Night of the Pumpkin (Review)

Night of the Pumpkin (2010)

Director: Bill Zebub

SYNOPSIS

At the beach, a pumpkin washes ashore and is promptly and cruelly destroyed by two young women frolicking on the sand. When they crush the pumpkin, their legs become covered in an inexplicable red liquid. Fast forward to mischief night when these same two women and their friends find themselves being stalked by a killer Pumpkinman. Is he just a sicko in a costume or something more bizarre that has marked them for death?

With a very low budget and a premise that sounds deceptively simple (a group of friends are terrorized by a Pumpkinman monster), Night of the Pumpkin turns out to be anything but your average horror film. Indie director Bill Zebub describes Night of the Pumpkin as his "anti-horror horror movie" -- a conscious experiment in subverting the expectations of the horror audience. As a result, Night of the Pumpkin is a monster movie that's not a monster movie. It's a slasher movie that's not a slasher movie. Unfortunately, for all its ambition and experimental ideas, it's also not a fun or exciting movie to watch.

Night of the Pumpkin may be the best indie horror movie that I'll never recommend.

Rating: 1.5 / 5 Pumpkin Heads

IS IT SEXY?

On the low-brow scale that we use to measure movies here at Monster Chiller Horror Theatre, Night of the Pumpkin hits the mark in only one category: gratuitous and almost pornographic female nudity.

A room with a view

Actresses Angelina Leigh, Kathy Rice, Sativa Verte, and Nikki Sebastian all bare their breasts and sometimes go "porno nude" (i.e. labia-and-lips) at various points without shame. Chased out of the shower, languishing in blood while being sexually attacked, struggling against sentient pumpkin vines, these women bring the only consistent level of low-brow exploitation to Night of the Pumpkin.

Nothing about this is going to turn out well

At the same time, under Bill Zebub's mission to produce the anti-horror horror movie, the nudity and simulated rape scenes are so stark and matter-of-fact that they often lose their titillating edge.

Just don't stare at her pumpkins

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On the one hand, I respect what Bill Zebub tries to do with Night of the Pumpkin. Instead of employing horror movie stereotypes, he casts and writes against the grain. Night of the Pumpkin has no real scares or gore to speak of; it's essentially a movie about characters sitting around and talking or arguing. Instead of characters making snap decisions or learning about the nature of the monster via some handy-dandy deus ex machina, the characters debate endlessly and have to deduce everything about the monster on their own. This actually leads to the film's "climactic" sequence that consists not of a violent showdown between the survivor girl and the monster but, instead, several minutes of lead actor Shoshana Mccallum sitting alone at a table writing out notes and non-violent strategies for defeating the monster. Zebub even casts against type by choosing Mccallum as his lead because of her strong foreign accent.

The overall effect of these unexpected divergences is a movie that doesn't feel like a movie. While I'm a strong supporter of cinematic experimentation and reinvention, Night of the Pumpkin does not succeed in its experimentation. Yes, it subverts the genre expectations of its audience, but it doesn't bring to the table much entertainment in exchange for what it takes away.

You do get a fair share of bikini shots for a Halloween movie, however

The movie is dull and the script is as confusing jumble of half-formed ideas. Furthermore, the dialogue on which the film depends so heavily is flat and awkward (I feel that Zebub is trying to channel the dialogue-heavy style of writers like Kevin Smith without the same ear for dialogue's natural flow and spark). On the technical side, the cinematography is roundly static, boom mic shadows creep into frame, and the effects are painfully homemade.

If Night of the Pumpkin's experimental goal was to be an unsuccessful artifact of entertainment, then it's a resounding success. If its goal was to subvert the horror genre while still entertaining its audience, it only gets half-way. I really like Zebub's concept for the film and his very smart inversions of genre. After watching Night of the Pumpkin, I'm definitely open to seeing more of Zebub's work. In the end, however, I can't recommend this movie to anyone as a piece of entertainment. On a dramatic and technical level, Night of the Pumpkin is a crude jack-o-lantern without a spark to light it.

The New York Ripper (Review)

The New York Ripper (1982) 
(Lo squartatore di New York)

Director: Lucio Fulci

After taking in a viewing of The New York Ripper, one of Fulci's most controversial trashterpieces, I came to an important realization.

I have no real interest in seeing modern New York. I want only to visit the New York of my cinematic childhood. That sleazy, slimy, wet city that was equal parts grime and equal parts glamour that I experienced first in children's fare like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and then, later in life, epitomized in gritty crime dramas and exploitation films like The New York Ripper. New York, in my mind, is comprised only of alleys, sewers, subway tunnels, and peep show booths.

