Scare Package

In this age of cinematic recycling via reboots, sequels and basically the same ol' thang time and time again, the horror film genre has stepped up with more originality than normal studio fare. Since this is the Halloween season, I think it's high time that throw out a few recommendations of scary movies from the recent past I've found worthy enough to recommend. 

In no particular order, here goes somethin':

LATE NIGHT WITH THE DEVIL

A welcome spin on the found footage style popularized by THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT, LATE NIGHT is appropriately set on All Hallow's Eve, a live broadcast of a young girl possessed by the Devil himself for your viewing pleasure, kind of a cross between THE EXORCIST and JIMMY KIMMEL LIVE. On HULU.

THE MONKEY

Osgood Perkins has really come into his own as an innovative filmmaker within the confines of horror, especially with the success of last year's LONGLEGS. While I found that particular film to be over-hyped, I did admire its style and unending sense of dread. He followed it up with this one, an adaptation of a Stephen King short story that takes an unexpected jump off the cliff into comedic territory, making it a slapstick gore-fest that elevated it in my eyes. This one sure earn cult status as a bona fide Halloween hoot. 

On HULU

SMILE 2

The only sequel here, a worthy follow up to the first that damn near crosses the finish line without a glitch, but, like so many films these days, fails to stick the landing. However, there is more than enough to recommend here, especially a star-making performance by Naomi Scott. She is perfection here and deserves to move up the ranks pronto. On PARAMOUNT +

STRANGE DARLING

Here's a topsy turvy mind fuck and a half of a thriller that begins as a one night stand and ends with...I ain't gonna tell you a damn thing. This is the kind of work spoilers destroy in their work and probably why it is nearly unknown. How do you sell something that if you reveal one iota of info, it ruins the entire experience? Be warned. This is rough stuff, but pays off in dividends you'll receive every time you even think of this movie. I can't wait to see what writer/director J.T. Mollner does next. And cinematography by Giovanni Ribisi? Who knew? On PARAMOUNT +

 

COMPANION

Sophie Thatcher plays the sweetest android love doll money can buy until she goes a little haywire. Also starring Jack Quaid, who looks so much like a de-aged version of his dad Dennis that I find distracting and Harvey Guillen, Guillermo himself, breaking out into familiar territory but breaking out nonetheless. On HBO MAX

THE FIRST OMEN

Busted. A reboot, reimagining, whatever you want to call this prequel, it worked for me and hopefully for you too. Oh, those crazy Catholics. On HULU                 

COLOR OUT OF SPACE 

Nicolas Cage goes full blown Nicolas Cage again in this, his 500th movie since the turn of the century, this time around in this Richard Stanley adaptation of an H.P. Lovecraft property, the first time it's been touched since DIE, MONSTER, DIE, one of Boris Karloff's last flicks in the 1960s. A comet lands on a farm and cosmic demonic hijinks ensure...or low-links as the case may be. Joely Richardson is as game as Cage (Body horror alert!) and that is a very good thing. And to top it off, Tommy Chong! On HULU

BIRTH/REBIRTH 

Yet another movie to mess with your mind. This is kind of an extension of THE MONKEY'S PAW and maybe even PET SEMATARY, but as a gripping as hell two-hander with Judy Reyes and the superb Marin Ireland. On HULU

SINNERS 

Ryan Coogler's vampire blockbuster from earlier this year did live to its hype, particularly a mid-movie sequence that was worth the price of admission alone. I didn't find it especially scary, however, but maybe in the cinema it might have played differently for me. On HBO/MAX

NOSFERATU  

I did catch Robert Eggers' remake on the big screen and was engulfed by not only overwhelming dread but a sense of fright that has since stayed with me. Such is the theater going experience. Those who took my recommendation for this film streamed it as I did SINNERS and found it lacking. I stand by my assessment, though I haven't granted it a re-watch at home. I guess I don't want to spoil my cinematic good time. Take that for what it's worth. On AMAZON PRIME

And the Grand Finale...(drumroll please)

WEAPONS

When a film in any genre lives to its potential as well as all the praise that has been foisted upon it by critics and the public alike, I'll do something I rarely do-stand with the crowd and cheer. Zach Cregger's insidious, ingenious creep-fest builds slowly, tripping over itself a couple of times until it amps up into a climax of bombastic proportions. Unlike most of what I've seen, both on and off this list, WEAPONS gains re-watchable status, a Michelin star in my book, and may very well be the best film I've seen this year. On HBO/MAX

  

So lots of non-fun-sized treats for all you ghosts, goblins and sexy nurses this Halloween. Now please don't soap my windows.

THE EXORCIST: A Playdate with the Devil

Wow. THE EXORCIST is nearly 50 years old. Pretty soon, Pazuzu will be solicited by AARP. I was fortunate enough to see this iconic horror film way before everyone I knew. That was a big deal to me to then. It did, however, come with a price. 

