The Zombie Survival Guide (2003) by Max Brooks: This oddity predated Brooks' World War Z by a full three years. It's basically a set-up for that novel, a guide to surviving the zombie apocalypse written before the zombie apocalypse described in World War Z actually occurs by someone who seems to exist in the same universe as that of World War Z.
The key thing in the volume is an explanation of the zombie virus (dubbed 'Solanum'). There have been zombie outbreaks throughout history, our nameless guide-writer tells us, all caused by that mysterious virus.
Brooks differentiates his zombies from most others with one of the effects of this virus: the living dead are rendered poisonous to virtually anything that might regard them as carrion, from almost all bacteria to bears. Zombies who truly are edible carrion would, as many zombie nitpickers have noted, be pretty much neutralized as a threat in a couple of weeks.
With Solanum comes a couple of other effects: zombies don't digest the people and animals they eat, and zombies can only be killed with a head-shot. The former has been implied from time to time in some zombie movies; the latter has been a staple of zombie movies since at least George Romero's Night of the Living Dead.
I'd guess that this book would be pretty useful if one actually lived in Brooks' fictional universe. There's one glaring problem with Brooks' world both here and in World War Z: he drastically over-rates a silencer/suppressor's ability to muffle the noise of a handgun or rifle.
This wouldn't be such a problem if the book didn't exhaustively detail all the 'noisy' things one shouldn't do (drive a car, yell, walk through tall grass) while nonetheless espousing the worth of silenced guns. Go look up silenced/suppressed decibel levels some time. They're definitely louder than walking through tall grass, cars (even cars without mufflers!) and pretty much everything else.
Brooks' unnamed writer also waxes eloquent about the efficacy of the Japanese samurai sword (or 'katana'). An entire Internet argument sprang up around this topic (and Michonne's use of the katana in The Walking Dead). The general consensus was that the katana is extremely difficult to wield and, wielded by a novice, has an alarming tendency to break. Oops.
There are long, tedious stretches throughout, the boredom and page-flipping arising from those sections which consist of check-lists for what one needs for certain zombie-apocalypse scenarios. Brooks really goes all-in on the idea that this guide is 'real.' And oh so boring in its details.
The most enjoyable parts consist of the entries on zombie attacks throughout history. Brooks apparently thought so too, as a subsequent book and graphic novel series described some of these millennia-spanning attacks in greater detail. Brooks goes back to Ancient Egypt in terms of recorded encounters and even further back with cave paintings and other prehistoric artifacts suggesting that zombies have been around as long as Homo sapiens. The Zombie Survival Guide works best in concert with World War Z. Lightly recommended.
Videodrome (1983): written and directed by David Cronenberg; starring James Woods (Max), Sonja Smits (Bianca O'Blivion), Debbie Harry (Nicki), Peter Dvorsky (Harlan), Leslie Carlson (Barry Convex) , and Jack Creley (Dr. Brian O'Blivion): David Cronenberg's Lovecraftian tale of body horror, basic cable networks, sadomasochism, and transcending the body seems as fresh today as ever, even if the Toronto-based cable universe it depicts almost certainly seems quaintly foreign to most people under the age of 40.
James Woods is tense and sweaty and confused as Cronenberg's semi-satirical take on Canadian TV pioneer Mose Znaimer, on the hunt in the early 1980's for the late-night soft-core pornography that pays the bills for his small TV station. In reality, these were City TV's Baby Blue Movies. In Videodrome, they become a gateway to another reality in which competing philosophies of New Humanity and its New Flesh are at war.
Woods definitely delivers the greatest acting performance ever by someone playing a guy with a vaginal VHS slot in his stomach. Jack Creley is a hoot as Dr. Brian O'Blivion, Cronenberg's nod to the University of Toronto's media guru Marshall McLuhan, a media commentator who only appears on TV. That the malignant Videodrome signal emanates from Pittsburgh seems like another nod, to the hometown of horror/zombie-movie pioneer and visionary George Romero. Highly recommended.
I'll Be Gone in the Dark: One Woman's Obsessive Search for the Golden State Killer (2018) by Michele McNamara, Paul Haynes, Billy Jensen, and Patton Oswalt:
The Golden State Killer of the sub-title got that name from author Michele McNamara 20 years after his last known crime, named thusly by McNamara on the Internet because GSK's other nicknames -- The Original Night Stalker, The East Area Rapist, EAR/ONS, and The Diamond Knot Killer -- did not cover the full range of the rapist-murderer's crimes.
