The Negrita Daniels *ahem, yada-yada* Weekend and Suchlike Blasphemies ... Part #2

After crashing late the following night I woke up dehydrated but without nausea, headache or serious faintness -- either I'm getting more used to liquor (is that bad?!) or those 60 SEK on "Bakis[TM]" really wasn't crock at all... My humble host, on the contrary, had been unfortunately destined to face The Notorious Ambush of Thirteen Goliath Tanks, thus having to recover all morning. While him doing so, I finally decided to see what that fuss about the Pyunilistic POSTMORTEM (1998) was all about:

First of all, you cannot overlook the fact that the protagonist of the film is played by Charlie (oh, sorry CHARLES) Sheen -- Yes! The man from Hot Shots and 2½ Men ... The Man Who Told the Feds about Guinea Pig and made an ass of himself (should have been bullwhipped to the nuts for being such a gullible do-gooder)... But what can I say? Everything is forgotten ... well almost: Mr Sheen portrays the has-been, alcoholic writer and criminal analyst James McGregor (... of the clan McLeod...) who has retired to Scotland after having suffered too much from the disturbed minds of maniacs and still having to smell the aroma of roasting children... However, there's a killer that really wants to get his attention ...

Nothing really happens in POSTMORTEM ... well, a great deal of things happen, but not in that typically emphazised Hollywood way; things appear and take place in such a way they would do in ordinary life, though it's all directed in a way not to make it anything close to boredom. The acting and the film as a whole is good -- but what's best is undoubtedly the colours and the camerawork that on a fine day would make even Dario Argento and his cinematographer jealous. Damn, I said it ... Did I really? Gosh!

When my humble host ultimately had recovered enough strength to appear it was soon time for another feature. What did I want? I had free hands and ventured to ask for a SciFi/Horror ... The dice fell on THE ALIENATOR (Fred Olen Ray: 1990) with the Master of Z-Grade Movies, ex-Herman Wouk devotee, Jan Michael Vincent, in the role, eh not really... There's an intergalactic villain who has escaped being beamed into oblivion by Vincent and Friends' new take on intergalactic electric chairs. What follows is an unsurmountable epic journey into incredible dialogues, remarkeble wardrobes, post 30 year-olds college graduate geekiness and sparkling transsexual alienations by laser gun show apparatus... Apart from the sexy Alienator(-ess) I won't ever stop thinking about the weezing JMV and suffer his ill-fated career while he's staring obsessively down his "secretary's" massive cleavage thinking quietly to himself: "WHAT'S MY FUCKING MOTIVATION FOR THIS SCENE?!" 

The Magical Negrita Daniels Home Cinema Weekend ... South Of The Border ... In Another Part Of ... Part #1: Into The Night And Beyond...

It's been slightly more than two years since I went south of the border, when I finally went AWOL on wife and children and took the non-stop train to another part of [EDIT]... Surprisingly, the trains of SJ were right on schedule so that I could change trains in time and was spared the agony of waiting for the next transport right in the middle of purgatory...

Arriving at my destination, I was greeted by the sombre Count Weekend Horrors himself and his fearsome but trusty hound Zoltan. After a few civil conversations and reminiscing the past it was time for rare to medium kebab at the local abattoir, and we felt that it was good... Back in the Count's lair there was soon time for the first broadcast of some good ole family values:

Humbly I let my host take part in the life of the ASWANG (USA, 1993) and friends... and may I say the Count appeared to be quite impressed, indeed. But now we had passed the time for sobriety and felt the thirsty need for "wine" -- mixed and straight drinks of aged bourbon and rhum flowed in rivulets while we continued our cultural journey into the known and unknown worlds of advisory cinema.

