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Friday, October 4, 2019

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2019-Day 4: MA (2019)

 Getting their underage drunk on in Ma's basement.

16-year-old Maggie Thompson (Diana Silvers) moves with her mom (Juliette Lewis) back to her mother's podunk hometown in Ohio after her mother's dreams of making it big in California amount to squat and her marriage falls apart. Now the new kid at the local high school, Maggie is soon befriended by a quartet of average, nice-enough fellow students whose one goal in their boring, go-nowhere lives is to get as stoned and drunk as possible, as often as they can. 

While trying (and failing) to get adults to buy booze for them at a liquor store, the gang manages to convince veterinary secretary/assistant Sue Ann Ellington (Octavia Spencer) to help them in their quest for underage wastedness. The sympathetic Sue Ann recalls what it was like for her growing up in their boring-ass town and continues to buy the kids liquor, eventually inviting them to party in her remote house's basement. Despite them knowing absolutely nothing about this kindly grownup, the desperate kids accept her invitation and begin regular visits to their illegal speakeasy and find Sue Ann, whom they now refer to as "Ma," to be an affable and fun hostess who is more than happy to join them in their hard-partying shenanigans. But almost immediately her mask of lovable sweetness occasionally allows glimpses into a much darker true nature, and though she gives the gang free rein of the basement, they are warned never to go upstairs, as "that is my world."

Though sensing that something is rather "off" about their overly-benevolent hostess, the allure of a safe place in which to get fucking shitfaced on the regular is too great a temptation, and in no time Ma's place becomes the off-the-chain hangout spot for a legion of teens from the local high school and beyond. But Ma's facade slips more and more with each passing day, as she stalks the kids online, gathering as much information on them as possible and serially bombarding them with requests for them to hang out at her house. She even begins stalking Maggie's mother at her job as a casino waitress, and during that bit of creeping we start to piece together Ma's back story and exactly why she obsessively wishes to hang with Maggie and her pals. When all of the pieces come together, what we are left with is a cautionary tale centering around one deeply (yet understandably) deranged, lonely, and damaged sociopath.

 Sue Ann "Ma" Ellington (Octavia Spencer): behind that sweet smile lies the heart and mind of a deeply pathetic and damaged psycho.

MA is concrete proof that the sensibility and thrills of '70's era psychological horror exploitation has not died out, and it's a hell of a fun thrill ride that is best appreciated when seen with a black audience. My people's "audience participation" with movies in general but horror flick in particular is so well-known that it is now its own punchline, and scary movies, especially those with crazed antagonists of a dusky hue, elicit unbridled reactions that are often hilarious but that also engage the Chalkasiains in attendance to find common ground with us. MA is old school grindhouse horror and social commentary rolled up into a satisfying burrito that starts out very deeply-rooted in an all-too-recognizable suburban purgatory. A death trap for personal growth or progression, wherein the youth seeks to numb its senses as it faces the inevitable departure from the mundanity of high school social politics and cruelty into an adult world where hopes and dreams are crushed by the realities of dead-end jobs, loveless marriages, and unwanted progeny.

MA connected with me in a rather visceral way because a lot of its over-the-top depictions of teenage partying excess rang absolutely true when compared to my own experiences growing up when and where I did. Westport, CT in the late 1970's and early 1980's was a far cry from rural Ohio, what with its affluent ostentation and atmosphere/culture that bore little resemblance to the American reality at large in other locales, but its teen culture of driving around aimlessly in search of any sort of altered state of consciousness, regardless of it being had in someone's home or in the weeds-choked and secluded confines of random, remote parking lots, was exactly like what is seen in MA. Between the ages of 15 and 18, I went to a good number of out-of-control parties that were sanctioned and participated in by adults — sometimes the parents of some of my peers — and during those gathering I and many of my classmates learned how to drink and even do assorted drugs, often with the parental implication that it was safer for us to do so under their roofs than having us drive somewhere while wasted. The police were seldom involved and I and many of my peers developed drinking and drugging tolerances that would have impressed the likes of Hunter S. Thompson. (Consequently, there were also a considerable number of drug and drunk-driving-related deaths to go along with all of the pre-collegiate debauchery.) Anyway, the party insanity seen in MA actually did and does happen, so go into the film knowing that some of us lived it (and, miraculously, lived through it).

The kids in the cast all do serviceable jobs, but the film is unquestionably Octavia Spencer's spotlight in which to draw the viewer in with her initially lovable aspect, but when Sue Ann goes into full-tilt crazy-as-a-soup-sandwich mode, Spencer chews the scenery like a motherfucker. And it is glorious.

 Sue Anne: Proof that monsters are made, not born.

