Rino Di Silvestro's Werewolf Woman (1976)

Pulsating rhythmic beats, a ring of fire, and within, a nude Annik Borel gyrates and dances under the full moon. After giving the camera (and the viewer) an eyeful of her birthday suit, her character becomes a blonde werewolf. She moves into the countryside, where a group of folks are carrying pitchforks and torches (the universal symbol for lynch mob). Borel's wolf catches and kills one of the mob, but the mob subdues her and ties her to a stake for a death by fire. Cut to modern times, where Daniella (Borel again) wakes from a nightmare. Her father, Count Nesari (Tino Carraro) consults her physician (Elio Zamuto) and tells the good doctor this: Daniella, now a grown woman, was raped by a maniac when she was fifteen. This trauma has had a severe and understandable psychological effect upon Daniella. Recently, the Count told Daniella of her ancestor to whom she bears a striking resemblance. This ancestor was believed to be a lycanthrope and was killed because of that belief. Zamuto's doctor makes the connection: Daniella's inability to interact socially because of her adolescent trauma combined with the effect of the legendary ancestral tale will produce unique behavior during a full moon. Oh really? Like what? Well....Elena (Dagmar Lassander), Daniella's sister arrives home from America with her handsome new husband on an evening with a full moon. Daniella after spying the brightly-lit moon retires for the evening. Daniella awakens to peep in on her sister and her husband making love. Daniella flows down the stairs in her see-through nightgown and exits the villa. Elena's husband hears a noise on the grounds and investigates. He discovers Daniella outside and she attempts to seduce him. A little reluctant at first, he gives into Daniella's charms until she rips his throat out. His corpse gets tossed into a ravine by Daniella, while she earns a month-long trip to the local asylum....

With a title like Rino di Silvestro's Werewolf Woman (1976) the viewer might expect a sexy lady lycanthrope popping out of bushes and around corners on unsuspecting victims. Not quite. Save the werewolf suits for Naschy's Waldemar and forget the slightly misleading title. Werewolf Woman is more akin to a possession tale, a la William Friedkin's The Exorcist (1973) than a story about shape-shifting. Italian genre film makers were masters of ripping...err...paying homage to successful commercial films. Two of my favorite sub-genres are all films made in the bloody wake of Steven Spielberg's Jaws (1975) and those coming in the vomitous wave of The Exorcist. Some of the best Italian possession flicks are Franco Lo Cascio & Angelo Pannaccio's Cries and Shadows (1975), Andrea Bianchi's Malabimba (1979), and Mario Bianchi's Satan's Baby Doll (1982). The Italians cut down on the spiritual and psychological elements of Friedkin's original and upped the exploitative elements within: a litany of bedside profanity, copious amounts of nudity, seriously bloody violence, and an overall sense of perversity. Di Silvestro delivers on all counts.Borel's Daniella attempts to hide her affliction by moving around the country, and Werewolf Woman becomes a series of sexual escapades cum violence. The occasional scene with Daniella's father, Elena, the good doctor, or a police officer pops up, but they're just transitional links between the sex and violence. Daniella is often a voyeur and a predator: when she spies two lovers, the viewer knows she's going to get her prey. Di Silvestro even takes the time have his deus-ex-machina appear to help Daniella in a tight fix in the form of a nymphomaniac, who gropes Daniella sickeningly, while Di Silvestro lovingly captures the scene with his camera. A lot of the scenes of Werewolf Woman are perverted and offensive, but Di Silvestro doesn't shy away or hold back: Werewolf Woman is a series of escalating indulgent scenes that the viewer cannot stop watching. There is so much vigor within Werewolf Woman, I was never able to tell who was more excited for the next scene: me, to see how Di Silvestro could top the previous one, or Di Silvestro, who seemingly goes out of his way to compose sequences simultaneously ridiculous, offensive, and over-the-top. God Bless him for it.Rino Di Silvestro, alongside Cesare Canevari and Luigi Batzella, is one of the true madmen of Italian genre cinema. I learned via Twitter at Fangoria Magazine of Di Silvestro's recent death. He will be truly missed. Di Silvestro made few films but each has such a trashy charm: Women in Cell Block 7 (1973); Red Light Girls (1973); Werewolf Woman (1976); Hanna D (1982; coming soon on dvd from Severin films); and The Erotic Dreams of Cleopatra (1985; watch this space here). His cinema never feels cold and commercial but always empassioned: it's as if Di Silvestro was born to make his cinema. So much enthusiasm is present throughout. Often the sex and violence is too much and too offensive, but rarely will anyone see a film maker who tumbles so headlong into to it. Often humorous because of its ridiculousness and its over-the-top scenes, Werewolf Woman is a curious gem from one of Italy's wildest artists. See it.

