Happy Halloween, Pals And Gals!

And a special Happy Halloween to our buddy Steve, from Chipper and Raw Meat! (And Gojira, of course…)

Rik-O-Sound: Bohemia’s Haunted Disc, My Haunted Past

It’s sad that the mixtape has largely come to be known as something only a conniving would-be boyfriend or girlfriend makes for their prospective target of affection. I used to make them for just about any of my friends, male or female, and often my brothers or parents, anytime that I had some cool or interesting songs to share. And yes, I did make them for those more “stalker”-style moments of mine as well, often attempting to be a conniving, would-be boyfriend on far more occasions than I care to remember.

It was all different at Halloween and Christmas. For several years, I would make annual collections – and this is all in the time before I had CD burning capabilities – on audio cassette of various scary or wintry seasonal songs that I had discovered during the course of the year, duping and passing them out to a large variety of my friends and family. And on the pretext that these gifts were based around my two favorite holidays, I could give them to just about anybody. These tapes were exceedingly simple in design, as they merely listed the songs, written by hand much of the time, and I would come up with what I felt at the time was a clever title. But after about five or six years of doing this, I entered the computer age. Actually, I had already entered it quite a long time before, but it wasn’t until seven years ago that I finally got a Mac capable of burning discs. Eight years ago, though, just before the purchase of my G4 Mac, I had my pal Robear do the job for me when I decided it was time I moved up to the CD age.

My first, and, as it turned out, last Halloween disc which I gave out as a gift was called Velcome to Boo-hemia! Alaskan friends need no explanation, but for anyone outside its environs, it needs to be pointed out that our little theatrical group in Anchorage, who began goofing around together in their teen years, were named (by an old school friend, for obscure reasons) the Bohemians. (Even farther back, before Edie Brickell made it impossible to use anymore, we were briefly known as the New Bohemians.) So the title of the disc was meant to be an introduction to the Halloween side of our little realm in the Last Frontier.

Several elements from our group’s history came into play on the artwork that I drew for the disc. Viewing the cover design to the right, since the official drink of many of our party is Dr. Pepper, I built the theme around a can of soda becoming the drink of the undead. Being pissed off at the line of products then taking my beloved thirst-quencher’s place in soda fountains and chain stores around the city (there were, for a time, even reports that Anchorage Cold Storage, a Coke establishment of long standing, was going to dispose of selling Dr. Pepper altogether), I had the imposters being picked off one by one and planted in a cemetery, with headstones bearing their insidious names: Mr. Pibb, Dr. Slice, Dr. Thunder (on the back cover), and, in a dopey misnaming, The Skipper (which I accidentally called “Dr. Skipper"). Whatever its real name, that Skipper soda belonged DEAD. 

In the hand of the screaming lady on the cover is a can of Dr. Pepper, which is more noticeable in the original artwork, the lettering of which disappeared when Robear added coloring to my black and white original artwork. (I have never been all that happy with the heavy use of color anyway, as I wanted the whole thing to be a little more subtly done, if not the original version in black and white I had created.)

On the back cover is that same can in the aftermath of an attack by the winged vampire Bohemian smiley. The same vampire Bohemian smiley is also seen accosting the lady on the front cover. The implication of the back cover image is that Dr. Pepper could never die, especially after being given a supernatural afterlife by the vampire Bohemian smiley, and such an implication is meant as a cheerful gift to my friends, many of whom are/were addicted to the beverage at the time. Hard to read, but printed on the back cover, is a short paragraph in red, which I built somewhat around the opening to Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde:

"Regarding the Strange Case of Dr. Pepper, I remember very little of the affair with any real clarity. That he was left alone to fend for himself in the wild and God-forsaken badlands of Boo-hemia is a certainty, and that he was a markedly changed can was also a fact that went unnoticed by nary a soul. But what we all failed to understand was how he had changed, a sad state that we would all come to regret in the days to come, as we each found ourselves gripped with a never-ceasing, all-consuming addiction! A terrible, ravenous thirst! A thirst, unquenchable and bold, that we would eternally fail to be rid of even with the Sweet Mercy of Death! Do I blame the good Doctor? Or do I blame the Monster that made him?”

As for the vampire smiley, for many years now, the symbol of our little group (and since we have a symbol, some would even go so far as to consider us a gang, which would be stretching the usual notorious aspects of such a term) has been a spoof of the Harley Davidson logo. From what I recall, though there is a strong chance that I will run into some revisionism on this part, good ol’ Smilin’ George took the eagle wings from the famous biker logo, and then fixed between his cartoon version of those wings the head of a smiley face. (Smiley copyright owners, we have never used this logo for commercial gain, only for creating items for our internal usage. So, sod off…) One year at our Halloween show, I made a pair of bat wings and affixed them to a round glow-in-the-dark light. I added the smiley face, creating a Halloween version of our logo, to which I also added vampire fangs. When it came time to consider what to put on the cover of this disc, I gravitated almost immediately to using the vampire smiley bat (almost, because I was also plotting an Alien-style cover with a chest-burster).

The songs, which become almost beside the point after all this, themselves are listed on the third photo, but this list has always been a sore point with me, as the numbers do not actually match the songs which they portray when the disc is loaded into a player. When I made the list of songs – and this is almost entirely my fault – I forgot to indicate to Robear that there were recorded bits from movies like Frankenstein and Ed Wood between the songs. So this means that, from track one, this list goes off the rails rather quickly.

But it’s a good mix of Halloween-type tunes, actually showing the time in my life from whence it came rather clearly, but only if you had access to my music collection and knew when I bought certain items. Looking at the list, I can point exactly to two albums that I purchased not long before I made this collection (both of them produced by Mr. Rob Zombie), the knowledge dates my little “mixdisc” rather precisely for me. It was a fun project, but even though I soon had my own means to produce new gifts for my friends, I never got around to it, or at least fixing the covers so they more accurately featured the proper track list and also some less dark coloration.

Honestly, at this point, I am sure most people have lost their copies by now (I am probably the rare bird that keeps every such gift from all of his friends over the years), and even my own mother gave her copy back to me on her road trip through here a couple weeks ago, possibly not even listened to by her over all those years, but I can’t be certain... maybe once, at most. The bulk of the music – not all, but most – was probably not up her alley, but I had given her one anyway. The return of this gift made me somewhat wistful for the times in which I made it, and then I realized that it was probably one of the few items from that period – created during a low point for me on a personal level – for which I felt this emotion. Besides my best friends, movies and music were all I had at the time.

