HALLOWEEN HANGOVER: DEATH HOUSE (2018) *

Death House features every star that’s been on the horror convention circuit for the past millennium.  We have Kane Hodder, Bill Moseley, Adrienne Barbeau, Debbie Rochon, Gunnar Hansen (who also gets a story credit), Dee Wallace, Camille Keaton, Barbara Crampton, Sid Haig, Tony Todd, and Michael Berryman, just to name a few.  Just because of that, you’d think it would be worth watching.  No such luck. 

Two government agents take a tour of a high-tech underground prison nicknamed “Death House”.  A combination of gas and virtual reality keep the prisoners in a catatonic state, and the worst-of-the-worst villains, “The Five Evils” are kept on the bottom floor.  Predictably, a power outage causes all the prisoners to escape, and the two agents have to fight their way to safety.  

Sounds like it can’t miss, but it’s an abomination in just about every way you can imagine.

Death House was billed as “The Expendables of Horror”, but it’s really anything but.  Talk about a shitty use of talent.  The titans of terror rarely appear on screen together and when they do, it’s fleeting.  Most of the cast are only around for precious few seconds of screen time or are virtually unrecognizable.  Many appear in what looks to be unrelated footage that was probably filmed on a smoke break during a convention appearance and dropped half-assed into the finished product.  It’s almost as if the director took a green screen to every convention he went to in order to get more stars into the movie.  Speaking of green screen, Death House features some of the worst green screen effects I’ve seen.  The virtual reality stuff is particularly annoying.  

The only effective sequence comes when our heroes stumble upon a room full of skinless prisoners.  They don’t want to escape though.  The LIKE it down there.  This scene would’ve made for its own interesting short film.  Too bad it’s sandwiched inside an otherwise nearly unwatchable mishmash.

Most of Death House is too dark to see.  Most of the time, that’s a blessing.  It also takes forever before we finally get to see the Five Evils in action.  Even then, all they do is stand around and gab for ten minutes or so. Who knew supreme evil’s superpower was talking people to death? 

HALLOWEEN HANGOVER: GHOST WRITER (1989) **

Audrey Landers stars as an entertainment journalist who is unhappy turning out fluff pieces.  When her apartment is being renovated, she moves into a secluded beach house where a beautiful movie star (Judy Landers) died under mysterious circumstances.  Judy’s ghost now haunts the house, leaving typewritten notes to prove her existence.  (GET IT?  GHOST WRITER?)  After she reveals herself, Audrey thinks it’s the perfect opportunity to jumpstart her career by landing an interview with a ghost.  Naturally, the politician (Anthony Franciosa) responsible for Judy’s death wants to silence them both.

If you don’t remember who the Landers sisters are, I can barely one-up you.  I do remember them, but only for their appearances on game shows like Match Game and the $25,000 Pyramid back when I was a kid.  Beyond that, I couldn’t tell you without looking at IMDb why the hell they were even famous in the first place.  However, they were famous enough to land the starring roles in a Kenneth J. Hall movie!

The first thing you should probably know about Ghost Writer is than unlike Hall’s Evil Spawn and Linnea Quigley’s Horror Workout, it’s strictly PG stuff.  Because of that, there’s no nudity, and the jokes are thoroughly lame.  That said, it’s not exactly a chore to sit through, thanks to the supporting cast that includes David (Charlie’s Angels) Doyle, Jeff (Taxi) Conaway, Joey (Amazon Women on the Moon) Travolta, John (The Goonies) Matuszak,  Dick (Gremlins) Miller, Kenneth (The Thing from Another World) Tobey, and the one and only (okay, two and only) Barbarian Brothers!

Audrey is a capable leading lady, but Judy handily steals every scene she’s in as the Marilyn-inspired starlet.  She has a memorable bit where she becomes visible to perform a striptease in a nightclub.  Again, since it’s PG, nothing is shown (which is odd when you consider it’s produced by David DeCoteau).  

It’s not really a horror movie, but there is a pretty cool finale set in a wax museum where Judy becomes part of the displays and freaks out Tony.  She takes the form of a vampire, the Bride of Frankenstein, and most inspired of all, Regan from The Exorcist.  Although it’s allegedly a comedy, there’s no real laughs to be had.  Still, if you ever wanted to see Jeff Conaway fight The Barbarian Brothers, here’s your chance. 

You have to actually feel sorry for poor Conaway.  One decade, you’re working alongside John Travolta in Grease.  The next, you’re starring alongside Joey Travolta in this. 