Steve Barkett's The Aftermath (1982)

Brilliant. Phenomenal. Amazing. These are words that describe Steve Barkett's The Aftermath (1982), and perhaps, I'm the only one who is using them. Barkett's film is a true labor of love: he co-wrote the story with Stanley Livingston (Chip from My Three Sons), wrote the screenplay, produced, edited, directed and stars as the film's hero, Newman. Newman, Williams (Jim Danforth), and Mathews (Larry Latham) are astronauts who are about to re-enter the Earth's atmosphere after a year-long space journey but they cannot make contact with anyone on the planet. What's going on down there? Nuclear holocaust and the end of humanity, save a bunch of folks turned into mutants and a retched gang of evil men, led by Cutter (Sid Haig). Cutter and crew like to kill the guys and kidnap the ladies to hold hostage at his camp. Newman and company make an entry a little off the coast of Los Angeles. Only Newman and and Mathews survive. After a fireside battle with a gang of hungry mutants, Newman and Mathews awaken to a city of rubble and ash. At a local station, Newman finds a dead radio controller's final words recorded on tape (voiced by Dick Miller) and learns the final fate of humanity. Newman and Mathews find new digs on the skirts of the city: Mathews wants to stay put and build a new life, while Newman leaves to roam the wasteland, looking for survivors and getting into a few adventures, too.
The Aftermath is dead serious cinema. Beefy Barkett as Newman is a Homeric hero: a scholar, a fighter, a lover, a father, and a savior of surviving humanity. During his trip out into the wasteland, Newman gets caught in a acid rainstorm and takes shelter within a museum. Inside, he encounters The Curator (played by legendary Forrest J. Ackerman) and his ward, Christopher (played by Barkett's real-life son, Christopher Barkett). Ackerman's Curator gives Newman a history lesson on the fate of humanity, through the various stages of civilization, while he also reveals to Newman that he is dying from contamination. Christopher becomes the ward of Newman, and the two roam the wasteland together. Along the way, Newman and Christopher are attacked by the sniping Sarah (Lynne Margulies), who has escaped the evil and groping hands of Cutter. She joins Newman and Christopher in their journey after the trio dispatches some lurking mutants; and the three become a family. Newman quickly beds sexy Sarah, only then to go downstairs in his pajamas to Christopher for a bedtime story and a life lesson. Cutter and company are a dangerous presence, so Newman, Mathews, Sarah, and Christopher plan a daring escape of the hostages in a nighttime raid on the camp...Sid Haig, as Cutter, is the most evil of men. His portrayal is akin in sleaziness only to the Devil himself, and Haig is a good foil to angelic Newman. Bald and bearded Haig is one of the most charismatic actors of exploitation cinema with numerous credits with standouts being Jack Hill's Spider Baby (1968), The Big Doll House (1971), and Coffy (1973; alongside Pam Grier), for example. He has experienced a resurgence in his career after appearances in Quentin Tarantino's Jackie Brown (1997) and his brilliant turn as Captain Spaulding in Rob Zombie's House of a Thousand Corpses (2003), for example. Lynne Marguilies is most notable for being Andy Kaufman's girlfriend. She's not the greatest actress but she gives her all in her performance as Sarah: she's meek and sweet, kind and caring, and tough and tumble. Some of the best scenes are with Steve and Christopher Barkett together: watching Newman place a loaded gun in the hands of young Christopher for target practice is simultaneously humorous and disturbing. The relationship between the two is genuine and real and it totally feels like a caring father-and-son relationship.Steve Barkett, who has other acting credits, has only directed one subsequent film, Empire of the Dark (1990; also with Steve and Christopher Barkett, which has alluded me for years. I will dish out some serious cash for a copy if anyone has a knowledge of its VHS whereabouts). The Aftermath rings true as an exploitation film: some sex, violence, and stunts. The sex is brief and pretty tame but the violence is really bloody. The first scene of Cutter and crew hunting down an unsuspecting group has many a bloody gunshot explosion (including a shotgun blast head explosion). There a is a wonderful hand-to-hand fight scene with Newman and a foe on the rooftop of a high skyscraper that brings its actors a little close to the edge from time to time. There is many a fall and a tumble taken by an actor and none look trained to take such a fall (so I practically winced through all of the amateur stunts). The music and look of the film is right out classic American sentimental cinema: strong emotions with accompanying appropriate music with classic compositions. The Aftermath is ultimately, a film about good versus evil.The Aftermath has practically no budget. A cursory glance at the opening credits reveal the film is truly a family affair with few participants who appear multiple times under different credits. The spaceship models and spaceship set aren't credible and really laughable. The mutant fx are incredibly cheesy. However, there are some very good matte painting backgrounds which create the apocalyptic background and some of the other visual effects are entertaining, such as the red acid rainstorm that Newman encounters. Some visual effects are predictably cheesy, such as the ray gun that Sarah uses during the raid on Cutter's camp. The Aftermath is too ambitious to hide its budget and it doesn't also hide its heart. More than anything else, enthusiasm permeates The Aftermath to make what would be a shitty b-movie into a true cult classic. Short and stocky Barkett as Newman is far from the ideal looking hero and the performances, save Haig, are truly amateur. Newman's voice-over narration is brilliant, and the story and dialogue are something else. I had a complete and total smile on my face during the entire running time of The Aftermath and I've seen it multiple times. A true classic of American B-Cinema, The Aftermath deserves a wider audience to experience its hidden charm.