"But," you may ask, "What drove the formerly sweet and shy Sue Ann over the edge into full-on bunny-boiler territory," you might ask? Well, I won't give away the specifics, but throughout the film we are given glimpses into her memory of her adolescent crush on a hunky white classmate and how her vulnerability let her become the victim of an incredibly cruel and humiliating prank engineered by her school's cadre of "mean girls" and her unobtainable love. If you are a horror fan, you are no doubt familiar with what was arranged for and done to poor Carrie White, but what befalls Sue Ann eclipses Carrie's tragic humiliation, something that would seem almost impossible, but I assure you that Sue Ann's victimization is the single worst example of "They're all gonna laugh at you" that I have ever seen. Seriously, if it happened in real life today, it would result in harsh prosecution, with the possible tacking-on of classification as a hate crime, as Sue Ann was one of the school's minute number of students of color. (An aspect noted to pointed effect by Sue Ann in the film's climax.)

With all of that said, it should be pretty obvious that I very much enjoyed MA, though it should be made clear that it perhaps best enjoyed by those of us whose bread and butter is old school exploitation trash cinema. Though there is social commentary to be had, the true meat of the narrative lies in the fact that it is an old school tale of cruelty-spurred vengeance, and though quite believable for its first two thirds, the film goes out-the-window insane with some of the shit that happens during the final reel. It should also be noted that if one wants approach the film with a minimum of knowledge regarding some of its more shocking elements, I advise avoiding Google Images and other sites that features promotional stills released by the studio. Some of them spoil some major nasty moments, so I'll just leave it at that. RECOMMENDED.

Oh, and Juliette Lewis is great as Maggie's struggling mom. I always liked her, and it's good to see her in another of her down-to-earth relateably-trashy roles.

Poster from the theatrical release.

Thursday, October 3, 2019

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2019-Day 3: THE VAMPIRE (1957)

 The real curse of vampirism: transforming into Lee Marvin.

A kindly doctor (John Beal) becomes addicted to pills made from the blood of vampire bats, pills meant to regress animals to a more primitive state before restoring the subject to their original temperament, and he ends up transforming into a vampire every evening around 11pm. The doctor rampages nightly, wiping out people who know him in his daytime existence, and it's only a matter of time until he murders someone he loves. As the police investigate the murders and start noting the forensic evidence that lends credence to the killer being a scientific vampire, the doctor's loss of control escalates and it seems the only way out is self-execution...

THE VAMPIRE attempts to reinvent one of the classic monsters for the modern age by adding a scientific twist, and while rather tame and cheesy by today's standards, the story is told with considerable heart and intelligence (even if at times it reads like a knockoff of Universal's  THE WOLF MAN). The performances are solid and its 76 minutes are briskly paced, and the filmmakers had the good sense to keep the look of the vampire hidden until the last reel, as the makeup renders him a darker-hued twin of Lee Marvin's drunken gunfighter, Kid Shelleen, from the western comedy CAT BALLOU (1965).  That said, though its effort was noble, nothing beats the appeal of the classical gothic vampire and all of its trappings and tropes. The seductive terror and elegance of the undead suckface is utterly lost when transplanted into 1950's suburban California, so while I respect it for trying something new, I rate THE VAMPIRE as worth a look for genre completists only. It's not terrible or anything and it's completely suitable for the kiddies, but your life will be totally unaffected if you give this one a miss.

Poster from the theatrical release.

Wednesday, October 2, 2019

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2019-Day 2: SPIDER BABY or, THE MADDEST STORY EVER TOLD (1968)

Playing the deadly game of "spider."

In an unspecified rural location, high atop a hill off of a remote back road sits the Merrye House, home to the last remaining members of a branch of the Merrye family. Cursed with a degenerative disorder wrought by generations of inbreeding, the brains of the Merryes regress to a childlike state as they age, eventually leaving them in a permanently, homicidally feral. The family's chauffeur, Bruno (Lon Chaney Jr.), promise the dying Merrye patriarch that he would care for the remaining members of the clan, so he keeps them isolated within the confines of their decaying house while serving as their surrogate father figure. Allowed to roam about the place freely are siblings Elizabeth (Beverly Washburn), titular "spider baby" Virginia (Jill Banner), and non-verbal grownup toddler Ralph (Sid Haig), a bizarre trio who would be right at home in an even darker answer to the cartoons of Charles Addams. All are young adults and the girls are both quite appealing and nubile, but they both possess roughly the mental/emotional development of a five-year-old, with Elizabeth being the craftier and more dominant of the two, while Virginia adores spiders and plays disturbing games where she imitates them and arms herself with a pair of wicked butcher knives that serve as her "sting." 

The Merrye sisters: Virginia (Jill Banner) and Elizabeth (Beverly Washburn).

