Dearest readers, I must beg forgiveness. Too long have my words been absent from these hallowed pages. But there is good cause, lower thy knives and stay thy murderous hands, I pray! A few weeks past, I, the Duke of DVD, found myself on a caravel, bound for a small South Pacific island that shall remain nameless. The ship’s captain, a beastly, bulging man of ill repute, rode the waves like a man possessed, possessed of singular intent: to deliver my person to the island and depart with a quickness. The crew crossed themselves, muttering prayers to nameless sea gods under their breaths. They feared my destination, as did I, I must confess.
In the weeks leading up to my departure, dark whispers had begun to reach my ears as I traveled in places best left alone by the bulk of humanity. Foul mutterings of a rare treasure, an object so valuable that I would beggar the Ducal estates just for a glimpse. Soon, these rumors led me to acquiring maps through auguries I shall not describe here. A ship was procured, a crew was assembled, and we were off. After days of rough seas, the island swam into view like a diseased miasma, congealing on the horizon. Shrouded in mist and darkness, it splintered the ocean with jagged cliffs, like the teeth of a rotten skull. The captain, wanting to be rid of me, dropped anchor some miles away and whipped two of the crew into taking me via skiff to the nearest beach.
As my feet sank into the black volcanic sand, a piercing roar sounded deep within the jungle before me, reverberating through my being and nearly causing my flight back to the waiting ship. I half turned and saw that the two oarsmen were already away, hauling at the oars like men in mortal fear. Facing the jungle once more, I made my way past piles of flotsam, into the island interior...
Very quickly, the sun disappeared above the canopy of the dense jungle. Wet fronds slapped my face as I plunged heedlessly forward. Multicolored beetles scurried from my path as large, furred beasts leapt from tree to tree above my sweating head. Soon I entered a clearing, and I knew my journey had borne fruit. Before me stood an impossibly tall monolith, hewn from obsidian so black it drank in what little light pierced the trees overhead.
Behind the monolith were piles of bones, each dozens of stories tall, for as far as the eye could see. The scattered stumps protruding upwards through the bone piles spoke of a forest that used to be, but was no more. Foul energies blanketed the clearing, coalescing around a stunted altar erected before the monolith. As I approached and gazed down at my prize, the earth-shattering roar once again rang through my body like a bell from Hell. Bones slipped among other bones, some of the piles cascading and shifting into their neighbors.
Grabbing the object of my desire, I sprinted back through the jungle, diving into the ocean, heedless of the closing footsteps of a Thing that Should Not Be, an old god, worshipped for eons by a forgotten tribe. I finally gained the ship as the captain was pulling anchor, the crew, to their credit, hauling me aboard. I shall never forget that trip, as I hope you shall never forget its result:
Fulci’s motherfucking sci-fi spectacular The New Gladiators, bitches! That’s right, Lucio Fulci made a science-fiction film, and it is every bit worthy of the praise his horror efforts elicit. Friends, the year is 2072, the setting is Rome. Fulci gives us a brilliant, constructed-model cityscape that had me erect. It’s right out of Blade Runner, complete with huge video billboards on the sides of buildings.
Just as we’ve learned in countless other sci-fi films throughout cinema history, the future is all about bloodsports that are nationally broadcast, usually with convicted felons as the participants. Fulci paints us a picture of warring networks, ever-consumed by the almighty ratings system. It seems the go-to show for ratings, “Kill Bike,” is starting to wane in popularity with the unwashed masses. One can see how it would get old, as Power Ranger-colored bikers pilot 50cc dirt bikes around a dirt-floored arena, occasionally bumping into each other until finally someone loses his balance, then gets run over. Or, a competitor might run headlong into an embankment, causing the highly unstable motorcycle to explode into a fireball. Another show, wherein regular folks are hooked to a machine that makes them see and feel their worst fear, is also going nowhere, ratings-wise. Il Maestro manages to work some gore in here, as we see a blond chick get decapitated rather messily, Pit-and-the-Pendulum style.