Herman Yau's The Untold Story III (1999)

Herman Yau's The Untold Story III (1999) is the third in a series, no doubt cashing in on its infamous original and Category III classic, Yau's The Untold Story (1993). Although the original's director, producer, Danny Lee (who also stars in both as Inspector Lee), and writer (Kam Fai Law) return, there is little linking The Untold Story III to its previous films. The title card of The Untold Story III reveals the film is allegedly based upon an actual event: a murder committed by four young men, who were later convicted in Hong Kong for the crime despite the absence of any physical evidence or witnesses. The only police proof offered into evidence were the young men's confessions.
At the local police station, a young woman (Emily Kwan) enters, where two smiling idiot cops sit behind the counter. She complains that her brother, Ma (Ken Lo) has been missing for four weeks. She returns to the police station three days later after having a nightmare where the ghostly visage of her brother appeared and told her to go looking for Man. The sister reports her nightmare to the police (who think the woman is a little crazy by now). A few days later after consulting her father, Lo Lieh in one of his final performances, the sister believes her brother must have been kidnapped. During her final complaint at the police station, the cops listen to her story. Inspector Lee (Danny Lee) is assigned to the case. After a botched ransom sting, the police visit Ma's home where they discover a ledger, revealing a list of names and money lent and owed. So Ma was a loan shark. The police begin questioning the names in the ledger about the debts. One young man, looking tired and defeated, Man (Sam Lee), admits to owing money to Ma and also admits to killing him with three accomplices, Lui (Alex Lam), Hau (Samuel Leung), and Cheng. The police nab Lui and Hau and begin to piece together their case by collecting evidence; however, there is none to be found...On paper, The Untold Story III reads as a compelling police procedural, including the recreation of the crime leading to the trial. However viewer, that ain't what you're going to get. The film's irreverent director is one of Hong Kong's most creative and interesting working, while its producer, Lee, and writer, Law, bring back the disturbing and bizarre hybrid tone of the horrific and the humorous of the original Untold Story. The end result is The Untold Story III being compellingly watchable and intriguing, if just alone for its imaginative execution. The sequences vary in the extreme in tone: from slapstick comedic to very dark and intense, sometimes very close in proximity. One of the most disturbing aspects of the original Untold Story was the juxtaposition of ridiculous and nonsensical comical scenes (often with Danny Lee) with scenes of dark and sinister violence (with Anthony Wong). Like Wes Craven's The Last House on the Left (1972), the comedic scenes don't balance the film's horrific scenes, creating a more easy-going experience for the viewer; rather, the inclusion of the sometimes very light comedy made The Untold Story even more disturbing with its drastic shift in tone during scenes. The Untold Story III doesn't match its original in terms of violence (it's Category II, like a "hard" R-rating), but there are multiple shifts in tone to accompany its multiplicity of treatments: the scenes go from slapstick comedic, to dramatic, to horrific (both supernatural and real-life), often changing tones within the scenes. The first time the viewer sees the four young men, they are wandering the streets in a daze, almost zombie-like. They are looking for a new apartment or looking to buy paper offerings to burn for Ma. Apparently after the murder, none could sleep or eat. Yau doesn't show many supernatural scenes but just their effects on the alleged perpetrators: the viewer can't tell if its paranoia or guilt or Ma's ghost which is plaguing them. Sleep deprivation and hunger leads the four into psychosis, so as their fear builds they actually start believing in the hallucinations that they start seeing. The four spent the money that they borrowed from Ma on partying, and these scenes are laughably bad and fun. They look like bad pop-music videos or teenage clothes commercials, accompanied by the most vapid imagery in dance clubs and in the street. The even weirder sequences follow in the events of the evening after the murder, as the four go to play Mah-jong or shoot pool ("We needed to relax," says Hau). When one of the four has a perfect hand in Mah-jong, they take it as a bad omen and split. Danny Lee's Inspector Lee was a ladies' man in the original Untold Story, and his scenes often involved him sashaying into the police station with a lady under each arm. In this film, Lee's character is dressed like a Japanese high-school student with a jarring affectation, a Sherlock Holmes-ish pipe. In one scene, during the police confessions, Lee is summoned from a party and he arrives wearing a ship captain's outfit, as if he just disembarked The Love Boat. It's completely nonsensical, and perhaps the humor is an intentional commentary on the crime: it's almost mind-boggling that four could be convicted of a crime absent any direct evidence, let alone proof of the corpse. The police are often depicted as inept and misguided, as in the opening scene with Ma's sister, and even their investigation is far-fetched and ridiculous. For example, the four admit to dismembering the body and dumping it in the trash. The police can only speculate that the body is in a local landfill; and their solution is to spend millions of taxpayer dollars to comb the landfill, perhaps for months, to find the body. Of course, in a unintentionally humorous sequence with Lee, the prosecutor finds this idea, and the whole "case," ludicrous. Danny Lee is perhaps best known to Western Asian cult film fans for his role as the police officer who becomes Yun-fat Chow's reluctant ally in John Woo's The Killer (1989). In the 1990s, Lee produced (and often starred as a police officer) in some truly nasty Category III productions, such as Billy Tang's Dr. Lamb (1992) with Simon Yam, The Untold Story, Parkman Wong's Portrait of a Serial Rapist (1994) and Shoot to Kill (1994). Lee is just as infamous as Yau and Billy Tang in the 90s HK Category III scene as anyone else. His performance in the film is just bizarre: there is no adequate way to describe it, as if Inspector Lee doesn't seem to flow from logic and deduction, but....somewhere else. Sam Lee is a great actor and has appeared in numerous films. He can perform comedy as well as any other young actor and can play intense just as well (see Wilson Yip's Bio-Zombie (1998) and Pou-Soi Cheang's Dog Bite Dog (2006), respectively). Sam Lee is called upon by Yau to perform at both ends of the spectrum here and he succeeds very well. This is one of the last performances by the Shaw Brothers' greatest cinematic villian, the charismatic Lo Lieh, and he shines in his few scenes. Herman Yau, as I've stated on this blog before, makes exciting cinema, period. When Yau is nontraditional, which is often, he is without equal. The scene in The Untold Story III where the four plan and practice the murder of Ma is brilliant. I could watch it over and over. Yau owns low-budget cinema, primarily because of his imagination and his innovative visual style and risk-taking. The Untold Story III is so bizarre and unusual that it feels original and unexpected. When film makers can accomplish this feeling, they have earned a fan, here, for life.