DOLEMITE IS MY NAME (2019) ****

When I was sixteen, I used to frequent the now sadly, gone Downtown Video.  It was unlike many video stores in the area as it carried mostly “new” movies.  That meant if you were looking for anything before 1986, you were sadly out of luck.  Luck changed one day in 1994 when mysteriously, out of nowhere there were six new “older” movies sitting on the top shelf.  They were, Coffy, Foxy Brown, Friday Foster, Dolemite, The Human Tornado, and Petey Wheatstraw:  The Devil’s Son-in-Law.  My friend and I rented Dolemite, mostly because it had the funniest cover.  We took it home that Friday evening not expecting a whole lot.  All I’ll say is that for roughly the next few months, Dolemite was our go-to Friday night pick.

Up till that point, my Blaxploitation education began with Shaft and ended with Superfly.  Rudy Ray Moore’s films Dolemite, The Human Tornado, and Petey Wheatstraw (along with the trio of previously mentioned Pam Grier movies) opened my eyes to a whole new world.  Pretty soon, I was going all over town renting all the Fred Williamson movies I could find, rescuing all the Jim Kelly films I could from the “For Sale” bins, and taping Jim Brown flicks off late-night cable.  For a sixteen-year-old white boy from small-town America, I quickly became a student of Blaxploitation cinema.

I only mention my past because Craig Brewer’s excellent Dolemite is My Name brought a sweeping swell of emotions to me I wasn’t fully prepared for.  It came to us from the screenwriters of Ed Wood, so I was just expecting Ed Wood… but with Dolemite.  What I got was an inspirational underdog story about the American dream.  A fable about the importance of perseverance.  A tale about artists’ stopping at nothing until they see their vision to its fruition.  Of course, it helps when that vision includes an all-girl army of Kung Fu killers.

I’ve always felt a connection to the character, not only because watching the film always takes me back to the good old video store days, but because of just how badass he is.  It didn’t matter that the fight choreography was subpar or if some of the actors flubbed their lines or if there were boom mics bouncing in and out at the top of the frame.  Moore’s conviction to the character shone through all the film’s shortcomings.  In fact, I would argue that the shortcomings married with the electricity of Moore’s performance made for a special brand of movie magic that none have been able to replicate.  

I guess what I mean by all this is that… well… There’s a scene in the movie where Rudy (brilliantly portrayed by Eddie Murphy) is unsure if the movie will ever be shone.  And if it is, whether or not more than five people will show up.  Even his own financiers tell him it will only play in “black movie houses”.  I am here to tell everyone that not only did these films find a wide (and white) audience, but they were appreciated for their entertainment value.  I can only hope that after anyone who watches Dolemite is My Name on Netflix will immediately go out and watch the movies that inspired the film.  Anything to keep the work of the legendary Rudy Ray Moore alive and well is fine and dandy by me.

The film captures that “It Takes a Village” approach to low budget filmmaking so well.  Everyone around Rudy knows they’re not making high art, but they pitch in the best they can, partly because of how well he sells himself, but also because what he puts on screen is fucking hilarious.  We see him hustling and hawking, anything he can do to get the movie made, and having doors repeatedly slammed in his face along the way.  However, Moore persists and does everything in his power to put his dream project on the screen for generations to see.  

I’m trying to avoid plot details of the film.  It’s best if you just let the movie do its thing and work its magic on you.  I think you’ll be surprised just how much it strikes a chord with audiences.  There was a moment when Moore is down and out, working in a record store that was only supposed to be a day job that winds up being a career that hit close to home.  There’s also a standout moment outside a movie theater playing The Front Page that got me full-on choked up. 

It’s a testament to Murphy’s performance that these human moments in between the raps, snaps, and pimp hats tug at your heart so well.  He’s never been better.  After far too many decades playing it safe in kid’s movies, I can honestly say the Eddie we all know and love is back.  Scratch that.  This is a whole new Eddie.  He doesn’t mimic Moore’s vocal stylings, but he does disappear into the character enough where you forget you’re watching Eddie Murphy.  He embodies Moore’s swagger and is ferociously funny.  I bet you’ve forgotten how wonderful it was to hear him say the word “fuck”.