An enterprising TV exec named Cortez comes up with the brilliant plan: resurrect the one thing Rome is famous for (other than Caesar-stabbing) - Gladiators! Faster than you can ask “Joey, do you like films about gladiators?”, we are introduced to our hero, the curly-locks-of-love hunky-guy Drake. Drake doesn’t seem like a career criminal, so it’s hard for me to guess how he came to be the star of “Kill Bike,” but he is nonetheless. Cortez’s plan for ratings domination hinges upon attaining instant fame for his New Gladiators show, and the first step is securing the use of Drake.
They do this in the most obvious way possible: they send three whistling killers to murder Drake’s girlfriend/wife/significant-other, and then frame Drake for the revenge killing of the three whistling murderers. Seriously, the three creeps invade this chick’s home, and whistle while snapping their fingers as they close in on her. “What the fuck, Duke?!” you might be asking aloud, a white mist of Krispy Kreme frosting befouling the air around your gaping pie-hole. I will attempt to answer your slurred query: Lucio Fulci did enough cocaine on a daily basis to assassinate a small village. There’s no other explanation as to why the killers must whistle while they work.
Drake is rounded up and taken to Italy, along with a motley crew of degenerates including a black kung-fu combatant played by blaxploitation great Fred Williamson. An Asian fellow and a few other bearded lumps round out the group. Tasty quote from a meeting between Cortez and Drake:
Drake: "Go to Hell, Cortez!”
Cortez: “I would... if I thought it would help my ratings.”
Overseeing their care is a Gestapo-esque gent by the name of Raven, who has a penchant for wielding a riding crop which doubles as a sort of stun-ray emitter. He also has a hand-implanted device used to turn on the security measures around the holding area the fighters are locked up in. He also sweats. A lot.
Drake quickly asserts his dominance as alpha male among the group, only he doesn’t use posturing, his fists, or the gay strutting technique employed by the Vicar. No, instead he humiliates Raven in front of all of the others using a modified game of chicken involving throwing himself into a disintegration field, which he dares Raven not to shut off. Raven sweats, then sweats some more, and finally gives up like the pansy he truly is. This cements the loyalty of the others, forming them into a sort of band of brothers, which obviously only holds up until they have to kill each other for the general public’s amusement.
Fulci has a lot going on in this movie, and while the central theme is reality television and its future sway over the lumpen masses (a prognosticative masterstroke), we also get a theme of computers invading every day life, and the eventual control asserted by A.I.s. Cortez sums this up brilliantly, early in the film by saying, “Computers. We built them to be our slaves. We are turning out to be theirs.” It seems the ratings system, nay the entire city television and who knows what else, is run by an A.I. bent on human distraction, while it schemes for grander things behind the scenes. But more on it later.
First, we are treated to a training montage so bad ass that it wasn’t bested until Rocky IV. Fred Williamson fights computer-generated foes while a strobe light, uh, strobes. The token Asian dude does much of the same, while Drake faces off with computer-generated simulacrums of the whistling murderers. Fulci’s milkshake brings the boys to the yard, there is NO doubt! After their sweaty, computer-based training, the combatants hatch a plot: Escape!
First, however, they have the nagging threat of the prison security system. This is quickly circumvented by Drake swallowing a microchip that allows him to control nearby computers at will. The year 2072 is bringing us untold scientific advances, people! I can’t wait! So Drake and the others make their way out of the prison, aided massively by the Ingesto-Chip's ability to melt fucking steel bars. Technology: It’s FANTASTIC! However, their escape is short-lived, as it’s revealed to the viewer that the A.I. is watching their every move, somehow. As they make it out to the sunlight, Raven and a cadre of guards are there waiting. Raven employs his stun-wand to great effect.
When we next see our intrepid fighters, they are suspended over a metal grill, hanging onto some overhead bars. Raven is watching, and with a smirk, explains that the floor will cook them like a Xmas goose should they not hang on for a given number of minutes. Slowly, gravity takes over until the bearded hanger-on type fighter falls. The shock isn’t instantly fatal, and in fact he gets fried for several minutes until he somehow pushes himself off the floor high enough so that Drake and another can hold him up.