Drew Barrymore's Whip It (2009)

I don't know jack about roller derby, but that's okay, because in a sixty-second sequence the rules are explained, after Ellen Page's Bliss Cavender raises her hand and asks at tryouts. By the end of Drew Barrymore's Whip It (2009), knowing the rules of the game is really non-essential, although watching the fantastically-shot roller derby sequences is a lot of fun (Zoe Bell, as Bloody Holly, is amazing to watch in action). Whip It is a wholly positive film about fitting in, finding a family, and figuring out what's important in life.

Bodeen, Texas: the boys have got football and Pearl beer; the old folks have got bingo; and the ladies have the beauty pageants. Brooke Cavender (Marcia Gay Harden) is doing the vicarious-living bit with her two daughters, younger Shania and seventeen-year-old Bliss (Ellen Page). The first scene of the three together, exiting a local pageant, says all: Former-queen Brooke walks proudly side-by-side with little Shania, holding an obscenely large trophy, while older Bliss shuffles behind with her eye-catching, blue hair looking a little towards the ground. The local diner, where Bliss works with her best friend, Pash (Alia Shawkat), serves a huge pork sandwich, entitled "The Squealer," which is free if eaten in under three minutes. In a small town gossip moves quickly and some of Bliss's more popular schoolmates come into the diner to tease her about the blue-hair pageant fiasco. At the local mall, where Brooke is taking her daughters shopping, Bliss wants a pair of boots from the head shop, but Brooke gets embarrassed after commenting on the pretty "vases" under the counter. Three young ladies roller skate into the shop, with brightly-colored hair, piercings, and tattoos, and leave fliers for a roller derby event in Austin on Friday. Bliss takes one before leaving (with her boots).