Buzzing Thru the Pylon: Halloween Free-For-All, Pt. 7: Return of the Best Buy Exclusives!

Once more, a trip to Best Buy caused me to happen upon new discs which I had not seen discussed elsewhere. Warner has released a pair of discs exclusively to Best Buy stores, and one of them (featured below) was a no-brainer purchase for me. Some would contend, such as my girlfriend, that I would have to possess little in the way of gray matter to purchase such a thing in the first place, and this would not be a statement based solely on its content… the deeper truth is that we have little or no more room for such items in our relatively cramped abode, and my predilection for purchasing books, music and movies constantly has her making the odd comment here and there about the situation.

But she should put down the knife -- at least, she can after Halloween -- since I actually did show a small measure of restraint, as I did not purchase the twin disc to this set, a double feature of the Lovecraft feature The Shuttered Room and a Roddy McDowall golem flick called, simply, It! Since I have never seen the former before and it is actually being shown on TCM on Halloween, I decided to delay its possible addition to the collection for the time being. (Shuttered’s potential is the only thing in discussion over such a buy, since It! is really not very good at all.) But if I miss out on buying it, I miss it. That’s the choice I made, and Jen should be momentarily proud over it. Here are the discs:

Warner Horror Double Feature // Best Buy Exclusive
featuring:
Chamber of Horrors
Director: Hy Averback
Warner Bros., 1:39, color
Cinema 4 Rating: waiting to watch this over again, some 25-30 years later

The Brides of Fu Manchu
Director: Don Sharp
Hallam/Anglo-Amalgamated/Seven Arts, 1:34, color
Cinema 4 Rating: waiting to watch this over again, some 20 years later

Two more British horror flicks from the ‘60s that somehow my mind – and I am sure that I am not the only one out there – automatically triggers on as belonging to the long and bloody line of Hammer horror films, even though they, in actuality, are not. I know that somewhere far back in my past I saw Chamber of Horrors, a gimmick-laden (and how!) revenge festival with Patrick O’Neal as a one-armed madman with a variety of stump accessories, a couple of times. But, it was so long ago, I scarcely remember it past O’Neal’s image, being one of the few times I actually watched him act. The second of Harry Allan Towers’ Fu Manchu series I recall a tad bit better, having seen it slightly more recently, though still long enough ago where reading the film’s synopsis on IMDB has me now confusing with the later films in the series that I have caught in the past couple years.

Am I suggesting that all Fu Manchu flicks look alike? Hardly, that would be mildly racist, even when I am merely attempting to be ironic. But when all five films star the great Christopher Lee in the lead role, and all five basically have the same plot – the abduction of hot girls; forcing scientists to bend to his evil whims; trying to take over the world (the same thing he tries to do every night, Pinky…) – then you can understand the confusion. Fu’s megalomania is quizzical, since he can barely control a dozen people in one room – how is he going to control everyone in the world? He’d get no rest at all, and one would certainly beg for some extra leisure time with all the hot girls around. Maybe he should shoot for a smaller goal. Like taking over a movie studio and forcing them to make a halfway decent film. While Lee’s presence, and the attendant gore and torture that follows in his notorious character’s wake, could serve as the sole reasons why the connection to the Hammer series looms so large in my mind, perhaps it is also because these were shown side by side with the Hammer Frankenstein and Dracula films in my teen years, and so that made the true connection for me. Regardless, Hammer or not, The Brides of Fu Manchu will now rest side by side on my DVD shelf with those same films, if only for Mr. Lee.

Paul Naschy Double Feature // Best Buy Exclusive
featuring:
Curse of the Devil [El Retorno de Walpurgis] (1973)
Director: Carlos Aured
Spanish, 1:24, color
Cinema 4 Rating: haven’t seen yet in a real version

Werewolf Shadow [La Noche de Walpurgis] (1971)
Director: León Klimovsky
Spanish, 1:35, color
Cinema 4 Rating: haven’t seen yet at all

Trick or treat? I really won’t know which until I – and I will consider the opportunity a treat until I learn otherwise – dig into one or both of these Spanish horror films this Halloween weekend and discover the truth for myself. Most people outside of horror circles are probably not all that aware of Paul Naschy, who has as large a legacy in horror films in many countries in the world as Karloff, Lee, Cushing and Lee have in the English-speaking world. If they are aware, they may not know him by name, but possibly have crossed paths with him on Spanish-language channels here and there, generally in very censored and misshapen prints of his films, or even occasionally in badly dubbed versions of a couple of his films, such as Fury of the Wolfman, on UHF and cable access channels. In addition to his appearances in scads of films over his nearly fifty-year career, Naschy has knocked out a dozen films featuring his Hombre Lobo character, a wolfman named Waldemar Daninsky, even appearing as Daninsky as recently as four years ago. I only own copies of two of his films on videotape, both dubbed and truly atrocious in recording quality to view. I was aware that several of his films, including the two released on this combo disc (which I have read elsewhere can only be found at Best Buy), had been released to DVD. I figured now was as good a time as any, with my interest in world cinema, to become truly acquainted with Mr. Naschy (nee Jacinto Molina), and to let my own opinion take over in my mind all of the comments I have read – from disparate sources, mostly negative but coddling, as though they were films proposed by filmmakers with the talents of mere preschoolers, making films for the even more infantile. I doubt this is the truth, and there has to be some level of professionalism involved for such a series to have lasted so long and so popularly.

But then I think about Police Academy, and I worry…

Psychotronic Ketchup: How I Met "Please Don't Eat My Mother" (1973)

Director: Carl Monson
Boxoffice Int'l, 1:38, color
Cinema 4 Rating: 3

This post started out as a completely different post altogether. Tying it up with this film, Please Don't Eat My Mother, a “nearly hardcore" softcore porn version of Little Shop of Horrors, I started to construct an elaborate treatise on how people of the past couple of generations have largely replaced the versions of films with which I grew up instead with knowledge only of a vast supply of recent remakes, with little or no recognition that the original films existed at all. I was going to use the 1986 musical remake (by way of the stage adaptation of the original Corman-directed classic) of Little Shop as a near-perfect example, where the copy has replaced the original in the minds of the current public, almost to a point where most people are no longer aware that the 1986 one is a remake, but see it as an original work instead. (Heck, most people that I talk to, outside of my theatrical family, didn't even know there was a musical stage version.)