Next up we find out the AI is furthering his plots of destruction. Luckily, Drake has a helmet-haired beauty at the studio to help out. She’s Cortez’s assistant, but she spends most of her screen time helping Drake, either directly or indirectly. First, she tracks down the man responsible for programming the AI, some recluse of a nutjob holed up in what appears to be a monastery. He says he never programmed the AI to kill, that it’s learned that on its own. Oh dear, it’s fucking SkyNet all over again! Before he can give details on how to stop the rogue computer, he’s killed.
"SEI PRONTO A ROMBO??????"
Queue the gladiators! Our futuristic fighters take to the arena before a live audience. Even though this isn’t “Kill Bike,” they still ride monstrous chrome-plated motorcycles and the bikers are armed with all manner of bludgeoning weaponry. The games kick off, and once again we have lots of slow speed near-misses, followed by someone's mislaid manequin getting run over, followed by more obvious dummies piloting motorcycles into small obstructions, causing the cycles to immediately fireball. Next up is round two, where the combatants are paired up and the cycles are outfitted with sidecars. The most spectacular kill here involves a biker being jerked off his bike with a flail-like weapon, only to be drug behind the opponent’s bike, while another biker lights him up with a flamethrower!
Meanwhile, Drake’s helper chick finds out that all gladiators that make it through to the end are set to be disintegrated on live TV, in some weird plot to discredit the incumbent president, who is running for reelection. (Ed. note: Wha?) She has to warn Drake, which she does. The remaining gladiators make a break for it, which has the side benefit of them getting to first stab then run over Raven. They confront Cortez, who reveals that the metal shackles they all have tightly implanted around their wrists are the catalyst for the disintegration. One of them tries to remove his bracelet, with obvious results. They end up killing Cortez and then figure out that the AI is located in mutherfuckin’ SPACE! Inside a satellite, naturally. Kinda hard to get to there.
Ben Hur, Done That
A plan is hatched--but first betrayal! A loyal friend, an older fighter named Monk, is revealed to be the traitor that helped the AI see everything, via an eletronic eye implanted in him. They kill Monk, pop his eye out (it's Fulci movie--there are rules!), and use the eye to somehow retrieve all info it ever saw, including the AI’s self destruct code! Why Monk was privy to this tidbit of info is not explained. Just before the arbitrary countdown expires (seriously, if the AI wanted them dead, why not just flip the disintegrate switch immediately?), they blow up the satellite. Drake gets the girl, all is well. Corporate greed and rogue AIs are no match for a determined set of gladiators. Late-model gladiators, anyway.
I have to say, in researching this film, I saw a lot of hate for it. The Duke is baffled by this. The New Gladiators has it all! Model cityscapes, evil computers, sweaty Gestapo prison wardens, kung-fu strobe sequences. What more could you possibly ask for? To those that poo-poo’d this great film: might I interest you in my middle finger?
Oh, I kid! I love you all! I get it, I guess. The movie does drag a bit, and the action sequences aren’t too thrilling. I just can’t get over two aspects: 1) Fulci is MAD as fuck, and 2) the film has heart. It’s obvious to me that Fulci operated on a small budget, forcing him to cut corners where perhaps he wouldn’t have otherwise. I guess I’m just a sucker for gladiator movies that feature rogue AI computers as the central villain.
Special props go to Riz Ortolani’s fabulous score, which, while repetative in some spots, kept me grooving the entire time. He’s scored a fuckload of movies, and to me this stands right up there with the best. It was made in the early 80’s, so obviously the synth was heavy and forward, but that’s how we liked it in those days. Guiseppe Pinori’s cinematography was more than adequate as well, though I believe he was also constrained by the low budget. He did great with what he had to work with, though.
In the end, this movie is well worth the effort to track down and watch. Netflix has it via instant streaming, as of the writing of this review, so that’s an option. Turn off your reality television and tune in for some futuristic reality TV, courtesy of the Maestro himself, Lucio Fulci. I give New Gladiators a hearty 2 thumbs up, only kept from another half-point or even 3 thumbs by not having any nudity to speak of, which is a grave oversight that I cannot ignore. Still, my friends, watch it, love it, worship it. Until next time, I bid thee adieu.
Ride == Pimp'd
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
New Gladiators (1984): Or, Why Was I Programmed To Kill? Why?!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
The Sweet House of Horrors (1989): or, You Can't Do That On Television!