MY MORTAL SOUL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Guess it wasn't worth much since he gave it back. Didn't even take it out of the box. Rude.

Here's my recounting of a trip to legendary San Francisco to watch THE EXORCIST, a movie so scary, it'll make your head spin, an excerpt from my book, IN THE DARK: A LIFE AND TIMES IN A MOVIE THEATER.

The horror film heavyweight champion of the world known as THE EXORCIST had opened in San Francisco long before it hit my hometown of Stockton, California. (That’s how movies opened back then, major cities first, then the rest of the country. The practice of nationwide releases didn’t occur until a few years later.) It was imperative that I be the first person on my block to witness THE event of the year. How could I not? Audience members across the country were fainting…barfing…running out into the streets and crying out to the heavens to save their mortal souls. Who wouldn’t want to see that? So, as I had done so often, I took a solo trip to the City by the Bay.

That fateful day in the middle of January of 1974, The City was cold and wet from a storm that blew through the night before. I was already feeling a little punky, which I had attributed to a lack of sleep in anticipation of being a part of an actual cultural phenomenon. Catching a nap on the Greyhound bus ride to SF (no car, don’t ya know) didn’t help, but I figured maybe a brisk walk through town might shake off whatever I was going though so that I could enjoy my date with the Devil. I set off on the same path I took for almost every trip to The City, a marathon jaunt that took me from Market Street, through downtown, Chinatown, North Beach (Howdy, Carol and your two Dodas!) to my final destination, Fisherman’s Wharf. My goal was to catch the first matinee at the Northpoint where THE EXORCIST had its first San Francisco run. My timing was impeccable and I plunked down into a theater seat minutes before show time. That jaunt through town, normally invigorating, seemed to have taken a lot out of me. My head started to spin; a forbearer of things to come.

William Friedkin and William Peter Blatty shook me senseless for the next two hours with their spook shows of all spook shows. I am not a religious person nor have I ever been. for I wasn’t raised in any particular denomination. The church my family attended-for a short period of time, mind you-was generic at best. Never has either the fear of God or Satan been drilled into me. However, I bought THE EXORCIST-hook, line and sinker. If it rattled me, of all people, it wasn’t difficult to imagine how it would affect anyone with stronger beliefs than myself. No wonder people were freaking out.

The best horror films continue to scare you long after you view them. They get under your skin because they’ve tapped into an inherent fear; maybe even one you never knew you had. The mere thought of it can jolt you, sometimes causing you to relive the experience. Maybe it’s just an image. Maybe it’s just a moment. Or maybe, from start to finish, you are tied up in a knot with a sense of foreboding. Something awful is going to happen. When it finally occurs, there certainly is no relief because you know it’s going to happen again and over and over again, each time worse than before, relentlessly until you are a useless rag by the final credits. Something inside of you wonders if it really has come to an end. It is that doubt that will eat at you. When it doesn’t, it’ll lie dormant and, just when you think it’s gone for good, it’ll reawaken and with it, your fear.  Such is THE EXORCIST. Now that’s a good movie.

Still fresh in my mind, I left the Northpoint and now I was feeling worse. I definitely had some sort of malady, compounded with the fact that I had just seen the face of the Devil on cute little Linda Blair. My condition made me want to do something I never wanted to when I was in The City-go home as soon as possible. It was in my best interest at that juncture to make my way back to the tenderloin and hop on the next Greyhound bound for Stockton. Trudging along, I was getting sicker with each step I took. By the time I reached 5th and Market, I looked and felt like a junkie in serious need of a fix. Considering my surroundings, I was in good company. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast but there was no way in hell I was hungry. I just wanted to close my eyes. I was so tired and suddenly so cold my teeth were chattering out an SOS in Morse code. Yep. This here was what y’all call a flu bug. It had grabbed me by the lapels and bitch slapped me into oblivion. Finally, I was able to board the bus, crawl into a pair of seats and passed out almost immediately. I can only imagine what ran through the minds of the other passengers when they saw me. They probably thought I was re-enacting Ratso Rizzo’s death scene in MIDNIGHT COWBOY. I sure looked the part.

For all intents and purposes, I was dead to the world. My head was swirling with visions of THE EXORCIST. I was propelled into the surrealistic world of the fever dream. One scene from the movie in particular begins to play over and over on a seemingly endless loop.

The Crucifix Scene.

Out of everything in the movie, this perhaps disturbed me the most. It’s not because of the sacrilegious nature of the scene because that meant nada to me. In Blatty’s book, it is clearly defined that Regan is demonically masturbating with the cross. Due to the fact that this was the early seventies after all and this was an underage girl we are talking about here, the way Friedkin staged this act and possibly got away with it at all was to have Regan stab herself in the crotch instead. (It’s the old Sex vs. Violence argument) Sure, she’s chanting, “Let Jesus fuck you!” as she thrusts the crucifix into her nether region. But I know what masturbation is supposed to be and that ain’t it. That is stabbing-plain and simple.