Their brother Ralph, on the other hand, is a borderline-feral, non-verbal, open-mouthed and perpetually smiling idiot who is not unfairly described as "just a big kid." That said, his look and behavior are quite unnerving, as he is a grown male who is apparently sexually functional, and he brings to mind a larger variation of Schlitzie the pinhead from the classic FREAKS (1932).

Exploitation cinema legend Sid Haig as Ralph.

Lastly, residing in the basement are the fully-feral Uncle Ned, Aunt Clara, and Aunt Martha, while the skeleton of Daddy is housed upstairs in a bedroom and regularly bid "goodnight" by Virginia.

The bizarro family has become the stuff of local legend and are actively avoided by nearby townsfolk after Virginia trapped two trespassing kids and nearly did them in while playing her "spider" game, but the children escaped and spread the word that the Merrye house was to be avoided at all costs. Nonetheless, loyal and diligent Bruno shepherds and protects the family and manages to keep them and their secrets out of the spotlight of the general public and the authorities. 

Into this warped, insular environment come cousins Emily (Carol Ohmart) and Peter (Quinn Redeker), who seek to boot the current residents and take possession of the house and land. Emily is a nasty bitch but her blonde good looks arouse unmistakable desire in Ralph, while the affable Peter wins over the girls with his friendliness. Along for the ride are Emily's assholish lawyer, Schlocker (Karl Schanzer), and his secretary, Ann (Mary Mitchel), and the outsiders make it clear that they plan to stay the night, which does not sit well with Bruno. Taking the hint, Ann asks Peter to drive her into town so she can stay in a motel instead, which leaves Emily and Schlocker with the Merryes. As the evening progresses, Bruno's control over the "children" drastically erodes as the creep factor escalates with acts of torture, murder, and rape, leading to an apocalyptic climax.

A bad day for Emily...

A throwback to the "old dark house" sub-genre, SPIDER BABY is an atmosphere-drenched little low-budgeter that may be the first of the "inbred weirdo family" flicks and stands as one of the weirdest films of the 1960's. Shot in 1964 but held in release-limbo thanks to its producers going bankrupt, the movie bears distinct echoes of Alfred Hitchcock's PSYCHO (1960) with its setting of a creepy old house on a hill, taxidermy birds as home decorations, outlining of familial insanity, infantilism, voyeurism, and disturbing sexuality. It also shares another aspect with Hitchcock's masterpiece, and that's the fact that it's the blackest of black comedies, though SPIDER BABY's humorous intent is far more blatant than PSYCHO's. Writer/director Jack Hill has frequently crafted exploitation features that managed the difficult balance of visceral content juxtaposed with utter, delirious cartoonish ludicrousness in such grindhouse classics as THE BIG DOLL HOUSE (1971), THE BIG BIRD CAGE (1972), COFFY (1973), FOXY BROWN (1974), SWITCHBLADE SISTERS (1975), and SORCERESS (1982), and that flavor is fully evident even in a work that came this early in his career. If taken at face value, the events of SPIDER BABY are downright unsettling, but the dialogue and performances bring to mind a 1960's sitcom like THE ADDAMS FAMILY or THE MUNSTERS if it had been crafted by Tobe Hooper while on a tequila and Gabapentin-fueled bender somewhere in a Tennessee Williams fever dream.

The comedy of bedlam.

Basically an eerie live-action cartoon, SPIDER BABY is not at all what one would expect from a film of its era, not even from a film within its genre, and it's something of a quirky little gem that deserves better recognition from dyed-in-the-wool horror enthusiasts as well as casuals. It's fun seeing Lon Chaney Jr. in a late-period performance that's actually good — he made far too many embarrassing turds after his 1940's heyday — , young Sid Haig is a hoot, and the dynamic between the sisters is a hell of a lot of mad fun.

Two very bad "little girls."

Though obviously made on the cheap, SPIDER BABY makes the most of what it had to work with and comes up with a humble study of an ultra-dysfunctional family that initially fools us into accepting it as a lark, only to take a hard left into gore-free bleakness. Definitely worth checking out for its atypical flavor and also as a look at the unpolished days of the legendary Jack Hill.

Poster from the theatrical release.

Tuesday, October 1, 2019

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2019-Day 1: FRIDAY THE 13th: THE FINAL CHAPTER (1984)

Surprisingly, not a scene from DELIVERANCE 2.

This one's going be a little different, folks, as it's a look back at an event I actually attended back in 1984. This may read like utter bullshit but I assure you that this actually happened, and only about a year ago I found out that another local who later became a good friend upon our meeting during our college years also bore witness to what you are about to read, with her younger brother in tow. With that by way of introduction, allow me to set the Wayback Machine and take you to...