The ensemble cast is aces too.  Keegan-Michael Key is great as the screenwriter who goes from wanting to make a serious picture to getting caught up in Moore’s vision.  Wesley Snipes kicks so much ass as D’Urville Martin, who plays Moore’s nemesis onscreen and off.  Mike Epps, Craig Robinson, and Tituss Burress make quite the team as Moore’s entourage.  I will also say that Da’Vine Joy Randolph just may be a contender for Best Supporting Actress as her performance as Lady Reed will stick with you for a long time after you watch it.

Dolemite is My Name brought so much joy to this Moore fan’s heart that I can forgive them for including clips of The Human Tornado in with the original film.  I mean for a Rudy Ray Moore snob like me, it kind of bugs me because it’s not historically accurate.  However, who am I to pass up an opportunity to see Eddie Murphy recreate the famous “BITCH!  ARE YOU FOR REAAAALLLLL?!” moment?

In short, this is one of the best movies of the year.  

HALLOWEEN HANGOVER: SHOCK TREATMENT (1964) **

Roddy McDowall is a gardener for an old rich widow.  One day, he snaps and cuts off her head with his gardening shears, but not before burning up his employer’s money.  Or did he?  Stuart Whitman is an actor who gets hired to infiltrate the insane asylum where McDowall’s been institutionalized and find what’s left of the money.  The only problem:  McDowell’s crazy shrink wants to get her hands on the loot too.

Shock Treatment has a durable premise.  It’s just that the execution is lacking.  There doesn’t seem to be much urgency to the proceedings and the whole thing just seems too… respectable to really kick into gear.  The ending features at least one semi-gruesome death, but the film needed more of these juicy moments to come to life.

Part of the problem is the casting.  Whitman is just too handsome and mild-mannered to pass himself off as crazy.  He’s a solid leading man and I’ve enjoyed his work in many films.  He’s just all wrong for the role.  

Speaking of being wrong for the role, let’s talk about the film’s biggest problem.  I’ve refrained from stating the identity of McDowall’s doctor, not because it’s a spoiler, but because you just won’t believe the mad doctor is played by… LAUREN BACALL?!?!  I mean she’s one of Hollywood’s finest actresses, but playing a conniving shrink who willingly gives sane people shock treatments and LSD is far removed from her wheelhouse.  Nobody played a femme fatale like Bacall.  As a mad doctor, she’s ludicrously miscast.  

Still, whatever energy the film has comes from McDowall.  His understated performance gives his character a tinge of sympathy, but he’s still fun to watch whenever he occasionally goes off the rails.  Timothy Carey makes an impression in a bit part, and it’s a shame he wasn’t given more to do.

Director Denis Sanders went on to direct Invasion of the Bee Girls.

A NIGHT TO DISMEMBER (1989) ½ *

Doris Wishman is my kind of filmmaker.  She goes out there and makes the movie her way.  You can look at one frame of a Doris Wishman film and know it was made by Doris Wishman.  If it’s got lots of close-ups of feet, no synch sound, and looks like a series of people’s last known photographs, you can bet your ass it’s a Wishman flick.

When Wishman is cooking, she often hits it out of the park.  Anyone who’s ever sat through Let Me Die a Woman, Deadly Weapons, or Nude on the Moon will attest to that.  However, her misses are about as bad as they come.  (The Amazing Transplant, anyone?)  That’s why it pains me to say A Night to Dismember just might be her worst flick.  

It’s not really her fault.  You see, according to legend, some disgruntled lab employee burned the film print.  Wishman then had to scramble, cutting the movie together using odd ends, discarded footage, and whatever scraps she could find.  She added some newly shot footage, and then cobbled it all together and released it on an unsuspecting public.  

Trying to follow the story will give you mental whiplash.  It revolves around the bizarre murders of a troubled family.  Things kick off with a gruesome ax murder in the tub, but then the murderess slips and falls on her ax.  Most of the time, the editing is so rapid fire that simple scenes are hard to figure out.  Shots are repeated, slow motion is used for like, two seconds, shots alternate from night to day, and there are long negative scenes; all of which are usually accompanied by overbearing, out of place library music. 

A narrator constantly runs his mouth to try to make sense of the plot.  (It’s really nothing more than your standard let’s-drive-a-relative-crazy plot, but the way it’s told is just confusing as fuck.)  This movie has more narration than The Creeping Terror and Monster a Go-Go combined.  Occasionally, we do hear a snippet of dialogue or two, but it’s clearly just Wishman’s voice dropping in a few lines here and there.  

I like Wishman.  That’s why it hurts to say this flick is a disaster of epic proportions.  Still, it’s a miracle it exists in any way, shape, or form considering the circumstances.  That alone is a testament to Wishman’s tenacity.  

