Best Horror Films Of The Year - 2010

Honorable Mention (Part 2 of 2)

I know this list is getting in a little late, but such is life when you start a website in December,
weeks away from that time of year when you write these lists. We'll be rolling out the "Best of.."
in installments, or as we can get them written. I thought perhaps it might be irrelevant at this
point, but then I reasoned that no, it's not. Most of these films still remain unseen by the majority of viewers and many of them have yet to even receive an official release stateside.
At first I wasn't going to have just thirteen films (Why thirteen? Because I can.) on this years "Best of..." list (strange considering that so many others have bemoaned the fact that this has been such a "lackluster" year for the genre). There was going to be anywhere from twenty onwards. I was going to choose the notables and throw them out there free from numerical order or preference. Yes, I know, CHAOS! So, I re-thunk it and decided that at the very least I could provide our readership a more concise "Best of the Best" top thirteen and compile the rest as honorable mentions (there is still no numerical preference though. I'm not lazy, just eternally indecisive).
But before we get to those top thirteen movies, herein lies the remaining films that really wowed me.



Paranormal Activity 2
If you've seen Oren Peli's Paranormal Activity, you should really already know what you are getting yourself into with this. Which is to say, expect more of the same (and that's not necessarily a bad thing, but more on that in a moment). If, after viewing the original, you endured many a sleepless night, went to bed with the lights on or boarded up the entrance to your attic crawl space, well then buckle up, because "your sleepless nights are about to return" (my husband maintains this is the most accurate truth in advertising ever conceived). Or if, after viewing the original, you walked away feeling hoodwinked into parting with your hard earned cash for something that looked as though it cost less than what you paid to see it, setting off on a "that's the biggest pile of over-hyped, not scary in the least, waste of time I've ever sat through" rant (or something approximating that), well then buckle up, because your blood is yet again going to boil. It should be said at the outset, that we here at The October Country were big fans of the first Paranormal Activity. We admired it's no budget ingenuity and subtle, delicately handled approach to the art of making one's hair stand on end (not to speak of how it affected my husband Daniel, who literally made me endure sleeping in a well lit bedroom for over a week, surely a sincere endorsement if ever there was one). So, the biggest question (and concern) on our part when news that a Hollywood sequel was on the fast track, was just how badly are they going to fuck with, and mess up the formula that worked so well in the original. Certainly, it's a near unavoidable mistake (judging from the evidence that lines video store shelves) that studio after studio can't seem to help themselves from making. What with their adage of "make it bigger, bigger, bigger" seemingly being the only thinking that steers these ships. Not that making something bigger on the second go round, because you now are afforded the money to do so, is always a mistake (take Aliens or Terminator 2: Judgment Day, for instance). However, what makes a movie like Paranormal Activity work so efficiently, is a very specific approach to the proceedings that doesn't exactly lend itself to the heavyweight, big budget leanings of a multi-million dollar Hollywood studio (lest we forget how these people think, initially Paramount Pictures, after buying the original film for $350,000, was going to re-make the property, filling it with big name stars and generally giving it a special effects overblown-overhaul). Nor is messing with a franchise's formula (established or otherwise) always a bad thing (for certain interested parties anyway). The very maxim that gets butts into theater seats for sequels (that we are going to see exactly what we liked so much before) thus making the equipage a cash cow for the studio (they win) is also the very practice that contributes to the law of diminishing returns (having now seen the same thing played out over and over with decidedly less imagination, we the audience don't, win that is). It's a balancing act. Even by the third or fourth entry, a franchise like Friday the 13th (for example) could use a shot in the arm. Yet, when that deviation from the formula occurred, thirteen whopping years and eight sequels later, in the form of Jason Goes to Hell: The Final Friday, fans cried foul (though not this one, I quite liked it). Likewise, the genius, and truly original (in terms of what came before it in it's own namesake) New Nightmare was a box office failure. Or we could just go to the top of the proverbial heap in regards to sequels that depart so greatly from their source material that they defy all expectations (and not in a good way); Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2. That Paranormal Activity 2 could and should have been another misbegotten train wreck (with no survivors) of a film in the vein of Book of Shadows was all but certain. Their trajectories are so similar (a micro-budgeted horror movie shot in the hand held, cinéma vérité style of shockumentary film making, whose chills rely more on what you don't see rather than what you do, coming out of nowhere and going on to become on of the most successful, profitable independent hits of all time). It was impossible not to imagine Paranormal Activity 2 stinking up the place proceeding it's arrival into theaters, but unlike the handling of the Blair Witch sequel (from which, the once promising franchise has never recovered), somehow, someway, Paranormal Activity 2 avoids every pratfall that it should have stumbled into from the outset. Though it's budget is significantly bigger than it's predecessor, you won't necessarily notice this on screen. Perhaps it all went to catering because the studio didn't go the "bigger" route here; nuance and atmosphere are kept as the key element in fear making, as important as they ever were (crash #1 averted). It sticks to the formula of part one, avoiding becoming both a tiresome rehash (functioning more as a prequel in it's first half and then in it's later moments running parallel to the events that plagued Katie and Micah) while adding some new wrinkles to what already has become a franchise mythology (crash #2 averted). So, while in essence, nothing new or groundbreaking takes place here, the film makers choosing to stick to what was so wildly successful before, fashion yet another insanely creepy, horror gem. In recent memory, only Jaume Balagueró's & Paco Plaza's [REC] 2 has done this good a job of capturing lightning in a bottle twice. Before I go, beware Paranormal 2's kitchen-bound set piece; without a doubt the best, most effective "jump scare" of 2010. Now if someone could convince my husband to dim the lights before bedtime. Again.