He had instead been given different names in different areas of California at different times between 1976 and 1986. He has never been identified or caught.
McNamara was married to comic actor Patton Oswalt. She died of complications related to prescription medication (probably) in 2016 at the age of 46. She left behind Oswalt, a daughter, and the unfinished manuscript that would become this book. Oswalt, lead researcher Paul Haynes, and investigative journalist Billy Jensen finished the book, or at least completed it.
It's a solid, clearly unfinished 'True Crime' text. What makes it different than a lot of True Crime books is that it's as much about McNamara's (self-admittedly and in the title) obsessive search for the identity of the Golden State Killer.
Her search uses Internet resources and message boards, real-life interviews and consultations, and a lot of sifting through the seemingly endless boxes of evidence. But she also outlines the reasons for her interest in the case, the toll it takes, and her family background.
McNamara isn't an elegant prose writer (and someone should be severely chastised for letting the neologistic abomination 'pre-planning' through the editorial net on several occasions). This isn't Truman Capote's In Cold Blood or even Erik Larson's The Devil In the White City. What it is, is a straightforward crime story that gradually mutates into another riff on Ahab and Moby Dick. That McNamara's insomnia over the last few years of her life led to the prescribed drugs that may have killed her only makes the Moby Dick comparison more poignant, especially with the killer uncaught.
So we're left at the end with facts, aided by advances in DNA technology, and aided even more by crowd-sourcing the investigation via message boards and McNamara's own website. McNamara speculates on crimes that may have been committed by the man who would become the Golden State Killer prior to 1976. She also speculates on why the GSK went from brutal rapist to a serial murderer of couples, on why he stopped, and on whether he lives today.
But McNamara is also attentive to the limits of speculation, detailing failed leads and referring to wrong assumptions in other, solved serial-killer cases. It's grim stuff at times. Here there be monsters.
I wish the completists had found a better way -- or better writers -- to deal with the unfinished portions of the manuscript rather than the somewhat clunky concluding prose by Haynes and Jensen. But I also understand why those involved with McNamara's writing legacy wanted the text to appear in its current state. Recommended.
Paranormal Activity 4 (2012): written by Christopher Landon and Chad Feehan; directed by Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman; starring Kathryn Newton (Alex), Katie Featherston (Katie), Matt Shively (Ben), Aiden Lovekamp (Wyatt), and Brady Allen (Robbie): Jesus, there are two more Paranormal Activity movies after this one. The Law of Diminishing Returns will not stop this franchise!
If you're scoring at home, the linear chronology of the Paranormal Activity movies goes 3, 2, 1, 4, 5, and 6.
There are a couple of good moments in Paranormal Activity 4. There might have been more had the movie been made five years later, when smart-phone video technology was better. Why do I say this? Because teenaged girl protagonist (Supernatural's Kathryn Newton, aka the angry, monster-fighting daughter of Castiel's human host) spends about a third of the movie carrying a goddamned laptop around so she can talk to her boyfriend and film supernatural incidents at the same time. Yeah, that isn't... awkward.
Anyway, the demons and ghosts are now nigh-omnipotent, which means that the movie soporifically muddles towards pretty much the same ending as the first three. Newton does what she can, but she's adrift in a sea of nihilistic found-footage nonsense. Not recommended, and really no fun at all.
The Darkness (2016): written by Greg McLean, Shayne Armstrong, and Shane Krause; directed by Greg McLean; starring Kevin Bacon (Peter Taylor), Radha Mitchell (Bronny Taylor), David Mazouz (Michael Taylor), Lucy Fry (Stephanie Taylor), Paul Reiser (Peter's Boss), Ilza Ponko (Gloria Ortega), and Alma Martinez (Teresa Morales): The Darkness isn't a good movie, but it's at least a better remake of Poltergeist (1982) than Poltergeist (2015).
The Taylor family (Mom Radha Mitchell, Dad Kevin Bacon, bulimic teenaged daughter Lucy Fry and autistic son David 'Bruce Wayne' Mazouz) vacations at the Grand Canyon. However, autistic son Mikey walks off with five stones from a secret Anasazi chamber. Removing the stones from the chamber frees five demons from imprisonment in the Phantom Zone. Well, whatever.
