Infected Porn Stars, Vampire Bowie, and Zombies in France

Back again with a delicious update filled with poisoned zombie wine, strangers with candy, strangers with rabies and still movie lesbian vampires. This is the party that never ends.

A Tale of Two Sisters (Ji-woon Kim, 2003)

A spellbinding film that unfolds almost entirely in the confines of an old house, where two young girls take on an evil stepmother and other mysterious forces. The detailed exploration of the house makes for a very contained feel, one that serves the insulated narrative well. There’s some shocking and brutal moments and a whole lot of mounting dread, and in a particularly anemic decade for horror, this one does leave an impression. The only trouble, and I plan to address this on further viewings, is that things get confusing, really confusing, near the end. But if I’m left to sorting out the details on my own, I still prefer that to have everything neatly spelled out. Curiousier and curiouser this one is, and plenty creepy too.

The Grapes of Death (Jean Rollin, 1978)

If the French have one weakness, it’s for wine, which is why this film about contaminated grape juice turning all merrymakers into zombies must have brought the entire country to its knees (should’ve thought of that, Germany, huh?). A bit too episodic to feel definitive, it’s still a killer entry into the zombie genre with a glorious ending that I saw coming, but couldn’t wait for. The final moments are particularly chilling, where the gorgeous photography is at its eeriest. And as for French zombies, they aren’t especially frightening, but they do have a feral taste for female flesh, which usually happens after they stare longingly for some time as puss oozes down their forehead. It must be a European thing.

Rabid (David Cronenberg, 1977)

Leave it to David Cronenberg to craft one of the great outbreak films. Everything begins when experimental surgery following a motorcycle accident leaves Marilyn Chambers (in a rare, non-pornographic role) thirsty for blood. She begins ravaging the countryside, zombiefying the decent folk of Canada, culminating in Montreal being locked down under marshal law. Cronenberg’s film lacks a strong central narrative, but it thrives on downward spiral of Chamber’s character, the ripple effect of her feedings being felt far and wide. Bleak and depressing, Rabid offers few moments of relief, although there is some comfort in knowing this is a Canadian affliction, and they can just wait and see what happens when they try to cross the border.

Ringu (Hideo Nakata, 1998)

It’s been some time since I’ve seen The Ring, but I do remember liking it, though how much my crush on Naomi Watts played into that I can’t be sure. But if memory serves, this original classic wasn’t bastardized too badly, and if Naomi is nowhere to be found, her predecessor Nanako Matsushima is equally strong, plus there’s the perpetually pensive Hiroyuki Sanada tagging along as her ex-husband. I appreciated how readily it embraced the supernatural, and unlike so many horror films, valuable time is not spent telling the main character she must be crazy. Basically, spooky shit is happening here and everyone knows it. Furthermore, we’re spared all the false alarms and cheap shots that have become genre staples lately, which alone is enough to garner my respect. A damn fine piece of J-Horror.

Candyman (Bernard Rose, 1991)

Candyman aspires to be something greater than it ultimately is. It’s one of the few horror films I can think of that actually has a thesis, that urban myths are dynamic things and adapt to whatever environment they’re carried to, but like The Dark Knight, there is danger in demanding to be taken too seriously, and Candyman loses track of its point for too long, even if it does wrap things up nicely at the end (and like The Dark Knight, it feels the need to declare its thesis, here embarrassingly in the form of a graduate thesis). But contrary to my ramblings above, there’s a lot here that does work. The bird’s-eye panoramas and the pulsating Phillip Glass score evoke Godfrey Reggio’s Koyaanisqatsi, a nice touch that highlights the power myths have to connect across society. There’s also black Captain Hook, the Candyman himself, who makes for a decent urban legend – his successor at the end, not so much – and all in all, it is nice to see a mainstream horror film aiming high, even if it doesn’t quite deliver.

The Hunger (Tony Scott, 1983)

Tony Scott directed this? I’ve got a new respect for him. The film is dark, stylish and raw, an impressive feat of direction for someone who, like his vampires, has not improved with age. Well, he went a bit overboard on the doves, but it was in the harmlessly hokey John Woo kinda way. Honestly, what could go wrong with a lesbian vampire movie starring David Bowie and Catherine Deneuve? Oh, right, Susan Sarandon, horribly miscast and utterly lacking in the allure that the role demands. It’s a paltry complaint, but it does weigh on the second half of this otherwise refreshing take on the vampire movie.