In my feverish state, this is all I am seeing. Regan just keeps plunging that metal crucifix into her body repeatedly. She’s flinging the blood everywhere. Her mother is screaming in the background non-stop. The Devil’s voice is alternately howling and growling and laughing and crying and it all gets louder and the stabbing gets faster and faster and the blood is flying everywhere. It’s on me! It’s all over me! I cried out…

“STOP!!!!!!!!!!!”

I was drenched in my own sweat when I escaped that nightmare. Did I really cry out? No one in the bus seemed to acknowledge it, so maybe I dreamed that too. I was only aware of one thing: I got frightened out of my ever-loving mind. In my addled state of semi-consciousness, I feared for my very existence. Was my soul truly my own? Or did the spawn of Satan now own and operate an all night deli in its place, complete with an all-you-can-eat slime buffet?

Nah. It was just a combination of the flu and a very powerful piece of cinema mixed together in the already addled mind of an honest to goodness head case, that little 

old weirdo, ME.

Copyright 2011 by Scott Cherney

IN THE DARK: A LIFE AND TIMES IN A MOVIE THEATER is now on sale for Amazon Kindle and in paperback at Lulu.com

Boo to You

In the immortal words of the legendary Count Floyd:

"Here's something really scary, kids! It'll put goosebumps on your goosebumps!"

Well, I dunno. As far as horror movies go these days, fewer and fewer things actually frighten me anymore. Am I just jaded or is nothing really scarier than real life? What passes for horror makes me wince, sometimes jump in surprise or turn away in disgust due to unnecessary excess. But nothing has gotten has given me the night terrors in years, probably since watching THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT in an empty theater on a late murky afternoon in down Portland.

Back in the day, that day being a LONG ASS TIME AGO, I was all about the horror. They became my obsession, catching them wherever and whenever I could. I actually kept a tally of what I had seen, certainly sailing into four digits easily by the time I was twelve.Whether at the cinema or sitting in front of my TV at any hour of the day or night, if a fright flick was playing, I was there, front and center. When The Bob Wilkins Show debuted back in the late 60s, I found a kindred spirit and knew I wasn't alone in the world like Vincent Price in THE LAST MAN ON EARTH.

One of my first exposures to the scary movie genre took place at a slumber party my older sister threw at our house one Saturday night. I couldn't have been more than eight or nine. I had been allowed to stay up awhile at this soiree and tried not to get in the way of all these icky girls. It was all very chaste since everyone was prepubescent, they being two years older than moi. Another year down the road and I would have been shown the curb. Two years and I would have tried to find a hiding place with night vision goggles. But at this point in time, I was still on safe ground for probably the last time in my young life.

Naturally, the TV had been on, turned to a late night showing of HORRORS OF THE BLACK MUSEUM, a British effort starring Michael Gough. It opened rather benignly with two lovely crumpets named Winnie and Millie or something relaxing in their London flat sipping tea, smoking cigarettes and eating baked beans on toast while discussing the practical applications of Prince Charles' jug ears. A knock on the door reveals a delivery man with a package for plucky and pert little Winifred.

"Blimey! I wonder who it's from!"
"Secret admirer, Winnie?"
"Oh, get stuffed, Millie. There's no card, is there?"
"Well, open it, you ninny."
"Aow! It's some lovely looking spy glasses!"
 "Give 'em a go, why don't you?"

So Winnie picks up the pair of binoculars from her anonymous benefactor and immediately goes to the window to give them a look-see. As soon she adjusts the focus, she screams and covers her eyes with both hands as blood runs through her fingers.

"My eyes!" Winiie cries as we cut to the binoculars on the floor with two sharp metal spikes poking through the eye pieces. Millie harmonizes with Winnie as they scream in tandem.

In our living room, this horrific scene triggered an explosive hallelujah chorus of shrieks from this slumber party filled with pre-teenage schoolgirls. To top it off was my mom, covering her own mouth in abject shock, first from the movie, second from the girls and third from the anticipation of phone calls the next day from these kids' parents.

But for lil' ol' me, I had been magically transported into the seventh heaven of my boyhood. Not only was this the finest moment in cinematic history up to that point in my life, I had been at Ground Zero for this visceral reaction of the power of movies, even a cheap horror flick like this. And probably since I had been enjoying HORRORS OF THE BLACK MUSEUM and its traumatic effects on my sister's slumber party (the gleeful ear-to-ear smile was a big clue), my mom sent me off to bed. 

There in my slumber, visions of  tricked-out binoculars, poked-out eyeballs and screaming girls in their pajamas all danced through my head. The horror...the horror....the lovely, lovely horror...