’s not really the point of these movies. The knights represent the inevitability of fate and grappling with forces beyond our control. Why are their victims so passive? I’m not an historian or global politics buff, so I might be going out on a limb when I propose this series of films was de Ossorio’s veiled response to Franco’s fascist regime. The Templar knights seem to represent the stranglehold the pre-1975 Spanish government held over its citizens. Living in constant fear of reprisal, the citizens resorted to learned helplessness as a dysfunctional coping mechanism. The few malcontents who attempt to battle the knights usually meet terrible ends, so not fighting them seems the only sane response.

Tombs of the Blind Dead (aka: La Noche del Terror Ciego) (1971) Directed by Amando de Ossorio; Written by Amando de Ossorio and Jesús Navarro Carrión; Starring: César Burner, Lone Fleming, María Elena Arpón, José Thelman and Francisco Sanz

Available on DVD

Rating: ***½

In de Ossorio’s first film, two old friends, Bette and Virginia (Lone Fleming and María Elena Arpón) meet at a resort in Portugal, and decide to embark on a camping trip. When Bette’s boyfriend Roger (César Burner) enters the mix, it stirs up long dormant memories in Virginia (the European cut includes a flashback scene where Bette and Virginia experience a brief lesbian tryst during their college days). They take a train together, but Virginia unwisely decides to disembark midway before their destination. She ends up in an old, abandoned village that was once the domain of the ancient Templars, and meets her untimely demise.

The rest of the film shifts the focus to Bette and Roger, as they attempt to uncover the mystery of the strange village and Virginia’s death. We learn about the 14^th century Templar knights, who returned from Egypt with the secrets of eternal life. Their sadistic rituals became legend, and kept the surrounding locales gripped in fear through the present day. Centuries after they were destroyed, the knights rise from their crypts to exact revenge against the living.

Compared to the later entries in the series, Tombs of the Blind Dead is the most artful of the bunch, containing some fancy shots and inventive murders. Borrowing from the Italian thrillers of the period, the film has a distinctive giallo vibe. In one memorable scene, an employee in Bette’s mannequin shop is stalked by Virginia’s reanimated corpse (the shop is conveniently located next to a morgue), with the room bathed in flashes of red light from a neon sign. You can run from the Templars, but escape from their wrath is futile. As the haunting final scene asserts, death is the only option when you cross their path.

* Fun fact: In a lame effort to cash in on the success of the Planet of the Apes movies, Tombs of the Blind Dead was marketed in the U.S. as Revenge from Planet Ape, despite the film’s conspicuous absence of ape-men.

The Return of the Evil Dead (aka: El Ataque de los Muertos Sin Ojos) (1973) Written and directed by Amando de Ossorio; Starring: Tony Kendall, Fernando Sancho, Esperanza Roy and Frank Braña; Available on DVD

Rating: ***½ 

This worthy follow-up to Tombs of the Blind Dead more or less picks up where the last one left off, but throws the Templar knights’ origins out the window (in the original film, the Templars were hanged, and crows ate their eyes out, but in the second entry, the knights are burned). The film is set in the small Portuguese town of Bouzano, where an annual celebration is held to commemorate the citizens’ victory over the knights centuries ago. But wouldn’t ‘ya know it? The legend about the knights rising from their graves to wreak havoc turns out to be true.

The Return of the Evil Dead aims for action over art. Once again, the knights are easy to escape, but the passive townspeople quickly succumb to them. For some unexplained reason, the knights’ numbers seem to have multiplied, compared to the first film. What once started as a small group of murderous demon knights now appears to be a few dozen.  The survivors huddle together in a monastery, in a vain attempt to barricade themselves from the undead hordes. Similar to Night of the Living Dead, this confinement brings out the worst in a select few, notably the loathsome mayor Duncan (Fernando Sancho). In his effort to escape the clutches of the knights, he uses one of his willing civil servants, along with a young girl, as pawns. Things don’t go well for Duncan.  

The Ghost Galleon (aka: El Buque Maldito) (1974) Written and directed by Amando de Ossorio; Starring: Maria Perschy, Jack Taylor, Bárbara Rey, Carlos Lemos and Blanca Estrada; Available on DVD

Rating: **½ 

The Ghost Galleon (which also went by the more generic title, Horror of the Zombies) is easily the weakest of the four Blind Dead films, thanks to a feeble story and sloth-like pacing. It’s notable only for the novel setting, and an endless parade of polyester fashion atrocities. As part of a millionaire’s (Jack Taylor) ill-advised publicity stunt, two fashion models are stranded on the open ocean, and encounter a (presumably) deserted 16^th century sailing vessel, shrouded in fog.* As it turns out, the ship’s captain was a devotee of the Templar knights, and transported their bodies across the ocean (to where, it’s never made clear).

* I couldn’t help but speculate if this movie provided some inspiration for John Carpenter’s superior take on similar subject matter, The Fog.

