Santa Claus Conquers The Martians

LAST NIGHT: SANTA CLAUS CONQUERS THE MARTIANS (1964)

santa-claus-conquers-the-martians-martians

Well, ’tis the season.

I have sat through Death Bed: The Bed That EatsHell Comes To Frogtown, Space is the Place, Plan 9 From Outer Space and countless lesser Ed Wood films.  I have watched The Room.  I thought I was proof against the truly dreadful.  I was wrong.

Santa Claus Conquers The Martians is probably the worst “Santa Claus gets kidnapped by Martians” movie ever made … and as far as I know, it’s the only one.  Basically, the Martians – who are dudes in green underwear and flight helmets – are all upset because their kids keep watching Earth’s TV programmes and have become despondent.  Why? Well, they don’t have Santa Claus.  And they eat pills instead of food.  And their parents speak in stilted sentences.  And their planet is made of cardboard.  Right.  So, naturally, being concerned parents, the leader of the Martians Kimar (Leonard Hicks) and his rag-tag team of fellow Martians, Voldar, Dropo, Gomar and … someone else, head to Earth to kidnap Santa Claus (John Call) and bring him back to Mars to make the Martian children happy again.  On the way, they pick up Billy and Betty, earth children in the wrong place at the wrong time.  There’s also a robot made of cardboard.  And elves.  And guns that are definitely hair-dryers.

The production values of this film are worse than a high school stage musical.  In fact, I’m pretty positive that the films my friends and I made when we were 15 had better sets and more realistic performances.  But let me give you a run down of some of what is awesomely awful in this movie:

  • Santa winds up running what is tantamount to a sweatshop on Mars.
  • The villain Voldar is defeated by an onslaught of wooden toys, despite being in possession of a gun that can disintegrate people.
  • The robot is made of a cardboard box and a coffee can.
  • There’s a dude in a polar bear outfit at the North Pole.
  • Santa laughs like a cartoon villain and/or pedophile.
  • The Martians can’t quite decide if they’re supposed to be all green or not, so they all just have a smear of green make-up on their faces.
  • Earth apparently has one TV broadcaster.
  • The extensive Defense Department footage of rockets and planes taking off that you’ve seen in every 1960s movie ever.
  • Santa’s workshop consists of 3 elves and Mrs. Claus.  Mrs. Claus is the best actor among ’em.
  • You can tell the villain is a villain because he’s the only one with a mustache.

And so forth.  Honestly, I didn’t watch the MST3K version of this because I wanted to experience it in all its unadulterated glory.  This movie is so bad that I laughed all the way through it.

Oh, there’s also the theme song:

You’re welcome.

martian mustache

Frankenstein Created Woman

LAST NIGHT: FRANKENSTEIN CREATED WOMAN, 1967.

frankenstein cw poster

*Well, not quite last night.  But close enough.*

I cannot put into words how much I love 1) Hammer Studios and 2) Peter Cushing.  So there is absolutely no reason for me not to love this movie.

Frankenstein Created Woman is a later entry in Cushing’s extended tenure at Hammer; a 1967 film coming after The Curse of FrankensteinThe Revenge of Frankenstein and The Evil of Frankenstein, making it the fourth (but not the last) time he played the mad doctor.  And while I admit to preferring Cushing’s work as Van Helsing in the Dracula films, the Frankenstein movies have their own deliciously lurid cache, not least because the kindly blue-eyed gent transforms into one cold, evil sonofabitch.

Frankenstein Created Woman takes up about half its running time with the build-up: Hans (Robert Morris), the son of a convicted murderer who watched his father go to the guillotine, has grown up very good-looking but very angry.  He’s Baron Frankenstein’s assistant and in love with the innkeeper’s daughter Christina (Susan Denberg), a lame young lady disfigured by a large mark on one side of her face.  The opening scenes depicting Hans’s nasty temper, Christina’s gentleness, and the cruelty of three dandies, are all well and good, but I admit to waiting for the blood and sewing together of dead bodies.

frankenstein cw
This … never happened.

I should not have worried.  Despite being slow-burning at the beginning, the second half of this one erupts when Hans is wrongfully executed for the murder of Christina’s father – the dandies did it – and Christina kills herself. Enter the Baron, who has been wandering in the background talking about capturing the immortal soul of man and putting it into another body, a latter day expositionist.  With the help of his faithful doctor friend Hertz (Thorley Walters), Frankenstein rebuilds Christina’s body, captures Hans’s soul and presto! We’ve got a dual-personality, bi-gendered and buxom monster!

