The Year in Horror: 1986

I can't do math. I know, this is not at all shocking. After all, I'm a girl and it's just a fact that girls can't do math. However, I took that concept to moronic new highs (or lows) recently when I had a bright idea for a post topic. See, the idea had something to do with choosing a movie released 25 years ago- I figured it'd be easy, as 25 years ago was, what...1967? '68? Something like that. Maybe I'd write about Night of the Living Dead or Rosemary's Baby or something else equally ca-lassic. Just when I smushed my face up all thinking really hard-style about which movie to choose, however, my brain slapped me across the face. What kind of time-warp shit was going on? My brain was all, "Bitch, 1968 is more than forty years ago. Where are you getting this "25 years" from? 25 years ago, it was 1986. Idiot! Now ice me up some cream."

Apparently in my world, the last decade or so has not occurred. 1986! Nineteen eighty effing six! It doesn't seem possible that it was 1986 25 years ago- especially since I am only 23 myself- but I assure you...I have consulted my science calculator and it is most certainly the case.

Then I got a bit whiny. 1986? No good movies came out in 1986. Nothing good whatsoever came out of 1986! The mid-eighties were a cultural wasteland! They were nothing but a big, dark pit filled with Glass Tiger cassettes, snap bracelets, and Z Cavaricci pants. Why, it's shudder-inducing, I tells ya!

This line of thinking was interrupted by yet another wallop from my brain- "1986 was actually a damn good year for horror, you dolt. Now where's that ice cream?" My brain is right about that, mostly. Take my hand, won't you, and let's travel back a whopping 25 years to 1986!

The sequels

Okay, the sequels that hit in '86 were very comme ci, comme ça if you know what I mean. Some are classics of cinema- such as Aliens, in which one Ellen Ripley became a bona fide example of the elusive "strong female character" and my burning dislike of Paul Reiser was born.


Then other sequels...well, the Friday the 13th series pooped out its sixth entry, Jason Lives, a film that is more beloved than it deserves simply because it had the good sense to be released after the dreadful Part V: A New Beginning. I cannot speak knowledgeably on Lamberto Bava's Demons 2, but someday I hope to rectify that. That's right, someday! Someday I'll see it, I just know I will! Verily, I brought a big bag of hope to this blog post.

Poltergeist II is...well, it's there and it's worth a watch, not the least reason why is the tequila worm scene (if you haven't seen it, I'll leave that up to your imagination). 1986 also brought us The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, which is not like the first one, I'll give it that. Psycho 3 brought about a bit of WTF-ery with its "Oh, wait...is this a black comedy?" approach, and the less said about Howling II: Your Sister is a Werewolf, the better...but Silent Night, Deadly Night 2 is another matter entirely. Friends, it's always Garbage Day in my heart.

The slashers

While the films of Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees, and Michael Myers would be churned out for years to come, by 1986 the slasher film was in its death throes and original films within the genre were scarce. Mind you, if the so bad I forgot I even saw it 1986 flick Terror at Tenkiller is any indication, the demise of the slasher was probably a good thing. On the other hand, April Fools Day also hit in '86, and we all know how much I love that movie. I SAID WE ALL KNOW.

Ahem. Oh yeah, and remember that time I made a whole bunch of you watch Slaughter High for Film Club? That was fun. Shut up, Slaughter High is the best movie ever even though it stinks. I mean, "C'mon you guys, let's par-deeeeeeee!"...how can you not want to marry it?

The sci-fi-ers

I'm not sure why, but sci-fi/horror movies were big, big, big in 1986. I mentioned Aliens, but let's not forget David Cronenberg's The Fly, which holds up remarkably well despite the dueling fluff-mullets of Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis. In the words of Pauline Kael, "That shit be classic, yo." Besides, I'm pretty sure that disliking Geena Davis in any capacity will put you on Homeland Security's radar as probably a terrorist.

Stuart Gordon rode the freaky train to H.P. LovecraftTown (I don't know what that means) with From Beyond, which scarred my young brain in several capacities. Critters did their thing in Critters, Martian invaders invaded in Invaders from Mars (from Tobe Hooper!). There were wicked huge gorillas running amok in Link and King Kong Lives (which, the particularly astute among you may notice is also a sequel). And then there was Night of the Creeps. Thrill me, indeed.

