Eaten Alive (aka Death Trap)(1977)

Tobe Hooper’s follow-up to the incredibly successful Texas Chainsaw Massacre is an ugly, dirty, punishing film.  Neville Brand offers a completely unhinged performance as the proprietor of a backwater Louisiana motel where the guests check in, only to be hacked up with a variety of gardening tools and then fed to the pet alligator.  With little of the gripping tension and suspense that made TCM such a success, we are instead subjected to bristlingly bad acting, an abrasively mind-numbing score (by Hooper and Wayne Bell), a god-awful country radio music soundtrack eternally playing in the background, and a truly senseless string of murders.  Brand leads the race in “weird-acting” honors, as he mumbles an unintelligible stream of consciousness punctuated by whooping and howling, but his dedicated compatriots are not far behind.  They include Carolyn Jones, Mel Ferrer, TCM alum Marilyn Burns, William Finley, and Stuart Whitman.  A young Robert “Freddy Krueger” Englund makes an impression as a slimy hillbilly obsessed with kinky sex.  The film is filled with bizarre touches, although some of the moments are directly lifted from Hooper’s earlier effort (prolonged scenes with tied up victims, handheld camera chases through the woods, etc.).  And while it concludes with a spirited fever-pitch climax, the movie itself is a long and winding road, with the only tension generated by the sheer unpredictability of Brand’s performance.

Eegah! (1962)

The biggest appeal for this “caveman in love with modern girl” fable – both literally and figuratively – is seeing future 7’2 James Bond villain Richard Kiel strut his stuff in a mothy loincloth and sport some of the sketchiest facial hair this side of a back alley Santa Claus.  Arch Hall, Sr. produced and directed this train wreck under the pseudonym of Nicholas Merriwether, and then cast himself in a major supporting role under another “aka” of William Watters.  One assumes this was done to not call attention to his relation to the film’s nominal star, Arch Hall, Jr., who zips around on his dune buggy, squints and smiles a lot from under his zany blonde pompadour, and croons a couple of tunes to his girl Roxy (Marilyn Manning) – usually with other girls’ names as the titles.  The conceit is that Kiel has survived lo these millions of years by gulping down water from the sulfur spring in his desert cave-dwelling domicile, which is one possible explanation for the stench emanating from your DVD player.  Unintentional laughs and eye rolling galore, with a swimming pool climax intended to evoke boo-hoo memories of King Kong, capped by a phony Bible reference (there is no is Chapter 4, verse 32 in Genesis).  In short, pure incompetent genius.

Embrace of the Vampire  (1994)

As the virginal reincarnation of vampire Martin Kemp’s long-lost lover, Alyssa Milano gets naked.  A lot.  And that, friends, is the only reason to check out this bloodsucking, soft-core dirge from director Ann Goursand, which features a wealth of slo-mo silicone breast-nuzzling, angsty college romance drama, and the most petulant crybaby vampire to date.  As a sensual fantasy flick, the film doles out plenty of nudity and coupling, including a steamy lesbian scene and a vampiric orgy.  As a horror film with fangs, it trips over its own cape time and again.  Making up new rules and playing wanton with others, Kemp’s sniveling undead wanders around in daylight with no ill effects, handles crosses, shows up in Milano’s classes visible only to her, and inexplicably shoots electric zappy bolts from his fingers.  Even more excruciating are the endless scenes of his moping and whinging that the reincarnated Milano loves another, as he needs her to “willingly surrender” to him before he can bite her and continue his immortality.  Um, since when?  Goursand attempts to mask the horrible storyline, effects, and acting with melodramatic mumblings, moody music, and soft sighs (not to mention a slumming Jennifer Tilly), all to no avail.  To be watched with remote firmly in hand, if you catch my drift.

Entity, The  (1981)

Based on an allegedly true incident, Barbara Hershey turns in a harrowing portrayal of a widow who is repeatedly raped by a invisible force, and then struggles to convince others that her plight is real.  While the premise is undeniably horrific, the film fails on numerous levels, not the least of which being Charles Bernstein’s overheated musical cues every time the poltergeist strikes.  The film teeters uncomfortably between realistic drama and sensational thriller, with Ron Silver very convincing as the psychiatrist who believes that it is all in her head.  But as strongly as Silver makes his case, the audience has already seen the entity in action, therefore his frequent lengthy “logical” explanations fail to create doubt or tension.  Worst of all, however, is the fact that the film puts us in the exploitive position of waiting, even hoping, for Hershey to be attacked again and again for our viewing pleasure.  Stan Winston’s effects of breasts being mauled by unseen hands, albeit memorable, are not convincing, and the dialogue of the parapsychologists who finally come to her aid is painfully stilted.  Ultimately, it is Hershey’s powerful performance and impressive poltergiest effects which save the film from being a complete disaster, but just barely.