Frankenstein Created Woman is not quite so lurid as even Horror of Dracula or the original (and best) Curse of Frankenstein.  But it is a satisfying revenge story with the typical combination of very good actors speaking very bad lines that one comes to expect from a Hammer product.  The rest of the film proceeds much as you’d think.  While there are not buckets of blood, there are several shocking and grotesque moments as the new Christina sets about taking revenge for Hans’s death.  The theology and philosophy espoused by the Baron especially and the film in general gets to be quite weird, as the soul of Hans apparently possesses some residual memory that turns Christina into a split personality.  The Baron even begins paraphrasing the Bible, as we should have expected he would.  Much is left unexplained, but if you came for cohesive philosophical constructs, you should really have read the plot synopsis first.

My one real quibble with the film is how long it takes to get going, and how little Cushing is utilized.  Of the handful of British thespians who graced Hammer films – Christopher Lee, Michael Gough, Herbert Lom, Oliver Reed – Cushing stands at the top. It seems criminal to give him so little to do in a film that proclaims our Franky as the creator of life.

That aside, Frankenstein Created Woman is good fun.  I’m sometimes bothered by how much I enjoy Hammer films.  Probably shouldn’t think too deeply about that one.

The Best Of All Possible Mustaches

As everyone must know, this is the end of Movember.  And as hundreds as heretofore hirsutely adorned gentlemen prepare their razors to eliminate those hard-won lip jackets that we call ‘mustaches’ and the Victorians called ‘mustachios’, I think we need to take a moment to salute those men for whom every month is Movember.

There have been many great cinematic mustaches over the years.  William Powell, Clark Gable and Errol Flynn made the pencil-stache dashing; Basil Rathbone made it villainous.  Charlie Chaplin’s mustache was great, until it was unfairly maligned by Hitler.  Tom Selleck obviously sports the quintessential mustache.  But of all the mustaches, there is one mustache that can truly be called great; one mustache that exceeds all mustaches, that should have a screen credit of its own.  That is the grandest mustache of all.  I am speaking, of course, of Sam Elliott’s mustache.

Sam Elliott would be a badass all by himself, but the mustache adds that extra layer – that flavor, if you will – of badassery and down-home charm.  It is a mustache of great power and prestige and has adorned the face of Sam Elliott for many many years.  I firmly believe that the reason Elliott dies in Road House is because his mustache was not in full force.  It has been there, through thick and thin, for years.  It charmed Katherine Ross in The Legacy and Conagher.  It pronounced on the future of The Dude in The Big Lebowski. It rode the range with Wyatt Earp in Tombstone.  Although it has appeared in many films with rival mustaches – Tom Selleck’s in The Shadow Riders, just about everybody in Tombstone – it has always held its own like a good mustache should.

So, take a moment.  Bask in the glory of the greatest mustache and know that it will always be there to defend right from wrong, to protect the needy, to guard the homestead.  It is, without doubt, the best of all possible mustaches.

sam elliott mustache

The Inessentials: Trafic

Jacques Tati’s final Hulot film Trafic (1971)is not the filmmaker’s greatest … but that’s like saying that a particular vintage of a fine wine is not quite as good as the years before.  It’s still a remarkable achievement, and a pleasurable experience.

For fans of Tati, Trafic takes on an immediately recognizable conceit.  The plot, such as it is, revolves around Monsieur Hulot – Tati’s gentle and clownish character who already appeared in M. Hulot’s Holiday, Mon Oncle, and Playtime – now a designer for car company Altra.  Hulot and truckdriver Marcel (Marcel Fraval) have to take a truck containing a recreational vehicle to an auto show in Amsterdam.  That’s it.  That’s the whole plot.

Tati’s films are never plot driven, but this one probably even less than the others.  The truck consistently breaks down, runs out of gas, or gets into trouble with the cops and border patrol.  PR woman Maria (Maria Kimberly) throws hissy fits, but gradually softens as her journey through the French and Dutch countryside transforms her from the clichéd high-fashion maven to a calmer, happier human being.  Intercut with Hulot’s journey is the auto show itself, with typical Tati sight and sound gags that include comical juxtapositions of car trunks opening and closing, the construction of a ‘forest’ in the middle of the show, and small boys who keep stealing car brochures.

