Fool's Views Reviews (D)

	*Dagon* (2001) Re-Animator director Stuart Gordon takes on H. P. Lovecraft again with mixed results. Based on Lovecraft’s The Shadow over Innsmouth, two couples are shipwrecked off the coast of Spain, and discover the locals are amphibian mutants with a dark secret. Though imaginatively directed with loads of dark and stormy atmosphere, the biggest problem lies in lead actor Ezra Godden’s performance, playing his character as an annoying nerd never fully invested in the increasingly bizarre situation at hand. While the rest of the cast (which includes stunning beauties Raquel Merono and Macarena Gomez) plays it straight, Godden’s frantic joking approach (presumedly at the behest of Gordon) robs the movie of any real suspense or fear. Thankfully, veteran Spanish actor Francisco Rabal grounds his scenes with the necessary gravitas to carry the film to its final act, where everyone stops messing around and the movie takes off. There is a shocking torture sequence which will please any gore hound (though one could argue its gratuitous nature), and the frenzied special-effects climax pays off surprisingly well. If only it wasn’t such a slog getting there, though Gomez’s frequent topless appearances make the trip easier going.
	*Damnation Alley* (1977) Roger Zelanzy’s post-Holocaust novel, turned into a hackneyed version of Stagecoach by scripters Alan Sharp and Lukas Heller. Civilization has been wiped out by atomic missiles knocking the earth off its axis and the terrain is littered with flesh-devouring cockroaches and giant scorpions. In place of the ‘coach is the Land Master, a nifty futuristic tank piloted by a sometimes Southern-accented George Peppard, Paul Winfield and cycle-riding country balladeer Jan Michael Vincent. While the multi-colored sky is mildly intriguing at times, the rest of the effects are so painfully, awfully inept that they make Bert I. Gordon’s look positively stunning by comparison. Jack Smight directed, if you can call it that, and by the time the jaw-droppingly goofy happy ending rolls around, you’ll be damning him as loud as any alley you can think of.
	*Darkness Falls* (2003) When an innocent old woman known as the Tooth Fairy is lynched for the kidnapping of two children, she levels this curse on the residents of the titular village: She will visit the children of Darkness Falls the night they lose their last tooth to exact revenge. This is the surprisingly promising setup of the two-minute spoken prologue, and it is with great disappointment that the film’s three screenwriters proceed to do nothing with it. Flashing forward 150 years (hearing nothing about any ill effects the town has suffered), we witness a boy and his mother attacked by a spectral figure on the night he loses his last tooth. Flash forward another twelve years (again never hearing anything curse-related) where we find the now-grown lad suffering from a chronic fear of the dark, and another young boy similarly afflicted, saying “She’s going to get me.” Apparently after 162 years, the Tooth Fairy (who wears a porcelain mask, get it?) has finally decided to make good on her curse one night and proceeds to flit around via pedestrian computer effects, tearing the guts out of the locals. There are no real characters here, just ghost fodder, and we learn the only way to combat the vengeful spirit is to stay in the light, which our heroes remind us of by shouting “STAY IN THE LIGHT!” about a thousand times over the course of the film’s exhausting 86 minutes. There may indeed be a good horror film about the Tooth Fairy out there. This ain’t it.
	*Dark Star* (1974) Even if it weren’t hysterically funny and cynical (which it is), this low-budget sci-fi treat is essential viewing merely for its pedigree, as it marks the debuts of two future bright stars in the sci-fi/horror firmament. USC film school classmates John Carpenter and Dan O’Bannon collaborated on the inspired screenplay recounting the exploits of a deep space vessel and its profoundly bored and disillusioned crew. With Carpenter directing and O’Bannon starring as the irascible Pinback, the Dark Star’s workaday mission is not the stardust of noble exploration or pursuit of knowledge: Instead of exploring strange new worlds á la Star Trek, they merely blow up the “unstable” ones. This tedious, pointless existence breeds mucho discontent among the crew, who occupy themselves making petty video-diary entries or quarreling over whose turn it is to feed the alien “mascot,” an all-too-obvious beach ball with rubber claws attached. When the sandcastle refugee escapes its confines, O’Bannon’s extended cat-and-mouse pursuit (involving an elevator shaft sequence that is clearly a box pulled horizontally down a hallway) is a gut-busting high point. Carpenter embraces his low budget limitations, and when watching the film today (when any visual effect can be accomplished with a few keystrokes) one cannot help but cheer aloud at the ingenuity and imagination on display. The climax, involving a HAL-like bomb that refuses to be deactivated, is devastatingly cruel and funny at the same time. Carpenter also composed the moody, electronic musical score.