In the pantheon of Mad Directors we are slowly but surely building here at Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies, there's one man whose name cries out for greater inclusion: Lucio Fulci. I mean, besides sharing a birthday with your ever-lovin' Vicar, this is the man who gave us a duck-voiced killer, a full-on internal-organ extrusion, and the justly beloved Zombie vs. Shark! His statue should definitely be ensconced in our grand marble temple to Cinematic Madmen, which is even now being laboriously constructed on the barren hill that swells like a plague-blasted breast between the Duchy and the Vicarage.
The Duke has done his part, erecting two monuments to the maestro's achievement in the zombie subgenre with his reviews of City of the Living Dead and House by the Cemetery. (But then, every time Duke watches Fulci, something gets erected, IYKWIMAITYD.) It's true that many casual viewers know Fulci chiefly for his legendary zombie output, but that's only scratching the surface. Those who have probed deeper know that Fulci was much more than just a zombievangelist.
Case in point: Fulci's little-seen made-for-Italian TV* effort from 1989, The Sweet House of Horrors, aka La dolce casa degli orrori. Here the Maestro trades zombies for ghosts, and doorways to Hell for a creepy haunted mansion. Happily, though, he maintains the atmosphere, insanity, and ocular violence that we've all come to love and expect.
*Nota bene: don't let that "made for TV" designation put you off--I don't know much about Italian TV, but I do know they have it all over us Yanks. This is far and away the goriest MFTV movie I ever expect to see. Unless I move to Italy, that is.
"We'll swallow your soul! Teehee!"
We open with what looks like a classic giallo set-up: a masked, black glove-wearing figure breaks into a dark, palatial mansion, heading straight for the secret wall safe almost as if he's got inside info. Unfortunately the owners of the house pick just that moment to return early from a party, surprising the thief mid-larceny. Edging into one of the poorly balanced, vase-bearing tables that rich Italians favor as ultra-effective thief-detectors, pottery is ruined and the clumsy crook is discovered.
Even though the homeowners are stunned motionless and the path to the front door is completely unobstructed, the thief apparently decides that, since the whole home robbery career path isn't working out, perhaps he'll try his hand at BRUTAL DOUBLE MURDERY. And wouldn't you know it, the kid's a natural! First he bashes the husband's head repeatedly into the sharp corner of a pillar, until his brains are oozing down the support's surface and a grisly flap of skin hangs loose from his scalp! Thereafter he chases the wife into the kitchen, pins her on the counter, and picks up a heavy meat tenderizer/ShakeWeight prototype. Bringing it down full-force on her zygomatic bone, he succeeds in rocketing her eyeball out of its socket like a New Year's Party Popper! Then he crushes the other eye like a grape, rather pointlessly--although let's be honest, how many times in life do you get a chance to do something like that, AMIRITE?
Keep an eye out
Anyway, the murderer loads the bodies into the couple's car and cleans up the mess. However, he misses two bloodstained stones on the driveway which begin to glow ominously, almost supernaturally...nah, it's probably nuthin! Later he drives out to a nearby cliff and pushes the (clearly empty) car over. And just like that: hey, presto! Perfect crime!
As it turns out, in addition to being filthy rich, the murdered couple were the parents of two adorable little moppets, Marco and Sarah. Fulci flexes his style muscles by giving us a long tracking shot from the kids' point of view as they walk through the graveyard to bury their parents, with adults looking down at them with heartbreaking compassion. The camera ends up in the grave looking up at the two kids, who weep piteously through the service--though strangely their tears don't stop them from chewing gum like a couple of cows and even blowing bubbles through their sobs! It's an odd directorial choice to say the least, but then we'll soon learn these tots are not your average rugrats.
Bubble Yum: the Flavor Lasts Longer Than Your Parents' Lives!
Aunt Marcia (Cinzia Monreale, previously the famously blank-eyed Emily of Fulci's The Beyond) is now all the family them young'uns got left, so she and bland-to-a-fault hubby Carlo (Jean-Christophe Brétigniere, winner of the Frenchiest French Name Invitational 1987) move in to the family mansion with a view toward selling the place and putting the money aside for the kids' future. It's a sensible plan, but unfortunately one that neither bratty Italian kids nor prematurely disoculated parental spirits are likely to take lying down.