None of the gags fall flat, but some of them are repeats of Tati’s visual or aural puns from Playtime – widely considered the filmmaker’s masterpiece.  Some of the best, though, are hilarious: the traffic collision begun by the Altra truck, Hulot’s sprint through the fields when he goes looking for gas, the extended sequence at border control as Hulot and Marcel exhibit to the Dutch police all the accoutrements of their car, the ‘moonwalk’ performance of Marcel and a car mechanic (Tony Knepper) after watching a rocketship take off.  The character development, particularly of Maria, is subtle but touching: her constant outfit changes indicating the relaxation of her character as she goes from haute-couture to a leather jacket and jeans.  If there’s a problem, it’s that there isn’t enough Hulot, whose gentility and decency permeates the other Tati films to a far greater extent.

But that’s a minor quibble in what is ultimately a beautiful, funny film.  Hulot is there, after all.  What makes Tati’s film so wonderful – I don’t know how else to describe them – is his obvious love of humanity.  Here is the human condition, in all its weird glory, interacting with each other and with technology.  Tati makes no judgements; technology is neither the enemy nor the indicator of human progress.  It’s funny and bizarre, but it only serves to highlight how wonderfully eccentric human beings can be.  Technology mirrors and accentuates the people it serves – or fails to serve.  Windshield wipers imitate drivers; cars limp and groan when they’ve lost a wheel; a traffic jam sends people out into the rain.

If Tati preaches anything at all, he preaches a gospel of humanity.  His Hulot is a bit of a buffoon, but he’s a well-meaning buffoon, a man who is not superior to anyone, who is never at odds with the world.  Even when he’s fired from his job, he shrugs his shoulders and moves on, off into the rain with the newly happy Maria and her dustmop dog.

Trafic does not represent the crowning glory of Tati’s achievement, but it is a fitting farewell to a character as gentle and humorous as the Little Tramp or Buster Keaton.  All through the three previous Hulot films, Hulot seemed to just narrowly miss getting the girl, always rejected by the adult society that he really has no problem with.  At the end of Trafic, Hulot does not walk off into the sunset; he walks off into the rain with a grand smile on his face and Maria on his arm, crowded together under the perpetual umbrella.  For a moment we almost lose Hulot as he vanishes into the underground, but suddenly he returns, borne back on a tide of humanity.

The final image is of a massive traffic jam with umbrellas flitting here and there.  The people, it seems, have left their cars and crowded beneath umbrellas together – a sea of Hulots in the midst of the technological wilderness.

Lauren’s Writing Rant

There are few things that make me angrier than the smug smiles I sometimes get when someone asks me what I do.

“I’m a writer,” I say, in the innocence of my soul.

“No, I mean, what do you do for work?”

Work? WORK? Oh, yes, because obviously writing isn’t work.  It’s what bored  teenagers do on fanfiction sites and housewives do when they have a spare moment and it’s really only just for fun, because no one really writes … WORK?! Seriously.  Fuck you.

Other variations of this include:

“Oh. That’s nice.”

“Aren’t you bored? I mean, you’re not doing anything.”

“So you’re, like, a journalist?” (Journalism, I now understand, is the only form of writing that most people recognize.)

“What do you really do?”

I try very hard to not let these statements get to me, but honestly … it’s insulting.  Not just to me, although obviously I take it personally. To everyone who has ever tried to do something creative and succeeded or failed.  Because it’s essentially saying that those people aren’t serious, they aren’t doing something worthwhile like being a lawyer. Because the world needs lots and lots of lawyers. Not writers, not artists, painters, filmmakers, actors, sculptors, designers or musicians.  Lawyers.

All right, so here we go.  I am about to make this abundantly clear and I do not want to hear a SINGLE ONE of my friends, acquaintances, or colleagues make such annoying, smug fucking statements ever again.

Yes, I’m a writer.  I write every single day.

That is a profession.  It is something I get paid for – not enough, but still.  Paid.

Even if I did not get paid, guess what? I’d STILL be a writer.  Because anyone who spends an inordinate amount of time sitting in front of a computer, a notepad, a typewriter, a notebook or scratching words into a fucking table is either a writer or a lunatic.

There is not a single writer I know who does not want to be paid for his/her work.  But before you are paid you have to. Fucking. Write. You have to spend a lot of time doing it too.  So all that time we spend not being paid? That’s IMPORTANT.  And it does not make us crazy, stupid or delusional.  It certainly doesn’t give other people the right to be smug, condescending, or inform us that we are crazy, stupid or delusional.

