Candyman  (1992)

High marks go to this intelligent thriller’s attempt to introduce an original character into the already overcrowded boogeyman pantheon.  Chicago grad student Virginia Madsen is working on her “urban legends” thesis and uncovers the tale of Candyman, a murdered black slave with a hook for a hand, who appears if you say his name in a mirror five times.  Of course, Madsen tries it out for herself, only to find that the avenging spirit is all too real and that his hook is all too sharp.  Several gory slayings ensue, all of which seem to implicate our heroine, who slips further and further into madness.  Atypical of the silver screen’s myriad masked maniacs, Tony Todd plays Candyman with a fierce strength and elegance combined with savagery, making him one of the more complex villains to emerge in recent years.  More straightforward horror than suspense, writer/director Rose crafts a movie that disgusts as often as it chills, and remains in the viewer’s mind long after the credits roll.  Fine location use of Chicago’s Cabrini Green housing project, as well as Philip Glass’s haunting score.  Produced by Clive Barker, based on his short story “The Forbidden.”

Canterville Ghost, The  (1944)

It’s “Father Knows Best” meets Topper in this updating of Oscar Wilde’s comic fantasy.  Rather than Wilde’s traveling salesman, this wartime release brings Robert Young and his platoon of wise-cracking American G. I.’s to England’s Canterville estate, where they are greeted by adorable waif Margaret O’Brien (there has never been a button so cute).  She tells the tale of the ill-fated Canterville Ghost, forced to haunt the castle halls until a descendant frees him with a courageous deed.  Charles Laughton’s top billing belies his supporting role, but when he does materialize as the cowardly ghost of Simon de Canterville, his broad comic antics are enormously enjoyable.  Young and O’Brien are delightful as Laughton’s corporeal compatriots, providing likeable, flawed, all-too-human characters.  The screenplay by Edwin Blum does a dandy job of combining flag-waving military heroics with sincere human (and ghostly) emotional elements. Enjoyable black-and-white family fare, full of lively ensemble performances, with a nifty little dance number midway through adding to the fun.  Keep eyes peeled for an unbilled Tor Johnson (Plan Nine From Outer Space) in the opening sequence.

Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter  (1974)

A late entry in the Hammer canon, writer/director Brian Clemens turns the stake-pounding rules on their heads with a fine original tale of a day in the life of a vampire hunter.  Designed as an alternative to the well-worn “Van Helsing tracking down Dracula” storyline, Clemens introduces a new breed of vampire.  This brand of undead slakes its thirst from the victim’s mouth rather than the jugular, and leaves its fair maidens instantly old and wizened.  Equally different is the younger, more dashing hero Kronos, whose sole purpose in life is to seek out and destroy his blood-sucking foes.  Even the means of destroying the vampires are fresh and original, and the serpentine narrative surprises again and again.  An excellent cast is assembled here, as Horst Janson cuts an impressive figure as the samurai sword-wielding stalker of the undead, and ravishing gypsy girl Caroline Munro provides an alternative to the status-quo bodice-bursting heroine.  In addition to terrific camerawork and locations, we are treated to thrilling scenes of swordplay seasoned with moments of offbeat humor, not surprising when one considers that Clemens was largely responsible for the legendary '60's British TV series The Avengers.  While hopes were high of producing a long running series of Kronos films, Hammer sadly folded soon after the film’s release, ending things almost as they started.  Still, the film has generated a strong cult following, and continues to hold up well after multiple viewings.

Car, The  (1977)

Sandwiched in between Duel and Christine in the annals of “Hell on Wheels” comes this hoot about a driverless chop-top black sedan menacing the inhabitants of a New Mexico town.  An ill-wind blows when it approaches, tipping us off that this is one bad car.  From its red-tinted behind-the-wheel POV shots, we watch the vicious vehicle mow down bicyclists and pedestrians, hide in garages and even blast through houses while motorcycle-riding sheriff James Brolin furrows and furrows his brow.  Director Eliot Silverstein took a break from revisionist westerns (Cat Ballou, A Man Called Horse) to make this bona-fide piece of bad-movie gold.  The filmmakers attempt to throw in social significance with half-hearted allusions to alcoholism, domestic violence, single-parent families, and even Native American issues.  Undeniably silly but entertaining, the film frenetically strings together its scenes of mayhem, even speeding up the film at times to amplify the goofiness.  Bonus feature:  Ronny Cox as the mopiest police officer ever.  Check the tires and fill ‘er up.