Eraserhead  (1977)

In yet another twist of expectations, which David Lynch seems to specialize in, the impact of this cinematic waking nightmare doesn’t diminish at all over repeat viewings; in fact, just the opposite.  And damn if it doesn’t just get funnier and funnier, the absurdist touches stinging ever-closer to the bone over time. The plot?  The “story” revolves around Henry Spencer (Jack Nance), the wacky X family, a monster lizard child, and a lady in the radiator with puffy rotting cheeks.  Aren’t you glad you asked?   But as this is no conventional effort, the filmmaking rulebook has been tossed out the window, as should viewer expectations.  Exquisitely realized by the quirky writer/director and cinematographers Herbert Cardwell and Frederick Elmes, with Alan Splet’s haunting sound design the moody cement that holds the terrifying surrealist imagery together. The Eraserhead 2000 DVD also features a 95-minute featurette (in lieu of a commentary track) that consists primarily of Lynch smoking, telling stories to the microphone and cutting to shots of a telephone where ass’t director Catherine Coulson is talking on speakerphone.  One could ask why, but why ask why?  An absolute must-see for any discerning cinephile.

Event Horizon  (1997)

An intriguing and intelligent sci-fi film that turns into a gory, glitzy splatterfest.  Sam Neill stars as the inventor of a futuristic “gravity drive” engine that, through a synthetic black hole, travels by folding time and space.  Using the new engine, the spaceship Event Horizon disappears from radar scopes upon its maiden voyage, inexplicably reappearing seven years later in an orbit around Neptune.  Taking Neill in tow, Laurence Fishburne leads a scrappy crew on a mission to recover the lifeless craft, only to find that the ship seems to have “brought something back” from wherever its been.  With the former crew missing, and a malevolent presence lurking, the term “ghost ship” is all too apt.  Despite Philip Eisner’s efforts to spin a spooky haunted-house-in-space yarn, Joseph Bennett’s impressive-looking production design is far too slick and well-lit to create the requisite atmosphere.  Walking a difficult line between high-tech gadgetry and low-frills creepy, the movie succeeds best when showing less (e.g., the fuzzy visual log of the previous crew’s fate).  Unfortunately, subtlety is not director Paul Anderson’s strong suit.  When the ship begins to literally come to life, the focus shifts to excessive gore and computer-generated flash, taking an regrettable nosedive into effects-driven incoherency.  Fishburne fills his level-headed, tough captain’s boots adequately, while Neill’s well-crafted performance completely degenerates in the final reel.  Obviously patterned after Aliens’ roughnecks, Fishburne’s thinly-drawn crew comes up short in both acting and dialogue, rendering all-too-minimal emotional investment in their all-too-predictable demises. 

Evil Aliens (2005)

With a track record that includes 1998’s mildly engaging modern vampire romp Razor Blade Smile and a slew of DVD featurettes, I must admit that expectations were not particularly high as I popped writer/director Jake West’s latest effort into the DVD tray.  90 minutes later, I was grinning so hard I looked like the Ultra-Brite poster boy.  Superbly over-the-top, deliriously gory and thrillingly ridiculous, this is every modern sci-fi/horror buffs wet dream (heavy on the wet).  A crew of oddballs working for sleazy television show “Weird World” heads over to Wales to document a young woman's alien abduction story, only to discover there's more to her fantastical yarn than meets the eye.  Running on hyperdrive throughout and rife with brilliant comic performances across the board, fans of Peter Jackson’s Bad Taste and Braindead (aka Dead-Alive) and the Spierig brother’s zombie flick Undead should come on the run. Evil Aliens is sexy and splashy, with blood, goo and viscera splattered with abandon – dismemberment, decapitations, detonations and icky, nasty anal probes for everyone!  West takes every opportunity to recycle one genre cliché after another, yet does so with such style and wit that homage is paid even as expectations are tweaked.  And for once, the requisite cheesy CGI (which is really not that bad) fits the tone of this completely cartoonish affair.  I predict a fervent cult following within the next decade, and deservedly so.  Highly Recommended.  

Evil Laugh (1988)

What’s that sound I hear?  Oh, right, the death throes of the 80s slasher film.  Laughs are about the only thing you’ll find here – mostly of the unintentional variety – when a group of med students spend the weekend fixing up an old orphanage and begin meeting their couldn’t-be-timely-enough ends at the hands of a (surprise!) psychopathic killer.  Reportedly shot by director Dominick Brascia in one week, there’s a decent amount of low-grade gore on display (mostly splatter and spray) and the lovely ladies in the cast pop their tops from time to time.  However, the trade-off is the wait time between kills when viewers must endure the requisite “cleaning up the house while dancing to cheesy 80s music” montages and idiotic characters (including Scott Baio’s brother Steven, who scripted this mess).  Logic is pitched out the window (the microwave oven kill?) and the killer is revealed to be an individual who explicitly could not have been present for several of the murders, but pfft, details, details. 