Do I plan on being successful? YES.  I know that might not happen, but I also know that I cannot sit around bitching about how successful I could have been if I’d only written that book.  I have to write the book to know.  I have to try and work hard at it.  And y’know something, even if I never make a living wage at it, I will STILL BE A WRITER.

So, I don’t want to hear it.  I want an end to the condescension; I want other people in other professions to accord artists – ANY artist – the kind of respect you give to anyone else.  I want folks to listen when they ask about our projects and not look off into the distance as though they never asked the question.  Above all, I never want to hear the “what do you really do?” question ever again.

And if you don’t like it, you can go fuck yourselves.

The Haunted Feminine Part 2

‘I’m coming apart, a little at a time.  A little at a time.  Now I know where I’m going.  I’m disappearing, inch by inch, into this house.’—Eleanor (Julie Harris) in Robert Wise’s The Haunting (MGM, 1963).

In my previous discussion of the variation on the monstrous feminine in haunting films, what I call the haunted feminine, I identified Robert Wise’s 1963 film The Haunting as one of the purest examples of this trope in cinema.  The relationship between Hill House and the character of Eleanor in the film functions on multiple levels.  The haunting becomes a projection of her inward repressions, and an expression of the destructive power located in the mind of the woman.  The film focalizes the narrative through Eleanor, laying bare her psychological state, and opens up an interpretation that views the haunting as a direct manifestation of her repressed psychology.  An examination of several key sequences of the film permits for an expansion of the concept of the haunted feminine, laying open this film in particular, and haunting films in general, to Freudian interpretation and exposition.

The book on which the film is based, The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, conceives Hill House itself as a manifestation of insanity:

Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within…silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone (Jackson 3).

The film visualizes this aspect of the novel, with images of the house silhouetted against a dark sky and photographed from low, canted angles.  The initial introduction of the house occurs before the opening credits.  Dr. Markway’s (Richard Johnson) voice speaks the first paragraph of the novel almost verbatim over shots of the imposing house.  The second introduction occurs through Eleanor’s eyes.  A montage of several shots presents her first experience of Hill House: first a panoramic shot of the whole façade of the house; second another angle view of the house, this time a little closer; third a close shot of some of the details of the exterior; and fourth an even closer shot of dark windows.

A few things should be noted about this sequence of shots.  The initial view of the house fails to match Eleanor’s eye line.  She looks to the right of the frame, but the house is shot from a left angle.  The camera cuts back to Eleanor, still looking to the right of the frame.  The frame cuts to the correct angle in reference to Eleanor’s eye line match, but becomes confusing because the angle is lower and the shot closer than the original view.  The last two shots, of the details on the house and the dark windows, are impossible to read as point of view shots, because they are progressively closer, while we know Eleanor has not moved.  This technique causes a uncanny experience in the viewer and emphasizes the house’s insanity.  Eleanor observes the house from these canted, disparate angles and immediately identifies the house as ‘sick.’  That it is impossible that she could look at the house in this way not only typifies the disjointed, disturbing nature of the house itself, but also points out that this is Eleanor’s view of the house.  The final shot of the dark windows matches on the next shot of Eleanor’s eyes, identifying the pair.  The house appears to be literally looking at her, as her voice-over makes clear: ‘it’s staring at me.’  The film expresses Eleanor’s thought processes, and her increasing madness, through use of her voice-over.  It forces the viewer to enter into Eleanor’s mind.  This could be interpreted as overkill, as director Robert Wise mistrusting the strength of the visuals to convey the message.  It does, however, emphasize Eleanor’s subjectivity.  Is it the house that is ‘not sane’ or Eleanor?

The film builds to a sequence of ‘haunting’ scenes, each of them different in their own ways, and each progressively more focalized through Eleanor.  The first haunting scene occurs the first night in the house.  It develops through a complex montage of shots and sounds, beginning with the opening shot of the darkened Hill House.  It then fades to the long main staircase, in the interim superimposing one of the details of the house (a carving of a male face) briefly onto the image of the staircase.  Wise utilizes the technique of brief superimposition numerous times as a way of structuring the film as haunted.  These images haunt the frames of the film and disconcert the viewer.  Over the medium shot of the dark staircase, a banging noise comes over the soundtrack.  The image fades to the corner of a room as a light comes on and Eleanor gets out of bed.  She believes for a moment that the noises come from her dead mother, who used to knock on the wall to get her attention.