But then, after watching the trailers attached to this Something Weird disc, from a company which specializes in low-budget exploitation, nudie films, and grotesque shockers, I realized that now is not the time and place. Mainly, this is due to my not wanting to obscure the fact that Please Don't Eat My Mother is not really a remake of Little Shop, even though both of them have nerds in the lead role who bring home tiny Venus flytraps and eventually end up feeding the ultimately monstrously sized adult versions of the plants live humans as prey. It seemed to be a long way to go for me to finally end the post describing a film which really doesn’t add anything to the discussion that would precede it. except for an ample dose of single-X rated groping and a lot of untrimmed foliage, not all of it involving the plants. The conversation would have to be based around the fact that all of the discussed versions of the story would have been fairly well known to the general public at some point along the way, which would preclude each film having a clear ancestral relationship with each other in order to ascertain their general recognition with each successive generation. Please Don’t Eat My Mother, not being a true remake by even half, and also by being a low-profile nudie flick, really cannot enter into the argument.

Please is definitely one for the raincoaters in the audience, and I am assuming that once upon a time, in the era before videotapes and, eventually, the internet made it easy to skip past the boring parts, that said raincoaters had a greater range of patience while waiting for the dirty parts. Featuring actual Hollywood character actor Buck Kartalian (The Outlaw Josey Wales, one of the Planet of the Apes flicks, Friends, ER, Octaman, and recently, How I Met Your Mother) in the lead role of mama’s boy Henry Fudd, Please actually has moments where the viewer could almost feel as if they were watching a legitimate feature. These moments are exceedingly fleeting, and it also doesn’t help that the film’s only truly intentionally humorous moments are the ones where it seems like a good deal of ad-libbing is going on. Kartalian is quite game in the role, and if there is a saving grace to watching this movie, it’s him. Not that he’s especially good, but he does seem committed to the ridiculous venture, and the bemused smirk with which he enters even the most idiotic scene is sometimes enough to help the viewer connect. And while it seems odd that an actual Hollywood actor with an ongoing career at that time would get involved with such a low-rent and possibly illegal operation in some areas, watching the aforementioned trailers and extras on the disc reveal that this may not have been a one-off for Mr. Kartalian.

Plot-wise, there is a plant that friendless Henry believes that he hears speak at the local flower shop (where, naturally, the owner is an outrageous “queer” stereotype), so he buys the homely little thing and brings it home. His mother, also an outrageous stereotype, that of the heckling Jewish mother, berates him constantly for his laziness and his insistence on maintaining his own privacy in the own. That such a son would ever ask a carnivorous plant such a thing as “Please don’t eat my mother!” seems to prove the title a lie, as that would be the first thing I would teach it to do in his situation. It turns out the plant has what Henry considers an alluring, seductive voice (I don’t personally), and he swiftly falls under its spell, starting to first bring it small insects the frogs then dogs, and, after turning down a request for elephants, he deigns to bring the plant live humans.

Where does he get these human victims? Well, the answer lies in exactly what true purpose the film has, the purpose which takes it out of being a true homage or even spoof remake of the original film, and into another territory altogether. Henry Fudd is a voyeur, and takes his lunches in the park, where he watches young horny couples have sex – in cars, on picnic blankets. It is proof of the cheapness – or the economy, of the picture that Henry will return time and again lunch after lunch to find the same couple from the day before getting it on in a continuation of what he viewed 24 hours previously, picking up where he got off, so to speak. Henry doesn’t do anything but watch, not even touch himself, in these park encounters, but he is clearly frustrated. Hence his attraction to a carnivorous plant with a sexy speaking voice, whose interest in devouring nubile young women stems directly from the fact that Henry covers the walls of his bedroom with centerfolds from his dirty magazine collection. When Henry is finally given the order to bring his new friend ever larger prey, he knows exactly where to go to get that prey.

In the meantime, before the carnage (such as it is) begins, we watch the same sex scenes that Henry does – glacially paced, supposedly erotic, generally softcore. Henry’s pervy reactions, and those of the occasional other voyeur (who comes on to Henry at the same time, before Henry offers him a sandwich), are all one has to actual stop from falling asleep during these exchanges. Perhaps an anthropologist would be interested in comparing things such as the 70s fashions, hairstyles, car interiors and, er, lawn trimming on hand in the film to today’s standards, but I am not necessarily that person. Such matters did hold a certain interest factor for me, but it pretty much dissipated after the first car scene. By then (and this has always been my problem with any form of adult material), once you know that the movie is only going to go that far, and no further, with its supposedly risqué action, then I lost interest. Nor are the girls, with perhaps the exception of the well-known loop veteran Rene Bond, all that much to write home about, especially if that home contains the hideous example of a mother that this one does.

And when I use terms such as “nearly hardcore” or “generally softcore,” while by most standards this is considered the latter, I do so by recognizing that there are quick flashes of what seems to be actual penetration. Unfortunately, this seems to be from behind the copulating pair, so that one gets a little bit more of man-ass and ball action than many of the more insecure viewers would prefer to have to see. It’s a bit much to put up with when you think you are going to see a mere titty flick with a giant plant monster. The plant itself is cheaply constructed, and even seems to actually break during one of the eating scenes. There is also little attempt to make the actions of its gaping maw match up with the voice coming out of the thing, so the precision of the puppetry was clearly never a concern.

While it might seem that I am doing nothing but complaining about what is obviously a mere attempt to separate dollars from the otherwise busy pockets of raincoat-wearing perverts, there is a grand sort of innocence to the proceedings. Despite its obvious lack of charm, charm it does in a very minor way. Like the man who brings home a pathetic wretch of a plant and gives it the attention it needs, so too does it go for the casual viewer who wanders into watching Please, and this film really turns out kind of lovable despite itself. It might seem like degradation and filth, and it is, but you can’t really hate it thanks to the sincere lack of mean-spiritedness in the film, even when Kartalian is holding a gun on stripped-naked lovers and feeding them to his plant.

After all, he’s only doing it out of love, so it can’t be all bad…

Buzzing Thru the Pylon: Halloween Free-For-All, Pt. 6: Hammer Down!

With the near completion of my Universal horror collection over the past few years (there are only a handful of the obscurer titles still outstanding, with all of what would be considered the true "classics" covered), comes the time to pay attention to my Hammer collection.

Almost more influential to me in my youth than the Universal versions of the famous monsters were the Hammer versions of the same. Once I discovered that these films even existed as a near-teen, Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee (and to a lesser extent, Oliver Reed for his role in Curse of the Werewolf) became my gods for a number of years. I have recounted my devotion to a late night ABC affiliate program called The World's Most Terrible Movies a couple of times before; Lee and Cushing were the chief reasons that I tuned in week after week. With scant few references at hand in my local small town library and an absolute lack of internet in those days, I had little knowledge of Hammer Films except for the fact that I saw their names on many of my then favorite films, most of them starring those twin gods of mine.