	*Daughters of Darkness* (1971) While the lesbian vampire subject matter lent it notoriety (and undoubtedly cemented its cult status), this Belgium-French-German co-production helmed by Harry K(u)mel is ultimately more art film than soft-core. The plotline (honeymooning newlyweds encounter strange goings-on in a foreign land) is hardly original, but in addition to their mysterious fellow hotel guests, the real surprises come in the form of our protagonists’ dark secrets. Be warned: The proceedings have a decidedly deliberate pace, especially if one is expecting Hammer-esque fangs and heaving bodices. A dark perversity pervades throughout, lending a sense of prurience to the opulent surroundings. With slithery costumes and platinum blonde hair (an obvious nod to Marlene Dietrich), Delphine Seyrig is utterly magnetic as the Countess Bathory, powerful yet fragile as she weaves the web for her new victims. As her exotic companion Ilona, Andrea Rau smolders with coiled sexual energy while maintaining a mournful sadness. John Karlen (who would go on to further undead adventures in TV’s Dark Shadows) has perhaps the most complex role as his less-than-sympathetic character reveals itself layer by degraded layer. Looking akin to a Nordic goddess, Danielle Ouimet (as Karlen’s naïve bride) serves her purpose adequately despite playing a limited range of notes. A sumptuously photographed film featuring gorgeous hotel interiors, breathtaking seaside vistas, ample nudity (male and female) and several tasteful couplings. Every shot in the film is utterly frame-worthy, with Kumel’s painterly use of red, black, and white motifs on full display. Not for all tastes, but worth a look.
	*Dawn of the Dead* (1978) A decade after his groundbreaking Night of the Living Dead, George A. Romero returned to the genre with a gory and thoughtful sequel that equals or surpasses the original in nearly every way. While the ending of Night gives the impression that the undead uprising is coming under control, the opening scenes here indicate that the sigh of relief was breathed far too soon. TV stations broadcast reports from terrified “experts,” who debate the causes and solutions to what is now referred to as an “epidemic” of carnivorous zombies besieging the nation. Following its predecessor’s blueprint, the film provides a scattered introduction of characters and situation, then sets the bulk of the film’s action in a single location. Rather than Night’s rustic farmhouse, Dawn’s quartet of human survivors (an air traffic reporter, his pregnant girlfriend and a likeable pair of SWAT team members) hole up in a suburban shopping mall—Romero’s wry commentary on the superficial consumerism of the times. In addition to the situational horror, Romero provides a generous (and welcome) serving of humor His flesh-eating monsters are by turns buffoonish, pathetic, and mournful while never diminishing their unrelenting hunger and menace. Tom Savini (who also plays the psychotic leader of an unruly biker gang) cemented his Horror Makeup Wizard reputation with a multitude of exceedingly bloody, gag-inducing effects (the slate-gray zombie makeup a notable but forgivable foible). Co-produced by Dario Argento (who re-cut the film for international release under the title Zombi), the film generated critical kudos and boffo box office in the U. S. and abroad.
	*Day of the Dead* (1985) In this third entry of George Romero's Dead series, the walking dead now outnumber the humans by a ratio of 400,000 to 1. Despite the overwhelming popularity of the previous installments, Romero was given a relatively small budget ($3.5 million), and while some viewers may be disappointed at this chapter’s darker, more contained view of the undead Armageddon, one can’t help but be impressed with the results. Writer/director Romero continues his theme that, though the zombies are an undeniable threat, the real danger stems from the fact that the surviving humans bring about their own downfall through their inability to trust each other. Here, the conflict lies between a group of civilians and a band of gung-ho military types (led with vein-popping fervor by Joe Pilato) holed up in an underground bunker. For the first time, viewers are allowed to get up close and personal with a captured zombie, held under the scrutiny of Richard Liberty’s gentle scientist. Ironically, the scenes between “Bub” and his keeper illustrate the most human relationship in the picture, both amusing and touching. Admittedly, there are more talky scenes of conflict and retrospection here than in previous Dead films, but it is an absolutely faithful progression, and at the end of the Day, one must give Romero his due for staying true to a vision rather than trying to simply outdo himself. Even so, Tom Savini provides some of his best gore f/x to date with a juicy climax featuring spilling entrails, a man torn completely in half, and other tasty treats. A bleak, satisfying continuation of the landmark series, despite its oddly uplifting denouement.