It doesn't take long for the creepiness to commence: her first night in the house, Marcia is awakened by strange noises, which she follows to the attic, never bothering to flip on a light switch. (ALWAYS a good plan.) Upstairs she finds the attic has been converted by the kids into a secret rumpus room, complete with freaky papier-mâché masks and an assortment of dolls hanging by nooses from the rafters! However, that's child's play (ba-dump) compared to the source of the noise when discovered: a giant glowing-eyed buzzing fly! WTF?
Just in time for Christmas
After a strange interlude in which the VERY SUSPICIOUS LOOKING gardener Guido (Lino Salemme of Demons, Delerium: Photos of Gioia, and The Passion of the Christ [?]) sees blood on a pillowcase and promptly quits his job (hmmm....), we find the children in their very Paperhouse-esque bedroom, mourning their parents sans bubble-gum. "Uncle Carlos and Aunt Marcia aren't bad people," Marco opines, "they're just idiots!" As he drifts to sleep on his tearstained pillow, the tot wishes his Mama and Papa would come back "from the Moon," where he figures they buggered off to, I guess. As if in answer to his prayers, two very badly superimposed candle flames appear, giggling demonically, which the kids immediately recognize as the spirits of their deceased parents! Huzzah!
"No, Guiliano, YOUR left!"
Yes, the folks have been haunting the place ever since their murder, and thanks to their children's love have been steadily gaining strength, to the point that they're now able to materialize. After comforting the children, they decide to get revenge on their killer--no points for guessing who THAT turns out to be.
As Guido is collecting his last check from Uncle Carlo, he is suddenly overcome with a feeling of dread, which is only exacerbated when he starts spontaneously bleeding out the side of his face! Driven mad with fear, he starts shouting a 'Nam flashback-style confession, running from the house without his lire while screaming, "You've seen my face! I've got to murder you all!" The wheels of Supernatural Justice turn swiftly in Italy, as Guido is attacked by a huge black dog out of nowhere, which in mid-air changes into a speeding semi-truck! Once again Fulci takes this opportunity to crank the gore up to the "Ridiculous" setting, as we see both wheels traverse the gardener's torso, leaving him split open like an overripe casaba melon!
Pro tip: you never want to tour the salami factory.
Say what you will about the stereotypical excitability of Italians, but when it comes to poltergeist activity, they're apparently cool as cucumbers. Even after all the weirdness up to this point, Marcia and Carlo pretty much shrug everything off as perfectly normal--even when Colby reappears, is blown around the living room by a phantom wind and burns his hand on a crutch superheated by the giggling candle flames! Similarly, when the children decide to help their folks along by putting on their strange masks, holding a necromancy ritual, and praying to "the spirits of the earth and air" to bring back "our Mama, our Papa, and if you can manage it, our little dog Bananas!" (?), Marcia tells Carlos it's no big whoop. "It's a very ancient rite--you mask up, you walk around, and you call out to whatever spirit you need to talk to." What, didn't you go to Catholic school, ya rube?
The ritual works like a charm: the parents fully re-materialize and promise never to split the family up again. Much like Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis learned to live with Wynona Rider at the end of Beetlejuice, Mama and Papa (and Bananas!) settle into a daily routine with the kids, picknicking, pushing them on the swings, and tucking them into bed in their attic/Dolly Dungeon. Marcia and Carlos can't see the ghosts, but know they're there--especially when they try to take the kids away, and the spirits levitate their Jeep three feet off the ground to stop them leaving!
But every Beetlejuice has his Otho, and in this instance the Otho character is played by Vernon Dobtcheff as perhaps the douchiest German exorcist EVAR. I mean seriously, just look at this guy:
Turn-ons: girls named Hildegard and Eau de Sulfur
Turn-offs: ghosts, puppies, and the letter "w."
Resplendent in his half-cape. pubey Amish beard, and beyond-gravelly German accent, the exorcist wastes no time calling the loving parental spirits "worthless" and "disgusting!" The torrent of abuse this guy throws at the spirits--who after all are only there because they love their kids so damn much--is really shocking, with lines like, "You will be thrown down by the force of my will!" and "Free the air of the stench of your miserable souls!" being among the nicest of the lot.