And then, over the years, as I discovered more of their films, the immediate assumption was that all of these films were also Hammer Films, an assumption, if one were to judge from board comments on various websites, that many other horror film fans make to this day. When I made some recent purchases in addition to my obtaining the latest Icons of Horror DVD set, this time focusing on a quartet of unreleased as of yet Hammer Films, I grabbed the extra pair of discs continuing that assumption: that the related films featuring either or both of the Lee/Cushing team just had to be Hammer Films, even though I had read before that they weren't. So strong is the connection between that studio, those stars and their eager public, that it matters little when the film does not actually belong to the studio.

The Flesh and the Fiends (1960)

Director: John Gilling

Triad/Regal, 1:37, b/w

TC4P Rating: 6/9

The Skull (1965)

Director: Freddie Francis 

Amicus/Paramount, 1:30, color 

TC4P Rating: 6/9

First, the imposters: one I have never seen, The Flesh and the Fiends, a black and white version of the Burke and Hare story starring Mr. Cushing, and The Skull, an Amicus adaptation of a Robert Bloch short story featuring both members of the famous team. The Skull certainly fits the assumption well, as I have always lumped it into the Hammer camp. Having seen the film numerous times over the years, I suppose that I have seen the Amicus name in the credits over and over again, and it was still not enough to wipe the association with Hammer out of my mind. Never having actually owned a copy of this movie, though, I will be glad to finally get a chance to see it in its true aspect ratio (if indeed it proves to be), rather than the chopped and leaping prints with which I have had to make do over the years.

I always seem to think that I have seen The Flesh and the Fiends, but my memories of Karloff's The Body Snatcher (a favorite, for which I have always supported Danny Peary's notion that perhaps the man could have won an Oscar for his performance if the Academy were smarter) are very strong as regards black-and-white grave-robbing flicks, and I am also probably mixing it up with The Doctor and the Devils, a 1985 Timothy Dalton starrer directed by Freddie Francis (who, coincidentally, also directed The Skull). Judging from what I have read about this one, I am in for a gruesome treat. But only watching it will tell... [Note: And once I did, I liked it well enough, but not as half as much as The Body Snatcher.]

Icons of Horror Collection: Hammer Films
4 Creepy Classics from the Hammer Film Archives featuring:

The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll (1960)
Director: Terence Fisher
Hammer/Columbia
TC4P Rating: 6/9

The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb (1964) 

Director: Michael Carreras 

Hammer/Columbia

TC4P Rating: 6/9

The Gorgon (1964) 

Director: Terence Fisher 

Hammer/Columbia
TC4P Rating: 7/9

Scream of Fear (1961)

Director: Seth Holt

Hammer/Columbia

TC4P Rating: 7/9

And now for the real deal: the Hammer flicks, two of which I have never had opportunity to see. The Gorgon is a personal favorite, as it was one of the few Hammer films of which I actually own a real copy of on VHS, and yet again, I will be glad to be given a chance to see it in widescreen for the first time. I have never thought much of Hammer's Mummy series beyond the swell first flick, but I am willing to give them all another chance with fresh viewings, so The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb will likely be part of my Halloween program this weekend (though, unlike the other three films on this set, there is no Lee or Cushing).

I did get to watch half an hour of Scream of Fear a few months ago, before my pothead neighbors somehow convinced the cable guy to switch our connection off so they could get the Super Bowl (we have no proof of this, but the circumstantial evidence against them, especially as collected by Jen and I, is astounding). So, this will be another first, as will my viewing, long awaited, of the Hammer version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which I think might be the only version which I have not seen. (Believe me, I have seen a lot of them...) All told, it pulls in another chunk of Hammer all at once into my collection, cheaply and effortlessly.

And the other films? Like many a horror fan, I bid them all an eager welcome, whether we can remember if Hammer produced them or not. 

After all, in the end, it's really Pete and Chris that matter...

RTJ

Psychotronic Ketchup: Nothing But the Night (1973)

Director: Peter Sasdy
Charlemagne/Rank, 1:30, color
Cinema 4 Rating: 4

What spells terror to you? How about a fat whore wearing a Ronald McDonald style wig-do and a bright red leather jacket crawling across the Scottish countryside? Yep, that’s what I thought. It’s horrible to even consider it…

She would be far scarier if they didn’t show her panting desperately for air every few steps, and if they also didn’t show her stopping for a sandwich break halfway through her supposedly epic crawl across the breadth of a remote island as she angrily tries to reach her young daughter, supposedly to do her great bodily harm. I know the English must have their tea time, but this is ridiculous. And this is in the midst of incredible, frenetic violence going on all around her – helicopters circle overhead, police teams leading dogs comb the hillsides looking for both her and a little boy who has disappeared, and a boat gets blown to smithereens, killing five more trustees of a place called Inver House, where the fat whore’s daughter and a group of other children are being sheltered for some possibly nefarious reason one might discover later in the film. The only terror generated by this supposed threat to the welfare of English children everywhere is the one posed by her grotesque looks, with makeup lacquered on so thickly about her facial features that you will instantly realize I am not mistaken for the Ronald McDonald reference at the beginning of this piece.

And this is surprising, because the fat whore is played by none other than Diana Dors, often known as the British Marilyn Monroe, normally blonde, normally gorgeous. I certainly did a double take when I read the credits, but there she was, trolling it up in the opposite direction that she used to, looking a fright instead of a delight. And please don’t consider my statement regarding her status as a “whore” to be misogynistic; I am merely stating her profession within the film… that of a prostitute – a bloody, frightening one by looks at that – and one who did time for murder as well, at which point her daughter was wrested from her possession and became a ward of Inver House. For reasons that I am wholly bored by, she wishes to get her daughter back… or seems to... and her daughter is consumed by memories that may or may not be her own, of terrible fires and the deaths of numerous people. She might be the reincarnation of someone else, or is there something far more sinister at play? You know, the sort of wickedness that would cause us to have to watch her wretched mother bumble her way over hill and dale, panting and heaving awfully the entire, all while trying not very hard to make it seem like she is exactly the sort who could elude detectives, policemen and the army over hundreds of miles -- and possibly plot and commit the murders of all who stand in her noxious way – for an hour and a half.