OPENING NIGHT- FRIDAY THE 13TH: THE FINAL CHAPTER (4/13/1984)

In the bygone days of pre-gentrification, Norwalk, Connecticut was a scuzzy little town with a large quotient of criminals, junkie hookers, drugs, violence and questionable activity; sort of Connecticut's answer to Baltimore. In other words, a great place to for a kid stuck in Westport, the ultra-boring affluent town next door, to hang out in.

The movie theaters in Norwalk ranged from those owned by a theater chain to the independent art/porno/cult movie house, the Sono Cinema. The Sono could get pretty wild, but nothing could compare to a rowdy audience at the infamous Norwalk Theater. Norwalk Theater was the closest thing that Connecticut ever had to the classic Times Square grindhouses insomuch as it specialized in violent, sex-laden exploitation flicks, the kind that drunks and heroin addicts like to sleep it off to. The derelicts in the audience would even make non-sequitor comments at the screen, such as the time when a junkie started yelling "Give her the big one!" enthusiastically during a scene of two cab drivers talking. This sort of evening was my true baptism of fire into the culture of the grindhouse, and I made it a point to attend as many of such screenings as I possibly could.

As anyone who came of age in the United States during the same era when I did no doubt remembers the ubiquity of the "slasher movie" as a transgressive rite of passage for '80's adolescents while simultaneously drawing a deluge of outrage from parents and censors over the genre's gleeful transformation of the silver screen into a celluloid abattoir. The kids ate up the showers of gory dismemberment and murder (with considerable amounts of sex and nudity thrown in for good exploitative measure) and the resulting box office windfall led to filmmakers of wildly varying skill and talent churning out such fodder by the dozens for close to a decade. John Carpenter's landmark shocker HALLOWEEN (1978) served as a solid launching point from which a legion of less-accomplished copycats sprung, but the one that really ignited the craze was the first in the long-running FRIDAY THE 13th series, which debuted in 1980 and in retrospect serves as amusing overture for a considerable amount of the decade's cinematic fare.

Odds are if you're bothering to read this you already know the drill regarding the series formula: Youthful camp counselors turn up at Camp Crystal Lake in order to get the place ready for the summer season, but years before it was the site where malformed and "mongoloid" child Jason Voorhees drowned in its lake while his inattentive counselors were engaging in *GASP* pre-marital sex, after which the pair are murdered by un unknown killer. Since the drowning and murders, Camp Crystal lake has been shut down and is now considered a cursed location by the locals, but some idiot always decides to reopen the place and carnage ensues. In the first film the killer is revealed as Jason's quite-insane mother, as it is made clear that Jason himself has been dead for 22 years, and his mother is quite decisively dispatched via beheading. When the shot-on-the-cheap shocker proved an unexpected box office smash — earning $59.8 million dollars off of a $550,000 budget — a sequel was immediately green-lit and FRIDAY THE 13th PART 2 (1981) made it to theaters less than 12 months later. The problem of continuing the mayhem after the death of the original killer was solved by bringing Jason back from the dead (with no explanation) and unleashing him upon wave after wave of idiot counselor fodder on pretty much a yearly basis, as the films continued to rake in the bucks despite being pretty much creatively bankrupt from the word "go." It was not until the third entry that Jason donned his now-iconic hockey mask — why there would be ice hockey equipment at a summer camp is a question that has haunted me since 1982 — and from there the character joined the pantheon of 1980's horror films' Mount Rushmore, alongside Freddy Kreuger, Pinhead, and Chucky, with the FRIDAY THE 13th/Jason series continuing into the 2000's and bringing the total number of films up to 12. Pretty impressive for what's essentially a case of telling more of less the same "story" — or rather and excuse for gory murders, really — over and over again.

Anyway, opening night came along for the "final" film in the increasingly unimpressive and predictable franchise (which got progressively worse as it lurched on), so I called the aforementioned Norwalk Theater to get myself and a couple of pals in to see it on opening night (I worked for the Cinema National theater circuit at the time, and got in for free to most theaters in the state). The manager said "Come on down," so my friends and I went. Imagine our surprise when we arrived and found the theater looking like it was in the center of a demilitarized zone.

The front doors had been torn off, popcorn and spilled soda had turned the lobby into a quagmire that required a swamp boat to navigate through, and the poor concession girls were shivering and crying. I asked the manager what the fuck had happened and over the Zulu Nation-like din that issued from the audience, I heard her tell a tale of misery and violence. She told me that the patrons had been worked up into such a frenzy over the possibility of finally seeing the previously un-killable Jason Voorhees get his ass kicked that they had actually stormed the entrance, barbarian-style. The place looked like it had been sacked by an army of crazed Visigoths on a PCP bender, was filled beyond capacity (over 550 seats), and roughly ten people in the audience had paid for admission (yet they did pay for their refreshments. Go figure...). There were even four squad cars full of police in attendance, and the poor bastards advised that it would be best to run the movie or else there would have been a full-scale riot.