After a douchey seance ends in abject FAIL, the Exorcist returns with Colby and an excavator in tow--Colby agrees to buy the house, just to demolish it and sell the land. The spirits stop the excavator, but at great expense of power, and the Exorcist apparently succeeds in driving them away. Their goodbye scene with the house going nuts around them and other, less friendly spirits pushing at the gateway between worlds was pretty crazy, though I found it touching in the "Alec and Geena crumble in their wedding clothes" manner. The effects, though, leave something to be desired. In fact, any effect not involving lots of caro syrup and pig guts is pretty suspect in this flick.
Spooky, eh?
With their parents gone for good and the Douche Lord triumphant, the kids are extremely depressed--however, they happen to find a couple of glowing stones in the driveway, the talismans of their parents' power. They quickly pocket them to bring along to their next home. Douche Lord sees them do it however, and demands they hand them over--leading a last-minute freeze-frame comeuppance that recalls in equal parts the last shot of City of the Living Dead and the Nazi deathstravagazna in Raiders of the Lost Ark!
Friends, this is a MAD movie of the first order, but it's also an extremely well made one. Fulci's flair for atmosphere and active camera work are in full effect, with wonderful fog-shrouded night shots, some beautiful color-scheme/composition work, and enough chunky gore to please even the most jaded hellbeast. As I mentioned, there are a few extremely cheezy superimposition effects, and an ill-advised cartoon "spirit" that looks like it came out of a Casper the Friendly Ghost short, and now and then the soft-focus seems to case a film of gauze over the screen, but overall I have few complaints about the technical side of the viewing experience.
"Duke! Come back! I loooooove yooooooou!"
Story-wise, it's an interesting hodgepodge of genre tropes, starting out in giallo territory, moving quickly into Gorehound Plaza, and finally ending up in Poltergeistville. In fact, the movie could have been made with almost no gore at all--the really juicy scenes are so over the top as to seem almost out of place. I kind of picture Fulci as having the directorial mentality of a shark--once the first drop of blood hits the water, he doesn't want to stop until everybody is torn to pieces! Whether that's a caveat or a recommendation will depend on your peculiar movie-watching tastes.
As is often the case, the acting here is the least compelling facet of the proceedings, taking backseat to visuals, atmosphere, and general weirdness. The kids are squarely in the "annoying Italian child" mold, which if you've seen House by the Cemetery will say all you need to hear. Their high-pitched, sing-songy dubbing does seem believably evil and sadistic when called for, however, so there's that. Everyone else is pretty bland (Marcia, Carlo) or overly broad (Colby, Guido)--though the Exorcist is so horrible and arrogant that he transcends his role and becomes a kind of minor icon.
Before Donkey Kong hit it big, Mario took whatever odd jobs he could get.
A few more images from The Sweet House of Horrors (1989):
More than a little creepy
I had one like that
In the afterlife, it's all pineapples and bananas.
CrabGirl and Bluebird test their latest gadgets
"You see zis glove? It once talked sass to me too!"
"Sorry kids, but Bananas is in Hell. He was a very bad dog."
Douche Lord (Mother Mother)
Monday, November 2, 2009
The House by the Cemetery (1981): Or, How We Learn That Fiddle Faddle Is A Catalyst For Evil
Greetings friends! It is I, the Duke of DVD, once more appearing behind you in the bathroom mirror as you floss your crusted teeth, digging my cinematic claws into your shoulders and then spinning you around, to vomit the truth that is horror film magic down your gasping piehole! Today I tackle yet another fine film by Italian horror great Lucio Fulci. First, a couple of little-known facts about Fulci:
1) He once masturbated onto the grave of a well-known English poet.
2) He bred jackals for amusement and in order to save on pest control costs.
3) He single-handedly murdered an entire fiefdom whilst on a drunken bender.
Our movie today is "The House by the Cemetery" and once again we have a movie title which explains so much. It's not just any house, folks. Oh no! It's one by a fucking cemetery. It should be common sense by now that you just don't move into said houses. Not even if you get a killer deal on it, people! With that said, let's explore, shall we?