	*Day of the Triffids* (1962) This is a brilliant B-movie, where A-list ideas are undone by low-budget effects. Based on John Wyndham’s classic sci-fi novel, the world finds itself thrown into chaos when meteor shower blinds most of the world’s population and extraterrestrial vegetation starts to get hungry for a little snack. The effects are stupefyingly unrealistic, but if one can get over that (no mean feat), there are some genuine thrills to be found. Howard Keel leads a small group of people who have survived with their vision intact, dodging the bloodthirsty plants along the way. Meanwhile, in an island lighthouse, boorish marine biologist Kieron Moore and wife Janette Scott (one of the great on-screen screamers) defend themselves against attacks from the monstrous veggies while searching for a weapon to use against them. There are some amazing scenes of city dwellers panicked and helpless in their blindness (the train station sequence is a highlight), and some of the confrontations with the triffids are surprisingly taut. There is also a chilling scene where a group of (sighted) escaped convicts molest a boarding house of blind women. When you’re not laughing at watching the plants “advancing,” (obviously being pushed by some barely hidden stagehand) you will be pondering the brilliant “what if?” factor posed by Wyndham’s original concept. Either way, it is a thoroughly enjoyable viewing experience, although the quick “wrap-up” ending disappoints. An uncredited Freddie Francis reportedly took over directing chores from Steve Sekely to helm the lighthouse sequences after principal filming had wrapped.
	*Dead & Buried* (1981) An intriguing resurrection yarn from Alien screenwriters Ron Shusett and Dan O’Bannon, based on a Jeff Millar-Alex Stern story. When several brutal murders occur in the idyllic California coastal town of Potter’s Bluff (the opening beach scene with sexy Lisa Blount is a doozy), it’s up to local sheriff James Farentino to “unearth” the mystery. As he digs deeper into the case, the list of suspects grows progressively longer, including wife Melody Anderson and droll local mortician Jack Albertson. Things get even weirder when Farentino begins to witness recently dead victims walking around and showing up at the local diner. A combo of Dawn of the Dead and Invasion of the Body Snatchers, there are plenty of intriguing ideas and creative on-screen deaths on display here (a young Stan Winston did the gory effects, with varying degrees of success) and director Gary Sherman provides some good scares as he pours on the fog and fine moody cinematography. The cast (featuring a young Robert Englund) is proficient enough, with Albertson delivering the film’s best lines. Ultimately though, things just get silly, capped by an unsatisfying twist ending that some will see coming a mile off.
	*Dead of Night* (1945) Highly influential classic from England’s Ealing Studios, a direct ancestor of future anthology horror offerings such as Mario Bava’s Black Sabbath, Freddie Francis’ Tales From the Crypt, and George Romero’s Creepshow. Four directors converge to helm a quintet of spooky stories, ranging from the mysterious to the light-hearted to the utterly terrifying. When architect Mervyn Johns is called upon to visit a country house, he befuddles the residents when he claims to have encountered them all before in dreams. As Johns’ visions are illuminated, a claustrophobic web weaves around the drawing room and its inhabitants. The first segment, directed by Basil Dearden, concerns a race car driver given the enigmatic warning, “Room for one more inside.” (E. F. Benson’s story would also inspire a Twilight Zone episode). Alberto Cavalcanti directs the next episode (also based on a Benson work), concerning a ghostly game of hide-and-seek with a murdered child’s spirit. “The Haunted Mirror,” directed by Robert Hamer, is John V. Baines’ tale of an antique looking-glass that casts a sinister reflection of opulence and murder. Charles Crichton helms H. G. Wells’ fizzy comic tale of a golfer antagonized by his former rival’s spirit, a taste of Ealing’s great comedies to come. But it is Cavalcanti’s final episode, featuring Michael Redgrave’s terrific turn as a tortured ventriloquist, that really sends shivers down the spine. Superbly satisfying, with a nightmarish denouement as the icing on the cake.
	*Dead Silence* (2007) Director James Wan and screenwriter Leigh Wannell, the creators of the Saw uber-franchise, are back at it again, this time with a ghostly tale of a murderous ventriloquist named Mary Shaw. When Ryan Kwanten’s wife is found murdered with her tongue mysteriously and brutally torn out by the roots, he is led on a wild chase to track down her killer; a pursuit that leads him back to his hometown, uncovering some very dark (surprise!) family secrets along the way. Granted, the subject matter has a relative freshness to it, and the variety of creepy puppets should certainly spook those who already pass by their sister’s doll collection with a certain degree of apprehension. However, the script suffers from unsympathetic, half-baked characters and murky, muddled logic, while John R. Leonetti’s cinematography renders everything slick and glossy as Mary Shaw’s collection. Much like Saw, there’s plenty to like and plenty to nitpick at once the lights come back on, including a so-so attempt at a “gotcha!” twist ending.