Monsters
And now, for a monster movie of a completely different sort. Strictly talking terms of what someone can accomplish with very, very little (the budget reportedly came in at under $500,000), there is no question that Gareth Edward's science-fiction / horror love story Monsters is the most impressive film released within the genre last year. No question about it, hands down without a doubt. Don't argue, just continue. After a NASA deep space probe crashes back to earth, bearing with it alien lifeforms that grow (boy do they grow) and spread throughout the US - Mexico border region, the northern half of Mexico is quarantined. As the US and Mexico militaries battle to contain the creatures, a wall stretching along the American border is constructed, "protecting" the United States from further invasion. Into this mess enters Andrew (Scoot McNairy), a cynical American photojournalist who is hired by his wealthy employer to escort the latter's daughter Samantha (Whitney Able) safely from San Jose, Central America back home to the US. Andrew has no interest in being the woman's "babysitter" while Samantha herself seems reluctant to return, seeing as how her arrival back in the States will further along an engagement to a fiance her heart is at odds with marrying.
Through a series of mishaps, Andrew and Samantha are left stranded in Mexico with no recourse but to hire a heavily armed brigade of soldiers for hire to lead them by land, road and water to the end of their destination. A journey that leads them all straight through the most infected and alien populated region of the country. However, if they do not leave the country within a few days, sea and air travel will be blocked and they will have to wait six months before safe travel is possible.The clock is ticking. As we have noted elsewhere on The October Country; "Those expecting a balls out monster movie will be sadly disappointed, but those in the mood for a quieter, more reflective film about how love can spark in the most unlikely, direst of situations are in for a real treat". Truer words may never have been committed to form on this site. In a refreshing (and nearly groundbreaking) turn of events, the titular monsters take a backseat here while the burgeoning romance between Andrew and Samantha takes center stage. You've seen enough genre films dear reader to know that it is always the other way around. Romances and meet-cute scenarios are shoehorned again and again into 99.9% of every horror film ad nauseum. The leading man and the leading lady are assuredly always going to hook up and stumble off into the morning sunrise together. Bruised, beaten, and caked with blood, our young heroes leave behind them the dead bodies of friends and neighbors and undoubtedly a night of terror only to walk ahead into an imagined future together, sealed with a flirtatious, pithy one liner. As far as this tiresome, screenwriting cliche is concerned, color me over it. I know the presence of gore and guts arouse some amongst us, but come on, amidst the never ending carnage that most horror films dish out, how do these people manage to find romance time and time again while fighting for their lives? Well, Monsters is now here to answer that burning question and the fact that McNairy and Able were real life lovers at the time of filming, only adds to the authenticity of their romantic interaction. Though the film is never particularly scary (there is tension and suspense yes; an alien attack on the convoy, tossing trucks and jeeps into the sky like matchbox cars, is especially nerve shredding), what it lacks in the fright factors that could have scared the bejeezus out of it's audience, it makes up for by moving them in an utterly different manner. In the end, what this writer found ultimately so notable about Monsters, is that it convincingly adds another voice to the argument that horror films (and the genre in general), are capable of elevating themselves above and beyond the ghetto (disrespected and beloved in equal measure) that so many people (critics, holier-than-though film makers, and fans) seem determined to keep it in. We all love our brainless slashers films full of numskull characters doing the absolute stupidest thing possible, not to speak of one-note cinematic bloodbaths and SFX gore extravaganzas. We love our safe, comforting formulas and seen-it-all-before plot devices. But every now and then, it's really lovely when a movie like Monsters comes along and reminds us that the genre as a whole can be so much more than the sum of it's parts.




Splice
Oh David Cronenberg, how the genre has missed your unique input. Oh wait I mean, Vincenzo Natali, how you continue to impress me sir, whether you are (successfully) riffing on the Canadian whiz-bang or not. All but abandoned in the theaters by fans (c'mon people, what is up with you these days, are you only attending showings of atrocious re-makes so you can bitch about them online, leaving everything else to fend for itself), Splice is surely one of the best overlooked horror efforts to receive a wide release in 2010 and this after languishing on a studio shelf for years. Directed by Natali (he of Cube fame, a masterpiece) Splice stars the talented Adrian Brody and the incomparable Sarah Polley as Clive Nicoli and Elsa Kast, married genetic engineers hoping to achieve fame by successfully splicing together the DNA of different animals to create new hybrid animals for medical use. They want to use human DNA in a hybrid that could revolutionize science and medicine but are forbidden to do so by the pharmaceutical company that funds their research, N.E.R.D. (Nucleic Exchange Research and Development, cute). Rebellious to their core and fearful of spending a lifetime weighed down in mundane research, they secretly continue to conduct their experiments, blending animal DNA with that of humans. Before long, a truly horrendous breakthrough occurs and Clive and Elsa are welcoming into the world what essentially amounts to their newborn "child", Dren (nerd spelled backwards) who exceeds their expectations in every way. Take a helping of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein and add dashes of Cronenberg-esque meditations on gender, sexuality and body politics (in addition to the wintertime, snow-blanketed landscapes that recall the best of Cronenberg's cold & sterile Canadian productions), and what your have is Splice. It's remarkable how unassuming the film is from the outset seeing as how it was initially marketed as a Species clone. You enter this unnerving world of science-eventuality, at first expecting the usual laundry list of "man shan't play god" sentiments and your standard sci-fi tropes of wonderment followed by "dear lord what have we done" realizations, and get blindsided at about the halfway mark by some seriously unexpected forays into taboo sexuality and nicely realized dark characterizations. The nasty twists and excellently choreographed surprises continue unabated right up until Splice's disturbing climax, the final 3 minutes of which (and depending on your predilection for such denouements) is the only time this exceptional film stumbles. If you were one of the many that stayed away in theaters, it's definitely time to rectify that glaring mistake and discover this under-appreciated jewel on home video.




Never Sleep Again: The Elm Street Legacy
Knocking yet another one straight out of the park, Thommy Hutson, Daniel Farrands and Andrew Kasch, the team that worked on His Name Was Jason (the definitive Friday the 13th retrospective) returns to give horrrodom's other famous namesake the royal treatment in what is surely the final word on everything Freddy Krueger. The exhaustive documentary (clocking in at over 4 hours, with a a second disc of special features and extended interviews lasting just as long) leaves no stone unturned, gathering the principal casts and crews (nearly everybody, save for Johnny Depp and Patricia Arquette, who are non too suspiciously absent, what with their big famous celebrity fancy pants they wear these days) from every Nightmare film for lengthy discussions and remembrances on one of cinema's most famous and loved (and feared) madmen. This Fredheads, is your wet dream. Certainly the only film this year that when it arrived by mail at my door, sent your host into fits of jumping up and down and hollering about the house to my husband "It's here! It's here!". No mater how much you think you knew about the Elm Street series, there is certainly going to be a wealth of revelations fresh to every fan. Heather Langenkamp (who also served as Never Sleep Again's executive producer) is the documentary's narrator, guiding us through the making of all 8 endeavors, the short lived late night television spin-off Freddy's Nightmares, and other notable earmarks in the franchise's history. I'm gonna take this moment to tip my hat to Mrs. Langenkamp, who is surely one of the genre's most gracious, appreciative Scream Queens we've ever had. She may be largely known as "that girl from A Nightmare on Elm Street" but she's never once discussed her legacy with anything but the utmost respect (really, a departure from most performers who feign embarrassment over their past work in the genre).Kudos, you classy lass, we still love ya as much as we ever did. Now, if only other actors and actresses who got their start in the genre showed as much humility and appreciation... Anyway, onto the documentary's most irresistible discussion; The people responsible for and involved in the making of Nightmare's first sequel, Freddy's Revenge, finally coming clean (after years and years of pussyfooting around the matter), on the fact that intentional or not (it's intentional, surely if it originates from the film's writer, it was meant to be there from the start) Freddy's Revenge is the gayest horror film ever made (only equaled by Frank LaLoggia's Fear No Evil as far as I am concerned). The red faced participants are worth the price of admission alone, caught as they are in 2011, where even children on online message boards pick up on the film's subtext. I'm happy to know my childhood daydreams of being kept after class by sleazy Coach Schneider (Marshall Bell), DILF extraordinaire, wasn't entirely created in my own overworked *ahem* imagination...
In conclusion; a must own for every Nightmare enthusiast, no question about it.