As it apparently takes months for these demons to power up, the Taylor family gets bedevilled at an ever-increasing rate by water taps that turn themselves on, bulimia, potential marital infidelity, and loud bumps in the night. Mikey now has an imaginary friend he calls 'Jenny.'
So a bunch of stuff happens that's a lot like Poltergeist, only with nods to the mysterious Anasazi civilization rather than Indian burial grounds. Mikey is enamored of his demonic friends. No one else is. Thankfully, the Internet is quite authoritative on the subject of Anasazi demons! Though based on the screenshots we see, Mom and Pop get all their information from the same web page.
Director Greg McLean made his name with Wolf Creek and also directed the underwhelming Belko Experiment. He achieves some nice horror effects here. He also seems to forget what establishing shots are at key moments. Oh, well. There's a wise Hispanic psychic and her wise psychic grand-daughter to help straighten things out with the help of some sort of demonic diving rod made out of coat-hangers.
The portrayal of autism in The Darkness isn't exactly offensive. It just seems... undercooked. Mikey is either robotically gormless or suddenly HUMAN. David Mazouz does what he can with the character, but you really start to hate Mikey, which I don't think was the intention. Lucy Fry is much better than she needs to be in the role of bulimic sister/demonic punching bag. Radha Mitchell is also fine in a somewhat underwritten part.
And Kevin Bacon! He's quite convincing as a sleazy, affair-prone, distracted white-collar (he's an architect) Dad and somewhat less convincing as Good, Self-Sacrificing Dad. His hair is crazy, though not unjustified -- he looks like a 50-year-old guy trying to look young and failing miserably when he remembers his pomade and failing really, really miserably when he forgets his pomade and his hair looks like a toupee made of badly-dyed straw.
I mean, it's really a bad movie, but it's an enjoyable bad movie. Recommended.
Dagon (1968) by Fred Chappell: Chappell has long been a respected Southern writer with academic ties. But he's also been a periodic contributor to the vast shared universe inspired by the writings of H.P. Lovecraft. Dagon is his one novel-length foray into Lovecraftiana. And boy, it is not what one expects, not hardly!
Dagon begins by looking like one of those Lovecraft homages (think Stephen King's "Jerusalem's Lot") in which a man returns to his ancestral home to discover that he has some family tie to horrifying secrets. The HPL Ur-text for this is "The Rats In the Walls." Our preacher-protagonist returns to the family farm in the American South to work on a theology text. His luminous, often sarcastic wife accompanies him.
Almost immediately, our protagonist begins to be haunted by strange dreams and visions and compulsions, all tied to the tenant family also living on the rural property. They're vaguely fishy looking. Literally.
Someone familiar with HPL's universe will almost immediately think, "Oh oh. They've got the Innsmouth Look!" Yes. Yes they do. And this will indeed prefigure what comes, though not in any 'normal' way when it comes to stories that nod to HPL's Deep Ones.
About a third of the way through this short novel, things make a dramatic and unexpected shift into something startling and horrible. I did not see it coming. Probably, neither will you. What follows is something that still seems radical for a Cthulhu Mythos text, if a Cthulhu Mythos text this is. Certainly the eponymous Lovecraftian water god, borrowed from the Babylonians by HPL, is involved, as are mentions of Lovecraftian texts and deities. And an early HPL tale bears the same title.
What occupies Chappell in the last two-thirds of Dagon is an exploration of the aberrant psychology of someone trapped by an ancestral association with non-traditional Evil, gradually stripped of all free will and agency, gradually broken down into a sacrificial victim. But what kind of sacrifice? Telling more would be telling too much. It may not even be Objective Evil -- it may just be Subjective Evil and Objective Other.
Dagon is not for everyone. It is excruciating, depressing, and horrifying. It takes some of its inspiration from the mental transmogrifications we see in the narrator at the end of "The Shadow Over Innsmouth" and then goes far beyond that, beyond even the dismal mental destruction of the narrator of the aforementioned "The Rats In the Walls."