	*Dead Zone, The* (1983) Driving home from his girlfriend’s house one rainy night, Christopher Walken crashes into a runaway jackknifed milk truck canister (certainly a genre first), ending up in a coma for the next five years. Upon wakening, he discovers that his sweetheart has married another man, but even more dramatically, he now possesses the ability to know people’s past, present or future simply by making physical contact with them. One of David Cronenberg’s most accessible and emotional films, this adaptation of Stephen King’s thriller captures the spirit of the printed page while also succeeding as deeply emotional and ultimately heartbreaking drama. Jeffrey Boam’s well-crafted script imparts the story of a man blessed/cursed with a remarkable gift, and the price exacted as a result. Walken, not yet the clichéd (if enjoyable) collection of bizarre mannerisms he would become, turns in one of his most human performances, capturing perfectly the essence of an alienated character trying to make peace with a world he now sees too deeply within. Cronenberg has surrounded his star with a superb supporting cast: Herbert Lom as a kindly doctor, Tom Skerrit as a conflicted sheriff, Martin Sheen as a psychopathic politician, Anthony Zerbe as a business tycoon trying to connect with his son, and Brooke Adams is simply terrific as Walken’s lost love. Michael Kamen supplies the wistful, melancholy musical score.
	*Deathdream* (aka Dead of Night) (1974) A skillful reworking of “The Monkey’s Paw” that manages to combine chills and social commentary with a surprisingly light touch. Richard Backus plays a Vietnam grunt slain in battle in the opening scenes, but who then shows up on the doorstep of his parents’ (Lynn Carlin, John Marley) seemingly idyllic middle-class home. Initially overjoyed by his return, they soon begin to realize that their bouncing baby boy ain’t what he used to be, especially when he starts killing the family dog, offing the local doctor and decomposing before their eyes. Producer/director Bob Clark’s languorous pacing during the picture’s middle section, especially when the audience is miles ahead of the onscreen characters, does tend to bog things down a bit. But the opening scenes are undeniably chilling – perfectly capturing the alienation, denial and discomfort of returning shell-shocked veterans and their families – and the superbly paced slam-bang climax is by turns horrifying, thrilling and shockingly tragic. Alan Ormsby, who also scripted, provided the gooey makeup effects, aided by a young Tom Savini. Clark’s success with Deathdream would pave the way for his cult holiday favorite Black Christmas, released later that same year.
	*Deathmaster* (1972) Best described as “What if Charles Manson had been a vampire?”, Robert Quarry stars as Korda, a mysterious figure who shows up at the local hippie commune and turns them on to a different groove. The wannabe hip n’ groovy dialogue was probably already pretty ripe at the initial release, and time hasn’t been kind. But Quarry (who also served as executive producer) has screen presence to burn and his longhair fanged fiend is a welcome twist on the caped gentility that had been skulking about onscreen for years. On the flipside, John Fielder – yes, the voice of Piglet – is the least likely Van Helsing character you’re likely to find. Throw in a little kung fu, some scantily clad babes, and Korda’s big creepy drum-lovin’ familiar, and you’re in for a decent bit of programming. A semi-rewarding curiosity piece.
	*Decampitated* (1998) I know that Troma films tend to be an acquired taste, but damned if I haven’t acquired it. This is a spoofy, high-energy take on the “Kids trapped in the Woods with Psycho Killer” and I gotta say, it’s pretty damn funny. Everything is heightened, from the exuberant performances to the sound effects that accompany nearly every onscreen movement to the in-your-face camera angles, but there is a decided method to the madness and an assuredness to the anarchy that sells the mayhem. We’ve got a skipping maniac in waders and a mosquito netting mask, seven highly attractive and energetic performers as the victims and a hot and horny transvestite, all topped off with sight gags and gore galore. Is it high art? No, but while perhaps a little pushy in its outrageousness, it’s entertaining as hell and extremely well produced for a low-budget horror/comedy. Much better than most of the output from The Studio That Toxie Built. I liked it.
	*Deep Rising* (1998) Before he became the man who remade The Mummy (and the hack behind Van Helsing), writer/director Stephen Sommers cut his genre teeth on this surprisingly thrill-packed monster yarn set on the high seas. Combining the best elements of Aliens, Die Hard, Titanic, and It Came from Beneath the Sea, Sommers manages to entertain despite the film’s utterly derivative nature. A group of terrorists looking to hijack Anthony Heald’s luxury ocean liner find the vessel almost completely deserted, with something big, dark and slippery lurking in the shadows. Skipper Treat Williams, sassy jewel thief Famke Janssen (doing a wicked Julia Roberts impression), and kooky mechanic Kevin J. O’Connor are the good guys matching wits against Wes Studi’s thugs, while the bloodthirsty sea monster grabs and devours whoever’s closest to its multitude of lethal tentacles. Providing the same slick, glib filmmaking style he would bring to his Mummy redux, Sommers provides snappy dialogue for his characters to rattle off as well as imaginative means by which they are eliminated one by one. There are really no surprises in who will survive and who will be “suckered” away (hint: there’s reason for all those expendable bad guys), but there is an infectious enthusiasm on display here that hearkens back to the best of the 50’s B-monster movies. Everyone in the cast appears to be enjoying themselves mightily in their various good guy/bad guy roles, and even the computer-generated effects are well executed here, bringing designer Rob Bottin’s uber-tentacled monstrosity to armchair-gripping life.