The Possession of David O'Reilly (aka Tormented)
Misleadingly marketed as a Paranormal Activity goes to London (not helped by the fact that footage in the trailer appear to be frenzied shots of hand held cameras ala The Blair Witch Project but in actuality are hand held camera shots from the characters' point of views, think Michael Myers-vision as a classic frame of reference) The Possession of David O'Reilly is slightly similar, but ultimately it's own beast.True, the cast is nearly as small as that better known title's, and the entire film takes place within the confines of a small apartment besieged by malevolent supernatural forces. Also true is the fact that Possession relies heavily on carefully crafted nuance to achieve it chills (the old adage "what you don't see" is applicable here or rather, considering Possession does have a small amount of effective, special makeup effects, what you barely see), but that's it, I swear. What it doesn't have in common with the Paranormal Activity franchise is the degree of success with which either one of those films handled their scares. Alas, Possession is immensely effective in it's earlier, quieter moments of sweaty-palm anticipation and dread (so much so that I am including it on this list for the first two acts alone) but it loses it's way in it's later scenes of screaming and fury. Not to mention, (and granted I may have missed something and if I did please let me know dear readers), there is never a satisfactory explanation given as to why the haunted threesome of the film never attempt to leave their terrorized home. But I get ahead of myself so lets rewind shall we? When Alex (adorable boy-cub Nicholas Shaw) and Kate (Zoe Richards) welcome their troubled friend David (Giles Alderson, in an excellently nervous performance) into their home and onto their couch for a few nights following what he alleges to be troubles with his girlfriend (Francesca Fowler), they discover much too late what else David has brought with him. Soon, demonic apparitions are seen lurking on the property's garden (a moment that made my blood run cold), strange knocks at the front door plague their midnight hours, menacing phone calls are left on the answering machine and so on. Then, the horrifying forces that have followed David to his unsuspecting friends' home, really attempt to gain entry. There is a lot to admire about Andrew Cull's and Steve Isles' spooky, understated feature but ultimately by the end and despite what it does well, it veers into some unfortunately logic-stretching territory that in order for me to stay engrossed, I found myself having to say "just go with it". The Possession of David O'Reilly is undoubtedly still worth every horror fiend's attention (they can't all be 5 star masterpieces), but perhaps only after you've exhausted some of your other, far superior choices.




In Their Sleep (aka Dans ton sommeil)
One year after her teenage son's death, Sarah's (Anne Parillaud, ravishing as ever) life is in pieces. Then late one night, her car accidentally hits Arthur (Arthur Dupont, proof positive that my loins will be the death of me one day), a young man the same age as her boy, who suddenly emerges out of the forest and onto the road. Wounded and frightened, he is running from a mysterious assailant (Jean-Hugues Anglade, who's had a wide and varied career of appearing naked in feature films, this one being no exception, god bless the French), hunting him down after Arthur caught him red handed in the act of burglary...
Sarah sympathizes with him, taking him in, only to be tracked down by the burglar whose murderous rage towards Arthur forces her to take action. Unbeknownst to Sarah, things aren't quite the way they seem... but by the time she finally realizes, it is too late to turn back. Funnily enough, I came upon In Their Sleep by way of my hormones. Sitting around one day I got to thinking of titillating sex scenes from horror films (a rather time consuming preoccupation in my day to day life) and my memory drifted back to the vampire / handcuff lovemaking in John Landis' Innocent Blood. Further reflecting that that "vampire chick (Parillaud) was really smokin' hot", I immediately wondered what she had been up to as I hadn't seen her in anything else since. No sooner had I hopped online to find out, that In Their Sleep (produced by Delante Films and BR Films, the lovely folks that gave the world Frontiers and Inside) revealed itself to me, a rather well reviewed French horror film awaiting distribution in the States. I had nothing else going on that afternoon so I was on that shit in a matter of minutes. Starting from the assumption that you and I dear reader are on the same page regarding the belief that very few horror films can surprise nowadays, I went into this movie knowing next to nothing about it (positive word of mouth excluded, from the genre press anyway) and found myself, though thoroughly enthralled, always one step ahead of it's story, as I imagine you will be too. But don't let that stop you from hunting this one down. Regardless if you crack the mystery ahead of time, In Their Sleep in no less a wild, stylish ride for it. Chock full of suspenseful cat n' mouse pursuits, eroticism as only (I swear) the French have the boules to combine with this sort of material and a real humdinger of an ending, In Their Sleep is a noteworthy, if familiar, excursion into distinctly European horror cinema. Inside and Martyrs it ain't, but effective and memorable for what it is nonetheless.



We'll return shortly with a list of The October Country's worst films, biggest disappointments and favorite guilty pleasures of 2010. Until then, thanks for visiting us!

Skull Ratings:
5 Skulls - The Best
4 Skulls - Very Good
3 Skulls - Good / Average
2 Skulls - Poor
1 Skull - The Worst

Love Hurts

13 Horror Films For The Lovelorn...

...on this, Valentines Day, certainly the most horrifying holiday for thousands of people the world over. Men and women alike. Well, we here at The October Country don't celebrate the big VD, not really. We're too busy nursing our blackened, stone cold hearts below room temperature. Is it because it's a corporate creation? We never got asked to the dance? Who knows. Perhaps we're entirely too cynical (me thinks that's it). However, we have found that Valentines Day is the perfect holiday to get down with many a scary sickies. Love, unrequited and otherwise, making for a delicious, dramatic through-line in horror film after horror film for decades. Love, catalyst for a collective sky-high body count that would make Mr. Voorhees weep with envy. The heart being as it is, a deep dark well with which the blackest of human emotions can and do pour. Just think of how much cinematic bloodshed would have been spared if people had continued worshiping Eros, the god of sex and lust, as nature intended instead of stupid Cupid. I suppose David Cronenberg still would have gotten mileage of such a social practice, but few others. Certainly my genitalia has never made me homicidal (unless ya know, that's your thing) but my heart on the other hand....

Anyways and without further ado, The October Country proudly presents 13 of it's favorite archetypes of deadly devotion. Some of them classic and unmistakably great. Others mere guilty pleasures. Either way they are certain to provide an entertaining alternative to all the mushy platitudes of undying love consuming otherwise rational people today, without a doubt a sight scarier than anything contained herein.