My friends and I waded into the tumult, and actually managed to score seats when a bunch of stoners got up to sneak a few bowl-hits behind the screen. The lights went down and an unholy roar exploded from the adrenaline-charged throng that would have been totally appropriate at a public beheading. The trailer for 7 DOORS OF DEATH came on, but it was impossible to see due to the impromptu shower of popcorn and malt liquor that obscured the screen. A chant of "Jay-son! Jay-son!" began and only died down when the main feature began.

Wholesome family entertainment!

What followed can only be called the greatest display of audience participation that it has ever been my pleasure to witness. Foul rejoinders hurled at characters who couldn't respond, people in the balcony sticking their hands into the projector beam and creating shadow hands that played with the actresses' tits, an out-of-nowhere sing-along to the old "car rock" hit "GTO" (which would have made a modicum of sense if the song had been included in the film)... Folks, we're talking two hours of humor, insanity and "Will I make it out of this movie alive?" terror. If I could download the memory of this show and sell it on DVD, I would be a millionaire overnight.

Anyway, the crowd dispersed peacefully, no one was arrested and the doors were repaired the very next day. Surprisingly, the subsequent showings went off without incident. Oh, and Jason is killed by a young, machete-wielding Corey Feldman (until he returns two films later; don't ask).

Poster from the theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2019-Introduction

Dedicated to the late, great Bob Wilkins (1923-2009), my first horror paedagōgus.

Hey there, dear and loyal Cine-Miscreants!

October, the month that culminates in the most excellent day that is Halloween, is about to kick off, so you regulars know that means it's time once again for my annual month-long journey through the dark annals of horror cinema (and occasionally television).

Scary stories have been around as long as there have been storytellers, and a sizable segment of this planet's sentients eat up spine-chilling tales like a rapacious werewolf devours the tender flesh of an unlucky woodland wanderer, so it comes as no surprise that the horror genre has been a staple of global entertainment and has grown and thrived as the means to enthrall audiences with narratives that evolved along with us. Horror as a motion picture genre goes back to the dawn of the movies and it's been over a century since the first moving images silently flickered across the screen in the darkness as the public absorbed the wondrous diversions that unspooled. While comedies, dramas, romances, and adventure narratives held moviegoers riveted, darker, more sinister material also lurked in the indoor twilight and filmmakers were quick to realize that such chillers were a rich lode to be mined. From there the genre grew like Topsy and filled the silver screen with hordes of shambling revenants, thirsting nosferatu, eldritch demoniacal entities conjured through the wielding of forbidden rites, unrestful spectres, blasphemous man-made creatures, other-worldly wigglies that the mere sight of which drives the most stalwart of men to states of gibbering madness, medical nightmares in which our own bodies become our enemies or the healers who are supposed to grant us their aid turn their skills to dire pursuits, seemingly indestructible wielders of kitchen implements and power tools who stalk remote back-woods to prey upon randy youths, primordial throwbacks that defied extinction to terrorize swimwear-clad nubile young maidens, and even that most seemingly-mundane of threats, the unhinged murderer who walks among us and blends in while committing atrocities that would make veteran homicide detectives blanch and fall to their hands and knees while voiding the contents of their stomachs. All of those and more can be found in a richly-fetid cornucopia that often slyly reflects the needs and climate of the given era of production and examines areas of the human condition that may otherwise be un-broachable if not cloaked in shadow.

But enough of all that flowery film school yakkety-blah-blah-blah. If you've bothered to read this far, it's plain that you care about scary movies and are here to see what baleful chronicles of fright Yer Bunche will dredge up from the celluloid depths for the year of two-thousand and nineteen. As in previous years, there is no real rhyme or reason behind my choices, though there will be the occasional thematic overlap and comparison/contrast of certain sub-groups within the genre. I will also rerun a couple of reviews I did for entries that came out between last year's run of 31 DAYS OF HORROR essays, in case some of you readers may have missed the more recent stuff.

So sharpen your axe, dust off the Necronomicon, apply fresh lipstick to grandma's mummified corpse, and make sure your homemade shroud of supple human skin is properly secured to your febrile pate. 'Tis once again the month of All Hallows' Eve and we are nothing if not prepared...

Saturday, August 31, 2019

ELEGY FOR THE 4:30 MOVIE

NOTE: This piece originally ran on THE VAULT OF BUNCHENESS in 2007. 