Our movie starts off as all horror movies should: with bare breasts. It seems a young couple figured an old abandoned, cob-web-filled house sitting next to a cemetery would be a grand spot to go shag in. The girl wakes up after no doubt exhausting herself straddling her man's hog, and begins to call out for her lover, who is nowhere to be found.
A certain house... by a certain cemetery.
Wandering through the house, she finally finds him... hanging from a door with his head bashed open! Before you can say "Wow, check out the funbags on that hosehound!", she opens her mouth to scream and gets a kitchen knife rammed through the back of her skull, out the front of her mouth. Nice effects here, I must say! Someone with a mangled arm drags her off, down into the cellar.
"Do I have something in my teeth?"
Next we cut to New York City, where Dr. Norman (Paolo Malco) and his wife Lucy (played by Fulci alum Catriona MacColl) are getting ready for some vacation time with their 6-year-old son Bob. It seems Norman is taking over the research of a colleague after his disappearance. Said research involves a little hamlet out in the country, and a certain house by a certain cemetery. Now where do you suppose the couple and child will end up?
Bob shows off the latest in pumpkin pie haircuts.
That's right, before you can say "Fulci, I love your beard!", the couple arrive at the fabled house with a real estate agent. The agent shows them around the quaint house, and then leaves, but not before running over a headstone in the cemetery with her Jeep! Talk about a bad omen! The couple begin moving things in and repairing stuff around the house to make it livable. A quick glance around the kitchen reveals a cellar door that has been boarded up, probably for good reason.
"Don't mind me, I'm just desecrating this cemetery, by your fucking HOUSE!"
Meanwhile, the son Bob has begun seeing a young girl around town. This ghost girl is seen and talks only to Bob, and warns him repeatedly not to go into the house, and especially not to go into the cellar. Sage advice, no doubt. We first see the creepy ghost girl standing outside a store in the small town, looking at a mannequin. Suddenly, the mannequin's head falls off, and it starts bleeding all over! We don't know what this means, but I'm sure we'll find out!
Forged on an altar of evil by Lucifer Himself, Fiddle Faddle exudes an aura of evil.
To add to all this, a creepy babysitter named Ann shows up outta nowhere and basically moves herself in, the better to take care of little Bob. The babysitter looks like she's drugged at all times and tends to answer questions using only grunts. Turns out, the babysitter looks exactly like the mannequin that was decapitated! Another ill omen, for sure.
"Don't worry honey, we'll get more Fiddle Faddle, I promise!"
After the couple settle in, Norman goes into town to work on his research. Lucy, meanwhile, does some light cleaning. Moving back a rug in the living room, she discovers a tomb! Written on it is the name "Dr. Freudstein." As soon as she discovers this, loud banging and moaning start to emanate from the house, leaving her in hysterics by the time Norman gets home. She shows him the tomb, and without missing a beat, Norman utters one of the best lines in horror movie history:
"Most of the homes in this area have tombs in the living room. This isn't New York ya know!"
Indeed, Norman. Indeed! At any rate, the tomb gets ignored for now. Instead, more pressing matters are dealt with, mainly what the heck is in the cellar? Norman pries the boards away and finds a skeleton key that fits the lock, only it won't turn. Using a knife as leverage, he finally opens it up. No sooner has he got the door open when suddenly a bat flies out and attacks Lucy, tangling up in her hair! Norman grabs the bat, but it latches onto his hand and won't let go. Apparently this is a vampire bat with a particularly clingy grip. Norman finally stabs it, and stabs through his own hand, with a pair of scissors, in an attempt to kill it. Finally, the bat is dead, but not before everyone standing in the kitchen is covered in blood.
"Take that, winged spawn of Satan!"
The next day, the real estate agent stops by to see if everyone is getting along ok. Finding no one at home, she snoops around, until she accidentally steps through the tomb in the living room floor! Her foot trapped, she tries to free herself, when suddenly the, er, "thing" living in the basement appears and rams a fireplace poker through her side... then through her chest, then finally into her neck, which causes death. I have to applaud the effects here. Lots of blood gushing and semi-realistic pokerings.
"Remember me... as a desecrator of graves..."