13. Harper's Island (2008) -
Conceived as a horror / mystery / slasher stretched out over 13 episodes and 546 minutes, Harper's Island sets it's action on the isolated titular location amongst a celebration for what it supposed to be the most romantic of all romantic occasions, a wedding. At least one guest (or as many as five) are gruesomely killed off per episode (in what must have stretched network television's standards and practices to the limits) as the series marches toward it's final reveal (but not before plot twists are stacked higher than it's body count). An unexpected consequence (and real pleasure) of spending such an extended amount of time in Harper's Island's world is that, though all the typical character cliches are present for just such a endeavor i.e. the "jock", the "prankster", the "vapid pretty girl" and so on, by the series conclusion you've actually come to genuinely care about the fate of many of them (which as we all know, can only enhance suspense). A feat much harder to pull off with a film that has a 90 minute running time and more cannon fodder than you can keep straight. Endure the rather soapy initial episodes and you will be rewarded with a series that plays out like a protracted final act of any number of Friday the 13ths (yes, in this instance that is a compliment). Which is to say, due to its length, intensity that just won't quit.


12. Return of the Living Dead 3 (1993) -
Bearing little resemblance to it's predecessors, the third outing for this seminal brain munching franchise drops the comedy and tongue-in-cheek nature that came before it and instead focuses itself as a mostly effective, largely serious dark romance. Or, a slight Romeo and Juliet for the zombie set. When Curt's (J. Trevor Edmond) girlfriend Julie (Scream Queen Melinda Clarke) is accidentally killed in a motorcycle accident our young hero does what any heartbroken teenager would do in such an instance; break into his father's military base and revive his dearly departed with the aid of 2-4-5 Trioxin gas, naturally. It isn't long before Julie begins turning her decaying body into a pincushion of self mutilation out of an effort to curb her desire to devour everyone in her path (the pain quells the hunger, you see), including her beau. Released to generally positive reviews back in the day, part 3 remains the only other high note in Return's history and the last one worth anybody's time before the franchise devolved into insufferable mediocrity. A hidden gem!


11. Mulholland Dr. (2001) -
Deceptive in so many ways, one thing that Mulholland Dr. hides beneath all it's mystery and ghastly, surreal horror is that at it's core, it is a love story. As much as it is an allegory about Hollywood being the city of broken dreams (accent on dreams), David Lynch's labyrinthine masterpiece also reveals how far one will go to mend a broken heart, not to speak of the fantastical delusions they will spin to protect themselves from it's unbearable pain. Bizarre, frightening, erotic, thought provoking and immensely felt, by the time the final tragedy unfolds and Angelo Badalementi's moving score swells to soaring heights, you'll be hard pressed to ignore that lump in the back of your throat as the film freezes on it's last, ethereal closing image; the realization of love and companionship in much happier times. Even if it was all a dream born of heartache.


10. Bride of Chucky (1998) -
A real shot in the arm to an all but dead, dormant franchise, Bride of Chucky sees our demonic Good Guy Chucky (Brad Douriff) make his long awaited return to the screen, though with a new wrinkle (and sidekick); Chucky is reunited with an old flame, who just happens to be an equally unbalanced psychopath. And once Tiffany (Jennifer Tilly, a hoot) , his betrothed, is made as diminutive as he, woe be unto anyone who crosses their pint sized path. Steering the series into more comedic territory, writer Don Mancini (who has been with the franchise every step of the way) expertly alternates the abundance of humor and scares insomuch that we here at The October Country count Bride as one of the all time great horror / comedy balancing acts. Undoubtedly the horror genre is positively littered with mad couples brought together through their mutual lust for death and destruction (Mickey and Mallory, Billy and Stu) but none of them holds a candle to this pairing, beyond a doubt one of the bloody funnest couples in horror movie history. "I give them six months, three if she gains weight". Smart, biting satire.


9. Deadgirl (2008) -
As far as portraits of lonely, disaffected youth are concerned, movies don't come much darker than Marcel Sarmiento's & Gadi Harel's Deadgirl. Awesomely revolting and sadly tender all at once, Deadgirl tells the tale of two high school misfits who discover a black as pitch secret hidden away in the basement of a disused mental hospital; the shackled corpse of a nude, once beautiful young woman. Her decaying, nubile flesh proves to be to tempting to the horny, lovelorn boys and before you know it, their hormones make short order of their decency and common sense. One after the other, the young men climb atop their deceased "prize", and as they do so over and over, fall deeper and deeper in a black hole devoid of humanity. Into this arrives the unsuspecting, pretty young thing that is the true object of affection for our off-kilter male lead, along with the realization that one needn't be breathing to lavish a crush with your carnal intentions. Recommended for the adventurous and brave amongst you, Deadgirl is a stunningly disturbing odyssey into the bleakest realms of human behavior, where with each attention starved thrust, one's redeeming light fades further and further away from sight.


8. Haute Tension (aka High Tension, 2003) -
Lauded and hated in equal measure, Alexandre Aja's Haute Tension has been accused of being everything from a masterpiece, to ridiculously nonsensical to dreadfully homophobic. My two cents; it is unquestionably the former and as far as the latter two gripes are concerned, well, pay attention to Cécile De France's off-screen murmurings during the opening credits sequence as an indication as to who's warped perspective the entire story is being told from. Admittedly no, you cannot have a car chase with yourself but that hardly matters when the entire event takes place within your own demented imagination. Homophobic? Possibly. But even the gays can have a few bad apples in the bunch. Plus, the lesbians have always known how to wield those heavy duty power tools amirite (hands down one of the most frightening uses of a buzzsaw in cinema history). As far as the age old if-I-can't-have-you-nobody-will narrative device is concerned, they don't come much more violent, bloody or nail bitingly intense than this French bonanza of unrequited love and off it's rocker affection.


7. Monsters (2010) -
The titular monsters of Gareth Edward's impressive low budget feature film debut, behemoth alien beasts with gigantic tentacles and a destructive disposition, are almost inconsequential to larger story being told here. That is, the romantic feelings that develop between a cynical journalist and a shaken American tourist while they try to navigate their way through Mexico's "infected zone" (the creatures' current habitat and breeding ground) and reach safer territory across the border. Those expecting a balls out monster movie will be sadly disappointed, but those in the mood for a quieter, more reflective film about how love can spark in the most unlikely, direst of situations are in for a real treat. Think of all those groan inducing, half baked "love connections" between countless film leads in horror films, shoehorned into story after story ad infinitum for no other reason other than that is what expectations, lack of imagination and worthless screenwriting classes dictate should occur. Now, imagine those love connections in more capable hands, given the time and attention to naturally grow into fruition and behold, you have Monsters. One of 2010's best!