	*Dementia 13* (1963) From such humble beginnings, legends are born. After wrapping a shoot in Ireland, erstwhile producer Roger Corman allowed his assistant, a fledgling writer/director named Francis (Ford) Coppola, to shoot his debut film on the leftover castle sets. The no-frills shocker begins with great promise, as Luana Anders’ husband suffers a rowboat-bound heart attack before her eyes (eerily accompanied by tinny rock n’ roll on the transistor radio). As the scheming spouse connives to cover up his death long enough to get her battle-axe mother-in-law to change the will, she uncovers a dark family secret. The first half of the film is the stronger, with several suspenseful, shadowy sequences within the Holoran estate; but when Coppola abruptly shifts gears with a bold Psycho-like axe murder of one of his main charactersthe film sadly loses its way, and leaves us primarily in the hands of Patrick Macnee’s muttering country doctor, playing amateur sleuth amidst the familial squabbling. The sharp-eyed Anders is the movie’s biggest asset, her duplicitous intensity overpowering her co-stars (none of which speak with any accent whatsoever, despite their implicit Irish heritage). Coppola’s script is notably weak on character development, contains glaring continuity errors (the fetching Ms. Anders’ underwear changes color underwater), and the obvious foreshadowing of the killer’s identity doesn’t help matters. The “gore” is limited to b/w blood trickling down axe handles, a laughable decapitation and a body hanging on a meat hook (a device Tobe Hooper would one-up a decade later with Texas Chainsaw Massacre).
	*Demons* (1985) Dario Argento produced this Lamberto Bava-helmed splatterfest (both of whom scripted, along with Franco Ferrini) about a possessed movie theater where the patrons, with a simple scratch of the skin, transform into gut-munching demons. One of the shining examples of Italian horror’s “pure cinema,” there is little regard for logic or character development or acting or…anything really, except the continued mayhem that rips across the screen (well, both screens, as the movie-within-the-movie is just as bananas as the actual feature) in all its flesh-tearing, green-bile-spewing glory. Taken on its own frenetic terms, this is one heck of a roller coaster ride for gorehounds, as the “infected” patrons’ numbers grow and the heroes’ ranks dwindle dramatically. The abrupt narrative shift outside the theatre to the punkers cruising in their car is a bit misguided, but everything eventually resolves itself…for the most part. In a world where movie houses appear out of nowhere, heroes joust with the undead on motorcycles, and helicopters drop in at the unlikeliest times, the best course of action is simply to saddle up and enjoy the insanity. That’s Argento’s daughter Fiore as a screaming air vent victim and assistant director Michele Soavi does double duty as one of the stars of the Nostradamus flick (as well as the silver-masked man of mystery). F/x guru Sergio Stivaletti provides the buckets of splashing goo, fangs and claws, with a bevy of pop and metal bands fleshing out the soundtrack. Followed by a equally madcap sequel, aptly titled Demons 2.
	*Descent, The* (2005) After a tragic accident, six friends reunite for a caving expedition. Their adventure soon goes horribly wrong when a collapse traps them deep underground and they find themselves pursued by bloodthirsty creatures. While perhaps not the “second coming of horror,” as some aficionados made it out to be upon its U.K. release in ’05 and summer ’06 here in the States, it’s an undeniably well-made monster movie and Dog Soldiers’ Neil Marshall demonstrates a great sense of creating mood in his sophomore effort. Plus, it may be the first underground horror film that really works, capitalizing on every claustrophobic opportunity. However, I will say that I had major issues with the fact that our underground creatures, whicih operate by sense of hearing, like bats, apparently can’t hear people breathing, whimpering, moving around, etc. when they’re right on top of them? Also, their sense of smell isn’t utilized, which I also found puzzling. Bottom line, I felt like our monsters should have been much more proficient in their subterranean domain, but overall the film is an absolute winner and one that heralds Marshall as a shining light on the horror horizon.
	*Devil’s Honey, The* (1986) Okay, the first 20 minutes of this “erotic thriller” from Lucio Fulci are just silly and goofy, with lots of nudity and sex (including a howler of a sequence where our saxophone playing hero gives his lady fair a “blow job” that must be seen to be believed). But after the tune-tooting tease dies on the operating table following a motorcycle accident, Blanca Marsillach (sister of Cristina, star of Dario Argento’s Opera) decides to wreak vengeance upon the doctor (Brett Halsey) who failed to save her paramour’s life. What starts out as a mildly amusing Skinemax diversion becomes a brow-furrowing tale of abduction and torture with Stockholm syndrome overtures. Marsillach takes her clothes off a lot and there are a few admittedly steamy moments, but I found myself muttering the words “That ain’t right” more times than I’d care to count. Still, for fans of the Italian Zombie king’s sleazier efforts, this might be worth a gander.