Carnival of Souls  (1962)

Put on your low-budget boogie shoes, we’re going dancing at the Saltair, the ghostly centerpiece of director/producer Herk Harvey’s deeply unsettling little chiller.  After a frivolous drag race results a near-fatal plunge into the river, lone survivor Candace Hilligoss pulls herself from the murky waters and curiously leaves town to pursue an employment opportunity as a church organist in Utah.  En route, she encounters a ghostly white-faced figure floating alongside her car, just a taste of the bizarre events to follow.  Upon her arrival in town, she encounters a myriad of unusual characters, including her lust-ridden neighbor (Sidney Berger), whose wince-inducing flirtations will conjure up every girl’s worst date.  Her days are filled with strange, dreamlike episodes, while her nights are plagued by visions of the abandoned lakeside carnival where white-faced figures dance and beckon to her.  Filmed with a mere $30,000 budget, the acting is awkward and John Clifford’s dialogue a mite stilted, but Harvey manages to cultivate a illusory world where the ordinary and the mundane exude danger, with a thick atmosphere of gloom pervading the banality of the small, sleepy town.  The film’s hypnotic, documentary-like feel, effectively using real-life locations and non-actors, would prove highly influential to future horror projects, notably 1968’s Night of the Living Dead.  The enigmatic Hilligoss, while not the most skilled actress (this remains her only onscreen role), possesses a brittle, haunted quality that suits the material perfectly.  Nearly forgotten following its minimal initial distribution, Carnival began to pop up on late night television regularly, eventually inspiring a major re-release in 1988.

Cat and the Canary, The (1978)

In 1978, Notorious sexploitation director Radley Metzger revived John Willard’s oft-filmed 1922 stage play, but the results are as stylish and austere as any big budget Agatha Christie adaptation.  Whether this is a blessing or a boondoggle will depend upon individual viewer sensibilities.  An outstanding cast of British thesps (Honor Blackman, Carol Lynley, Michael Callan, Edward Fox, Olivia Hussey, and Daniel Massey among them) are on hand as millionaire Wilfred Hyde-White’s relatives, called to his mansion after his death for the reading of a will that will determine who receives the old coot’s inheritance.  Sadly, not much new is added to the old dark house tropes, which were already so well-worn by 1939 as to provide ample comic material for Elliot Nugent’s version with Bob Hope, and it never becomes clear whether Metzger is attempting to provide a genuine suspense film or parody.  Ultimately, the results are a well-produced, skillfully performed curiosity item.

Cat People  (1942)

Arguably their most successful collaboration, this first effort by producer Val Lewton and director Jacques Tourneur is a stunner that stands the test of time.  Simone Simon plays the enigmatic and beautiful Irena, a Serbian woman new to America, who is befriended near the panther cage at the zoo by charming adman Kent Smith.  The two soon grow closer, and eventually marry, but Irena is reluctant to be intimate with her new husband, fearing that “there is something evil inside me.”  Namely, she believes she is one of the “cat people,” a strange race of people that transform into killer panthers when their emotions are aroused.  After a time, the frustrated Smith begins to show interest in his female co-worker, Alice.  (Did he forget that jealousy is a strong emotion as well?)  Tourneur weaves an incredibly suspenseful tale, emphasizing the unseen and utilizing some astonishing work with shadows and light. The film contains numerous classic moments:  the pet shop, Irena’s pursuit of her rival down a shadowy street, the swimming pool scene, the stalking of Smith and Alice in the office, and on and on.  A highly influential masterwork, not to be missed.