The movie begins with a trio of what seem to be the horrible murders of the first three trustees of Inver House, and then we meet this awful, screaming wretch of a child. The actress playing her is graced with the traits of the worst child actors, and plays every emotion within the same range, from whispering to screeching, sometimes within the same sentence. She’s the type of child actress that makes one appreciate the Dakota Fannings and Haley Joel Osments of the world. (The reason decent child actors seem so alien sometimes, especially in Osment’s case, is that we have become so accustomed to kids automatically sucking onscreen, we are stunned when we actually see quality and depth instead. This includes Mr. Culkin who, despite his massive success as a kid, actually was a pretty stiff actor. The right cuteness at the right time was the key to his early success.) There comes the point, for reasons that have nothing to do with the plot, that one stops wishing they would catch the fat whore, and would instead just let her through to the orphanage so she can throttle her annoying daughter for good. One tries to take into account that different times call for different levels of child acting, and to just accept the story for what it is… but then some miniature, shrieking harpy opens her trap and takes one completely out of the film again.

Oh yes, you are supposed to be watching this film because it has yet another team-up of Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing, but when one spends half a film following a porcine, red-headed, slutty clown around instead, one needs to be forgiven the original reason for tuning in. Lee (whose production company made this underwhelming claptrap) and Cushing are both portrayed as being the heroes here, but for the life of me, I couldn’t really figure out a decent reason for their being in the film at its closing point. Lee plays an army colonel who acts with appropriate gusto and determinedness throughout the film, but he really doesn’t seem to hold much influence over anything at all. Cushing plays a pathologist – and a knighted one at that, as we are reminded about a quartet of times in the flick that he is called “Sir Mark Ashley” – and he has one of those professions where you wonder why he is actually involved with this case at all. He seems to be one of those guys just hanging around on the off-chance that somebody will die so he can offer his expertise on how they might have died, and then take the credit for solving the mystery at the film’s end. Not that he really does – he only figures out part of it, and not that any of it makes a lick of sense anyway. And Lee even ends up playing second banana in his own film, letting other younger actors carry much of the dramatic load, relegating Cushing and himself to musing about possible murder angles every few minutes.

And so you are left with two heroes for whom you can’t really understand their compulsion, and a supposed villainess for whom you cannot illicit even the slightest belief that she couldn’t even make it up half a hill without stumbling, falling down, rolling two miles back down the hill to the center of town, and then devour half the contents of a fish n’ chips shop as he crashes through its front door. Without a reservation, mind you. I reserved time to watch Nothing But the Night, and all I received was a blinding headache from the shrill cries of an immensely annoying and precocious child actress, and a lacerating head wound from when I fell down laughing at the thought that anyone in this film would believe that the clownish mother would be any sort of threat to anyone…

Except perhaps by way of STD...

Buzzing Thru the Pylon: Halloween Free-For-All, Pt. 5: Elvira

Count Dracula’s Great Love [El Gran Amor del Conde Dracula] (1972)
Director: Javier Aguirre
Spanish, 1:25, color
Cinema 4 Rating: haven’t seen yet

The Doomsday Machine (1972)
Director: Harry Hope & Lee Sholem
Cine-Find, 1:23, color
Cinema 4 Rating: haven’t seen yet

Frankenstein’s Castle of Freaks [Terror! Il Castello delle Donne Maledette] (1974)
Director: Dick Randall
Boxoffice/Aquarius, 1:29, color
Cinema 4 Rating: haven't seen yet

The Werewolf of Washington (1973)
Director: Milton Moses Ginsberg
Diplomat, 1:30, color
Cinema 4 Rating: haven't seen yet

As nostalgic as I seem at times, it is generally only about movies, books and music, and never about anything so ridiculous and abstract as "the good ol' days." And speak to me of my teenage years, outside of some friends I made in my last couple years of high school to whom I have remained more or less loyal in all this intervening time, and you will find that I hold remarkably little regard for that period of extreme failure and deep personal fault. Except for movies, books and music, that steadfast trio of tent-poles holding aloft the shelter of sanity above my head through those times (and onward into the future), I do not wish to be reminded of that period.

My friends from that time do not understand this attitude, and my mother recently ran into my fury over the barest mention of an incident in that time. That it was the lowest point of my existence is something others do not seem to comprehend -- and why should they? Things seem to have gone swimmingly for some of them. Anytime I do look back, I often wonder if, given a second chance at that period, I would have followed through on certain instincts and done the horrible things I considered at the time, both to others and myself. That I was lost in my head is a certainty; that I wanted retribution from both those I loved and hated is something that might surprise more than a few people. To co-opt the words of two of my personal heroes, Milk and Cheese, more so than at any other time in my life, I was a carton of hate and I was a wedge of spite.

Keeping me grounded, though, in those times was Elvira. Yes, the Mistress of the Dark, not the Oak Ridge Boys' song character. Sometime late in my high school days, I discovered Elvira's Movie Macabre, and it made me a happier person. The show was dopey as hell, it showed horrible movies, she had huge bazooms, and I was a randy teenager who needed cheering up. My outward cheerfulness masked a sincere, inner depression of unfathomable limits, and once a week, no matter how bad off I was inside, Elvira helped me climb out of that depression for a couple of hours on a Saturday afternoon (and sometimes evening).

My biggest regret is that I did not tape more episodes of her show at the time, even though I was taping every damn movie in sight. I only recorded one show in that period, the one featuring the unfortunate south-of-the-border Herbert L. Strock creature flick called Monstroid, and I still have the tape to this day. Luckily, a couple of years ago, Shout Factory started releasing episodes of her old shows onto DVD, amongst them, to my delight, was Monstroid. The beauty of the discs was, just like with the Mystery Science Theatre DVDs, most of the films are released in both their hosted and original versions. This works especially nice for the horror and sci-fi nut, like myself, who wants to both add the original film to his collection, but also get the better, intentionally funny version as well.

As I mentioned the other day, I took advantage of Amazon's Halloween sale a couple weeks back and scoured their cheap, cheap, cheap DVDs to find some films that had slipped through the cracks for me. In there were four Elvira's Movie Macabre discs, each costing $6.49 or less. Like the Midnite Movie Double Features I wrote about last time, I had to jump at the chance to grab some more episodes of her show, as I only owned three of the DVDs thus far. Looking back, though, I could have saved even more money buying two of these movies on the same disc together for around nine bucks and change, but that is what happens when you make knee-jerk buying decisions like I did. Sometimes you miss the better deals. (But they made it so damn easy having all of those delectable discs all on the same page... I had no choice... I had to do it...)