	*Diary of a Madman* (1963) Vincent Price takes a brief respite in his parade of Roger Corman-directed Edgar Allan Poe adaptations to strut his stuff as a French attorney advised to take up sculpting to relieve his tension. He begins to come under attacks from the “Horla,” a disembodied malevolent parasitic force that renders its human host helpless, forcing him to perform unspeakable acts of violence and immorality. (Turns out the Horla was also responsible for Price’s last client’s murders and suicide.) As he begins his art therapy, Price falls for a beautiful – and married – model (Nancy Kovack), who decides to leave her pauper husband for greener pastures. But the Horla has other plans. While Diary benefits immeasurably from Price’s and Kovack’s presence, as well as some truly unexpected shock moments (naked flesh beneath a clay bust, violent stabbings), it overstays its welcome by 10-15 minutes. Also, the green glowing eyes gambit when the Horla takes over falls firmly in the “hokey but fun” category. Enjoyable overall.
	*Dolls* (1986) “They Walk. They Talk. They Kill.” Re-Animator whiz Stuart Gordon aims, shoots, and misfires in this dark but superficial fairy tale of murderous children’s playthings. More annoying than Gordon’s clichéd “motley crew of rain-drenched travelers taking refuge in old dark house” scenario are his cast’s absurdly broad performances, which miss the comic bulls-eye far more often than hit. While her parents are played completely over-the-top as unfeeling monsters, little Carrie Lorraine provides one of the more believable turns as the plucky youngster who appeals to the kindly, mysterious dollmakers (Guy Rolfe and Hillary Mason) who reside therein. Lorraine witnesses the dolls’ homicidal tendencies (rather graphically depicted) towards the other guests but of course, being a child, no one will believe her. While Dave Allen’s admirable doll effects, brought to life via a mixture of puppetry and animation, provide a few excellent scenes of suspense and mayhem, a cheap TV-movie stench (obvious, silly camerawork, flashes of lightning, hammy acting, etc.) clings to the proceedings—not frightening enough to scare adults, yet far too gory to succeed as kids fare. Uber-producer Charles Band would have greater success down the road with his other killer doll flick Puppet Master (and its prolific sequels).
	*Don’t Look in the Basement* (1973) V-e-e-e-e-r-y low budget sanitarium shocker from S. F. Brownrigg that features two memorable murders before the opening credits roll! A young nurse (Playboy model Rosie Holotik) takes a job at a secluded mental hospital, where she discovers that her prospective employer has been killed and the asylum is now run by strict disciplinarian Anne MacAdams. With a wildly eccentric cast of crazies, the film rides on a fever-dream energy that continually surprises with its unpredictability. Not an easy film to sit through, the ultra-low production values will either draw the audience into its mad world of distorted sound, bad lighting, and stilted acting or it will lose them early on. But for those who stick with it, there are several rewarding twists, claustrophobic encounters with all varieties of madmen, and a powerful bloodbath finale. Granted, there is probably a bit much in the screaming, crying, and wailing departments, but a palpable atmosphere of madness exists as a result. Nightmarish and jarring at times, tedious and frustrating at others, this is one basement worth looking into.
	*Don’t Look Now* (1973) Superb direction by Nicholas Roeg and terrific acting by the two leads (as well as the ensemble) help this strange little movie succeed on several levels, and deepen with subsequent viewings. Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie are a married couple reeling from the recent death of their daughter, which is dramatically played out in the first few minutes. Sutherland’s work as a restoration expert takes them to Venice to work on a cathedral, where they encounter a pair of bizarre middle-aged English sisters, one of whom is blind and psychic and tells Christie that she has “seen” the daughter. This leads to an unsettling séance where Sutherland is warned to leave Italy, and stranger events unfold from there. Roeg keeps his audience off-balance through extensive use of cross-cutting between scenes and flashbacks, and the terrific use of Venice’s blind alleys and waterways only accentuates the disorientation. Not a fast-paced thriller, with a dream-like atmosphere of dread and unpredictability pervading throughout. The “are they really doing it?” sex scene between the leads was trimmed for American distribution, but remains sexy and emotionally visceral. The film’s ending will certainly surprise; whether it satisfies is a matter of taste.