Cat People  (1982)

Less fun than a ball of yarn, Paul Schraeder’s perverse remake of the Val Lewton/Jacques Tourneur masterpiece strips the original of its haunting mystery and suspense, offering only Nastassja Kinski’s nude scenes, a swampy New Orleans backdrop, and Giorgio Moroder’s intrusive score in recompense.  After years in orphanages, Kinski reunites with long-lost sibling Malcolm McDowell, who soon reveals a more-than-brotherly attraction to her.  Seems the two are the supernatural offspring of panthers, doomed to mate only with their own humanimal kind, as any other coupling results in fanged-and-clawed death for their unsuspecting partner.  Needless to say, this throws a wrench into zookeeper John Heard’s romantic designs on the exotic female newcomer.  Attempting to cash in on the success of American Werewolf in London and The Howling, Alan Ormsby’s painfully awkward man-into-beast screenplay displays none of the fun or wit of its hairy brethren.  Schrader seems less interested in telling a modern day horror story than in getting his female lead out of her clothes, which he does with great frequency.  In fact, there is a lot of skin on parade amidst the uninspired and obligatory gory bits:  Annette O’Toole gets naked (in a clunker redux of the famous swimming pool sequence), McDowell gets naked, Heard gets naked, several of McDowell’s female victims get naked, and Ed Begley Jr. gets his arm ripped off.  Kinski’s accent drifts in and out, much like the audience’s attention.  Stick with the original and leave this kitty litter for someone else.

Cheerleader Camp (1987)

Gimme a T!  Gimme an A!  What’s that spell?  Why, T&A, of course, which is the strongest suit this not-bad 80s slasher flick plays, trotting out the likes of Playboy Playmate Rebecca Ferratti and Penthouse Pet Krista Pflanzer, as well as the nubile charms of seconds-away-from-porn superstardom Teri Weigel.  When troubled teen Betsy Russell (now currently being rediscovered as Jigsaw’s ex-wife in the Saw franchise) heads off with her chums to a remote cheerleader camp, the competition and members of her own squad start turning up D-E-A-D, sis-boom-bah.  In addition to the aforementioned lashings of female nudity – and a surprising amount of gore (the garden shears gag being one of the highlights) – we are also given front row seats to the demise of former teen heartthrob Leif Garret’s career.  (Rapping, Leif?  Why?  WHY??)  While there’s a bit too much Meatballs-styled teen comedy in the first half, things pick up considerably in the second act, and while most viewers might guess the killer’s identity, the ending is delivered with a particularly stinging sense of poetic injustice. 

Cherry Falls  (2000)

Geoffrey Wright’s wannabe-ironic slasher movie manages to turn a genre convention or two on its ear, but ends up wandering very familiar blood-spattered roads.  In the town of Cherry Falls, a homicidal maniac is targeting virgins as victims, flying in the face of the usual equation “sexuality = death.”  To avoid ending up on the slab, the town’s adolescent community frantically looks to couple up, juxtaposing the apprehension of “the first time” with sheer survivalism.  (If you can’t get a date in this town, you’re in big trouble.) Sad to say, besides Ken Selden’s few clever bits of dialogue, there is nothing distinctive about the filmultimately its biggest setback.  The acting by unlikely virgin Brittany Murphy, concerned father/town sheriff Michael Biehn, and nebbishy teacher Jay Mohr is competent enough, and there is a fair amount of splatter for the fans.  There just doesn’t seem to be enough there there (doubly surprising for those who have seen the Australian helmer’s incendiary skinhead saga Romper Stomper.)  Had he and Selden explored, for example, the panicked parents’ conundrum of their children’s morality versus their mortality (as opposed to the convoluted “vengeance visited on sins of the past” storyline), a more substantial offering might have emerged.  Instead, it slips from the brain before the credits have finished rolling, with only its sophomoric title lingering in the memory.

Children of the Corn  (1984)

