1. BAFFLED!
(1972) Dir. Phillip Leacock
(1972) Dir. Phillip Leacock
*** / Amazon Image - B-

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(1980) Dir. Lucio Fulci
***1/2 / Amazon Image - A
Despite its unconvincing and excessive gore and gross-ours, City of the Living Dead is a strangely beautiful film, thanks especially to a great HD transfer: the darkness seems to stretch inward to the infinite; it occurs almost all at night or late afternoon and each scene is lit for maximum moody October night eeriness. The ground is ever laden with billowing fog, the night courses jet-black (no 'day for night' balderdash here) and the hair of the ladies is wondrously loose, auburn and backlit so it glows with an unerring luster. It's not perfect: Carlo De Mejo sports a terrible frizz toupee and fake beard as Gerry, Dunwich's resident shrink and some of the gross outs are a bit overdone, such as when sultry Daniela Doria vomits her literal guts out and cries blood after seeing a vision of a hung priest while trying to make out with Michele Soavi in a car. Those who consider 'nightmare logic' merely an excuse for narrative inconsistency and lazy writing won't like that the zombies can sometimes appear and disappear at will, or that someone might die early in the evening and then escape from the funeral home a few hours later, nor will they like all the evidence of editing as story tangents pop up out of nowhere and disappear as fast (like the strange body that shows up in Agren's kitchen) but those are also some reasons why I love the film so much.
On the fourth or fifth viewing it gets no easier to unravel, especially when marveling on the weird web of sexy relationships and inappropriateness going on in the lives of Dunwich's residents. For example: Gerry's girlfriend Emily (Antonella Interlenghi) is far too young for him, was probably once a patient (how unprofessional!) and even barges in on his session with sultry Janet Agren, only to have her self-deprecatingly dismiss her own dreams as just 'daddy issues,' all just so Emily can cancel her date with himsas she decides she has to (for some unknown reason) to go check on 'Bob,' (Giovanni Lombardo Radice) a deranged sex addict derelict who lives in a hovel on the outskirts of town. Somehow or other she thinks she must barge in on a session of psychoanalysis, and break up a date all just to pose seductively (and uninvitedly) on Bob's rotted mattress, only for him--all pale and red-eyed in fear of some disembodied moaning monster-- to push her down as he spring away, so whatever it is takes her instead of him. Talk about nightmare logic! Why the frickin' hell would she head off into this dump to visit a deranged sex offender on his filthy mattress in the dark of an autumnal night? If you have an answer, you must be lost in a vivid REM cycle.
Even the title is misleading, since we leave NYC early on and spend the rest of the movie in the small town of Midwich. This is a movie that's like descending slimy marble stairs in the dark with no handrail. You can either crawl patiently downward like a little bitch, or just throw yourself down and try to surf the edges and probably break your neck. You can practically hear the "thuck!" of your skull hitting wet stone as you think about it. You'll have to wake up in a few minutes either way. What's important is that a crisp autumn air rushes through every open space, and that Fabio Frizzi's insane score is one of the greatest ever, a bizarre fusion of ominous guitar signatures on repeat, atonal keyboard fist mashes, 'off' concert piano refrains (like a drunk trying to remember scales) and a main theme which seems to be always slowly building with sampled male mellotron moan sampler echo and impatient click drum track leading up to a neat little antithetical synth anthem that sounds like it could be Flash Gordon's funeral procession through the Aboria swamps. ADD A brilliant HD restoration, cinematography by the great Sergio Salvati, and a wide assortment of pretty women, and even some cool cops, and it all comes together in a coming apartness kind of way.
The middle child bridging Fulci's early Zombie and the gonzo far-outness of The Beyond and House by the Cemetery, City is a great R-rated (for gore alone) creeptastic ideal 2 AM Halloween pick for the Mole Family. Pounce on its wriggling form before it vanishes back into the ground, and all therein that may be explored.
Third Feature Option:
18. THE ETERNAL
(1998) Dir. Michael Almereyda
*** 1/2 / Amazon Image - A-
A kind of Lower East Side downtown hipster coffee and cigarettes experimental and cool, The Eternal is a boozy metatextual dissertation on memory, alcoholism, and the bonds of the moment transcending the bite of history and vice versa, it's also a loose, sexy update of a kind of combination of Hammer's 1972 Blood from the Mummy's Tomb (and its Stoker source novel) and the 1951 The Thing. The story has boozy rich couple Alison Elliot and Jared Harris leaving NYC for her ancestral Irish moor's estate, as if called home by some archaic homing signal (shades of 1934'a Black Moon, though I can't imagine Almereyda has seen it). As far as the previous two films, it's got that American out of water vibe as an ancestral estate is visited, strange visions, sudden corpses, and a sense of nonchalant cool highly unusual for the horror genre.
Christopher Walken has a couple of great scenes as a boozy call aesthete puttering around the mansion in his red robe, drinking Irish whiskey and, amongst other things, showing Alison the mummified corpse of a long dead druid priestess relative, found nestled in amidst old basement trunks. Amongst other curious things, the more Elliot starts to feel woozy and black out, the more alive and beautiful the mummy gets, until it looks almost identical to her, though gifted with immortal strength, a disregard for the life and death of those around her, and telekinesis. What's her deal? "It was the Iron Age," notes Walken. "You had to do a lot of nasty things, just to get by." Amen.
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