Austin, Texas: Bliss and Pash make the trek to the roller derby and have a blast. Bliss even catches the eye of young rocker, Oliver (Landon Pigg), and the two develop a romantic relationship over the course of Whip It. The most important person Bliss meets is Maggie Mayhem (Kristen Viig), who plays for the "Hurl Scouts" team and encourages Bliss to tryout for the league. Bliss pulls her Barbie skates out of the attic and hits the asphalt to practice.

As Whip It unfolds, Bliss finds the family and acceptance that she wants in the Austin counter-culture and roller derby league that wishes she had back in Bodeen. Wiig's Maggie becomes a close friend, older sister, and even a sometimes mother to Bliss. Wigg is incredibly endearing in her role and she really makes a strong impression with her performance. Her scenes with Page are heartfelt and feel real: these two aren't too cool to avoid talking directly to each other about their feelings. The rest of Bliss's teammates, Rosa Sparks (Eve), Smashley Simpson (Barrymore), and Bell's Holly really rally around Bliss's energy and enthusiasm. They all develop a deep sisterly kinship and support for one another. Even Whip It's bad girl, Iron Maven (Juliette Lewis in a great performance) is drawn to her competitive spirit; and despite her teasing, Bliss doesn't really find anything at all wrong with her new home in Austin.

Despite the solace Bliss finds in Austin, the real drama of Whip It takes place back in Bodeen with mom, Brooke, and dad, Earl (Daniel Stern). In the very brief scenes which Barrymore shows Brooke and Earl together and alone or apart and alone, the scenes speak loudly. Stern's Earl watches his neighbor's sons toss a football in their front yard, while his neighbor proudly watches his two sons. Bliss catches her mom making her rounds quietly as a postal carrier, possibly with the image in her mind of a once-beauty queen working hard to make a better life for her two daughters (even though Bliss doesn't share her dream). Harden is one of the finest actresses currently working in America today, and she gives a stellar performance. Barrymore also takes time to focus on Bliss and Pash's friendship, and Shawkat is excellent in her role. The screenplay by Shauna Cross (based on her novel) doesn't take the easy way out: Bliss has to come to terms with her Bodeen life before she can move on to her new life in Austin. Barrymore could just coast on the comedy and the roller derby scenes (which are a lot of fun and infectious), as the trailer emphasizes, but she and Cross take the time to add genuine emotion to the drama. The attention to detail in character and development in Whip It is equal to its attention to visuals and locations. The performances (especially Page who gives another brilliant turn after Juno), the direction, and the screenplay are what make Whip It memorable.

Whip It was, for me, as much fun as Greg Mottola's Adventureland (2009) (which also has a performance from Wiig). A little film that deserves a lot of attention and is one of my favorites of this year. See it.

Ti West's The House of the Devil (2009)

Ti West's aptly-titled The House of the Devil (2009) embraces a theme that I often think about (usually while driving my pick-up truck or while stuck in traffic): technology. Culturally, technology is a beautiful thing: often its advancements are celebrated and quickly integrated into our daily lives. There in no quicker way to earn the moniker "grandpa/ma" than to not have some new gadget; in fact, it's even expected (think of your boy/girlfriend or spouse being not able to reach you twenty-four hours a day on a cell phone). Technology has also been embraced by art: where would science-fiction be without strong imaginations aided by the artist's view of present and/or future technology? However in some genres, specifically horror, technology has become (not always) a detriment. In 1975, Stephen King published his phenomenal horror novel, 'Salem's Lot, about the literal death of the titular small town in Maine by vampires. King's novel became more prescient than possibly its author (or reader) imagined. The motif of small-town isolation was key to the novel's success while culturally, the small town in the U.S. was about to metaphorically die: gadgets and innovations, such as the cell phone and the internet make isolation impossible. As soon as the first pair of fangs would have sunk into the neck of the first victim, someone at the local drugstore would have tweeted its happening from his/her iPhone. 'Salem's Lot could not be set in present day and neither could West set his 2009 film during present day. The House of the Devil is set in the Walkman/tight pants/big-hair era of the 80s, and God Bless Ti West for it. Here we go:

Sophomore college student Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) is perusing her prospective apartment for rent from The Landlady (Dee Wallace). Samantha desperately desires some independence and privacy: her very messy roommate likes to shag in the early morning, sleep during the day, and attend classes leisurely. Samantha's problems are also financial: she doesn't have enough money to cover the deposits for the apartment, but The Landlady cuts her some slack and waives them. She'll take only the first month's rent by Monday, and the apartment will be Samantha's. Samantha is grateful, but her financial woes continue. She needs a job to come up with the money to live off campus. On a bulletin board, outside of her dorm, Samantha spies a posting for a "Babysitter Wanted" and a phone number. She dials the number from a pay phone and gets an answering machine. Samantha leaves a message, and as she is walking away, the pay phone rings (ominously as *69 hasn't caught on yet). The voice on the phone asks Samantha that he is in dire need of help immediately and would she meet him in front of the student center? She accepts to meet, but the voice no shows. Samantha meets her pretty, happy-go-lucky friend, Megan (Greta Gerwig) over pizza, who tells her to relax: all her financial worries will be taken care of. Samantha's despondent after the no-show by the voice but during the early evening, her roommate awakens and tells her that a guy called. A babysitter is still needed, for tonight, and will Samantha take the job? Yes, she will.

The voice on the phone is revealed to be the very tall, elderly, cane-bearing Mr. Ulman (Tom Noonan) who lives in a very large home out in the country with his wife, Mrs. Ulman (Mary Woronov). Mr. Ulman is as desperate as Samantha: tonight's a very important evening, a rare solar eclipse, and Mr. Ulman told a small fib: he doesn't have a child but an elderly mother. Please accept the job, Samantha, I'll give you an extra hundred, making two hundred. Fine, how about three hundred? Four hundred, says Samantha. Megan, who drove Samantha to the house, thinks the guy is a weirdo and splits, but Samantha is taking this job, despite her friend's attempts to dissuade her. It looks easy enough, since the old man and his wife are only going to be gone for a few hours with an infirm mother who needs little care. Good luck.

The House of the Devil moves at a very slow place: it begins at the early morning appointment with The Landlady and ends at the very end of the p.m. hours, near the end of the eclipse. The deliberate pacing of the film allows time to get to know Samantha and view her surroundings, but the pacing of the film also mimics the pacing of low-budget horror films of the late-70s and 80s, where a lack of money had to be stretched out with as many scenes as possible to fill ninety minutes. I immediately think of films such as those by John Carpenter, such as Assault on Precinct 13 (1976) and Halloween (1978). There are a litany of scenes of watching Jamie Lee Curtis's Laurie Strode walking around her neighborhood, either in the morning where she meets Tommy Wallace, with her friends after school, or during very late Halloween evening before the start of the final act. In fact, The House of the Devil is shot similarly to Carpenter: Carpenter is the king of classic compositions: close-ups, mediums, and wide static shots, occasionally punctuated by a smooth and following tracking shot. When Megan drives Samantha out to the house for her job, the scene is shot nearly identical to the scene in Halloween when Annie drives Laurie to her babysitting gig (a sequence which was filmed incidentally by Debra Hill as a pick-up shot, as Carpenter relates on my Criterion laserdisc commentary). Watching people walking and talking is not necessarily compelling cinema, but during that era, filler was necessary. West successfully channels that vibe. There are other nods to films of the period, such as Theodore Gershuny's Silent Night, Bloody Night (1974), starring a very young Mary Woronov. I'll stop before I geek out some more, as I loved this period of horror cinema.

What West excels at so well, however, is the sense of isolation through the absence of modern technology which creates the horrific and driving tension of The House of the Devil. West does it quite playfully: Samantha's only contact with the outside world from within the House (save running from the house to another location) is with a wall telephone: it's not a touch-tone phone but the slightly-slower rotary phone; and it has an extra-long cord, connecting the receiver to the headpiece (emphasizing the absence of the more convenient cordless remote phone). This phone is seemingly the only one in the house. When Megan leaves and drives away, Samantha cannot contact her while driving: no cellular phones, so Samantha has to wait for Megan to drive all the way home and check her answering machine for Samantha's messages. There is no internet or computer in the house's office but a pair of eyeglasses within the desk with lenses as thick as coke bottles. Samantha takes her time to explore all of the house, and West drops clues to the older couple's true identity and foreshadows the Satanic final act.

Finally, really the only way that the viewer would ever know that The House of the Devil was a horror film is by its title (which really, though, succinctly says everything about the film). The film belongs to that rare class of cult films which generations discovered usually on late-nite television, often on some local television station's "Horror Theatre," (which West also jokes on within House) and all alone sitting on the couch, the viewer was scared witless by the unsuspecting and unexpected horror (since it was probably the only thing worth watching on the four or five channels). With the advent of VHS and especially DVD, those now older viewers are feeling nostalgia for the cinema, and they're popping up on new formats. Those older viewers want to revisit and recreate that scary evening late at night on the couch. The House of the Devil is a new horror film, born from nostalgia from another generation and made with a lot of love. The House of the Devil won't appeal to all viewers, but for those from another generation, like myself who remembers scares from another era, will love it just as fondly. See it.