	*Don’t Open the Door* (1975) S. F. Brownrigg, who brought us the micro-budget cult classic Don’t Go in the Basement, returns with a (slightly) larger budget, improved camera skills and several DGITB cast members. When Susan Bracken receives a strange phone call from her Texas hometown requesting that she come home to visit ailing grandmother Rhea MacAdams, she enters a world of duplicitous politicians, scheming museum curators, and questionable physicians, as well as a cross-dressing psychopath with a penchant for nasty phone calls. From the opening credits featuring some of the most grotesque children’s dolls on record to the hallucinogenic dream sequences, Brownrigg manages to create a disconcerting, Southern Gothic flavor that will leave most viewers feeling as dirty as the sweaty onscreen characters. Haunted by flashbacks of her mother’s murder in the same house 13 years prior coupled with the peeping tom/obscene phone harassment, Bracken is soon pushed to the brink of her wits, with only ex-boyfriend Hugh Feagin to offer aid. Bare bones as all get out, but the twisted storyline – along with the convincingly eccentric performances, especially from Larry O’Dwyer and Gene “cut those damn three hairs off your forehead” Ross – manages to carry the day. Well worth checking out for open-minded fans of 70s sleaze.
	*Donnie Darko* (2001) The other film about a six-foot-tall bunny. But unlike the comic James Stewart vehicle Harvey, writer/director Richard Kelly’s creation is entirely visible to the audience, extremely creepy and known as Frank. Brooding (and mentally ill) teenager Jake Gyllenhaal receives a sleepwalking vision that the world will come to an end in 28 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes and 12 seconds. Peopled with quirky characters brought brilliantly to life by a superb eclectic cast (that includes Mary McDonnell, Drew Barrymore, Katharine Ross, Noah Wylie and Patrick Swayze), Kelly offers biting and honest observations on suburban blight, self-help gurus, adolescent love, religious fanatics, artistic repression, with a twist of time travel and predestination thrown in for good measure. Difficult to categorize, DD initially suffered from a misguided marketing push and an unfortunate release date (a month after Sept. 11 might not have been the best time for a film that includes an imminent plane crash), but soon discovered a fervent following on DVD and overseas – a phenomenon explored in depth on the director’s cut 2-disc DVD.
	*Dr Cyclops* (1940) As the nefarious and reclusive Dr. Thorkel (aka “Dr. Cyclops,” a ham-fisted reference to the Odyssey), Albert Dekker toils away in the Peruvian jungle, perfecting his new secret invention. He calls in a few medical and technical specialists from the outside world to advise him, who stumble upon his notes, revealing that he is working on a “reducing machine.” When confronted, Dekker responds by putting them into the machine and shrinking them to the size of mice. The special effects and production design, especially considering the time period, are quite effective, as the miniaturized humans battle now-enormous cats and dogs with tiny scissors, and elude the mad doctor by hiding beneath oversized kitchen chairs. What keeps this dandy effort from elevating itself to classic status is the blank-faced acting from nearly the entire cast. Dekker brings nary a trace of the mania or intelligence his mad genius requires. Likewise, his shrinky-dink adversaries are a dull group who never seem to take their situation very seriously and resort to a lot of stock “surprised and imperiled” expressions. One wonders if the producers blew their wad on the effects and production design rather than enlisting capable performers (hmmm, sounds familiar, yes?). Still, this is an entertaining adventure tale, not too scary for younger audiences, and it is notable for predating the “radioactive freak” movies of the 50’s and 60’s by decades.
	*Dr. Giggles* (1992) Larry (Darkman) Drake stars as an escaped mental patient with a penchant for unwarranted house calls in this tiresome slasher flick, combining sharp surgical implements with painfully dull one-liners. Though it hits the ground running with Drake’s gory and intriguing asylum break, the film’s raison d’etre soon becomes all too clear: to employ every tired doctor cliché as a “comic” zinger while utilizing medical instruments as instruments of death. Plausibility has no place in director Manny Coto’s world, as the ponderous plot introduces Holly Marie Combs as an attractive young heroine with a heart condition, who inspires Drake to retrieve a replacement organ from reluctant donors. While there are a few moments of bloody inspiration (a horrific flashback revealing a childhood incident of dodging the law deserves kudos for sheer audacity), the film ultimately fails as the black comedy it aspires to be because it just…isn’t…funny. An otherwise capable actor, Drake is relegated to a one-note performance, leering and giggling from one homicidal hackjob to another, while Coto and co-writer Graeme Whifler provide no worthy foils for his diabolical doctor. Keith Diamond does his best with his underwritten heroic cop, engaging the crazy croaker in an energetic battle royale that provides a welcome diversion from the impalings. A mixed little black bag, probably the only flick on record with “death by giant band-aid” on its resumé/toe-tag. (Note: The Brian May credited with the unremarkable score is not rock group Queen’s guitarist, but rather the prolific Australian film composer of such films as Chicken Run and The Road Warrior.)