Since I began blogging a few years ago, many of you with similar filmic tastes have written in with occasional nostalgic mentions of Channel 7's late, lamented THE 4:30 MOVIE. From the heartfelt musings you’ve sent in I’ve come to realize that the five-day weekly movie festival was beloved by armchair film fans of all stripes and not just by a dyed-in-the-wool freak like Yer Bunche, so I think it's high time we all took a stroll down memory lane, back to the pre -Oprah days when the NYC afternoon airwaves were ruled by giant monsters, superheroes, Roman warriors, societies of talking apes, journeys into unknown realms of sci-fi and horror, beach parties presided over by cute Italian chicks in one-piece bathing suits, and the eerie doings of Vincent Price.

And just to state it right up front, there's already an excellent article on THE 4:30 MOVIE by Joe Cascio elsewhere online — from which I cribbed most of the pics, so I owe Mr. Cascio a debt of acknowledgement and gratitude for having clipped those ads from TV GUIDE — so rather than detail the show's history I will instead concentrate on its meaning to those of us fortunate enough to have had it as part of our fondly-recalled childhood-to-adolescence experiences.

I first discovered THE 4:30 MOVIE upon moving to Connecticut in the summer of 1972, and it was the prefect salve for a movie-loving new kid in town who had no friends. Having spent my formative years in California, I was used to a steady infusion of all manner of crazy television, a cornucopia that spewed forth Japanese cartoons and monster shows, horror and sci-fi movies on CREATURE FEATURES with host Bob Wilkins (R.I.P.), the adventures of the Thunderbirds and their futuristic marionette brethren, and reruns of the original THE OUTER LIMITS, but the TV programming in the Tri-State area at the time was a wasteland that was a mortal enemy to stuff that kids enjoyed. WPIX, Channel 11 out of New York, was particularly heinous, its afternoon schedule consisting of little other than the gameshow BEAT THE CLOCK — more like BEAT ME WITH A CLOCK, because it was so fucking boring — and the Hanna-Barbera chestnut MAGILLA GORILLA, another of their triumphs of character name over character content, while Channel 5 was still abut a year or two away from any decent cartoon reruns other than assorted DC Comics-based cartoons like AQUAMAN that wore out their welcome very swiftly, or the much-enjoyed daily airing of LOST IN SPACE.

But one thing New York TV did have was movies. Lots and lots of movies of all stripes, and all of the local channels had their own small-screen showcases for big screen fare, ranging from classics to B-movies to cult items, an across the board smorgasbord for the young and bored, and fitting the bill of that last description, I was drawn to THE 4:30 MOVIE like a moth to a flame.

Simplicity itself and a master stroke of programming, THE 4:30 MOVIE would regularly air a week of random flicks from disparate genres, but when they went all-out with the genre-themed weeks the viewers flocked and the ratings shot through the roof. For years kids in theTri-State area sat enthralled during Monster Week — usually a parade of giant Toho rubber suit leviathans like Godzilla and Mothra, or a string of competitor Daei’s Gamera cycle — Superhero Week, Edgar Allen Poe Week — a selection of Vincent Price's AIP Gothics — Jerry Lewis Week (never one of my favorites), Animation Week, Epic Week — which would break down films like BEN-HUR and CLEOPATRA into installments that would fill out a whole week with one movie, which in the case of CLEOPATRA was not only agonizing, but also verging on criminal — Ray Harryhausen Week, Beach Party Week — I'd tune in just to watch Annette Funicello breathe, a wondrous sight that gave me my appreciation of the dark-haired Italian ladies and their hypnotic curves — and, of course, PLANET OF THE APES Week, each movie throwing more gasoline onto the fire of our hungry imaginations. And for once the station honchos paid attention and kept the good stuff coming, adopting an attitude of “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” that served them well for about fifteen years.

I discovered many of my favorite films through THE 4:30 MOVIE, including FANTASTIC VOYAGE (1966), PLANET OF THE APES (1968), and other Hollywood goodies, but I most value the experience for inundating me with monsters, monsters, and yet more monsters, inadvertently fostering a lifelong addiction to such oft-derided cinema. It was there that I was schooled in tales of Godzilla and his behemoth brethren, the mostly-forgotten stone warrior Majin, and also of the lesser (read "cheap and idiotic") Gamera, Japanese giants whose movies were the latest expression of a myth base rife with ogres and other such big-assed, badassed, city-stompin' motherfuckers. And when the show gave us a week's worth of  Ray Harryhausen it was practically guaranteed that the streets would clear of children, no matter how intense the day's game of "Viet Nam Terrorist" or "Ghost" would get. All that needed to happen was for an older brother or sister (or the occasional film-geek parent) to stick their head out of the front door and scream, "Hey! JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS is on! Move it!!!" and move it we did. In fucking droves, dude.

This afternoon wonderland of special effects miracles, alien invasions, and sometimes outright horrors was where I encountered THE FLY (1958), the first film to have an ending that fucked me up for life.