This big screen-adaptation of Stephen King’s slim but effective short story starts off with promise of cheap thrills but fails to deliver anything but boredom.  Following a graphic onscreen massacre of the entire adult population of Gatlin, Nebraska, at the hands of the under-18 set, the film’s high point is its opening credits during which Gatlin’s history is adroitly conveyed through a series of crude and haunting children’s drawings.  Years later, bickering couple Linda Hamilton and Peter Horton take a couple of wrong turns, ending up in the deserted town and at odds with the prepubescent locals.  With homicidal brats on one side, thinly drawn adults on the other, and George Goldsmith’s ineptly padded adaptation in the middle, the farmer’s almanac says the outlook is not good.  Woefully short on logic and pacing, director Fritz Kiersch’s clumsy idea of wit is a paperback copy of King’s Night Shift on Hamilton’s dashboard, with assorted light-catching closeups of sharp blades as the height of suspense.  A pre-Terminator Hamilton undergoes a similar shrieking-victim-turned-warrior transformation, and Horton’s “hero” is so obnoxious, you may start looking around for something to poke him with yourself.  John Franklin is effectively creepy as pint-sized leader Isaac, and while Courtney Gaines’ bullying Malachai doesn’t handle dialogue well, he capably fulfills his role as the film’s heavy (his cries of “Outlander!” are great fun to emulate afterwards.)  Wretched stuff, all the more disheartening when one considers the legion of sequels that followed.

Chinese Ghost Story, A  (1987)

A stunning medley of genres (slapstick comedy, supernatural tale, kung fu action, romance) culminate in a hugely enjoyable cinematic stir-fry from Hong Kong director Siu-Tung Ching.  Performed with such “spirited” originality and panache that, while some elements are less successful than others, the sheer vitality of the presentation carries the day.  A bumbling tax collector (Leslie Cheung) stumbles into a world of otherworldly goings-on when he encounters an enticing female ghost (luminous Wang Tsu Hsien) luring lustful men to their deaths, reducing them to shriveled-up stop-motion zombies.  Adding to the intrigue are a gruff hermit swordsman (played with unfettered exuberance by Wo Ma) and a matronly tree demon with the deadliest tongue ever displayed onscreen (courtesy of some effectively cartoonish special effects).  While Cheung’s early comic antics elicit more groans than chuckles and the authority figures are bluntly presented as tiresome buffoons, the human (and inhuman) relationships between the main characters are richly developed and the story is sparked along by plentiful eye-popping wire-work martial arts sequences.  The brief musical interlude where the Taoist swordsman busts a move in the forest is a surreal highlight, and the heroes’ final confrontation with the dark forces (in Hell, no less) is among the more imaginative and energetic finales one is likely to find anywhere.  Perhaps an acquired taste, but rewarding for the adventurous.

Chopping Mall  (1986)

Jim Wynorski’s film about renegade robot security guards hunting down a group of partying teen mall employees wants desperately to be a “fun” movie, working overtime to keep its audience from taking anything seriously.  But for all its efforts it smacks of cheating, as Wynorski constantly reminds us that he is “only kidding” rather than attempting to make a good movie.  Too cheesy to be scary and too self-consciously stupid to be genuinely fun, the viewer is left in no man’s land.  Oddly enough, the movie succeeds best during its legitimate robots-gone-haywire moments.  Small, deadly, and persistent, with cheapie laser beams and their own “Have a nice day” catchphrase, designer Robert Short’s “Killbots” (the film’s original title) enliven their every onscreen moment.  Most of the time, however, we are left with an obnoxious human cast running on fumes in the acting department.  For those keeping track, there are a couple of instances of gratuitous nudity and a pretty nifty exploding head.  Julie Corman produced, and there are nods to husband Roger throughout (Attack of the Crab Monsters is on the TV at the party, a mall store is dubbed “Roger’s Little Shop of Pets,” etc.).  And hey, any movie that has Dick Miller reprising his Walter Paisley role (from A Bucket of Blood) as a mall janitor can’t be entirely bad.

C.H.U.D.  (1984)

Cheap, 80’s style B-movie fare about underground mutants inhabiting the sewers of New York.  The Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers (or C.H.U.D.) are spawned from exposure to toxic waste hidden in the tunnels.  When they start adding numerous homeless individuals (and one police captain’s wife) to their diets, a few Manhattanites take notice.  A sullen John Heard cashes his paycheck as an laconic photographer, while the always game and gangly Daniel Stern shines a bit more brightly as a pothead soup kitchen preacher.  Director Douglas Cheek wisely keeps his subterranean monsters hidden from full scrutiny most of the time, but even the close-up inserts of teeth, claws, and arms look cheesy.  When we do finally see them in all their “glory,” they come off as little better than Star Trek rejects.  The acting ranges from okay to pretty bad, but the real fun is watching the endless stream of future familiar faces in small turns, including John Goodman, Jay Thomas, Patricia Richardson, Ray Baker, and an unrecognizable Jon Polito.  Word to the wise:  Keep expectations low if you C.H.O.O.S.E to watch.