Yet again, all four of these films are ones of which I have little or no experience. If I saw these episodes on the original show, I really don't recall. Some episodes, like The Conqueror Worm, The Blood on Satan's Claw and the incredibly gratuitous Mark of the Devil, I remember very well, but only in cases where the films were especially strong, as seeing these films on her show were my first and often my only experiences with those titles until years later. I suppose as I watch these discs that I might raise up memories of seeing these exact episodes, but truly, from immediate recollection, I can't recall seeing any of these films.

And that will be just fine. For to recall them, would be to recall the period. Better that I leave most of my memories of that time mainly in a sort of uncolored and distasteful mush.

And better that I make most of my memories of Elvira's Movie Macabre memories of today instead. Watch them now, and then date those memories to this year, instead of a past I do not wish to recollect. Elvira only says "Unpleasant Dreams" as a catchphrase of her charmingly titillating character. It's worse to continue to have the same ones for over a quarter century. And for the curious or those that continue to not understand, please let those days rest.

Let me watch Elvira today instead...

Buzzing Thru the Pylon: Halloween Free-For-All, Pt. 4: Midnight Matinees

OK, so I treated myself. Halloween rolls around, and I get all crazy with the DVD buying. Specifically, horror and science fiction movie buying. You may have noticed already from the fact that this post is Part 4 of my Halloween Free-For-All, with at least three more posts in sight.

Here's the deal: Amazon often has a big horror movie sale on their site at this time of the year, and for once, I was prepared. Instead of going for the bigger ticket items which are often on some form of sale throughout the year anyway, I decided to jump into their pile of 5.99 or less DVDs, and see what I could roust out of there. The first things that popped out at me were a quartet of discs from MGM's (and occasionally, 20th Century Fox's) ongoing (and seemingly popular, at least with psychotronic freaks like me) Midnight Movies series. A few years back, I grabbed about a dozen of these discs from Wal-Mart for 5 bucks a shot, finishing off my Corman Poe collection in the process. Now, it's a similar situation on Amazon: only about $20, and I have eight more films in my collection, two of which I actively like, another two which are so innocently bad they just cannot be missed, four of which I have never seen, and three of those four never-seens are ones which I have always wanted to watch. So, I can't really lose on any front with these selections, and they are going to make for some interesting viewing over the next week. The discs:

20th Century Fox and MGM Present(s) Midnite Movies Double Features
Disc #1
Panic in Year Zero! (1962)
Director: Ray Milland AIP, 1:33, b/w
Cinema 4 Rating: haven’t seen yet

The Last Man on Earth (1964)
Director: Ubaldo Ragona & Sidney Salkow
API/AIP, 1:26, b/w
Cinema 4 Rating: 6

First, a Ray Milland film of which I have heard a good deal -- some decent, some moderately ill -- but given that I am a huge Milland nut (I will not rest until It Happens Every Spring, my favorite baseball movie, is on disc), I figured that I just have to own a movie that the man himself directed. Post-apocalypse, here we come -- at least, before our government's rapture nuts take us there. Also hanging out in that time after decent civilization has finally gotten out of its own hair is Vincent Price in the first film version of the awesome I Am Legend, The Last Man on Earth. Like all three film versions, this one is not quite the novel, but for a neo-zombie flick with the great Price, it ain't hay. And while I have yet to watch this disc, it just has to hold a better print, coming from a major studio like MGM, than the umpteen versions of this public domain flick bopping about on cheap, fly-by-night video companies (or on the internet for free). I'm hoping to discover that I will like it all the more without all of the pops, crackles and erratic cuts. Then again, it could backfire and ruin the atmosphere.

Disc #2
A Blueprint for Murder (1953)
Director: Andrew L. Stone
20th Century Fox, 1:17, b/w
Cinema 4 Rating: haven’t seen yet

Man in the Attic (1953)
Director: Hugo Fregonese
20th Century Fox, 1:22, b/w
Cinema 4 Rating: 6

For fans of mysteries or psycho killers or both, Man in the Attic has just got to be seen for a terrific performance by a young but always edgy Jack Palance as a serial killing pathologist named Slade, who rents a room from Andy Griffith's Aunt Bea (no joke) -- ala The Lodger, a relationship noted in the credits -- and then proceeds to murder showgirls all over London. Low-budget but very tense mood, lots of sleazy girls in heels and stockings, and a maniacal Palance -- why would one miss this? I caught up with it recently on TCM, and had a good, gritty time watching it. I have not seen A Blueprint for Murder, which came out the same year as Man in the Attic, but it gives me an opportunity to see Joseph Cotten, always a favorite of mine, working his magic away from Hitchcock and Welles. I don't really know much else about it, but I am looking forward to it all the same.

Disc #3
Phantom from 10,000 Leagues (1955)
Director: Dan Milner
Milner Bros./ARC, 1:20, b/w
Cinema 4 Rating: 3

The Beast with a Million Eyes (1955)
Director: David Kramarsky & Lou Price
San Mateo/ARC, 1:15, b/w
Cinema 4 Rating: 2

Boy, are these a pair of really crappy films. Bottom of the barrel sludge, both of them, and as far as I know, both floating about in the public domain. I own Phantom on one such disc (one of those "50 movies for 12 bucks" things), and while I really don't need to own it a second time, I do have a thing for mutant sea creatures, so having an actual widescreen print of Phantom made the decision for me. And this monster is such a dopey sad sack that you almost want to cuddle it, even when he is attacking girls in bikinis.

There is no actual creature with a million eyes in Beast, not even a dopey one, and if you go in waiting for such a creature like I did, there will only be sad disappointment. Thank goodness I'm not an ophthalmologist. However, if you are interested in seeing just how absurdly boring a film with such a title can actually turn out to be, this will be your cup of tea. It's like someone fed the Cleavers or the Nelsons downers and then followed them around with cameras, all the while making them believe that aliens are out to get them. Despite the fear factor, everyone still practically walks around in a stupor, making this one just drip, drip, drip along... and yet, I find it fascinating that someone would even release this. And now, because my taste for these things is set extremely low, and because I am a rubbernecker of the old school, I own this slow-motion trainwreck.

Disc #4
The Return of Dracula (1958)
Director: Paul Landres
Gramercy/United Artists, 1:17, b/w (partial color)
Cinema 4 Rating: haven’t seen yet

The Vampire (1957)

Director: Paul Landres Gramercy/United Artists, 1:15, b/w
Cinema 4 Rating: haven’t seen yet

OK, I have no doubt that these two are going to end up seeming supremely disappointing to me, but I am looking forward to watching them all the same. A pair of Paul Landres-directed films that I have never run into through all of my video travels, but have read plenty about in numerous horror movie texts. Even the texts lead me to not expect too much, but I can't help but get excited about even the worst or even just plain boring films when they have been so hidden from me all this time. Obscure plays HUGE with me, and ultimately, for me, sometimes the experience means more than the actual outcome of the experience.