Eleanor’s relationship with her mother forms the first indication of her numerous complexes.  The narrative has already identified another sound of beating on the wall with the death of the nurse who failed to respond to an invalid’s knocking for help.  The film proposes multiple identifications for the manifestation of the knocking.  The knocking is associated first with the nurse who engages in sexual activity, resulting in the death of her patient and then her own suicide.  The knocking then relates to the experience of Eleanor, who blames herself for her mother’s death because she failed to respond.  It may be argued that Eleanor internalizes the apparent ‘sexual deviance’ of the nurse, who causes death through illicit sexual activity.  Freud’s discussion of fear and sexual anxiety in ‘Inhibition, Symptom and Fear’ relates to this:

I found that attacks of fear and a generalized state of apprehensiveness are precipitated by certain sexual practices such as coitus interruptus, frustrated arousal, and enforced abstinence—in other words, whenever sexual excitement is inhibited, checked or deflected before it has achieved gratification (Freud 177).

Reading the scene in this light, the knocking becomes a manifestation of an interrupted sexual impulse that locates itself in the relationship between sex and death. Female sexuality as either repressed (Eleanor) or too expressive (the nurse) becomes the site and cause of death and madness.  The film locates Eleanor’s sexual inhibition in her relationship to her mother whose illness and demands preclude her from enjoying normal sexual relationships.  Eleanor, stopped from healthy sexual expression by the necessity of caring for her mother, experiences extreme guilt at her mother’s death.  The knocking becomes a manifestation of Eleanor’s guilt complex.

Eleanor rushes into Theo’s (Claire Bloom) room at her call.

Theo: I thought it was you pounding.

Eleanor: It was.

Theo experiences the noises as something caused by Eleanor.  Eleanor for a moment reinforces this construction.  The apparent misidentification allows the haunting to be read as an outward manifestation of Eleanor’s inhibition.  It becomes a physical expression of her repression in the form of a monstrous Other.  The ‘thing’ that haunts Hill House attempts to get into the room with Eleanor and Theo, but fails.  Eleanor asks if the door is locked, Theo responds negatively and the doorknob begins to turn.

Eleanor: You can’t get in!

As soon as Eleanor denies the ‘thing,’ the pounding ceases.  The haunting ends when Eleanor’s conscious mind represses a manifestation of the unconscious.  As soon as she denies it, it goes away.  The film focalizes the second memorable haunting sequence as solely the experience of Eleanor.  The scene begins with an exterior shot of a single tower of the house, bringing the viewer closer than in the opening of the previous sequence.  The scene cuts to the interior of Eleanor and Theo’s room.  Eleanor watches and listens as first a masculine voice murmurs and a feminine voice giggles.  She watches a single spot in the wall as a face begins to emerge from the ornamentation on the wall.  The entire sequence plays from Eleanor’s point of view, creating ambiguity about whether the voice and the image of the face in the wall are products of Eleanor’s imagination, a projection of her mind into the physical realm, or an actual haunted presence.  As the scene proceeds, the face in the wall becomes more pronounced, developing eyes, nose and an open mouth, the woman’s laughter replaced by the (apparent) sound of a child crying.  Eleanor begins narrating in voice-over at this stage:

Eleanor: This is monstrous.  This is cruel.  It is hurting a child and I will not let anyone or anything hurt a child…I will take a lot from this filthy house for his sake, but I will not go along with hurting a child.

Eleanor ends the sequence by screaming, again denying the presence of the Other.  The lights come on and she discovers that she has moved from her bed to the couch by the wall and that the hand she thought was Theo’s is no hand at all. This scene functions as the beginning of Eleanor’s entrance into a union with the house, as she narrates herself into a position of power.  She says that she ‘will not let anyone or anything hurt a child,’ establishing herself as the figure who will ‘save’ the hurt child.  Her enigmatic statement that she ‘will take a lot from this filthy house for his sake’ (italics mine) bears closer scrutiny.  She may be referring to Dr. Markway, with whom she has developed an infatuation.  She may be referring to the dead Hugh Crain.  She may even be referring to the house itself, which she begins to form an unnatural connection with.  Prior to the sequence, Eleanor has grown more attached to the house, believing that the house ‘wants’ her.  She forms a narcissistic, potentially sexual attachment to the house as her ‘home.’  This second sequence heightens her connection to the house.