More, more, more

Look, I have no idea if Wes Craven's Deadly Friend is good, bad, neither, or somewhere in between. I have not seen it since I saw it 50,000,000 times when it came out and all I really remember is this: Kristy Swanson getting pushed down the stairs by her father was some high fucking tragedy, and Anne Ramsey gets her head blowed up real good by a high-speed basketball. Other than that? I have no idea. Those memories themselves may be erroneous! I suppose I could watch it again to see, but I'd almost rather have it live in my memories, only brought to the fore about when someone says "Have you seen Deadly Friend?", to which I will emphatically reply "I LOVE THAT MOVIE!" even though that should probably be in the past tense. Loved. I loved that movie.

Man, The Hitcher, amiright? Good, good stuff. And that scene. You know the one. This one, which also qualified as high tragedy to my young mind:


I can't believe I never really thought about it much before my recent math...problem, but y'all, 1986! It gave us gold, it gave us crap. Witchboard, House, Gothic (I frickin' hate Gothic. I've tried and I've tried, and I just do not like it. Is it me? I feel like that movie is beloved, at least on a cult level, though the reasons for this obviously escape me), Maximum Overdrive (!!!), Trick or Treat, Troll...those really were the days and this journey down Memory Lane sure was fun. Next up, I'll celebrate the 5th anniversary of 1978!

I love Indian food!

Did you know that I love movies about demonic possession? I've only mentioned it 9256 times, so it's entirely possible that you don't know. Or didn't know, I should say, because now you do: I loves me some movies about demonic possession. The thing about this subgenre, however, is that there's pretty much only two ways to go: you either rip-off The Exorcist, or you don't. If a film is on the grounded in reality side of the fence, as are The Last Exorcism and The Exorcism of Emily Rose, then there's not much ripping off. But if the film is of a more shocking, straight-up horror bent, then it will pale in the shadow of The Exorcist. Mind you, The Exorcist is soooooooo much more than its most shocking moments- but the movies that came after (particularly in the late 70s and early 80s) ape nothing but the effects and therefore wallow in Pazuzu's shadow. Ovidio Assonitis's Beyond the Door (1974) is one such movie.

The film begins with a voiceover from Satan. Yeah, I'll just let that sit there for a moment.

Meet Jessica Barrett (Juliet Mills), a housewife from San Francisco. While her husband Robert (Gabriele Lavia, Revenge of the Dead) is off producing fabulously funky record albums (yes, record albums- it was the 70s), Jessica goes grocery shopping and deals with two of the most awful, obnoxious children ever committed to celluloid. Ken slurps Campbell's pea soup from the can (GET IT PEA SOUP) while Gail constantly has her nose buried in one of the dozen copies of Erich Segal's Love Story she's always toting (GET IT OH WAIT I DON'T GET IT) They bicker, they whine, they swear, and they're generally unpleasant. Imagine the joy the Barretts feel when they discover that birth control has failed and there's another jerk on the way!

domestic bliss: Jessica rehearses suicide (or tastes batter, whatever)

Meanwhile, Dimitri (Richard Johnson, The Haunting) wanders around, spying on the elder Barretts. See, he's Jessica's long-lost ex and now he's on a mission from Satan: in exchange for a few more years of life, Dimitri needs to ensure that Jessica's unborn baby completes its journey down the baby hatch. This is because, somehow, it's Satan's baby. That's right, Satan can infect a baby with evil just like that- sans chalky mousse or the aid of the Castevets!

As you may expect, carrying the spawn of Satan in your baby-place is not without its downside. See, Satan spreads his dominion beyond the door womb and things get totally craycray up in the Barrett household. Okay, maybe not totally craycray, but there's one night when the kids' room starts shaking and the floor lights up (like, through the floorboards-style, not disco-style. Unfortunately.) and toys move around and dolls get extra creepy via glowing eyes. It's some Poltergeist shit!

Jessica, of course, has it far worse. During some Paranormal Activity shit, she's visited in the night by an unseen force that cruelly removes her bedcovers. Then she floats around the room and...wait, did I say she has it worse? Fuck that! I'd love to float around.