Comeback, The (1978)

Of the half dozen or so horror flicks I’ve seen from Brit enfant terrible Pete Walker, this is among the least, right down there with Die Screaming Marianne.  Jack Jones shines none-too-brightly as a pop musician who comes to England to complete work on his new album, his first in six years.  Problem is, someone keeps bumping off his nearest and dearest, then trotting out their corpses in the middle of the night to drive poor Jackie boy bonkers.  Among the suspects are David Doyle as his slippery, cross-dressing manager (if you’ve ever wanted to see Bosley from Charlie’s Angels in drag – and really, who hasn’t? – then here’s your chance) and Walker’s reliably creepy cronie Shelia Keith.  While the murders themselves are savage and bloody, there’s a lot of dull ground (and icky pop songs) to cover in between.  When the killer’s identity is revealed, it’s more groanworthy than gripping, followed by a truly idiotic rationalization that left me praying that Walker and screenwriter Michael Sloan were just kidding around.

Conqueror Worm, The (aka Witchfinder General) (1968)

Vincent Price dials it w-a-a-a-y down as misanthropic 17th century witch hunter Matthew Hopkins under the guiding hand of Michael Reeves.  Aided by a solid ensemble that includes Ian Oglivy, Hilary Heath, and Robert Russell, the result is one of the finest and most chilling performances of the horror icon’s career.  It would also prove to be the final film for Reeves who, after having achieved his masterpiece following two interesting if flawed efforts (The She Beast and The Sorcerers), died of a drug overdose in early 1969.  A true horror classic, and certainly one of the finest genre pictures to be released under the AIP umbrella.  The American release (CW) opens and closes with Price narrating passages from the Poe poem in voiceover (an attempt to tie it into the Corman AIPoe series), which adds an unfortunate bookend of hamminess to an otherwise dead serious production.  The uncut British version is the one to seek out.

Count Yorga, Vampire  (1970)

Considering its low budget feel and camp qualities, writer/director Bob Kelljan’s little shocker has no right to work as well as it does.  One of the first films to place a vampire in a modern setting, Robert Quarry cuts an impressive cape-whirling figure as the titular count moonlighting as a hypnotist to seduce swinging chicks into his bloodsucking harem.  While the film has not aged particularly well, the 70’s attire and attitudes lend a kitschy charm, actually enhancing the viewing experience.  The performances will win no awards but manage to carry off the story ably enough, and despite minimal nudity the film packs in enough sensuality (the females really like being bitten) to get the blood racing.  The film has the groovy count operating out of a gothic castle outside Los Angeles, allowing scenes of apartment track lighting and close encounters in the backs of vans to mix with candlelit drawing room confrontations.  Kelljan gets the most out of his few dollars, throwing a fair amount of blood and violence around with authority, yet sustains a well-grounded story and interesting characters.  The script is intentionally funny at times, which cannot be said of many genre films from the period.  The scene in which one of Quarry’s quarry eyeballs her cat as a source of nourishment is worth the price of admission alone, and the finale is satisfyingly exciting and bloody.  Originally conceived as a full-out adult offering, the film was trimmed for general audiences and became a surprise hit, both stateside and abroad. Followed by a sequel, The Return of Count Yorga.

Craft, The  (1996)