It's for this reason that The New York Ripper appeals to me. Unfortunately, it's not enough to keep me interested. Fulci's shocking and degrading giallo of the 1980s about a misogynistic killer who speaks with the voice of a cartoon duck is predictably silly and simply sleazy for sleaze's sake.

SYNOPSIS

Lassie is ready to give you a hand

After a man walking his dog discovers the rotting hand of a woman, the NYPD soon realizes they have a serial killer on the loose. Somewhat like the infamous Jack the Ripper, this Big Apple psycho targets young women and, with a gloved hand, uses bladed weapons to murder and disembowel his victims. Lt. Fred Williams (Jack Hedley) and "genius" psychoanalyst Dr. Paul Davis (Paolo Malco) attempt to profile and track down the killer. The New York Ripper takes you into the sex shows, seedy alleys, and backrooms of New York City in a giallo full of red herrings and misdirection. Even up until the final act, the killer's identity isn't resolved until we see him or her speak in the killer's tell-tale voice: the voice of a ridiculous cartoon duck.

Rating: 2.5 / 5 Quacks

IS IT SHOCKING?

The New York Ripper was banned in many countries and only shown in "adult" cinemas in others for clear reasons. It features some  harrowing and unflinching depictions of physical violence against women. The killer is fond of using edged blades to savagely cut at women's abdomens and chests, especially in a key scene that will make any boob-lover cringe: the slicing of a nipple and breast with a razor blade. Fulci doesn't pull away from the violence; he lets it fill up the entirety of the screen. By today's standards, some of the prosthetic torsos used to create the kills look quite phony, but the breast mutilation and eye trauma remain as convincing today as in 1982. These scenes are ugly in their cinematic sadism but not their technical execution. 

Do you see something out of the corner of your eye?

While the term gorefest certainly suits New York Ripper, the visual direction is a tedious bore. From kill to kill, the movie moves at a trudging pace, and few kills are preceded by any real dread or suspense. In fact, the film loses much of its momentum by attempting to paint almost every character as a potential suspect. The narrative takes very unnecessary and dawdling side trips to plant red herrings in every corner of the story.. 

The film's also a nastier piece of work than most. While the killer is clearly misogynistic, the film as a whole manipulates its female characters into roles where they are degraded and abused. Not just the killer but the overall thrust of the movie is one of hate towards women. I'm not saying Lucio Fulci hates women -- that's too broad a suggestion. It is clear, however, that he chose to make a movie with a misogynistic outlook. Was this to give the killer's own misogyny a cultural origin to make a point about how society breeds killers who take out their fury on women? I think that interpretation is a stretch and gives the script far too much credit. More likely, it was a conscious decision to shock and disgust audiences in the spirit of exploitation. 

I think you get my point, pal.

IS IT SEXY?

In the sleaziest way possible. I promised myself when I started Monster Chiller Horror Theatre that I would credit any film as "sexy" if it at least embraced the lowest bar of eroticism: gratuitous nudity. As such, New York Ripper meets its quota of bare breasts. Unfortunately, the women to which they belong are being butchered. While New York Ripper explores sexualized violence through its killer, it also explores New York's salacious side through the character of Jane Lodge (Alexandra Delli Colli). Lodge gets off on visiting live sex shows, letting strangers rape her with their bare feet under the table, and being tied up in sleazy hotels. It's for this latter fetish that she crosses fatal paths with the New York Ripper. So, if you like your movies sexy in a shameless, dirty, bordering-on-pornographic level, New York Ripper's for you.

I'd wipe off her seat before you sit in it.

IS IT SILLY?

For some reason, the creative minds behind New York Ripper decided it was a good idea to set their killer apart with a distinctive voice: the voice of an obscene cartoon duck. Yes, picture Donald Duck taunting the police on the phone and hurling misogynistic obscenities as he repeatedly stabs a woman to death. That's the New York Ripper.

Remember me, Eddie? When I killed your sister, I talked... just... like... THIS!

Why? Beats me. In retrospect, the Disneyfication of Times Square in New York takes on a morbid dimension when compared to the depiction of the sleazy Big Apple and its cartoon-voiced murderer. Watching the film, however, the ducky voice completely destroys the killer's credibility while prolonging the cult life of a tedious movie by turning it into an oddball curiosity. I like to think that Fulci was ahead of the his time and was attempting to beat Who Framed Roger Rabbit? to the punch by revealing his giallo killer to be an actual, pen-and-ink toon. How great would that be if, in the climax of the film, a cartoon duck were actually the killer? Alas, the killer turns out to be a mere human with a paper-thin motivation tagged on at the last minute. I guess, if the killer were really a toon, the New York Ripper would be too easy to identify. After all, no toon can resist the old Shave-and-a-Haircut trick.
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What to make of The New York Ripper? It's a lesser artistic work for Fulci but an exceedingly gory, socially degrading, and oddball curiosity. I found it silly and meandering, but I have to give it its due for being a straight-up gore and sex flick, duck-voiced killer aside.