Compared to its two predecessors, most of the film is painfully dull. I understand the need for dramatic tension, but that shouldn’t constitute the bulk of the picture. It takes almost half of its 90-minute running time for something to occur. When it happens, it’s a welcome respite, but we’re not invested enough in any of the characters to care. The final scene is suitably unsettling, but it doesn’t excuse the glacial scenes that preceded it. What should have been a tense, claustrophobic excursion into horror turns out to be an uninspired, pointless exercise in tedium.  

The Night of the Seagulls (aka: La Noche de las Gaviotas) (1975) Written and directed by Amando de Ossorio; Starring: Víctor Petit, María Kosty, Sandra Mozarowsky, José Antonio Calvo and Julia Saly; Available on DVD

Rating: *** 

The fourth and final entry in the Blind Dead series is an improvement over the previous film, although by this time the concept is wearing a little thin. Unlike the former film, The Night of the Seagulls jumps right into the action, albeit on a familiar note (ho-hum, another sacrificial altar scene). Once again, instead of maintaining continuity between each of his Blind Dead installments, de Ossorio casts a slightly different spin on the mythos of the Templar knights. This film asserts the knights originated from France 600 years ago. In a nod to Lovecraft, they worship an undersea god (who resembles a frog).

A doctor and his wife (Víctor Petit and María Kosty) move to an isolated seaside village populated by suspicious, unfriendly people. They observe a procession of cloaked figures on the beach, which turns out to be part of a seven-day ritual to appease the undead knights. The village’s silence and strict adherence to a barbaric tradition serves as a warning against complacency and blind acquiescence to the group.

The sexist, thick-headed doctor is the film’s weakest link. Instead of choosing to believe her suspicions about the townspeople, he chooses to chalk off his wife’s concerns to hysteria. As a result, it takes forever for him to arrive at the realization that something’s amiss, and plan an escape. While it occasionally stumbles, Night of the Seagulls is a fitting final entry in the series, concluding on a hopeful note. The closing scene reminds us it’s possible to break a chain, but it requires a new approach to an old problem.

Double Take: Night of the Living Dead

Night of the Living Dead (1968) Directed by: George A. Romero; Written by George A. Romero and John A. Russo; Starring: Duane Jones, Judith O’Dea, Karl Hardman and Marilyn Eastman

Available on Blu-ray (Import), DVD and Netflix Streaming

Rating: *****

Night of the Living Dead (1990) Directed by: Tom Savini; Written by George A. Romero; Based on the original 1968 screenplay by George A. Romero and John A. Russo; Starring: Tony Todd, Patricia Tallman and Tom Towles

Available on Blu-ray (Out of print), DVD and Amazon Instant Video

Rating: ****

“The only reason to do the fantasy film or horror film is to upset the order, upset the balance of things… and it seemed to me the formula was always to restore order… which seems counterproductive to what you’re doing initially, which is why it made sense to me to have Night of the Living Dead have this tragic and ironic ending.” – George Romero (from the documentary, Birth of the Living Dead)

“People go to movies to see things happen, not listening to people talk. Unless of course, you’re watching My Dinner with Andre.” – Tom Savini (from DVD commentary for Night of the Living Dead remake)

Ho, hum… another Night of the Living Dead review? How original. Barry must be losing it...Wait! Come back! It’s not what you think. No, really. Yes, we all know how the original Night of the Living Dead was a groundbreaking achievement for its time, which established the rules for subsequent zombie flicks.* Compared to the zombie films of yesteryear, George A. Romero’s re-animated dead were not the product of voodoo or magic, but a man-made disaster (explained as a Venus probe). In the 1990 remake by Romero protégé Tom Savini (from a script by Mr. Romero himself), the cause is never made clear, and left to speculation by the characters (chemical spill, Armageddon, mass insanity). But how does Savini’s version stack up against the 1968 version? Instead of reviewing one or the other, let’s compare them on their relative merits…

* Not counting Dan O’Bannon’s semi-sequel, Return of the Living Dead, which refuted the notion that a re-animated corpse could be dispatched with a shot to the brain.

Social Relevance

The 1968 version of Night of the Living Dead is very much a product of its time, reflecting the prevailing confusion and violence that marked that turbulent era. Romero claimed he and his fellow filmmakers didn’t set out to make a racial statement, or make overt commentary about the socio-political unrest of the ‘60s, but alas, there it is on display. The lead character Ben (Duane Jones) wasn’t expressly written as a black or white man, but nevertheless, the inclusion of a black protagonist was hailed as forward thinking for the time. The zombie-hunting militia members resemble a lynch mob more than an organized group.

In contrast to the original, Savini’s version implied a class differential between the survivors in the house. Harry and Helen Cooper (Tom Towles and McKee Anderson) are dressed as if they had just attended a soiree, while Tom and Judy’s (William Butler and Katie Finneran) appearance reflects their rural, working class origins. These differences are only superficial, however, when society begins to crumble. It’s clear we’re all in it together, as Barbara (Patricia Tallman) utters the chilling line, “They’re us. We’re them, and they’re us.”