This scene still horrifies me, even though I always knew it made no sense, and every time I see it I'm suddenly eight years old again, staring open-mouthed at the TV in our old house on Ellery Lane.

But it's a far more obscure film that stands at the top of my list of 4:30 MOVIE memories and that's VOYAGE INTO SPACE (1970), a feature cobbled together from several episodes of the Japanese kiddie show JOHNNY SOKKO AND HIS FLYING ROBOT (1967). It's a combination sci-fi /secret agent/giant monster flick and, even considering some rather stiff competition, it may just be the most balls-out insane Japanese monster offering from the pre-1975 period thanks to its patchwork construction.

Very loosely based on Mitsuteru Yokoyama's GIANT ROBO manga, the movie unleashes Emperor Guillotine (from the planet Gargoyle)

and his attempts to conquer the world with the aid of the Nazi-esque Gargoyle Gang

and an endless supply of giant (and fake-looking) critters, among which can be found sea monsters, plant monsters and a whatchamawhoozits that appears to be a bunch of traffic cones hot-glued together and painted silver called "the Nucleon."

Exactly what the fuck is this thing?

Opposing this inter-planetary evil is Unicorn, a secret agency equipped with jet packs and a weird salute that makes a "dweep" noise that isn't remotely possible for a human to generate, and among their number is Johnny Sokko,

an incredibly annoying kid of the type too often found in Japanese monster flicks, who controls a towering death-machine imaginatively named Giant Robot who kicks much hand-to-tentacle ass, fires seemingly limitless missiles from his fingers, and for no adequately explained reason looks like an Egyptian pharaoh.

The film has virtually no plot and is just one monster vs. robot fight after another, and as such it's highly entertaining (if exhausting). The dialogue is ridiculous, the monsters wouldn't scare a four-year-old, and the film is packed with more irresponsible violence than any other children's film you can name, so what's not to love? This one left such an impact on those who saw it as kids that there's even a kickass metal version of the Giant Robot theme tune performed by Buckethead!

But, like all things, it was only inevitable that THE 4:30 MOVIE would pass into our memories, one of the early casualties of lousy 1980's televison. In an era that would see the dawn of infomercials and the blight of MTV, THE 4:30 MOVIE was inexplicably replaced by THE PEOPLE'S COURT, which was in turn unseated by OPRAH, a show that's still dominating weekday afternoons just before EYEWITNESS NEWS on New York's Channel 7 to this very day. In short order all of the local channels followed suit and the great movie shows of yore went the way of the dinosaurs; no more MILLION DOLLAR MOVIE, FRIGHT NIGHT, SCIENCE FICTION THEATER, or the show with the most unforgettable of local TV opening sequences, Channel 11's CHILLER.

So the more I remember those bygone days of movie bliss I realise that even with the eleventy-gajillion channels available on cable, today's Tri-State Area kids are missing out not only on having their imaginations expanded, they're also being deprived of a steady dose of genre film history. And that, dear readers, is truly tragic. I mourn not for THE 4:30 MOVIE, but for those who will never get to know its like.

Tuesday, June 4, 2019

MA (2019)

 Getting their underage drunk on in Ma's basement.

16-year-old Maggie Thompson (Diana Silvers) moves with her mom (Juliette Lewis) back to her mother's podunk hometown in Ohio after her mother's dreams of making it big in California amount to squat and her marriage falls apart. Now the new kid at the local high school, Maggie is soon befriended by a quartet of average, nice-enough fellow students whose one goal in their boring, go-nowhere lives is to get as stoned and drunk as possible, as often as they can. 

While trying (and failing) to get adults to buy booze for them at a liquor store, the gang manages to convince veterinary secretary/assistant Sue Ann Ellington (Octavia Spencer) to help them in their quest for underage wastedness. The sympathetic Sue Ann recalls what it was like for her growing up in their boring-ass town and continues to buy the kids liquor, eventually inviting them to party in her remote house's basement. Despite them knowing absolutely nothing about this kindly grownup, the desperate kids accept her invitation and begin regular visits to their illegal speakeasy and find Sue Ann, whom they now refer to as "Ma," to be an affable and fun hostess who is more than happy to join them in their hard-partying shenanigans. But almost immediately her mask of lovable sweetness occasionally allows glimpses into a much darker true nature, and though she gives the gang free rein of the basement, they are warned never to go upstairs, as "that is my world."