The baby grows at an exponential rate and Jessica fears it's trying to kill her. She's sort of right, for her condition rapidly deteriorates. What starts out as vomiting blood and eating rotten banana peels off the street (???) soon becomes hi-Exorcist shenanigans like head-spinning, speaking in different voices, and puking up green stuff...although perhaps it's worth noting that her vom is more palak paneer than it is pea soup.

Okay, it's not worth noting, but I felt like noting it anyway.


As the screencaps show, Jessica also sweats and suddenly has weird eyes and corn teeth. During these moments, I felt hearts shoot right out of my eyeballs and into Beyond the Door. What can I say- I'm a sucker for that kind of thing.

Eventually Dimitri stalks Robert so hard that they end up meeting. Dimitri convinces Robert that he wants to help Jessica. Robert is all, "okay". I mean, what else is he gonna do? Oh yeah- he briefly tries some science with a doctor friend. The results prove nothing, but the...science apparatus did give me an opportunity to imagine that a possessed Jessica was visiting a hair salon, so all was not lost.

Once Dimitri enters the room beyond the door (SEE WHAT I DID THERE), things go from mostly incomprehensible to "dammit, we passed incomprehensible 20 minutes ago". Satan whines about always having to be born into another person's body and no one knows the suffering of a body-squatter Then he demands that Dimitri "plunge his hands into her" and rip out the baby. He refuses so Satan kills him, and the baby is stillborn. Hooray, the Barretts are back to normal! OR ARE THEY?

I know what you're thinking. That is some Zoltan: Hound of Dracula shit!

There's an awful lotta wrong in Beyond the Door. There are several lengthy passages where characters walk around the city while crazy 70s music plays; don't get me wrong, I dug the music, but the scenes went on too long and largely felt like filler. The time could have been better spent on things like...oh, you know, characters and the plot. Still, there's no denying that there's a certain...mmm, "charm" doesn't seem right somehow...there's a certain something to the scene where Robert is relentlessly harassed by a dude playing a recorder-flute-thing with his nose.

Everything's just too damn vague in this film and we don't much care about what's going on, never mind the undeveloped characters, which give us no reason to invest in their stories or plight. Dimitri explains things to Robert without explaining anything. Jessica is full-on possessed pretty quickly, and then suddenly she's not possessed. It's all sort of shrug-worthy, which...dammit, demonic possession is not supposed to be shrug-worthy! It's supposed to be terrifying and awful.

Still, there are a few things that work in the movie. There's a nugget of a worthwhile story buried deep under all the crap; we get peeks at it when Jessica confides in a friend that she dreams of running away from it all, or when she yells at Robert for not giving her "any room to breathe". If The Exorcist is in part a metaphor for puberty and burgeoning sexuality, then Beyond the Door is in part a metaphor for those- women in particular- who are dissatisfied with the idea of traditional domesticity. Granted, I may be stretching it a bit and that "in part" is a verrrrrrry small one, but it's there. Don't worry about having to think much, though, as it's never addressed in any real way. It's too bad, because it would have put some meat on the movie's bones.

The shocks, for what they are, suffice for the sub-genre. Yeah, we've seen them all before in The Exorcist, but if you dug 'em then, why wouldn't you dig 'em now? Demonic sweat is always good. And there's one bit with Jessica's eyes that- well, I don't want to spoil it but it literally made me gasp. It's a moment like that in The Exorcist when Regan has been acting out (if you can call masturbating with a crucifix "acting out") and suddenly throws her head back, her eyes stark white and her throat stark lumpy. Basically, it's that moment when "acting out" blows past "she's ill" and heads into "what the eff is going on here this is really not right" territory.

Like me, fans of possession movies will probably enjoy Beyond the Door, if only because it brings to mind thoughts of its far-superior predecessor. However, The Exorcist shouldn't get too high and mighty- after all, I didn't seen anyone play a recorder-flute-thing with their nose in that movie.

Buy Beyond the Door at Boulevard Movies and judge for yourself, judgey!