Verdict: Original

Strong Female Characters

I think it’s safe to say the original Barbara* (Judith O’Dea) is no one’s favorite. She’s passive at best, and in a semi-catatonic state for most of the film’s duration, lapsing into consciousness only to ramble about her brother Johnny. Admittedly, she wasn’t very lucid to begin with, but she never improves. If Romero didn’t do any favors for female protagonists in the original film, he and Savini (working from Romero’s script) rectified this, with a new improved Barbara, as interpreted by Tallman.** The opening scene implies that she’s in danger of following in the footsteps of her cinematic predecessor as she lapses into a quivering mess. Then something snaps, as Barbara evolves into a badass, taking an active role in fighting off the growing undead horde and refusing to remain a victim. To a lesser extent, Katie Finneran’s version of Judy is an improvement over the co-dependent original, played by Judith Ridley. She screams too much, but at least she’s not dead weight (sorry about the pun), taking time from shrieking to help board the windows and drive the ill-fated pickup.

* Technically, O’Dea’s character is credited as “Barbra,” while her updated counterpart is named “Barbara.”

** Tallman was the first person Savini cast for his film. His decision was likely motivated by his first encounter with Tallman during their college years, when he recalled (in his DVD commentary) she was “kicking the shit out of her boyfriend.” ‘Nuff said.

                                                                                     

Verdict: Remake

Makeup Effects

The original gets an A for effort, but you can’t deny the leap forward in practical effects in the remake. Although he’s not credited with the top-notch effects (supervised by Everett Burrell and John Vulich), Savini’s extensive expertise as a makeup artist undoubtedly shaped the look of the film’s gorier moments (one memorable scene involves a zombie with fresh autopsy incisions). Savini’s constant battles with the MPAA over excessive gore resulted in his adoption of a “less is more” approach. On the other hand, you can’t deny the ’68 version’s ingenuity, which had everyone performing double duty. Karl Hardman and Marilyn Eastman, who played the perennially squabbling couple, Harry and Helen, also worked on the makeup. Romero himself pitched in, creating a clay zombie hand. Although he wasn’t too impressed with the results, it works well within the frenzied confines of the scene. And when fake wasn’t good enough for some scenes, it’s hard to top real guts from a butcher shop to elevate the gross-out factor.

Verdict: Remake

Performances

The first film gets a lot of unfair criticism for the uneven (some might say amateurish) performances by the actors. Duane Jones’ riveting performance as Ben was the glue that held the first film together. His monologue about his first encounter with a group of the walking corpses, told with icy conviction, really sets the scene for the audience about the extent of the undead invasion. Co-producers Karl Hardman and Russell Streiner are credible as temperamental basement proponent Harry and the Barbara-tormenting Johnny. In the 1990 version, the best performances are shared by the two leads. Tony Todd does a fine job following in Jones’ footsteps as Ben, conveying his role with passion and world weariness. As Barbara, Tallman turns in the most surprising performance, as her character experiences the most growth.  

While the acting is more consistent in the remake, I prefer some of the performers’ choices in the original. Streiner’s version of Johnny was more playful, doing typical older brother stuff, while remake Johnny (Bill Moseley) just seemed like an obnoxious jerk. Tom Towles is a bit over the top with his bug-eyed portrayal of Harry. Ben and Harry’s animosity is firmly established from their first scene together, but the conflict between seems forced at times.

Verdict: Tie

Overall Effectiveness

The black and white cinematography goes a long way toward setting the original’s somber mood. Shot on 35 mm stock and edited on 16 mm, the end result resembles old newsreel footage, adding a layer of authenticity and creating a sense of immediacy. Due to budgetary constraints, the 1968 version benefits from Romero’s “guerrilla” filmmaking, often done on the fly with single takes. Compared to its predecessor’s documentary-style feel, the remake is more polished and professional in appearance. It’s a solid, albeit more calculated effort. Also, what was once so trailblazing could never seem as fresh again. By the time of the remake’s release, audiences were accustomed to Romero’s brand of zombies on screen, and knew what to expect. Compared to the 1968 original, the 1990 version’s ending doesn’t have the same impact. The original’s ironic ending is a punch in the gut; every time I watch it my objective self knows what’s about to happen, but my subjective self always hopes for a different outcome.

Verdict: Original

On the surface the idea of remaking a genre classic seemed to be a risky, if not foolhardy, venture. With legions of built-in fans for the 1968 original, Savini’s version was sure to polarize some individuals, but as it turns out, both versions can peacefully co-exist. You can’t beat the real thing, but Savini does right by Romero’s original, with some clever nods here and there. Savini created a solid horror film that’s quick-paced and scary. It’s an efficient machine, with a healthy dose of social relevance thrown in. Romero’s original, however, is the gold standard by which all other zombie films are judged – not a bad legacy for a low-budget effort by some first-time feature filmmakers from Pittsburgh.  Despite some claims to the contrary, both versions prove the venerable zombie genre is alive and well (groan!). By definition, zombies are a blank slate, where we can impart our fears, suspicions and socio-political agendas. If Night of the Living Dead is any indication, the genre will likely continue to thrive and experience numerous iterations for decades to come.