6. Hellraiser (1987) - Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. It's easy to forget amidst so many of Hellraiser's impressive bells and whistles (sadomasochistic demons, reanimated skinned corpses, kinky sex and wince inducing gore that will take your breath away) that at the end of the day, Hellraiser is a blackly conceived love story. Clare Higgins (par excellence, and always meant by creator Clive Barker to be the story's chief villain if it ever expanded into full blown franchise, and boy did it though sadly without her) stars as Julia Cotton, a woman unhappily married to the dull as dishwater Larry (Andrew Robinson). When her family relocates to Larry's family home in London, awakened are not only the memories of Julia's torrid, secret affair with Larry's deceased brother Frank (Sean Chapman, hello Mr. Sleazy, get out of my dreams and into my car) but also Frank's corpse, brought back to life when Larry spills a drop of his blood on Frank's final resting place; the house's attic. The two lovers reunited (still, in secret and Frank nothing but a walking , talking sinewy husk of of exposed muscle and dangling flesh) Julia sets down a path of self-discovery wherein she realizes that there is nothing she will not do, nothing, to nurture her man back to health, including but not limited to violently butchering men to feed Frank's regeneration and the evading of demonic entities from Hell determined to reclaim their possession; Frank. If Hellraiser's puzzle box, the Lament Configuration, is a gateway to anything, certainly it is a doorway into the bottomless recesses of man and womankind's darkest hearts' desires. Every bit as powerful, terrifying and strangely beautiful as it was the day it was released, Hellraiser remains one of the finest achievements in modern horror cinema, and a warning to those who would follow their heart's every whim, to the peril of all.


5. The Loved Ones (2010) -
Solidifying once and for all that there may be no greater terror on earth than a young, heartsick teenage girl in love, The Loved Ones has come come along to prove not only this to be true, but that horror films are without a doubt di rigor date movies. You might think you've seen all this before; shy Lola (Robin McLeavy) asks dreamy, introvert Brent (Xavier Samuel) to take her to the prom. Brent politely declines. Before you can say "holy smoldering, stalking stares from afar", Lola sets into motion her plot to get exactly what she wants, namely Brent on prom night, at whatever cost . And you'd be right, you probably have seen all that before. But sweet Jesus, not like this dear readers. A critical and festival darling in equal measure, Sean Byrne's Australian indie is one of the liveliest, friskiest, twisted little fucked up love letters to horror fans in eons. Though, the less said about the film's story beyond what I already have the better (beware, the effective if irritating trailer does a fine job of spoiling just about every one of the film's plot twists), The Loved Ones as of this writing remains frustratingly unavailable to North American audiences. However, there are those amongst you enterprising enough to watch it regardless. Godspeed dear readers. And hang on tight.


4. Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992) -
A Gothic masterpiece without exception, Francis Ford Coppola's adaptation of Bram Stoker's classic story of undying love is quite obviously, one of the genre's best depictions of romance at all costs. If there is one film on this list that most likely every reader has seen, it would be this sucker, and rightfully so. Lush, romantic, stylish, moving, erotic, horrific and one of the most insanely atmospheric films of the 90's (still to this day, it has few contemporary equals), Bram Stoker's Dracula is nearly flawless in every way (save for one glaringly miscast role, I'm looking at you "Ted"). Yes, you've probably already seen it (and dozens of times at that) but like a fine vintage claret, it only gets better with age, and like Dracula himself, it never gets old.


3. Shaun of the Dead (2004) -
This is how you make a contemporary zombie film boys and girls. Paying homage to all the greats that came before it with loving respect (up to this point, namely Romero's unequaled efforts) and then charting it's own charmingly unique identity from there on out. Edgar Wright's Shaun of the Dead achieves the unthinkable; crafting a successful hybrid of genuinely scary horror with seriously wicked humor from this very simple concept, it is "a romantic comedy...with zombies". And yes, despite their silliness, by gum you care when these people die. Certainly a film that every couple could (and should) agree on, I have never in my life met a single soul who was not won over by Shaun's infectious sense of fun (yes, being scared is and can be, fun). One of best zombie movies ever made, period. In addition to being one of the greatest date movies ever conceived to boot. Quite the illustrious reputation if I say so myself.


2. The Fly (1986) -
Say "The Fly" to someone and they are likely to conjure up a whole host of of iconic imagery; the Brundle-Fly museum of bodily castoffs, the utterly horrifying birth of an over sized larvae via a human womb, regurgitation of stomach bile as a means to disarm (and cripple) one's victim, the most cringe-inducing match of arm wrestling ever filmed (matched only by Ilsa's)...but if you were to say "The Fly" to me, the first and foremost thing that would come to mind would be that of the doomed love affair between Jeff Goldblum's eccentric scientist Seth Brundle and Gina Davis' determined journalist Veronica Quaife. When it comes to star crossed lovers making their ways through the pratfalls and speed bumps of what the horror genre can throw their direction, it doesn't get much more tragic than this. Or, sickly romantic. Written as a cultural metaphor for AIDS, one need not have been personally touched by the ravaging disease to feel every ounce of suffering and heartache as experienced by those who have, epitomized by The Fly's ill-fated lovers Seth and Ronnie. As a disgusting special effects extravaganza, it is superb. As a horrific tale of disintegration and disease, it is masterful. As a soul-wrenching story of true love slipping away as matter of nature's course, it packs a wallop. Right to the heart.


1. My Bloody Valentine (1981) -
Unquestionably the granddaddy of all Valentines Day themed horror films (admittedly a rather small pool to draw from), there are few other slasher films in existence that can rival Valentines' rich atmospherics and creepily crafted chills. Released to little fanfare by Paramount Pictures (looking for the next, bankable franchise) in 1981, Valentine initially took it's time in finding it's audience. Building for itself (slowly but surely over the years) an increasingly favorable reputation, many now look back and marvel at how supremely scary it is capable of being. Now, in 2011, it is generally all-out adored by fans of expertly made slice n' dicers (it is one of this writer's favorite horror films of all time). It does so much right with the formula it still confounds me that this has remained as overlooked as it has, for as long as it has. Shooting the last act in real mines was a masterstroke on the filmmaker's part, as they get a supremely eerie, unsettling mileage out of that genuine location that no fake studio "mine" could ever hope to duplicate. The heroine, Sarah (Lori Hallier) is one of my feisty favorites. The villain, Harry Warden (in head to toe miner's garb) is genuinely frightening. The kills are memorable (even if they were legendarily censored by the MPAA). The characters are well drawn and sympathetic (for this sort of thing) not to mention I give it extra points for choosing to make them all small town, blue collar workers rather than your typical bubble-headed college students. And alas, it contains two of my fave horror hunk boners in the characters of Mike (Thomas Kovacs) and John (Rob Stein, the latter of whom gets to inexplicably survive). Only the original Black Christmas trumps My Bloody Valentine in this writer's heart when it comes to excellently executed slasher films. Finally, an unheralded classic is getting it's due. Avoid the abysmal 2009 re-make at all costs.