The basement thing drags the agent's body down to the cellar. The next morning, babysitter Ann is seen scrubbing the floors. No one questions the giant blood trail, but I guess that's a common occurrence when living in a House by the Cemetery. The dad, meanwhile, continues his research and Bob the kid plays games with a dead girl only he can see. The babysitter happens by the kitchen and notices the cellar door ajar. Thinking Bob is down there, she goes to investigate. Bob, meanwhile, is upstairs.
The cellar door locks behind her and won't open, and her screams finally draw Bob downstairs, but first he grabs a stuffed monkey and a gay pink plastic pistol for protection. He can't open the door either, and finally the babysitter's cries are silenced by the basement thing, who cuts her throat multiple times from multiple sides before finally decapitating her. Bob finally gets the door open and goes to investigate, seeing nothing until Ann's head bounces down the stairs behind him.
Everyone wants a babysitter who will give a little head on the side...
Lucy comes home to find Bob in his room, crying in a corner, mumbling about Ann's head. They go to the cellar together to investigate, and find nothing. The mother assures Bob that Ann's alive. Later that night, Bob gets up and goes on another investigation. Standing at the top of the stairs, he utters the immortal line: "Ann? Mommy says you aren't dead, is that true?" He sees evil glowing eyes in the shadows of the cellar, and flees in terror. But of course the door won't open.
Lucy tries the key, but it snaps in half. Finally, just as the cellar thing is closing in on poor Bob, Norman arrives home. Apparently, he's figured out exactly what research was going on. He starts raving about Dr. Freudstein still being alive, despite the snazzy tomb in the house. He can't open the door either, so he grabs a nearby hatchet and tells Bob to stand back.
Tired of his son's foppish 'do, Norman employs a non-standard hair-cutting technique.
Unbeknownst to him, Dr. Freudstein (aka the basement thing), grabs Bob's head and shoves it up against the door. This provides a fairly original and tense scene where Norman repeatedly whacks the door with the hatchet, always coming within inches of his son's head. I give major kudos to Fulci for this scene. Finally, the door opens, and Norman and Lucy rush in just as Dr. Freudstein tosses Bob down the stairs.
"The Doctor... is in."
Helping Bob to his feet, they see the cellar is decorated with all of Dr. Freudstien's victims. Norman explains loudly: "He needs human victims to stay alive, he has to renew his cells!" With that out of the way, he grabs a handy knife lying nearby and stabs Dr. F with it repeatedly. What I can only describe as "maggot gravy" pours out of the wound, onto the floor. Not deterred by the knife attack, Dr. F grabs Norman by the throat, and tears it out! Norman basically just watches this happen to himself, not trying to escape at all. (Note that Dr. Freudstein moves at a glacial pace.)
Here we see the 3 phases of Maggot Gravy.
Lucy, whilst screaming, notices a back staircase that leads up to the tomb in the living room. Dragging a screaming Bob with her, she tries to open the tomb at the top of the stairs as Dr. F slowly climbs up after her. Bob genuinely looks terrified and I wonder if the poor kid is still in therapy to this day, having shot this movie and been witness to all that Fulci has to offer. Lucy has no luck, and Dr. Freudstien drags her screaming down the stairs, her head bashing on each step.
Meanwhile, Bob squeezes through the crack in the tomb created by the real estate agent's foot, and he manages to escape. Up top, he's suddenly in the ghostly realm of the ghost girl, who is waiting for him there along with her ghost mother. The movie ends with them and Bob, walking down the road, leaving the House by the Cemetery behind.
"Is it ok if I stay here a while, despite my haircut?"
Wow, what a movie! I, for one, was very impressed by this film. It had a little bit of everything, but mostly it had great effects that made me clap with glee. Sure, the plot was nonsensical, and the victims should have been able to easily get away from the shambling Dr. Freudstein, but otherwise, bravo Fulci!
I think everyone should give this movie a spin, should it cross your path, and remember, avoid the Fiddle Faddle!
2 Thumbs Up!
Bonus pics:
"Stop & Shop. Your number one source for Fiddle Faddle in the tri-state area!"
"But mom, this Stop & Shop milk tastes like it came from a male bat."
Fiddle Faddle, where it lurks evil is sure to follow.
Posts