Throughout this dark descent, we're guided by third-person narration, not the first-person narration of the above two stories. Chappell maintains a bit of narrative distance so as to allow for a more clinical observation of a mind in the midst of destruction and debasement. And when the ending comes -- well, it too is unexpected and very much both a nod to HPL and a sort of perfection of the ruthless cosmicism of some of HPL's works.
This is a brilliant, disturbing, exhausting novel. Rewarding to the extreme, but I couldn't blame anyone for throwing it into the fireplace without finishing it. This is about as dark as it gets. Highly recommended.
Scream Blacula Scream (1973): written by Joan Torres, Raymond Koenig, and Maurice Jules; directed by Bob Kelljan; starring William Marshall (Blacula/ Prince Mamuwalde), Don Mitchell (Justin), Pam Grier (Lisa), Michael Conrad (Sheriff Harley), and Richard Lawson (Willis): Shaggy, uneven, immensely enjoyable sequel to Blacula moves the action to New Orleans, where an ambitious voodoo, um, guy resurrects Blacula (ie. Prince Mamuwalde) from the bones a fellow voodoo practitioner has stashed under the floorboards. I guess evidence control at the LAPD lost track of Blacula's bones after the end of the first Blacula movie.
William Marshall really towers over this movie with a charismatic performance that manages to convince one of the tragedy of Mamuwalde, turned into a vampire against his will by Count Dracula while Dracula was vacationing in Africa during the 19th century. Effective moments of bloodsucking horror occur throughout the film, but the most interesting parts involve Marshall talking to people. He may be tragic, but he's also a monster. And he knows it.
A subdued Pam Grier heads the rest of the cast. She and Don Mitchell wisely choose to soft-sell their characters, leaving the over-acting hijinks to Richard Lawson as the voodoo practitioner who resurrects Blacula and gets a lot more than what he bargained for. Michael Conrad (Sgt. Esterhaus on the first two seasons of Hill Street Blues: "Hey, let's be careful out there") plays the only major white character, a local sheriff who grudgingly comes to believe in vampires. Recommended.
It (1990): adapted from the 1986 Stephen King novel by Tommy Lee Wallace and Lawrence D. Cohen; directed by Tommy Lee Wallace; starring Harry Anderson/ Seth Green (Richie Tozier), Dennis Christopher/ Adam Faraizi (Eddie Kaspbrak), Richard Masur/ Ben Heller (Stanley Uris), Annette O'Toole/ Emily Perkins (Bev Marsh), Tim Reid/ Marlon Taylor (Mike Hanlon), John Ritter/ Brandon Crane (Ben Hanscom), Richard Thomas/ Jonathan Brandis (Bill Denbrough), and Tim Curry (Pennywise):
It (2017): adapted by Chase Palmer, Cary Fukunaga, and Gary Dauberman from the novel by Stephen King; directed by Andy Muschietti; starring Bill Skarsgard (Pennywise), Jaeden Lieberher (Bill), Jeremy Ray Taylor (Ben), Sophia Lillis (Bev), Finn Wolfhard (Richie), Chosen Jacobs (Mike), Jack Dylan Grazer (Eddie), and Wyatt Oleff (Stanley):
The 1990 miniseries adaptation of Stephen King's It is more faithful to the book in many ways, even allowing for the fact that the miniseries tells the whole story while the 2017 movie deals only with the childhood sections of the novel. In the miniseries, British Columbia plays Derry, Maine while the real-world locations for the movie are mostly located in Ontario, Canada. Hmm.
The faithfulness of the miniseries does lead to a certain breathlessness at points, as the filmmakers cram an astonishing amount of the novel into about three hours. Why didn't ABC make It a six- or eight-hour miniseries? No idea. Without commercials, the miniseries clocks in at about 187 minutes, less than an hour longer than the 2017 movie while tackling the entire novel. That's some impressive condensation!
The performances by both the children and the adults the children grow into are good, for the most part, with Brandon Crane as a young Ben Hanscom especially seeming truer to Ben's physical appearance in the book than Jeremy Ray Taylor in the 2017 movie. We will not go on at length about the ponytail sported by Richard Thomas as the adult Bill Denbrough except to say that it is immensely distracting. Tim Reid is especially impressive as the adult Mike Hanlon. Yes, Venus Flytrap from WKRP. John Ritter is also pitch-perfect as the adult Ben Hanscom.