Film Review - The Pit

They don't eat chocolate bars.


I was one of those children. Yeah, you know the kind and if you are reading this blog now in adulthood, chances are you were one of those children too. From the earliest age onwards I had an "unhealthy" affinity for the genre, in any form. Movies, books, comics, magazines, it mattered not. Anything even remotely considered horror was like a nugget of food to a starving mouth for your little pint sized host. When I was at my youngest, the holy trinity of horror films for me and the ones that were arguably the most influential in my early years, were Jaws, Poltergeist and Gremlins (incidentally all Spielberg vehicles in one way or another). This was most likely due to the fact that they were all rated either PG or PG-13, and fell within my parent's limitations of what I was allowed to watch.

Seeing as I was also one of those lonely, strange children with next to no friends (looking back, I attribute this to my even then apparent homosexuality, which I believe made my less than butch personality off-putting to most boys, subject to ridicule and confusing to most girls) I regularly entertained myself by escaping into my overly heightened imagination. I took to reenacting key scenes from my favorite horror films routinely, going so far to sound like a screeching banshee (I imagine) as I was constantly "humming" (or something akin to that) the scores from the films I was, er, "interpreting". Diane Freeling's (JoBeth Williams of Poltergeist, to this day still one of my favorite ladies to grace our genre) frantic, empty swimming pool mudslide? I reenacted it routinely in the back of my parent's car (we didn't buckle up back then) utilizing the backseat itself as the "slanted, slippery side of the swimming pool", the space above it and beneath the window as my "goal" and a rather realistic looking decrepit skull (a Halloween decoration, complete with a long mane of filthy hair) that would "spring forth from the ground" (rather simply, held in my hand and shoved into my own face) ala the film and "frighten" me so badly that I would then "slide" back down to the bottom of the "pool" (the foot well of the backseat) and start again, ad infinitum. Jaws? Every other day at the local swimming pool, the summer vacations to Daytona Beach (before my onset on shark phobia) and occasionally the bathtub. Using my hand as the "shark fin" slicing through the surface of the water, "humming" the legendary theme ("dum dum, dum dum, dum dum dum dum dum") it would draw nearer and nearer to my "horrified" face and then, "attack" from beneath me. Limbs flailing, water splashing, my little prepubescent voice screaming for all it was worth. I would eventually "expire" and allow myself to sink to the bottom of the pool, in my mind's eye, the water now clouded red. I imagine I kept the lifeguards on their toes. Gremlins? Well, that was easy. Growing up, my security blanket was a life-sized stuffed doll of Gizmo himself. There wasn't anywhere he didn't go with me and always, there were nasty gremlins up to no good that him and I would have to dispatch. Imagine a 5 year old child continuously "singing" Jerry Goldsmith's "The Gremlin Rag" day in and day out and you might have a small estimation of what my family endured on a routine basis. As the eighties continued, other films got added to my weekly watch list (amazing that we didn't just buy them, as we certainly gave the video store a small fortune with the amount of times I rented them) The Gate, Critters, Grizzly, Ghoulies, The Monster Squad and The Midnight Hour were among some of the ones my impressionable eyes were allowed to watch, but as always, I was to watch them alone.


Throughout all of this, my family, my teachers and just about any adult in a position of authority became increasingly concerned for my mental well being, the million dollar question of the day (everyday) apparently being "What is wrong with that child?" or "What are we going to do about his unhealthy preoccupation with these sick horror movies?". I'm certain more than a few of you were asked questions similar to these in your youth. Without fail, every time I would procure an issue of some horror related magazine, it would be confiscated by a teacher and shoved into the principal's desk drawer never to be seen again. "Sick, sick sick." I can still hear the principal murmuring. My explanation that those stills of gore and carnage that graced the magazine's glossy pages were nothing more than latex and corn syrup was irrelevant, apparently. Every time I'd make it 200 some pages into a Stephen King novel that I would secretly check out from the public library unbeknownst to my parents (in the 4th grade mind you) the book would be (you guessed it) confiscated. Shortly thereafter I would be marched down to the elementary school library and told to pick out something more "appropriate". I scanned the shelves. The
Bobbsy Twins. The Boxcar Children. Now, my stomach was churning as obviously, nothing piqued my interest. I attempted to reason with the teachers that they should be grateful that I am reading at all, let alone something that was such a massive undertaking for someone of my age (the confiscated Pet Semetary was 416 pages long, I was 10 years old, you follow me). They scoffed at this of course and as with all my other (perfectly sound) reasonings, it ultimately fell on deaf ears. I believe I compromised (humored) and checked out a copy of Bunnicula. Two years later, my father (amidst one of his confused, born again phases) took boxes of over 50 some young adult horror novels of mine (mostly Fear Street, Christopher Pike type stuff) and dozens of reprints of EC's Tales / Vault / Haunt comics, out to the country and burned them. Yes, burned them, and he made me watch. I still tell my father that there is a special place in hell for those that burn books, any books. Whereas my Grandfather is most certainly reserved a cushy place in heaven for having rescued one of said boxes on my behalf (which he later presented to me like a Christmas gift in July). Bless him.

The battle of wills between me and the adults in my life over the genre continued unabated until it finally fizzled out around the age of 16. Mostly because my parents threw in the towel more than anything else. Clearly it was in my blood, and one way or another, I was gonna watch horror movies and read scary literature no matter how many times my books were taken away from me or the films deemed forbidden. So, after the onset of puberty, my love of horror grew as I was now relatively free of parental supervision and able to maintain a rental account at our local video store on my own. Though I was still a lonesome horror movie nut. I never had as friends, any like minded individuals who shared my obsession with all those scary and gross things that I now had blazing across my television screen on a daily basis. Sure, I had friends who would watch them, but more often then naught they seemed more interested in ripping the films a new one for dated SFX, less than stellar acting, or the inherent silliness of many horror movie's story lines. Which wasn't necessarily what I was looking for. I'd make my monthly trip into our local newsstand to make my routine purchase of the latest issue of Fangoria and every time I would pause and wonder to myself where the other Fangoria readers were in town. I wasn't the only one purchasing it, so where were all the horror movie fans that I could potentially befriend and hit it off with? Where were the people who knew not only who Dario Argento was, but also knew his entire filmography like the back of their hand? Where were the people who had heard of obscure cult films like Lets Scare Jessica to Death, Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things or any number of titles that I was now discovering? Where were the people who had posters of Stan Winston or Tom Savini hanging on their bedroom walls? They were nowhere to be found, ultimately, and as it turns out, I wouldn't actually meet anyone with these interests until I was in my mid-twenties. Which brings me to my friends James and Arthur and finally, The Pit.