So it is with all four films on these discs that I have not seen. It means that instead of watching the same two dozen films on TCM or AMC for the Halloween weekend, I will have a stockpile of undiscovered treasures at my fingertips. Treasures, no matter their quality. As I said, it's the experience. Sometimes you just have to take a cinematic Cleveland Steamer to the chest to get your senses straight and your movie sights re-calibrated.

Psychotronic Ketchup: Berserk! (1967)

Director: Jim O'Connolly
Herman Cohen/Columbia, 1:36, color
Cinema 4 Rating: 4

"I had to kill him! I had to kill them all! I had to destroy your circus! KILL, KILL, KILL! That's all I feel inside me!"

In the interests of not "pulling an Ebert" (i.e., giving away the end of a movie almost immediately within a review), I'm not going to reveal which person says the statement above. You will, upon watching the film, figure out who the killer is once this appears for the first time. This still means just about anyone in the film could be the revenge-bent murderer who wreaks happen upon the Great Rivers Circus, which appears, through the use of footage of an actual circus, to be a rather extensive big-top affair even though the small cast gives it the initial appearance of being nothing but small-time. And when this line is delivered -- badly, so very badly by a performer who should clearly no far better given their experience -- you will find the only moment in the film where you haven't wasted your time. To hear the line delivered so badly is to wish that more of the film, directed by the same man who directed around Harryhausen's bits in Valley of Gwangi (a personal obsession of mine), were just as campy as the extraordinary sound of this swiftly spat out, verbal mania.

Unfortunately, most reviewers of this film, nearly to a person, make immediate mention of having to endure the hideous sight of a then sixty-plus-years old Joan Crawford pitching woo with a man a full quarter century her junior. I say, since the man in question is former TV star and rumored anti-Semite Ty Hardin, the jerk gets his just desserts. Here's the deal: yeah, we can go "Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww...." and puke everywhere over the nightmarish vision of a nightie-clad Crawford (in soft-focus, 'natch) having every guy in the film swooning over her affections, when there are clearly much hotter girls working all over the circus. Taken in context with the film, though, the combined stance of dopey Hardin and his predecessor in the film, the overacting as usual Michael Gough, makes sense, since they are basically in it for the money. None of them really think she's the -- uh, what would be the term from the time when she was actually young? -- the bee's knees. And here's the main thing regarding Joanie Baby: she actually gives it her all in this one. She seems to be having a good time, even when doing what is mere exploitation, and however deluded she may have been in her real life concerning her fading beauty, I actually think she's quite arresting in this one.

Too bad the rest of the film can't match her in willpower. Too bad that Berserk! falls apart almost from the first moment, with a ridiculous murder that, even in the most extreme of circumstances, would not have occurred the way it does. And it only does so for the sake of an interesting title sequence, with the victim swinging back and forth, causing the title to wipe on and off the scream with each wave of the body. One could write forever about how ridiculous most slasher movie murders actually are when committed, and so it seems ridiculous to have to point this out about the second murder, especially concerning such factors as timing, murder weapon of choice, the strength of the killer to actually cause an event to happen in the way that it does, and even something so simple as having the right weapon for the right place and the right props when the killer couldn't possibly know exactly where the victim would actually stop to light up a smoke.

But let's put this all aside and discuss the third murder, where the film creates its greatest disappointment -- and you will not hear this from me very often, as I normally prefer implication and subtlety -- by not showing enough blood and gore. The first murder is a mere hanging, but the second is at the very least a good, gruesome sight, and the mood is that the murders will grow increasingly profane as the film progresses. The build is there... but the follow-through is not. Given the chance to saw a woman in half, where there is even a closeup of the magician's face to imply, at least partially, that we will see some blood spatter upon his tuxedo shirt, there is but a scream, and then a cutaway to the next scene, where there is but a discussion regarding the aftermath of the murder. Not even a quick and satisfying spray for half a second. At this point, even the casual viewer will know that this is about it as far as Berserk! goes. And they would be right...

...except for that revelatory line, which is uttered in the final minute of the film. It almost can convince you that the long wait through rote murder action and the make-out moves of an increasingly wrinkly circus matriarch was worth it. If only it were true...

Knott's Very-Not-There-y Anti-Recycling Farm

My stepfather Stan remembers Knott's Berry Farm, but I sincerely doubt that what we encountered there on Thursday was anything like he remembers. Actually, I am quite sure of this, since his memories of the place are from a full fifty years ago, and the place has drastically changed in that time. Still, even with my assurance that the place was mainly loaded with rollercoasters, something that both he and my Mom were most likely not to even get close to riding, they wanted to treat me to a day at Knott's while they were in town. Since Rollercoaster-Mad Me has been craving at least a single visit to the place since I moved here, I said two things: "Really?," and then, "Sure."

Regrets, regrets, regrets... not about the rides -- I only rode four, but I loved them all -- but just about the place in general. Gripe all you will about the corporate overkill at Disney's parks, but there is one thing that I sorely miss anytime I go anywhere else, whether it be zoo, aquarium, state fair or theme park: comparatively, Disney runs a pretty tight ship. The places, the streets, the rides, the bathrooms and the restaurants are uniformly clean; the employees are polite (if a little robotically, at times) and can generally impart some sort of information somewhat related to the questions you might be posing. Most places are well-marked, lines are clearly, er, delineated, and the shows run on time. And, oh yes, they recycle.

And then there is Knott's. Maybe the non-recycling thing is something that stems from a stubborn past as a good ol' American park, but when one is trying to throw away a plastic water bottle at the front gates of Knott's, and one is confronted by about thirty garbage cans in one immediate area -- and perhaps more; I mean, there are a shitload of them -- and none of them are for recycling, you figure someone didn't get a memo somewhere. Inside the park, the only helpful or friendly attendant I found all day informed us that the non-recycling trend at Knott's was a very real thing, but that she would be glad to take the bottle since she recycled. She also told us, and perhaps it was a bit too much to know, that they wouldn't let the employees go through the garbage to collect the bottles and cans on their own. Well, I wouldn't want to go through the garbage in the first place, but to each their own. Maybe Knott's way of recycling is purely based on capitalism: by keeping the cost of bottled waters and sodas at 4 dollars each, they actually help keep the waste down, and it helps root out the true patriots at the same time. That would be good ol' 'Mercan freedom at work... "Hell, if'n I paid 4 bucks for this 20-ounce sodee pop, dagnabbit, I got a perfect right ta throw it away if'n I want!"