One of the oddities of the miniseries is that Harry Anderson as the adult Richie Tozier towers over the other characters (Anderson is 6'4" while Ritter was 5'11" and Thomas is a shade below 5'9"), which seems weird if one has read the novel. Ah, Hollywood.
Movie It's Jeremy Ray Taylor's Ben Hanscom seems about six inches too short for his character, and lacks the character-defining sweatshirts of his novel and miniseries counterparts, though only the novel explains the significance of a 'fat' kid wearing sweatshirts even in the hottest weather. Both miniseries and movie could use more character-building like this, as just the sweatshirt stuff in the novel makes Ben more poignant while also showing the young Richie Tozier's combination of insight and crude bonhomie.
The miniseries also hews closer to the age of the children in the novel while the movie up-aged them by a couple of years. Tim Curry's Pennywise is a brasher, less physically startling Pennywise than Bill Skarsgard's, though neither actor really captures the novel's idea that Pennywise should be appealing at first meeting. Their Pennywises are just creepy and scary all the time, a decision made by the directors, I'd assume. An ingratiating John Candy would have probably made the best Pennywise.
The miniseries leaves the truly cosmic origins of It (the creature) mostly untouched. Supposedly, the next movie will actually delve into this. I'll be interested to see how that goes. Both the movie and the miniseries do admirable jobs of adapting King's work. I'd guess that most people who saw the miniseries last when it aired probably remember it as beginning, as with the movie, with Georgie's fateful encounter with Pennywise in the storm drain.
Not so! And it's not a puzzling choice, as the miniseries has to set up the dual timelines of its plot immediately. But it did seem a little Mandela Effect for a moment as I rewatched the miniseries for the first time in 28 years. Live and learn. Both miniseries and movie: recommended.
The Mummy (2017): written by Everybody; directed by Action Robot Director 3000; starring Tom Cruise (Lieutenant Jerkstore), Russell Crowe (Actually Acting), Annabelle Wallis (Too Young Love Interest/ Archaeologist), Sofia Boutella (The Enchantress from Suicide Squad), and Jake Johnson (Cheaplaffs Johnson): Such a colossal turd of a movie that it makes the unfortunate The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor shine in one's memory like Lawrence of Arabia.
Solid screenwriters including Christopher McQuarrie (The Usual Suspects!), David Koepp (Jurassic Park!), and Jenny Lumet (Rachel Getting Married! Wait, what?) are buried alive by this misguided attempt to turn Universal's monster movies into a Marvel-like shared cinematic universe. That would be Dark Universe, the absurd shared cinematic universe that died about a month after The Mummy died in North American theatres, thus sparing us superhero movies featuring the Invisible Man, the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and Abbott and Costello.
Did you know that Dracula Untold was the previous attempt to create a shared-universe Universal monster-hero franchise? And before that Hugh Jackman's Van Helsing: will Universal ever learn?
About the only good thing in the movie is Russell Crowe, approaching plumminess as monster-fighter Henry Jekyll (yes, that Jekyll, updated to the modern day). Crowe would really have killed it in those old Hammer Horror movies with Christopher Lee and/or Peter Cushing. I'm not kidding. He manages humour and a slight bit of gravitas despite being knee-capped by this ridiculous script, poor acting, and a frenetically desperate Tom Cruise as a bewilderingly unlikable lead character. Not recommended.
The Leopard Man (1943): adapted from the Cornell Woolrich novel Black Alibi by Edward Dein and Ardel Wray; directed by Jacques Tourneur; starring Dennis O'Keefe (Jerry), Margo (Clo-Clo), Jean Brooks (Kiki), James Bell (Dr. Galbraith), and Abner Biberman (Charlie): One of the more minor horror-noir collaborations between producer Val Lewton and director Jacques Tourneur nonetheless has some lovely, sinister, moody noir stretches of tension as an escaped leopard stalks citizens by night in a small New Mexico town.
Or is it a leopard? Much of the acting is forgettable. The non-forgettable acting from Margo (whom I last saw in Lost Horizon) is seriously compromised by her character's incessant clicking of castanets. I kid you not. You cheer for the leopard to stop that damn noise! But the movie looks great and crackles in its most thrilling sequences of terror. Recommended.