I met both James and Arthur some years ago at Cinema Wasteland (Cleveland Ohio's premier drive-in cinema expo) when they were still both heavily into their horror host routine (Gravedigger Grimm and Art Wolf, respectively). Though nothing came of our meeting initially, (they were at the time, a bit younger than I and they lived some ways away from me too) we've now forged a friendship born of a mutual love for all things horror related. However, in many ways, our tastes for the specific kinds of horror that we like, differs greatly. With Arthur, the worse the film is, the more he salivates over it frankly. With James, I have more of a kinship when it comes to appreciating similar types of horror. Well, sometimes. Like Arthur, he as an affinity for dreck I wouldn't go near with Victor Crowly's 8 foot long chainsaw (he hasn't been "allowed" to pick a movie to watch at our home since he made my husband and I endure New Year's Evil, and yes, he liked it and no, we did not). Also, it's common to find him calling me things like an "elitist make-no-sense artsy-horror-geek" among other colorful phrases. So, when this recent Christmas rolled around, I was hard pressed to think of something to get either one of them. You'd think it would be easy, knowing what kinds of things they are so dedicated to. Well, taking into consideration that they could (either one of them) open a moderately sized store of vintage horror memorabilia and used movies, it wasn't. Then I had my "duh" moment when it came to Arthur's gift. The ghost of his voice came floating back to me from this past summer, waxing enthusiastically about some obscure monster movie called The Pit. "Ah man it's SOOOOOO awesome! There are these Trogs, in this pit, and this little boys feeds people to 'em. I LOVED it, it's so good!" I had been aware of the film pre-Arthur's excited ranting (but had yet to see it), and I had heard everything but it being called a "good film". But then, it was being graded on Arthur's curve. Anyway, I quickly decided that we were going to get something Pit related for Arthur's Christmas gift. It started out we were going to get him a poster (then I realized that he already has a million film posters, and likely would not have room on his walls for another one, though he tells me that he "rotates them".) We then decided on a relatively cool Pit t-shirt that utilized the Embassy Home Entertainment VHS box art until I remembered (another "duh" moment) that Arthur doesn't even own the film, so why wouldn't I just get him that? Turning to eBay, the pickings were slim. It's only DVD release was as a split, two film release paired with Hellgate. I was certain that Arthur gets as irritated as I do when it comes to the tacky, double poster (or triple or more in some cases) box "art" for such releases, so I nixed that. I was left with choices between various VHS releases, one being advertised as an incredibly rare release from some distributor that I never heard of and whose name escapes me now. Knowing Arthur, I went with that one (the boy copies his DVDs onto Beta, trust me, he wouldn't mind it being VHS). A few weeks later his gift arrived, as did the happy accident of both boys stopping by soon thereafter. He loved his gift and as the night wore on, it became apparent what it was we were going to be doing. Gathering around the television upstairs in our living room, I fed the ancient videocassette of The Pit into my VCR (admittedly with a great deal of nervousness, it being less than 24 hours since the same VCR ate my copy of Prom Night 3: The Last Kiss) and the three of us took our places as the FBI warning flashed on screen. Arthur was pleased as a pig in shit, James was excited and I was apprehensive, but game. Fade into a (disappearing from age) overly dark scene of a children's outdoor, night time Halloween party, and we were off.

Okay, The Pit's plot is a mess, a gloriously fun mess, but a mess all the same. Lets not mince words no matter how much it seems as though people are retroactively heaping fanboy praise upon the movie as a whole (what's that about and where did that come from all of a sudden?) and no matter how much the story has charm in it's individual moments. The plot (or plots) revolve around little Jamie Benjamin (Sammy Snyders), a 12 year misfit equally misunderstood and hated by nearly all of the residents in the small town in which he resides. His sole friend is a stuffed teddy bear (aptly named, Teddy) that secretly talks to Jamie (and curiously sounds an awful lot like our morbid little squirt, if you follow) encouraging him to act out on his baser instincts and desires. Transitioning into puberty, Jamie is discovering his new found obsession with girls (his revolving door of babysitters), the human body (the mother of the little girl who routinely torments him), and sexuality as a whole (the books of erotic photography he steals from the town's library). However, being the little weirdo that he is, along with the (self?) destructive encouragement of Teddy, Jamie takes his hormonal interests to obsessive, perverted acts of criminal wrongdoing that would certainly land him on a sex offenders registry one day. When both his parents go away on an extended business trip, Jamie is left in the care of young, beautiful psych student Sandy O'Reilly (Jeannie Elias, resembling a cute-as-a-button cross between Friday the 13th's Robbi Morgan and Piranha's Belinda Balaski), whom he immediately falls madly in love with (who wouldn't, really).

In the neighboring forest just outside of town, Jamie stumbles upon the life altering discovery of a craterous hole in the ground, the titular pit. This isn't just any old hole in the ground however, this hole is inhabited by mysterious red eyed creatures resembling poverty row werewolves (though they are chessily effective). Still absent of any meaningful friendships, Jamie forges ahead in creating an even stranger alliance than that of his relationship with Teddy, and attempts to make nice with the ravenous beasts (which he names “Tra-la-logs”, or "Trogs" as in troglodytes) by offering them his chocolate bar. As it turns out, chocolate is not on their diet plan, Jamie quickly discovering that the only sustenance they are interested in is meat. Raw, blood red meat. Things begin innocently enough as Jamie quickly becomes the local butcher's no doubt best customer, purchasing pounds upon pounds of the red stuff to keep his new found friend's bellies full. But then his meager funds quickly dry up and he can no longer afford to feed the them.What's a slightly unbalanced boy of 12 to do? Teddy has a suggestion, feed the Trogs all the adults and children that routinely torment him on a daily basis. Sounds reasonable to me. Thus Jamie begins coaxing his enemies (real and perceived), one by one, to their gruesome doom.