The Last House on the Left (Review)

The Last House on the Left (1972) 

Director: Wes Craven

The Last House on the Left is pure Id. According to Sigmund Freud, the Id is a dark, unorganized part of the personality and psyche that thrives on basic drives and immediate satisfaction but is repressed by the Ego and Super-Ego. On the DVD featurette "Still Standing: The Legacy of Last House on the Left," Craven talks about how he created Last House in the early seventies as an experiment in letting loose from intellectual and artistic repression -- to break every barrier. The original script was brutally violent, but although the script was toned down, Craven still let the Id out to play. As a result, the film is still truly shocking and holds  an incredibly dark power in its depiction of physical and sexual violence and degradation. Unfortunately, like the Id, the film is also very confused and unbalanced. Side by side with the violence are excruciating sequences of bumbling comedic relief and the most emotionally off-key music and score I've ever heard. It's these latter elements that have not aged well and contribute to what is, over all, an unsatisfying horror experience.


SYNOPSIS

Mari Collingwood (Sandra Cassell) is a sweet and lovely girl, if only a bit naive, making her way into womanhood. She lives with her mother Estelle (Cynthia Carr) and father John (Gaylord St. James) in a secluded, wooded area of town. She leaves one night with her friend Phyllis (Lucy Grantham) to take in a concert in the city. While accompanying Phyllis to score some recreational marijuana, she and Phyllis are abducted by a gang of criminals and rapists lead by the sadistic Krug (David Hess). They are raped, tortured, and eventually murdered, but not before Mari's parents find out what happened to her and seek violent vengeance on the killers.

Rating: 1.5 / 5 Krugs

IS IT SILLY?

Unfortunately, yes, this is what I take away from Last House on the Left despite its infamous listing as one of the video nasties and sadistic videos of the 70s / 80s. David Hess is menacing as Krug, the ringleader of the gang, but he also did the music and the songs that completely sap the movie of its horror. You have to excuse musical styles for the time in which they were made, but even if you forgive the fact the music reeks of the early 70s, every musical score and stinger is out of touch with the horrors on screen. Sometimes this can be used to create a disturbing sense of dissonance, but here it just sounds ridiculous. For example, Krug is joined by his illegitimate junkie son (Marc Sheffler), the animalistic Sadie (Jeramie Rain), and violent pervert Weasel (Fred J. Lincoln). They're a horrible, evil family of predators, but the music that accompanies their drive sounds like it comes out of a country bumpkin road movie comedy.

Say WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?

The music is really and truly horrible save for the smooth, soothing blues song that plays over the post-rape scene. Here the film achieves some sense of effective dissonance, but it's a rare success. The goofy quality of the music also finds its way into the interactions between Krug and his band and the subplot about the cops. Sadie and Junior mimic frog noises, Sadie pulls a Bill and Ted by talking about Sigmund FROOD, and two bumbling cops run out of gas and have to hitch a ride on an old chicken truck to try and save the day. In the climax of the film, Mari's dad even tries to go all Home Alone on Krug but resorts to confronting him in a lazy chainsaw fight. It's all really face-palm worthy.

 

We can chalk up a lot of these screwy moments to the fact that this was one of the first films for most of the cast and crew, including West Craven and producer S. S. Cunningham. Controversial at the time, I can't see today how the corn-ball scenes and music in The Last House on the Left can be tolerated.

IS IT SHOCKING?

Absolutely. While it's not shot with the same style or careful attention as shown in other more effective rape-revenge films, Craven's raw amateur style does as much as it can not to glance away from the horror and therefore lends Last House on the Left a surprisingly effective voyeuristic quality. 

Do not score weed from these people. 

The actors also deserve a lot of credit. When not delivering cornball lines or being fed some very stilted dialog, the core croup of criminals (Krug, Junior, Sadie, and Weasel) develop a surprisingly sadistic bond and natural sense of family that heightens the horror. Also, Lucy Grantham is very sincere as Phyllis although she never showed her acting chops elsewhere. Last House on the Left remains her only known commercial film.

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For all the hype, Last House on the Left is not a good movie and hardly as shocking as you might expect. It has its moments that hint at the better work Craven would deliver in the future, yet it is a largely inept and amateur picture much like The Hills Have Eyes.
 

God help me, but I actually look forward to the remake now. I think hell just froze over.