Supernatural 70s Week! Day 1

Are you scratching your l'il noggin over that there title- "Supernatural 70s Week!", wondering just what tricks I've got up my sleeve now? Are ya, punk? Are you saying to yourself, "How dare she! I came here to read about slasher flicks, dammit, not those delightfully obtuse, sometimes even a bit freaky movies from the 1970s involving the supernatural! I want masked killers chasing teenagers, not possessions and haunted houses and other assorted weird goings-on! What the f?". Well, to those of you out there who've got your panties in a bunch over this, I say- chillax, homies. It's just a week! Besides- must you box me in? Hmm? When Steven Seagal said "I may be a chubby, lethargic actor and a zen C-grade action star, but is there not more to me?", how did the world respond, readers? That's right- the world said "Oh Steven Seagal, show us MORE!" and gave the man a recording contract. And if Steven Seagal can branch out, goldurnit, than so can I. Plus, it's just a week!

To kick off the week I took in The Legacy (1978), starring Stepford Wife Katharine Ross and Roadhouse tough guy Sam Elliott as an American couple who encounter bizarre happenings at an English manor. Yeeagh!

Maggie and Pete (Ross and Elliott) are New York architects (or something- it's never really explained what they do) who get a vague job offer from an unknown employer- they get paid $50,000 as an advance and are told to report to England in a week to get all the details. Despite such scant information, Maggie is hot to trot and convinces Pete (who's rightfully dubious about the whole thing) to come along. They leave for England right away so they can have a little sightseeing vacation before getting down to work.

Then we have the credit sequence, and we're immediately reminded that the movie was birthed in the 70s: the sensitive musical montage. That's right, there are shots of the young couple buying oranges, walking hand in hand, laying atop a blanket in a field...while we're treated to some primo Kiki Dee soundtrack action. Yes, Kiki Dee, she who couldn't break Elton John's heart if she tried. Sometimes I feel like every movie from the 70s, whether a horror flick or not, had to have a 'theme song'. You know what I mean? Usually performed by someone you've never heard of, the song gets its own shout-out in the credits. It's kind of distracting, but that could just be me.

As the strains of Kiki fade away, Pete and Maggie are driving down a winding road on a motorcycle, going rather fast. Around the corner comes a car, there's swerving, there's a spinning camera, there's Pete and Maggie on the ground. Don't worry- they're alright, but the motorcycle needs some repairs before it can be driven again. The fellow being chauffeured in the car, Jason Mountolive, tells the couple that he'll arrange for the repairs to the bike, but in the meantime they simply MUST come back to his house for a spot of tea. Those crazy Brits! Cheerio, ol chap! Ta ta! Spare a pence, guv'nah?

They arrive at Jason's pad- one of those sprawling English manors snuggled into the rolling hillside- and the host tells his guests to go on inside and make themselves comfy. Then he pops a few pills and drives off. Okey-dokey...no matter that they're left alone, because Pete and Maggie interpret "make yourselves comfy" to mean "go have it off", and so they do. Pete decides on a post-coital shower, and while he's rinsing off the stench of their sweet sweet lovemakings, the water...gets really hot! And Pete can't turn it off! He crashes through the glass shower doors to avoid getting burned and makes a mess everywhere. Is there something evil afoot at the Mountolive residence? Or is it simply...bad plumbing? Ooo-eeee-ooo!

Soon enough, 5 other guests arrive via helicopter to liven things up a bit. Host Jason, however, is nowhere to be found. Or is he? Is that him watching everyone from afar, all wheezy and shaky? And why does his creepy staff- including the really creepy Nurse Adams, who may or may not have the ability to turn into a cat- keep whispering amongst themselves that "The master is fading fast"?

Soon, one of the guests, Maria, is cavorting alone in the pool, doing what looks to be one-half of a synchronized swim routine. When she comes up for air, though, she finds she cannot break the surface of the water! It's as if someone has laid plexiglass atop the pool, or Maria is just adding some mime-ery to her swim routine. Either way, she can't get her head above water and she sinks to the bottom, then floats. Uh oh! When they find her body, the guests all assume Maria hit her head or something and drowned- except for Pete, who notices that there's no marks on the body. Is there something evil afoot at the Mountolive residence? Or is it simply...an accident? Ooo-eeee-ooo!