DAUGHTERS OF DARKNESS (Les lèvres rouges; Belgium 1971) is a timeless masterpiece by Monsieur Harry Kümel, and though I find it so much more amazing and rewarding each time I watch it, my humble host is perhaps the film's most fervent acolyte. In any case, the dialogue, the colours, the music... and the characters (oh, how the seemingly weakest persona turns to have the most decisive part in the plot!) play a cat-and-mouse game towards the startling end of this wondrous ride; and for those who don't know what I'm telling ... well ... ;-) 

So, after a few harsh and demanding units down the hatch we both felt ourselves enough softened up to take on an even more demanding task in our trekk towards the Ultimate Film of Family Values -- my Thai favourite, S.P. Somtow's LAUGHING DEAD (1989): You might not ever want to see this feature again, not in sober state, but this film is so awestrikingly laughable that it's completely life-threatening. Laughing Dead delivers one startling one-liner after the other: "She's not possessed; she's got Tourette's syndrome." ... "A disembodied head. Looks a lot like you..." and so on... There are a great deal of cool characthers in here: Apart from Somtow Sucharitkul himself, as the maddeningly piano-playing Um-tzec and the disbelieving catholic priest with a bastard son together with a fallen nun, there is the Aztec answer to Laurel and Hardy making a pretty mess of things... Well, but what about the film and the story -- Hey, you're kidding, right?!

And then...

(to be continued... should I remember further details...)

Ramsey Campbell's "Los sin nombre"

While we're at Jaume Balagueró I might as well tell you a bit about the novel that inspired his Los sin nombre: It's a story of about 250 yellowed paperback pages by one of the most recognized horror/suspense authors in Britain the last 35 years or so -- Ramsey Campbell.

Written in 1981 The Nameless invites us to join a mother's traumatic search for her kidnapped-and-presumed-to-be-dead daughter: The little girl has special powers but is abducted from the daycare center and later a mutilated body is discovered ... Case closed. Years go by and the mother, Barbara, is sublimating the loss of both her husband and her dear daughter, Angela, through hard work as a successful agent and publisher of books. One day when she answers her phone she hears her daughters voice once again...

What follows is a sinister, though somewhat subtle and vague, cat-and-mouse game where Barbara gradually is convinced that Angela is still alive, and where she's taken to strange places in the search for her daughter: First, there's the other young mother having lost her own child to what she calls a horrible sect involved in corruption and torture -- "The Nameless" (whom herself falls victim to a horribly strange fetal creature); second, there's the lady journalist trying to infiltrate their organization, discovering the abominable truth and is lured into a trap causing her slow and painful demise; and, finally, the calls from Angela to Barbara, where the spider gradually entangle its prey in its web of deceit...

The Nameless is, in my opinion, neither a very good book nor a bad one; it's not Ramsey Campbell's better work, by far, but I have been much more disappointed some other novels of his... Let's just say that he is Ramsey Campbell -- the man who can weave such mental frights by means of strange shadows, lopsided people or creatures, and by exploring the boundaries between reality and the supernatural in such a subtle and sublime way that it can either be a total bore... or a complete success...

If Every Director Could Make A Sequel Half As Decent As This One...

There's not so much to say about this movie; it's about a plague of zombies, spreading infection and the hunt for a possessed girl...[REC]2 follows as an immediate continuation of the first film and features a lot more undead and sharp-shooting SWATs ... but manages to keep the dark and unnerving mood up quite nicely. Though I was concered at some sequences of the movie that it would lose itself in a tangle of talk and ammo, towards the end it really delivers and the finale 110% in-your-face satisfying. The man behind the ultra depressive Los sin nombre, the eerie Frágiles, and wonderful [REC] has once again established himself as the one of the leading, current horror directors of the world. 'Nuff said! 

That Crazy Dude From Pennsylvania Is At It Again! Can't Somebody Just Stop Him!

It's a bit strange, when you sometimes consider it, how you always seem to look upon certain directors in a particular way. Dario Argento wasn't by far the first cult director I ventured in the horror/suspens department, but within a few years he'd become recognized force; and later still I consdered him, and still do, the best director I've come across. Never mind Fulci, never mind Carpenter, Cronenberg or Gordon ... Never mind ... George A. Romero!