“Now is the time, now is the hour.  Ours is the magic, ours is the power.”  The shallow spell spoken by the film’s comely quartet of teen witches matches its cinematic impact perfectly—not terribly inspired, but it does the job.  When new student Robin Tunney falls in with a trio of “dark girls” (Fairuza Balk, Neve Campbell, and Rachel True), soon they are dabbling in the dark arts with squealing abandon.  Courtesy of a relatively chintzy ritual, the feminine foursome conjure “Mennel, the Spirit of All Things” to allay their personal hardships (poverty, racism, romance, physical scars).  At first, everything seems rosy as the supernatural forces work in their favor.  However, Balk’s desires to sample blacker magic create a rift with “natural witch” Tunney and the breezey movie turns credibly malevolent as the conflict escalates.  Director Andrew Fleming, who shares screenplay credit with Peter Filardi, attempts to create dizzying atmosphere with circle-happy camerawork, the results ranging from effective to intrusive.  With well-done special effects and admirable performances from its undeniably attractive cast (the dynamic Balk leaves a particularly noteworthy impression), this is a pleasant enough time-waster, culminating in a wicked witches duel in the final act.  Unfortunately, its emotional depth never extends beyond that of its not-quite-adult characters, and when the credits roll it feels like just another teen movie, albeit one well done.

Creep (2005)

I really wanted to like this yarn about a homicidal creature residing and laying waste to the inhabitants of the London Underground.  But, even though it does feature a pretty cool looking monster splashing plenty of the red stuff around in the process, there is so much heavy lifting in the “suspension of disbelief” department that I felt thoroughly insulted after 30 minutes, and it got worse from there.  If you can switch off your brain, it might be a fun monster movie, but the illogic of it all kept rearing its ugly head and eventually, I couldn’t ignore it any longer.  Besides, Franka Potenta, so vibrant and sexy in Run Lola Run, is completely wasted as an ineffectual screaming mimi, and the dunderheadedness of her character makes the slightest bit of empathy a chore.  By the way, any Londoners who might be reading: Apparently there is a small city, complete with secret experimental laboratories mere feet away from you on your morning commute.  Who knew?

Crowhaven Farm (1970)

This woefully obscure chiller from the early 70s starring Hope Lange (TV’s The Ghost and Mrs. Muir) shows just how effective made-for-TV horror used to be.  When Lange and husband Paul Burke inherit the titular rural estate, she finds herself spiraling into a terrifying world of past lives, witchcraft and Satanism with stalwart journeymen Lloyd Bochner and John Carradine providing able creepy support.  Available on the internet on DVD-R, but it would be great to see this thing get a legitimate DVD release. 

Curse of the Cat People, The (1944)

Despite the identical cast and characters from Cat People, this peculiar sequel (featuring neither cats nor curses) is more childhood fable than atmospheric chiller, which may confound fans of the original.  Producer Val Lewton and co-directors Gunther Von Fritsch and Robert Wise concern themselves this time not with the sexuality of shapeshifting cat women, but with the loneliness of a young girl.  The story picks up five years after the events of the 1942 film, with returnees Kent Smith and Jane Randolph now happily married, with Smith’s former marriage to Irena (Simone Simon) still casting the occasional shadow.  Their daughter Amy (Ann Carter) is a dreamy child unable to fit in with her peers, finding solace in a world of imagination, much to the chagrin of her father.  The companionless child’s desperate search for “a friend” leads to a peculiar relationship with an aging stage actress (Julia Dean), whose gift of a ring conjures the image of Irena to Amy.  Dewitt Bodeen’s multi-layered storyline is engaging, though its largest setbacks lie in its tenuous (and ultimately unnecessary) connections to the first film.  The sentimental journey is charming, though Lewton’s hijacked title may leave some viewers feeling hoodwinked.  That said, Carter gives a wonderful central performance, with the relationship between Dean and her estranged adult daughter a fascinating one to observe.  Lewton regular Sir Lancelot shines as the kindly house servant Edward.

Cutting Class (1989)

This little late-in-the-cycle slasher came to prominence by having the good fortune of featuring Brad Pitt in a leading role just prior to his breakout performance in Thelma and Louise.  But the picture has its own merits as well, and is actually much, much better than I thought it was going to be.  Granted it has Pitt (who’s not bad), but it also features Jill Schoelen and Donovan Leitch for ’80s genre fans, as well as Roddy McDowall (still riding high from the Fright Night films) providing a droll turn as the letchy principal.  Writer Steve Slavkin and director Rospo Pallenberg do an admirable job doling out the creative kills and red herrings, but there is an underlying wink-and-a-nod comic flair that only goes overboard in the broader Martin Mull scenes.  Expectations should be kept to a minimum, but at the end of the day, there are worse ways – especially for slasher fans – to spend 90 minutes.