Clarence Fok's Don't Open Your Eyes (2006)

"You bastard! I'm an evil man and I'll become an evil ghost. I'll come back for you!" These ain't words about Kenny but words from the dying lips of Killer (Roderick Lam). Killer has just eaten a clip of bullets from Sargeant Seven Yiu (Alex Fong), who auspiciously ran into Killer on a rooftop in a t.v. antenna fiasco. Seven was assigned to find Killer and his crew. Earlier in the day, a ransom pick-up from a Killer kidnapping went horribly wrong and involved a police officer's death. The dead police officer was filling in for Seven during the sting; however, Seven was too drunk that morning to show up for work. Lickety-split, Seven's giving up the bottle, as he tells his partner Keung (Sammy Leung) as they leave the mortuary. Madame Tsui arrives after Killer's killing and pulls Seven and Leung off duty and reassigns the duo to the Seventh precinct for clerical work. Seven gets a text message from his sister about his Auntie Seventh: she's dying and has some important words for Seven. At her bedside, Seven listens as Auntie explains: Auntie was the seventh child of her generation and so is Seven. When the seventh member of the previous generation dies, the seventh member of the younger generation acquires immediately a special gift: "ghost-eyes," the ability to see spectres walking and interacting on the human plane. I guess Seven is going to see Killer again whether he likes it or not in Clarence Fok's Don't Open Your Eyes. (2006).Don't Open Your Eyes is a Jing Wong production (who also possibly scripted; I could find no information on its credited screenwriter, G.K. Fung), and the film has all of the hallmarks: slapstick humor and farce, sometimes offensive, sex, violence, and stunts, and this being a horror film, some scares, maybe. The director, Clarence Fok, is probably best known to Western Asian cult film fans for his Category III classic, Naked Killer (1993) (also a Wong production with Chingmy Yau and Simon Yam). Some of my other Fok favorites are The Iceman Cometh (1999), Her Name is Cat (1998), and Century of the Dragon (1999). Fok is no stranger to Hong Kong exploitation cinema, and he and Wong are kindred spirits. Both Wong and Fok really have a command of a low-budget: it's not as if they are able to hide their budgets and make their films look more glossy and slick; rather, their films feel as if the low budget is embraced and celebrated: few locations, multiple camera angles, and fortuitous lighting. There is a real spontaneity within the cinema, as if the Fok and Wong are making up the scenes right before shooting and the actors react and have fun. Don't Open Your Eyes is a recipe for uneven cinema or a bizarre melange of sequences.The seven motif drives the horror within Don't Open Your Eyes (as if you couldn't tell from the plot set up). Wong regular Wah Yuen plays Uncle Bing who is the supernatural consultant to the Seventh Precinct (a job, if qualified for, I would heartily accept and perform to the best of my abilities). Yuen delivers the best supernatural scenes, especially with his daughter, Pearl (Monie Tung), who's often possessed by rogue spirits. Yuen's Bing tells Fong's Seven that he'll help him with his supernatural conundrum, and at Bing's home he'll summon Wai (the dead police officer) to help him. The seance scene is pretty cool and atmospheric, and like a lot of supernatural HK cinema, there's a real emphasis and detail with the rituals. Bing prays to General Kwan, and there's a fantastic scene later in the film where Bing dresses up to stop Killer. This scene follows the most offensive scene of the film which is made all the more disturbing by some cheap comedy by Leung's Keung (whose character is the primary vehicle for all of the film's comedy). However, a Jing Wong film without an offensive joke would be short-changing the viewer, cheap joke or not. Killer's crew, Lotus, Lun, and his lady, Ling, provide some brutal and nasty gangster action, machine gun and machete-style, to balance the horror hijinx and humor. The action sequences are fast and intense with an emphasis on bloody squibs (old-school exploitation style). Jo Kuk plays Fiona, and she and Fong provide a sweet and sentimental romance within Don't Open Your Eyes.

Hong Kong horror/comedy cinema, for me, is like an addictive drug: intense or mellow, it always gets me high. If you're a fan of the genre, or Fok or Wong, Don't Open Your Eyes is a bizarre film packed with multiple commercial and exploitative elements, guaranteed to surprise the curious.