Speaking of the real Americans, thanks to my parents' insistence on wearing Alaska-imprinted t-shirts everywhere, we got stopped time and time again by big-haired hausfraus who would just leap straight off into their unabashed adoration for the only Alaskan of whom they have ever heard (with the possible exception of Ted Stevens, not a positive distinction). Knott's proved to be more of the same, with an attendant right inside the gate with a poofy blonde helmet who insisted that she would vote for Sarah Palin "five or six times, if I could." (I'm not exactly sure that the Republicans aren't working on that possibility in certain places, much like in the last couple of elections.)

And that is how the day started. From there, taking the coasters into account -- in order, I rode the Ghost Rider (very bumpy but breathtaking), the Xcelerator (simply awesome), the Silver Bullet and the Sidewinder -- everything else was a disappointment. I love going to Johnny Rocket's, but their absurd prices were inflated even more inside a theme park, the service was crap, there were no mini-jukes at the actual tables (just on the counters), and they actually undercooked the onion rings, which made my mom more than a little peeved. The day turned out to be the hottest one during my parents' pass through the area, and for large sections of the park, there was little cover from the relentless sun. Finding an ATM or bathroom took forever, and the park map was little help, even with the places clearly marked. The cost of a simple bottle of soda or water is far above the cost ($2.75 each) at Disney. Oh, yeah... and it's a Pepsi park, so that sucked as well. I was reduced to Mountain Dew. The plus side is that I could only afford one bottle. Which I couldn't recycle in the park.

Here's my big problem with the whole recycling issue at Knott's: California has a very progressive CRV program in place, in which consumers pay a little extra upfront for every purchase of a bottled or canned liquid, which then goes back to the consumer when they bring in these emptied goods for recycling. In Alaska, when recycling, you just bring your stuff to the center and leave it: that's it. As a result, only a steadfast circle of the environmentally friendly take up the cause. When my parents' got here, I looked in their trash in their fifth-wheeler (also not the most green way to travel, taking the massive fuel costs into account), and chided them for throwing away water bottles. They had no idea we even had such a program, and immediately started saving bottles and cans up so that I could turn them in instead. Jen and I go to the local CRV center (just around the corner from us) about once a month, and we end up with about $20 to $30 in our hands, which we often use to buy a celebratory dinner or lunch. It doesn't seem like much, but when you multiply it by millions of people, this is something big -- on both ends of the equation.

So, here is a major theme park that doesn't -- at least openly -- recycle. Maybe Knott's is doing it on the sly, perhaps behind the scenes. But one would think, in these supposedly ever greener times (environmentally, that is), that openly posing as a recycle-friendly outfit would generate some good will amongst their customers that care about such things. Certainly, much of the "green" effort sweeping this country is mostly corporate pose, but as a pose, certainly it can't be that harmful to make a minimum effort towards seeming like you care. Throw out a few cans with appropriately sized holes carved into their tops to give people that impression, and then the rabble rousers like me might shut up for a little while.

In fact, Knott's seeming lack of recycling might be the only thing in the park that my stepfather recognized from his last visit there fifty years ago. Didn't even think about doing it then; don't do it now. Talk about tradition...

[These are notes gathered from a first impression upon visiting the park. If you are aware that things are radically different concerning recycling at Knott's Berry Farm, by all means, leave me a comment heppin' me to your jive. Otherwise... shaddup...]

Recently Rated Movies #66: Lost in Two Different Jungles

Five Came Back (1939)
Director: John Farrow
Cinema 4 Rating: 7
Notes: I've heard this film mentioned in a highly positive vein so many times over the years, both in books and from the lips of film fanatics of my acquaintance. So, I just had to jump at the next chance I had to see it. Luckily, TCM is around to fulfill this need. A surprisingly tough little thriller, with an even dozen victims, er, passengers on a small plane getting lost in the Amazon jungle, who then have to hash it out for several weeks until they can, hopefully, get their plane fixed enough to hightail it out of there. And when they tell you that five will come back in the title, you had better believe it. How they arrive at this number can still prove a little shocking to audiences, even of today's jaded nature. Absolutely worth seeing for an economical (perhaps a little too, at times) script by future blacklister Dalton Trumbo and for an early, layered supporting role by future queen of comedy Lucille Ball (playing some combination of reformed gun moll or hooker, still not sure which). According to Robert Osborne, lead actor Chester Morris had his slimy hands all over Ball, and seeing her in this film, it's not hard to wonder why. With a fantastic supporting cast (John Carradine, C. Aubrey Smith, Wendy Barrie, Allen Jenkins, etc.), top marks still go to Joseph Calleia as the doomed anarchist who gets to decide who lives and who dies. While perhaps not as fantastic as I had been led to believe, still vital for anyone who loves pure thrills in glorious old black and white.
Replay/Purchase Meter: Oh, yes... when this finally hits DVD, it will go into my RKO collection. I'd like to see them put it back-to-back with Farrow's own 1956 remake, Back from Eternity (which I still have not seen), for comparison's sake.

Zack Galifianakis: Live at the Purple Onion (2006)
Director: Michael Blieden
Cinema 4 Rating: 6
Notes: I hope Mr. Zack would not take it as a slight if I said that finally there is a performer for whom I would gladly pay money not to go see. This is not a knock. I find Galifianakis more hilarious than just about any other comedian out there today, barring his fellow Comedians of Comedy Patton Oswalt, David Cross and Maria Bamford (we will throw in Lewis Black, as well). But there is -- and I hate to actually use the term "Kaufman-esque" even if I just did -- something so nerve-wracking watching Zack engage (or disengage) with an audience that makes me almost hate to have to be there when it happens. He is not a smooth one to intake, and as many pure belly laughs as he produces, there are almost an equal amount where you want to say "Nice try, buddy." Of course, the ones that land flat are often setting up something that does pay off big far, far down the line, so it's also hard to figure out when a normal comedian would start producing flop sweat in this act. There is a sense when watching Galifianakis that somewhere within in him is pure, undiscovered genius, as if the next thing he does is going to be something that will turn the world on its ear. However, there is also the sense that he could just as well go off his nut, and he just might take everyone in the place out with him. It certainly makes him almost doubly more intriguing than about 90 percent of the comics out there today, but it also makes me not want to be there to see it... even though I less than secretly do.
Replay/Purchase Meter: Probably won't buy this one -- it's just a little too uneven, and I really didn't think much of the bits with his "brother" -- but I will certainly watch it again in the future.