Yes, Romero... The guy with the Dead-trilogy: It took time for me to appreciate Night of the Living Dead (I still have some qualms about it) and you really have to put you're mind into Dawn of the Dead and all it's three incarnations. Day of the Dead was actually the first film of his that I really could enjoy from the start, while still fast forwarding most of the heavy dialogue... Then, they grow on you -- these films -- and someday you find yourself wanting to watch them again, and actually doing it too. Then you discover that "Oh, he's done other films, yes! No, I didn't realize Monkey Shines was his baby, no." ... And: "Wom, Martin! Could this be his best movie, lost in the shadow of the zombies of Pittsburg ... And The Crazies, gotta see that film again, one day..."

But do I now consider him a personal Top Five cult director now? No, of course not... However, someday soon this strange notion must be reconsidered drastically. A few years ago, George A. Romero -- RIP... but then came a film: Land of the Dead it was called, and I went to see it at the local theatre mainly because of Asia Argento (when I thought I liked her...). Oh, the film was good, not perfect, a bit forgettable perhaps (in my opinion...). So, I still try and see the new Dario Argento half breeds and what comes along: Diary of the Dead. Now, either you seem to really like these movies or you just hate them; personally, I'm not too fond of hand held camera, but together with Balagueró's [REC] films I'm deeply changing my mind about this... Diary was a real surprise for me -- I enjoyed it very much and it was very well made in lots of ways. This can't go on, I thought, and tried on Survival of the Dead. He must be in deep water with this one... But, oh no! I mean, YES! This is not as Diary of the Dead, but perhaps it's even better, better in that typical George Romero way -- and do I really have to say in what... ;-)

Once, Twice, Three Times Is The Charm For Our Fearful Manitou -- Graham Masterton's BURIAL

After three quarters of a year's time re-reading my Masterton novels it finally seems that I with quite certainty would be able to tell you my absolute favorite of his work: Though not yet having re-negotiatied the original trilogy of the Dream Warriors, I will tell you that the answer of the question is ... BURIAL (1992), the third installment of the Manitou series.

First there was The Manitou (1975), which featured the birth of an ancient, terribly vengeful medicin man that is reborn through the back and neck of a young woman to break havoc on the world of the white man. This book, subsequently filmed with Tony Curtis in the lead, had its original ending cut out and replaced by an, arguably, commercially more successful ending. The first ending (much later put back along with the other in a rare, now OOP edition) had the avenging red Indian spirit fight not only Harry Erskine to break civilization, but also the pale-faces venereal deseases as well. In the published version, however, it was changed so that our protagonists should take the spirits (the manitous) of modern technology to help them in their fight against the fearful Misquamacus... A quite decent and clever book, to begin a career with, and a few years later came the first sequel, Revenge of the Manitou (1979) -- not as well crafted as its predecessor, but more entertaining in a nice, pulpy way...

Buríal tells us the story how Misquamacus has made a bargain with the great, dark spirit of the netherworld, Aktunowihio, to bring down everything made by the white man, and all white men included, into the shadow regions of the Shadow Buffalo -- The Great Outside... But to get strenght he has to make the now zombiefied voodoo priest, Sawtooth, to let the malcontented spirits of the black slaves of America to join him in his struggle. Finally, the great Misquamacus is going to keep his word this time and destroy everyone and everything that has taken the land and lives of his people. Though, once again, Harry Erskine and a few friends has something to say about this...

This is a spectacular tale mixing everything of the great Masterton Indian lore with new influences, such as voodooism, and it's quite original in its approach -- In this novel Graham Masterton has really succeeded in writing in a new, fresh and creative way in a manner he has not managed before, or after... Burial is one step above the others -- Family Portrait, Ritual, Prey, Flesh&Blood -- because it takes the best ingredients from all of them and blends it perfectly -- the blood and the macabre, the fantastic mythology -- into a rarely seen adventure that won't leave you untouched, that's a promise.