Though sensing that something is rather "off" about their overly-benevolent hostess, the allure of a safe place in which to get fucking shitfaced on the regular is too great a temptation, and in no time Ma's place becomes the off-the-chain hangout spot for a legion of teens from the local high school and beyond. But Ma's facade slips more and more with each passing day, as she stalks the kids online, gathering as much information on them as possible and serially bombarding them with requests for them to hang out at her house. She even begins stalking Maggie's mother at her job as a casino waitress, and during that bit of creeping we start to piece together Ma's back story and exactly why she obsessively wishes to hang with Maggie and her pals. When all of the pieces come together, what we are left with is a cautionary tale centering around one deeply (yet understandably) deranged, lonely, and damaged sociopath.

 Sue Ann "Ma" Ellington (Octavia Spencer): behind that sweet smile lies the heart and mind of a deeply pathetic and damaged psycho.

MA is concrete proof that the sensibility and thrills of '70's era psychological horror exploitation has not died out, and it's a hell of a fun thrill ride that is best appreciated when seen with a black audience. My people's "audience participation" with movies in general but horror flick in particular is so well-known that it is now its own punchline, and scary movies, especially those with crazed antagonists of a dusky hue, elicit unbridled reactions that are often hilarious but that also engage the Chalkasiains in attendance to find common ground with us. MA is old school grindhouse horror and social commentary rolled up into a satisfying burrito that starts out very deeply-rooted in an all-too-recognizable suburban purgatory. A death trap for personal growth or progression, wherein the youth seeks to numb its senses as it faces the inevitable departure from the mundanity of high school social politics and cruelty into an adult world where hopes and dreams are crushed by the realities of dead-end jobs, loveless marriages, and unwanted progeny.

MA connected with me in a rather visceral way because a lot of its over-the-top depictions of teenage partying excess rang absolutely true when compared to my own experiences growing up when and where I did. Westport, CT in the late 1970's and early 1980's was a far cry from rural Ohio, what with its affluent ostentation and atmosphere/culture that bore little resemblance to the American reality at large in other locales, but its teen culture of driving around aimlessly in search of any sort of altered state of consciousness, regardless of it being had in someone's home or in the weeds-choked and secluded confines of random, remote parking lots, was exactly like what is seen in MA. Between the ages of 15 and 18, I went to a good number of out-of-control parties that were sanctioned and participated in by adults — sometimes the parents of some of my peers — and during those gathering I and many of my classmates learned how to drink and even do assorted drugs, often with the parental implication that it was safer for us to do so under their roofs than having us drive somewhere while wasted. The police were seldom involved and I and many of my peers developed drinking and drugging tolerances that would have impressed the likes of Hunter S. Thompson. (Consequently, there were also a considerable number of drug and drunk-driving-related deaths to go along with all of the pre-collegiate debauchery.) Anyway, the party insanity seen in MA actually did and does happen, so go into the film knowing that some of us lived it (and, miraculously, lived through it).

The kids in the cast all do serviceable jobs, but the film is unquestionably Octavia Spencer's spotlight in which to draw the viewer in with her initially lovable aspect, but when Sue Ann goes into full-tilt crazy-as-a-soup-sandwich mode, Spencer chews the scenery like a motherfucker. And it is glorious.

 Sue Anne: Proof that monsters are made, not born.

"But," you may ask, "What drove the formerly sweet and shy Sue Ann over the edge into full-on bunny-boiler territory," you might ask? Well, I won't give away the specifics, but throughout the film we are given glimpses into her memory of her adolescent crush on a hunky white classmate and how her vulnerability let her become the victim of an incredibly cruel and humiliating prank engineered by her school's cadre of "mean girls" and her unobtainable love. If you are a horror fan, you are no doubt familiar with what was arranged for and done to poor Carrie White, but what befalls Sue Ann eclipses Carrie's tragic humiliation, something that would seem almost impossible, but I assure you that Sue Ann's victimization is the single worst example of "They're all gonna laugh at you" that I have ever seen. Seriously, if it happened in real life today, it would result in harsh prosecution, with the possible tacking-on of classification as a hate crime, as Sue Ann was one of the school's minute number of students of color. (An aspect noted to pointed effect by Sue Ann in the film's climax.)

With all of that said, it should be pretty obvious that I very much enjoyed MA, though it should be made clear that it perhaps best enjoyed by those of us whose bread and butter is old school exploitation trash cinema. Though there is social commentary to be had, the true meat of the narrative lies in the fact that it is an old school tale of cruelty-spurred vengeance, and though quite believable for its first two thirds, the film goes out-the-window insane with some of the shit that happens during the final reel. It should also be noted that if one wants approach the film with a minimum of knowledge regarding some of its more shocking elements, I advise avoiding Google Images and other sites that features promotional stills released by the studio. Some of them spoil some major nasty moments, so I'll just leave it at that. RECOMMENDED.

Oh, and Juliette Lewis is great as Maggie's struggling mom. I always liked her, and it's good to see her in another of her down-to-earth relateably-trashy roles.

Poster from the theatrical release.