Later on, Pete is left to his own devices while Maggie and the 4 remaining guests are summoned to the host's room. Jason, who was a man in his 40s earlier in the day, is now a wheezy, wrinkly old thing, bed-ridden behind some sort of hyperbaric curtains. He's hooked up to all sorts of machinery, monitored by the suspicious Adams. Jason rasps to his audience about "the legacy"- that the ring each of them is wearing binds them to him, and when he dies only one of them will take his place and inherit everything. Maggie's a bit confused, since she isn't wearing a ring. Jason beckons her to his side, though, and a hand that looks like it's made out of beef jerky thrusts out from behind the curtain and grabs her wrist! Suddenly...Maggie is wearing the ring! And she can't get it off! Is there something evil afoot at the Mountolive residence? Or is it simply...that Jason didn't know her ring size? Ooo-eeee-ooo!

Eww, you can keep your ring, Grossilocks!

Maggie and Pete decide that it's the former, and try to make a break for it. They steal some horses, gallop into town and steal a car...but no matter which road they take, they end up back at Jason Mountolive's house! What the-? How is that possible? After several attempts at escape, the couple just gives up and heads beack inside for some grub.

At dinner, Maggie asks fellow ring-wearer Roger Daltrey (yes, from The Who) if everyone's into black magic. Surprisingly, they all say yes, and it's no big whoop. Then Roger Daltrey chokes on some ham and dies.

From this point on, you may be shocked to learn that it gets a little convoluted. Maggie uncovers some truths via my favorite cinematic method: the damning newspaper clippings left lying around! Yes, Maggie discovers that everyone at the house has a sordid past...Jason "bought their lives" and now their punishment fits their crime. See, like, you know how I said that Roger Daltrey choked on some ham, right? And stuff? Well, it turns out that a long time ago he gave one of his bandmates some drugs...and the bandmate choked on the pills and died! And stuff!

Eventually there are only two competing heirs remaining: Maggie and the evil Frenchman Jacques. Jacques is up on the roof, shooting at Pete with a shotgun. Pete is shooting back with a crossbow. They shoot each other, but not fatally- then Maggie rushes out to Pete's side as he lays on the grass bleeding. Jacques raises the shotgun, Maggie raises her hand, and the shotgun gets clogged and blows up in the Frenchman's face! He falls off the roof to his death, and now Maggie is the final heir! She goes to Jason's side to claim her prize. He's really about to bite the dust now, and he wheezes: "Take my necklace...and my powwwwwww-ahhhhhhhhhh!". Oh, in case you didn't know by now, he means the power of Satan. Eventually, Maggie will find 6 worthy potential heirs to her legacy, kill 5 of them, and pass the necklace and the powah onto the survivor. Maggie seems fine with all of this, for some reason.

Meanwhile, Pete is battling mano a mano with Nurse Adams. He pushes her down the stairs, and I kid you not...she meows all the way down. Yes, apparently she COULD turn into a cat. Pete makes his way into Jason's room, goes nuts, and smashes everything...but he's too late! Maggie is the new master of the house! She has inherited...The Legacy! And in one of the most ridiculous, pulled-out-of-the-writer's-ass endings ever, Maggie and Pete are perfectly a-ok with the fact that she's now a vessel for Satan. Maggie gives Pete her ring, meaning he'll be one of the six potential heirs some day...also meaning, she may end up killing him at some point! But that's cool! It's all good! And witness the exchange that ends the movie:

"You're getting to be tough to deal with, Slim."
"I know. I've got the power!"
"Yeah, I know you have. Now what're you gonna do with it?"
"Anything I want!"

OK...what the fuck? She didn't get her GED, she didn't get reconstructive surgery, she didn't leave her abusive husband... she inherited the powers of Satan! How can they just accept that so easily?! They wanted to escape the house earlier in the day, and now it's like they won fucking Powerball! Ah, well. I love this whole subgenre, even if the movies are more confusing and ludicrous than they are frightening or...well, good. That's why I'm dedicating a whole week to 'em! And I give the inaugural flick...6 and a half out of 10 beef jerky fingers!