The final haunting sequence occurs near the end of the film and visualizes Eleanor’s total breakdown, her passionate desire for union with the house, as the house literally begins to implode upon her.  It is the most physical manifestation of the haunting, claimed as the realization of everything the film has built to.  It also is the one full-fledged haunting sequence that all the main characters participate in.   The sequence actually opens from within the house, realizing the full progression of the establishing shots from the two previous sequences, each of which opens in a closer shot.  Now the camera is in the room with Markway, Eleanor, Theo and Luke (Russ Tamblyn).  The pounding noises from the first sequence occur again, until they stop in front of the sitting room door, where the four characters gather.  The door begins to cave in on itself, as the force on the other side pushes it in.

Each haunting sequence has failed to expose what it is that haunts Hill House.  No actual ghosts or monsters ever appear.  The haunting remains sublimated within the psychic realm, and reinforces that concept of Eleanor’s repression as being part and parcel of the haunting.  At this point, the repressed Other, almost succeeds in breaking through, in crumbling the door and revealing itself to the inhabitants.  Eleanor chooses to go out and face the ‘thing.’  At each point in The Haunting, Eleanor has denied the ‘thing’ entrance and so it remains behind walls and doors.  Finally, she opens the door and runs out to meet it.  She encounters no ghost, no ‘thing.’  She runs through the fast crumbling house as glass breaks, metal scrapes, and the house grows wildly imbalanced. These are all sounds focalized through Eleanor and, other than a single mirror falling, have no visual  reality.  Mirrors abound in this sequence.  Eleanor first encounters her distorted image in a convex mirror above a mantle.  As she runs into the conservatory, a mirror reflects her image, and then falls off the wall.  At each turn, Eleanor encounters a reflection of herself.  She has gone out to meet the haunting Other of Hill House only to discover that the Other is herself.  Her confrontation with the repressed side of herself, the inhibition that has manifested itself in the form of the monstrous Other, causes the house to ‘destroy itself.’

Eleanor: I’m disappearing inch by inch into this house.

Having confronted the repressed Other, Eleanor loses control and wishes to become a part of the house.  She nearly succeeds in committing suicide but is stopped at the last moment by Markway.  This returns to the issues of inhibited sexuality and can be seen as a sort of ‘coitus interruptus.’  The patriarchal representative of scientific materialism stops Eleanor’s sexualized union with the house, the full realization of her repressed psyche.

The conclusion of the film, however, establishes the supremacy of the supernatural manifestation of the female psyche over the masculinist rational paradigm.  The film exposes the medical discourse of Dr. Markway, who functions as a representative of the medical establishment and the need to control and explain the Other, as insufficient.  He seeks to explain the haunting, to locate some scientific proof for the paranormal.  Refusing to fall into the discourse of scientific materialism, Eleanor completes her union with the house and a full recognition of her sublimated desires.  The ending, though it concludes with Eleanor’s death, may be read in a triumphal light, as Eleanor finally discovers her place of belonging in confrontation and final acceptance of the sublimated Other.  Having confronted the haunting only to confront herself, Eleanor drives her car into a tree, killing herself:

Eleanor: So now I’m going.  But I won’t go.  Hill House belongs to me.  I knew it.  I knew it.  Hill House doesn’t want me to go.

She briefly resists, but Eleanor gives in to the ‘will’ of the house and the will of her subconscious.  Her repressed psyche in the form of the haunting takes over the wheel and unites her and the house in a union of sex and death.  Although she ends her life, she becomes incorporated into the house and succeeds in facing and accepting her sublimated desires.  Her inhibitions exposed, she can finally go home.

When The Haunting was remade in 1999, it opened the discourse of the film to new interpretation.  The remake articulated Eleanor’s relationship with the ghosts (and there are actual physical ghosts in the remake) as the role of savior.  Her death becomes unambiguously triumphant when she succeeds in ‘saving the children’ from an evil house that is haunted by the spirit of her past relation.  Aside from the hokier aspects of the film, the remake streamlines the concept of the original into a discourse not about the abject mind of the female, but the motherly ‘savior’ who sacrifices herself to rescue the children from a monstrous masculinity.  This brings to the fore the ambiguous function of the original to form a both sad and possibly triumphant conclusion.  Eleanor, freed from the functions of science and patriarchy, finally unites sexually with the house and in doing so comes ‘home.’  Hill House remains a place where ambiguity reigns, where the things that go bump in the night are never explained, and where successful sexual union only ends in death.  It is also the only site of triumph for the repressed, reviled woman who comes to terms with her sublimated psyche, who confronts her fears and enters into a sense of belonging.  Something finally happens to Eleanor.