Recently, a print of the original version was miraculously found.  I don’t know if my nerves could stand to watch that one so soon after subjecting myself to this.  Judging solely from the evidence here, I’d say they burned the wrong movie.

A BUCKET OF BLOOD (1995) ***

A Bucket of Blood is a remake of the 1959 cult classic starring Dick Miller.  It was made as part of the Showtime series Roger Corman Presents and it sticks close to the original.  Only now, since it’s on Showtime, they can include a scene involving a violinist performance artist doing a striptease.

Anthony Michael Hall steps into the Walter Paisley role.  He’s a busboy with dreams of artistic stardom who only works in a beatnik club to be around the artists he admires.  One night he accidentally kills a cat.  With no way to get rid of the carcass, he wraps it plaster and passes it off as “art”.  He quickly becomes an overnight sensation, but what will he do for an encore?

It may seem odd nowadays to remake A Bucket of Blood so closely.  However, it makes sense when you realize that in the early ‘90s, there was a mini-resurgence of spoken word poetry and pseudo-beatnik culture.  (Remember all those Gap ads?)  It also works as a skewering of the pretentious art world at the time.  John Waters later did something similar with Pecker, although that film was much more saccharine in its approach.

Speaking of which, Waters regular Mink Stole also appears as a rich woman married to Paul Bartel.  In fact, the whole supporting cast is gangbusters.  Justine Bateman is having fun doing a snooty accent as the object of Walter’s affection.  We also have David Cross and Will Ferrell popping up in small roles a few years before finding fame.  It’s Shadoe Stevens who steals the movie as the beat poet guru who endlessly pontificates about God knows what.   

I didn’t think anyone could replace Miller as Walter, seeing as it’s his signature role.   I have to admit, Hall makes the role his own.  He does a fine job as the lowly busboy yearning for social and artistic acceptance and manages to be intimidating once he turns into a murderer. 

A Bucket of Blood is a nearly scene-for-scene remake that retains the black humor that made the original such a classic.  The big difference of course, is the gratuitous nudity, which is always appreciated.  I can’t say it was entirely warranted, nor is it by any means essential, but it’s one of the best films in the Roger Corman Presents line-up.

AKA:  The Death Artist.  AKA:  Bloody Secret.  AKA:  Walter.  AKA:  Dark Secrets.

SPELLCASTER (1992) **

Remember back in the day when MTV always used to run those crazy contests, like “Spend the Day with Van Halen” or “Have John Cougar Mellencamp Play at Your Bar Mitzvah?”  Heck, what am I talking about?  Most people have long forgotten that they actually showed videos on MTV.  Well, if you’re like me, and you do remember those fine days, you may (just may) get a kick out of Spellcaster.

Contest winners from an MTV rip-off station are flown to an Italian castle to partake in a treasure hunt.  The grand prize winner gets a check for a million bucks.  Little do the contestants know that Adam Ant is lurking on the grounds, gazing into his crystal ball, and watching in ecstasy every time a moronic, conniving contestant meets their ludicrously improbable demise.

Spellcaster comes to us from producer Charles Band’s Empire Pictures and it’s another one of those Empire movies where a bunch of people wander around a castle for half the running time before eventually getting picked off in some oddly contrived way.  Maybe the problem was they got the director of Screwballs, Rafal Zielinski to helm it.  The man can do a Horny Teenager movie like few in the business, but when it comes to horror, he just couldn’t find his footing.  The incredibly lame happy ending does nobody any favors either.

In a weird way, it kind of plays like Band’s version of Willy Wonka as awful people are lured to an eccentric’s estate under the guise of a contest before receiving their just desserts.  Like for example, the fat guy literally turns into a pig.  I get that.  The tease gets attacked by an ogre who makes her live inside a painting.  Okay.  I sort of see how…  The slut gets eaten by a chair.  Wait… wouldn’t make more sense for the slut to get eaten by a bed…  

Okay, so very little of it makes sense, but there’s enough random shit here to keep your interest from completely waning.  That’s still not enough to make it worthwhile though.  In fact, it’s almost like Band had a bunch of props laying around from other movies and repurposed them for this one.

If you came to the party for Adam Ant, you’re bound to be disappointed, as he’s only in the last ten minutes.  Till then, only his hand is seen touching his crystal ball.  Still, it’s cool they got a rock star for the role because it keeps in with the whole MTV rock star contest motif.  “Win a Date with Death with Adam Ant!”