	*Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde* (1920) Seizing the opportunity to play against his matinee idol status as “The Great Profile,” John Barrymore threw himself into this, famous silent version of Robert Louis Stevenson’s tale of the struggle of good and evil within man. Noble Dr. Jekyll works tirelessly with the poor, is engaged to the lovely Millicent (Martha Mansfield), and is respected and admired by friends and colleagues alike. When Millicent’s father jokingly takes him to a music hall, Jekyll’s inner passions are awakened, and he resolves to develop a potion which will give the evil side of himself corporeal form. Barrymore’s initial metamorphosis into Jekyll’s sinister alter ego, Edward Hyde, remains one of early onscreen horror’s finest moments, accomplished primarily through facial expression and gesture (though makeup appliances, including extended fingers, a pointed head, and long stringy hair, are employed throughout the remainder of the film). Leering and hedonistic, Barrymore’s Hyde is dark as pitch, committing every sin denied the upright Jekyll, even murdering children in the street without a backward glance. Jekyll soon discovers to his horror that the transformations occur without the potion, and his desperate struggle to maintain control is portrayed far more vividly than in the 1932 or 1941 sound versions. John S. Robertson’s direction is only serviceable, but Barrymore’s spectacular performance cements the film’s classic status. The finale also establishes a notable precedent-setting horror convention: the monster’s reversion to normalcy at death.
	*Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde* (1932) While Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic story has been filmed numerous times before and after, Rouben Mamoulian’s daring, innovative camerawork and his cast’s stellar performances land Paramount’s version at the top of the heap. The film clearly hints at (without ever expressly stating) the reason for Jekyll’s need to devolve: none other than S-E-X. The poor fellow is going crazy below the belt because the stern father of his beautiful betrothed Muriel (Rose Hobart) keeps putting the brakes on his wedding (and wedding night). As Jekyll is too much of a gentlemen to cross social boundaries, he must find another outlet for his roiling passions (symbolized by a bubbling pot in his lab). While Wally Westmore’s snaggletoothed Hyde makeup is an unquestionable wonder to behold, Fredric March’s Oscar-winning turn in the dual roles is no mere stunt, but rather a stunning pair of creations—the noble, eccentric, dedicated humanitarian Jekyll and the ape-like, lecherous, sadist Hyde. Equally impressive is Miriam Hopkins’ heartbreaking performance as good-time girl Ivy, whom we watch spiral from vivacious lass to terrified victim through her abusive (sexual and otherwise) relationship with Hyde. March’s eye-popping onscreen transformations (achieved through a series of colored filters) remain breathtaking to this day.
	*Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde* (1941) Shackled by the Hays Production Code, Victor Fleming’s lavish attempt at Stevenson’s tale of duality is considerably more restrained in the handling of its sexuality, presenting Jekyll as a practical scientist driven less by his libido and more by a frustration with society’s limited imagination. Undeniably beautiful to look at, the glossy effort falls far short of the 1932 version in terms of thrills and chills. Much of the responsibility lies with Spencer Tracy’s decision to attmept the Hyde role with minimal use of makeup, preferring instead to focus on the psychological aspects of the characters. Certainly an impressive acting challenge, it leaves the audience straining to accept Ingrid Bergman’s (Ivy is a barmaid in this version rather than prostitute) inability to recognize Hyde when he looks nearly identical to her savior Jekyll. Oddly enough, the amount of makeup increases with each subsequent transformation, which does succeed in Hyde progressively looking more monstrous, but fails to address Ivy’s lack of recognition. Despite an explicit 1887 London setting, Tracy and fiancee Lana Turner (looking young and radiant) make nary an attempt at an accent, while Bergman’s Swedish-tinted Cockney comes and goes with the wind. There are moments of inspiration, such as Jekyll’s hallucinatory visions of nude, harnessed versions of Turner and Bergman being whipped and driven like horses, but the film fails to engage overall.
	*Dunwich Horror, The* (1970) From its morphing animated title sequence to its imaginative use of filters and negative imagery, this clumsy adaptation of H. P. Lovecraft’s story has a myriad of trippy visual treats to cover its muddled story and Sandra Dee’s blank-faced performance. A long, long way from Gidget, Dee falls victim to budding Satanist Dean Stockwell’s sly and silky charms, unaware that he has bigger plans for her than just a milkshake at the soda shop. An obvious product of its times, the film struggles valiantly to maintain its spooky, dreamlike atmosphere, but is hampered by repetitive cinematic conventions and wildly uneven performances. Veteran character actor Ed Begley (as a levelheaded professor of the occult) and Stockwell come off reasonably well amidst the silliness The film has its share of sexy moments, but even ample shots of Dee’s flexing buttocks cannot save a bombastic low-tech/high volume climax where “the ultimate evil” shows up as a wreath of obviously rubber snakes. A mixed bag, with fine visual images conveying the supernatural goings-on. Among the high points are the hallucinogenic dream sequences, an over-the-top scuffle between Stockwell and a library security guard, and Dee’s barely-there sacrificial gown. L.A. Confidential’s Curtis Hanson is among the film’s screenwriters. Talia Shire appears briefly as a nurse.