Jackson, Shirley.  The Haunting of Hill House, Penguin Books, New York: 1987.

Creed, Barbara.  ‘Horror and the Monstrous Feminine: An Imaginary Abjection’ in The Dread of Difference: Gender and the Horror Film, ed. Barry Keith Grant, University of Texas Press: 1996.

Doane, Mary Ann.  The Desire to Desire, Indiana University Press, Bloomington: 1987.

Freud, Sigmund. ‘Beyond the Pleasure Principle’ in Beyond the Pleasure Principle and Other Writings, trans. John Reddick, Penguin Books, New York: 2003.

‘Inhibition, Symptom and Fear’ in Beyond the Pleasure Principle and Other Writings, trans. John Reddick, Penguin, New York: 2003.

‘On the Introduction of Narcissism’ in Beyond the Pleasure Principle and Other Writings, trans. John Reddick, Penguin Books, New York: 2003.

Kristeva, Julia.  Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection, trans. Leon S. Roudiez, Columbia University Pres, New York: 1982.

Lawrence, Amy.  Echo and Narcissus: Women’s Voices in Classical Hollywood Cinema, University of California Press, Berkeley: 1991.

Williams, Linda.  ‘When the Woman Looks’ in The Dread of Difference: Gender and the Horror Film, ed. Barry Keith Grant, University of Texas Press: 1996.

De Bont, Jan (dir).  The Haunting, Dreamworks, 1999.

Wise, Robert (dir).  The Haunting, MGM, 1963.

*Paper originally written for Horror and Sci-Fi, Prof. Ed Guerrero.  Copyright Lauren Humphries-Brooks 2009

Bloody October: House On Haunted Hill

LAST NIGHT: HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL (1959)

“A woman was just hung in the stairwell; there was a severed head in a girl’s suitcase, we all have loaded guns and Vincent Price is our host.  Well, good night!”

William Castle’s 1959 schlock-fest House on Haunted Hill is iconic and ridiculous.  If Vincent Price offered you $10,000 to spend a night in a haunted mansion, would you go? No, of course you wouldn’t.  Because he’s VINCENT PRICE.  But apparently the five idiots who accompany him didn’t know that.  Thank God, for otherwise this movie would not exist and we would all be the worse for it.

I have no idea what to do with this movie.  It should be terrible – because it is.  The acting is largely atrocious, the plot nonsensical, the script alternately slow and sudden.  And yet…and yet.  I loved it.  Every second of it.  Why? WHY? Well, one why is Vincent Price, who no matter how many bad films he made always injects an edge of class and camp into his performances that made him the go-to guy for schlocky horror.  The other why is the crazy factor of the whole enterprise.  We have seven people locked in a haunted – high modern mansion, and what does their host do? He gives them loaded guns.  There are severed heads that appear randomly in closets which everyone seems to take in stride.  There’s a fucking vat of acid in the basement and this does not cause any great consternation.  These people are insane.

House on Haunted Hill is the best of bad 50s horror – total fun with a few proper scares.

Bloody October: The Changeling

LAST NIGHT: THE CHANGELING (1980)

I’m a huge fan of haunted house movies, but I had never seen or even heard of this one until some good people over at Man, I Love Films recommended it.  I was pleased to discover that it’s a cut above many scary movies; in fact, it ranks right up there with The Haunting and The Shining.

George C. Scott is John Russell, a composer who recently lost his wife and daughter and is having difficulty getting over it.  So he moves from NYC to Seattle and rents a huge Victorian mansion; because a single man in the throes of grief should definitely live alone in a massive house.  Things begin to go bump in the night, prompting Russell to research into the history of the house, only to discover freaky goings-on, a boarded up attic and a little kid’s wheelchair that moves on its own.  I won’t go into more details, but it gets pretty scary.