What a hoot of a story. Uh, I mean what a hodgepodge of a plot. As it stands, either our young Jamie just wondered out of, or into The Twilight Zone, seeing as how he has an uncanny knack for attracting and befriending all manner of unrelated, supernatural entities (when in the last act, the ghost of one of Jamie's unintended victims begins to haunt him, it hardly stretches the film's already distended credibility). Or, the bulk of Ian A. Stuart’s original screenplay should never have been altered in the manner that it was. Considerably different from what has been committed to film, in the original story, Jamie was significantly younger (8 or 9 years old) and the Tra-la-logs (and I imagine Teddy) were nothing more than figments of his overworked imagination. It's sad really that once Lew Lehman came aboard to direct, that these elements were excised in favor of real flesh and blood monstrosities. Not because I have no love for the real deal and prefer "realistic" modern day explanations for such terrors (really, an occasionally crippling vexation found all too frequently in many movies these days) but because once that story thread was removed, that the Trogs are not real, the film becomes utterly ridiculous in it's asking us to swallow that Jamie has a possessed teddy bear capable of independent thought and influence and that Jamie discovers a pit full of hungry, ancient beasts that will devour his nemeses AND that his victims can return as ghosts to bedevil the boy. Individually, I could have suspended my disbelief with any one of those plotlines, but when mashed together with no rhyme or reason into the same narrative, The Pit asks way to much of it's audience. It is a story that anyone over the age of 8 can not, will not buy hook, line and sinker. This also being of course, where the film's reputation for being a horrid turd stems from. Yet, if director Lehman had stuck to the original screenplay, I hasten to speculate that The Pit would have indeed gone on to become at least a favorably remembered hidden gem, born forth from genuine, sporadic quality rather than apologetic, forgiving goodwill such as the type I am imparting on it. The remnants of this approach remain for those interested in looking for them. There is the aforementioned voice of Teddy (Jamie, c'mon you know it's Jamie). The psychological analysis that Sandy routinely attempts in a hopeful bid to come to a deeper understanding of her troubled young charge. And don't even get me started on the plethora of Freudian and Jungian motifs (how about the vaginal pit itself, for starters) found throughout the film in relation to Jamie's burgeoning sexuality (which by the way, is no incidental, throw away subplot; it's as key to understanding our anti-hero as anything else in the film). Not to say that The Pit probably wouldn't have retained some of it's other, rather glaring problems had that been the direction they went in. Hilariously, nobody screams when they are devoured and torn to pieces by the Trogs.The structure is still all over the place (story and character come to a complete stand still in the last act to make way for a limp rampage by the unleashed creatures, not uncommon for the climax of many movies certainly, but having your lead and all familiar supporting cast completely disappear and removed from the ensuing action is). Similarly, the movie sets up what we perceive to be key players only to have them vanish entirely or kill them off unceremoniously. Hilariously, nobody screams when they are devoured and torn to pieces by the Trogs!


I have let on that I enjoyed The Pit despite all my (deserved) criticisms yes?. Young Sammy Snyders is relatively impressive in the role of Jamie. Infusing the character with genuine pathos, he raises Jamie above the truly evil, soulless incarnations of killer kiddies we are usually saddled with. For instance, there is a particularly moving scene wherein Jamie cannot bring himself to feed a living cow to the hungry Trogs. As he walks the animal to it's uncertain fate, he talks to it apologetically, trying to reassure the thing that it's for the "better good" of his friends. Try as he might though, Jamie cannot bring himself to destroy the creature, reasoning that the cow did nothing wrong to him, after all. It's touching and disarming and one of the moments (out of many) where you sit up and think "Huh, as technically awful as this movie is, it really does have some nice things going for it." Jeannie Elias makes for a very likable heroine in Sandy (me thinks I may had a minor crush on her when we were initially watching the film, I totally understand where Jamie was coming from ). Smart, beautiful, confident, sympathetic and capable (save for one unfortunate little slip in the third act) Elias' Sandy embodies the best of that era's scream queens. Unfortunately, Elias relatively disappeared from screens shortly after the release of The Pit. Well, her face did anyway as she has had a rather prolific career in providing voice talent to hundreds of animated ventures and video games. Shame, I could have gotten use to seeing this impressive lass more often.

I suppose films like The Pit embody the very definition of enjoyably bad cinema.Whereas to me, usually bad cinema is just that, bad cinema, I'll admit that on occasion, I can find the fun in schlocky, b-grade horror movie shenanigans. Hell, as I mentioned not a moment ago, the night before our screening of The Pit, I was attempting to re-watch Prom Night 3 for crying out loud, which certainly is nothing but an awful movie. So, it was with this film that I tucked away my usually overly critical quintessence in the name of both having a genuinely good time with two friends and not spoiling Arthur's Christmas gift while I was at it. In the case of The Pit, I couldn't be more glad that I did. It's a wildly uneven effort no doubt about it and if the same film was released today, I'd certainly (as would many others) tear it to shreds. Honestly, I probably wouldn't have even bothered to watch it in the first place. However, I can't help but bestow The Pit with that forgiving, loving embrace afforded to (and reserved for) films of yesteryear that though miss the mark by half a mile, they charm your pants off with their seemingly good intentions, the transparency that there were people involved in its making with at least a modicum of talent, some capable acting from the cast, nostalgic drive-in atmosphere that can only be found in productions dating from such a period, the semblance of intelligence somewhere and lastly, that there exists within the film, some genuine chills here and there. However flawed it is, The Pit is flat out fun if you go with it's kooky premise.

Curiously, the thing that I walked away thinking the most about after The Pit concluded, was my own misunderstood, admittedly morbid childhood. Or more to the point, the little Jamie Benjamin that I had in me (and as I glanced over at Arthur and James, the little Jamie Benjamin I presume they had in them as children as well). From my own tortured (not to mention terrifying), grappling of my sexuality during puberty (as frowned upon as Jamie's discovery of his), to my feverish, macabre imagination. From my cathartic revenge fantasies perpetrated against every bully who called me "fag" and every nay-saying adult who saw me as a problem child, to my never ending preoccupation with all those things that creep through fog enshrouded cemeteries or slither and squirm in the darkness of basements or scratch at your window in the dead of night, I epitomized Jamie Benjamin. As I imagine many of you dear readers, did too. There came a time in my early teens when a little light switch got flicked in my mind as I sat in my bedroom alone, surrounded by (now free of my parents aforementioned restraints) gory film posters, monster action figures and the beginnings of what is now a sizable horror film library. Glancing about at my collection, I wondered to myself perhaps for the first time "Just why am I so engrossed in all this scary, dark, horror business?" and the answer came to me almost immediately, (or, the switch was flicked). It wasn't anything profound, or nothing somebody else hadn't concluded before me, but it gave me pause nonetheless. Sizing up my life to that point, I realized for nearly my entire existence, I had always been surrounded by monsters. Only these ones, unlike the ones I had fallen in love with, were sanctioned by society. Bullies, hateful religious leaders, negligent parents, alienating teachers. It seemed at that moment, only sensible that I would then keep lifelong, close company with such "unsavory" things. The cathartic reflection was obvious. However, my monsters disappeared when I turned off the TV where they were safely kept at bay. My monsters allowed me to experience, confront, and conquer the horrors of the world free from the actual painful lessons I was learning about people on a daily basis. My monsters never even hurt a single soul, not really. Reassured, I'm certain that I smiled quietly to myself, I know that I did. Because as Clive Barker once said, "We could all use a friend in the dark." It's a sentiment that I couldn't agree with more, and I imagine little Jamie Benjamin would too.




Skull Ratings:
5 Skulls - The Best
4 Skulls - Very Good
3 Skulls - Good / Average
2 Skulls - Poor
1 Skull - The Worst