Bille August's Smilla's Sense of Snow (1997)

Smilla Jasperson, a scientist who works in the study of ice and snow, born of maternal Greenlandic descent and paternal American descent, lives in Copenhagen, and on the way home, she discovers a young Greenlandic child, Isaiah, to whom she has grown closer more than anyone living, laying dead in the snow in front of her apartment building, apparently having fell to his death from the rooftop. Smilla doesn't trust the police's explanation of Isaiah's death (an accident) but trusts her own intuition, "her sense of snow," and begins to investigate the mystery behind the child's death in Bille August's Smilla's Sense of Snow (1997).

To begin with, bad pun intended, Smilla's Sense of Snow is cold. Its opening imagery of an Inuit fisherman in Greenland with dogsled in tow, who encounters a mysterious explosion, which leads to a furious snowstorm to the imagery of the film's primary location, a very cold Copenhagen, the film's coldness is literal. August's film style appears the same way: classically composed, close-ups, medium, and wide shots punctuated by smooth and flowing tracking shots, accompanied by minimal use of soft music. Nothing is colder, however, than the performances within the film, especially of its primary character, Smilla, portrayed by Julia Ormond. Smilla is a wonderfully drawn character (Peter Høeg, who authored the novel of the same name, is a personal favorite of mine. His novel is brilliant, as are his other works. I recommend giving all of his work a read.) Smilla's cultural heritage seems to be born from complete polar opposites: her mother was a Greenlandic hunter, who lived within and lived off the land with an extreme reverence. There are multiple words within her language for snow. Smilla relates, in a dinner scene with shy, stuttering neighbor (Gabriel Byrne) that after her mother's death and her subsequent move to Denmark to live with her father, that she would not sleep indoors. Smilla feels a kinship to the snow and its magic. Perhaps this kinship led her into her current career and obsession: the scientific study of ice and snow, of which she is an authority, unmatched really by anyone in the world. This logical and deductive side is born from her paternal heritage: her father is a American scientist (Robert Loggia), also well-respected and held in repute, who very much loves his daughter yet doesn't really understand her. Smilla's cultural heritage is unique, and she is a unique character: beautiful, complex, intelligent, obsessive, and very cold. Despite her cultural heritage, Smilla is very much a member of the human race and should have emotion. Of course, Smilla does, but the rendering of these emotions are not felt by the viewer, neither from August's direction nor from Ormond's performance.For whatever reason, August does not want to let the viewer into Smilla's Sense of Snow. Smilla's angry and stand-offish (understandably, the viewer will later learn) and she often lashes out on the unsuspecting. For example, when Gabriel Byrne's character comes out of his apartment to offer something to drink or eat (really some company) shortly after the discovery of the child's corpse, Smilla angrily accuses him of preying on her supposed vulnerability: Byrne just wants to get her wrapped up in emotion and take advantage of her. Byrne's character sees behind her anger: he knows she's hurting and doesn't completely mean what she says. On paper this scene feels intimate and close; however, August's rendition is seriously lacking: medium shots from the two speaking from two different levels atop the stairs. The performance by Byrne is kind-of quiet and sweet but Ormond's performance doesn't resonate. Her emotion feels contrived, as if an actor is attempting to portray an actor's version of anger. Raw emotion from Ormond would have been welcomed but there is virtually none at all. Even her scenes with Isaiah, shown in flashbacks, are rigid and forced. The dialogue is unoriginal and trite: "Go away," Smilla says, "I'm not going to be your little friend." "Would you read me a story?" asks the small, sweet child. In a ridiculous, sing-songy mocking voice, Smilla says "No, I won't read you a story." Ormond's Smilla has similar scenes with the child: the real driving force for Smilla's obsession in the mystery is truly lacking: how is anyone supposed to feel for her?To be fair, Smilla's Sense of Snow appears as if its director and its performers were intimidated and confused as to how to render Høeg's complex novel. His novel is filled with emotion but a lot of Smilla's conflicts are internal. August, taking film's visual storytelling too literally, is unable to crack the transition from page to screen. The overall feel of Smilla's Sense of Snow, beyond its coldness, is conservatism: succeed or fail, August and his performers aren't going to take any risks. It's almost as if August just wants to objectively film the action and gamble that his viewer will be intrigued. Well, first-time viewers perhaps will: Smilla's Sense of Snow is a very intriguing mystery and it's worth seeing to watch it unexpectedly unfold. Then again, Høeg's novel is an expertly-rendered mystery, so I would much rather recommend it. A missed opportunity, Smilla's Sense of Snow should fade into obscurity as a would-be curiosity.