The Changeling is very much in the vein of del Toro’s The Orphanage – the haunted house is not exactly malign, but angry, and with good reason. Rather than running screaming into the night, Russell becomes convinced that the ghost is trying to get in touch with him, to solve the mystery of who or what it is and why it isn’t at rest.  The director Peter Medak gives us plenty of scares, but they’re not over the top – a piano playing by itself, an unidentified thumping, that rolling wheelchair.  It’s a sad, affecting film, not just a scary one.  Highly recommended by this first time viewer.

Bloody October: The Howling

LAST NIGHT: THE HOWLING (1981)

I have been informed by reliable and unimpeachable sources (my friend Trey Lawson, who also introduced me to this film) that werewolf fans divide themselves into two camps: American Werewolf in London partisans and The Howling loyalists.  While I love both movies – and I love werewolf movies period – I have to give the edge to The Howling.  Instead of focusing on one snarling lycanthrope, it gives us a whole colony of violent, depraved, campy puppies in heat.

Joe Dante’s low-budget creepfest starts out like a 80s serial killer film, with reporter Karen White (Dee Chamber, breathy) trolling the streets of seedy LA in search of a serial killer who recently contacted her.  She undergoes a very freaky experience in a sex shop in which the killer Eddie (Robert Picardo, terrifying) is apparently shot by cops.  To recover from her traumatic experience, her psychiatrist Dr. George Waggner (Patrick Macnee, delicious) sends her up north to the Colony for some rest and relaxation.  Because putting a bunch of paranoid schizophrenics in the same backwoods place is a brilliant idea.

Dante and screenwriter John Sayles throws everything but the kitchen sink into this one.  Half the characters are named after the directors of werewolf movies (George Waggner, Terence Fisher, Sam Newfield, etc.); there are scenes from The Wolf Man playing on various TVs, one character reads Allan Ginsburg’s Howl, and everyone likes Wolf’s brand Chili.  Slim Pickens is the local sheriff  (because even in California the sheriffs are Texans) and John Carradine puts in a cameo as a somewhat grouchy werewolf.  The special effects are spectacular – as they would be, coming from the mind of Rick Baker et al.  Oh, and there’s werewolf sex.  Animated werewolf sex.  Right.

Admittedly, a little of my current love for this film comes from the presence of Patrick Macnee (that’s TVs John Steed) who gives everything he’s in an edge of eminent class.  But the whole film has a marvelous combination of camp and legitimate horror.  The Howling is an indulgent, vitriolic bit of fun.     


Bloody October: Abbott And Costello Meet Frankenstein

LAST NIGHT: ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN (1948)

Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein is my favorite horror-comedy – yes, even before Ghostbusters.  It also scared the crap out of me when I was about seven.  My father decided to show it to me because it was the film that proved to him that monsters were something to laugh at.  And what effect did it have on me? Well, Dracula climbed out of his coffin and I ran screaming from the room.  This was further exacerbated by the fact that we lived in an old Victorian townhouse on 9 acres of woods that was regularly infested by bats.  My father spent the rest of the evening trying to convince me that Dracula wasn’t real and that he was not going to turn into a bat and suck my blood.

Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein still gives me chills, but that’s mostly a result of that childhood experience.  In the adult world, it’s simply an entertaining film, especially for those who enjoy the original Universal Monsters.  Because they’re all here! The Frankenstein Monster, Dracula, and the Wolf Man – the latter two played by the actors who originated them.  The plot revolves around the resurrection of Dracula (Bela Lugosi) who has plans to revive the Frankenstein Monster (Glenn Strange) with the help of Sandra (Lenore Aubert), a crazy doctor who eventually loses some blood to the Count.  The crux? Old Franky needs a new brain and he’ll find it in the head of Wilbur (Lou Costello) a dull-witted baggage clerk.  Opposing the gruesome ghouls is Lawrence Talbot (Lon Chaney Jr.) who keeps turning into a wolf – that full moon lasts an awfully long time.

The monsters play it fairly straight while Abbott and Costello ham it up around them – but they’re all game.  Lugosi in particular seems to be enjoying the chance to play his most iconic role and spout lines like “What we need today is young blood … and brains.”  I only wish that Karloff would have agreed to reprise his role as the Monster.

I think the reason this kind of freaked me out when I was a kid was the fact that the whole film turns on the notion that monsters really do exist:

Chick (Bud Abbott): I know there’s no search a person as Dracula.  You know there’s no such a person as Dracula.

Wilbur: But does Dracula know it?

The comedy is broad, the plot nonsensical, and the film is deliciously fun.  But honestly, it kept me believing in monsters.