The Exorcist  (1973)

After thirty years, countless imitators and three lesser sequels, this Mount Everest of modern horror movies remains a cinematic knockout punch.  William Peter Blatty adapted his own best-selling novel of demonic possession, and director William Friedkin shaped a blistering freight train of nightmare scenarios and images to create a landmark motion picture that stunned audiences and critics alike upon its release.  Brilliantly playing upon the darkest of parental fears, cherubic Linda Blair begins to exhibit increasingly disturbing personality changes.  As the episodes escalate past medical comprehension, distraught mother Ellen Burstyn seeks aid from Jesuit priest Jason Miller, who is confronting his own crisis of faith.  Friedkin injects the terror and dread with an excruciating aura of authenticity as his all-too-human protagonists combat a seemingly unstoppable evil.  Inimitably pitch-perfect performances abound, with Oscar-nominated turns from Burstyn, Miller, and fourteen-year-old Blair, able support from Lee J. Cobb’s crusty detective, and Max Von Sydow’s aging spiritual warrior.  An uncredited Mercedes McCambridge provides the demon's voice.  The breathtaking special effects and Dick Smith’s grisly, visionary makeup are employed primarily to advance the story and are ultimately more effective as a result, a lesson that too few gore-happy filmmakers seem to grasp.  Academy Awards for Sound and Adapted Screenplay.   The film was re-released in 2000 as “The Version You’ve Never Seen,” with an additional eleven minutes of footage that had (wisely) been excised from the original.  While it does include the infamous “spider-walk,” the extra footage doesn’t serve to advance or illuminate the characters, and the tacked-on “upbeat” ending lessens the film’s impact.

Exorcist II:  The Heretic  (1977)

Armed with a big budget, marquee stars, and acclaimed director John Boorman, this agonizingly turgid and insulting follow-up to the 1973 blockbuster marched straight into genre history, receiving one of the most historically savage critical receptions on record.  Whereas its predecessor managed to perform its fantastic goings-on with an air of authenticity, William Goodhart’s script commences its obvious hogwash-slinging from the get-go, trotting out mind-reading devices, swarming locusts, and acres upon acres of loony religious mumbo-jumbo.  Richard Burton, as a priest investigating the death of Father Karras (four years later?), indulges in some of the hammiest acting this side of Daffy Duck.  In her stupefyingly inept return as Regan, who may or may not still be possessed by the demon Pazuzu, Linda Blair wavers between the simply amateurish and the appalling.  Louise Fletcher does an impressive sleepwalking impression as Regan’s psychiatrist, and James Earl Jones (as an African witch doctor) tries to conceal his identity with various animal costumes.  Only William Fraker’s striking cinematography and Ennio Morricone’s score emerge unscathed from this disastrous flop, considered by many to be the worst horror sequel ever conceived. 

Exorcist III, The  (1990)

William Peter Blatty, after publicly disassociating himself from the debacle that was Exorcist II:  The Heretic, took it upon himself to personally direct this adaptation of his own novel Legion.  Serving as a direct sequel to the 1973 classic, Blatty’s story picks up fifteen years later with Lt. Kinderman (a taciturn George C. Scott, picking up the torch from the late Lee J. Cobb) investigating a series of brutal religious-themed murders, which resemble the M. O. of a serial killer executed the night of the original film’s exorcism.  Doggedly pursuing a myriad of gory clues, Kinderman concludes that the spirit of “the Gemini Killer” currently resides in the body of institutionalized mental patient Brad Dourif, and can also possess outside individuals to commit further crimes.  Undeniably equipped with a moody, creepy atmosphere, and several shocking elements (the night nurse sequence is a wow), the film regrettably sinks into a muddy mire of far-fetched storytelling and splashy special effects, rejecting legitimate terror for bombastic gross-out.  Jason Miller’s implausible return as Father Karras may delight fans of the series, but ultimately hinders more than it helps.  Still preferable to the Boorman effort (in the way that a ham sandwich is preferable to broken glass), but no match for the original.

Exorcist:  The Beginning  (2004)

By the fourth film in any series expectations should be lowered considerably, but even with them on the floor this is a shockingly bad movie, with director Renny Harlin doing everything to offend moviegoers short of urinating on the film stock of the 1973 classic.  Setting itself up as a prequel, this repellent, offensive, plagiaristic piece of twaddle introduces Father Merrin (Stellan Skarsgaard, who bears a striking resemblance to Max von Sydow) as having lost his faith following atrocities witnessed during the Holocaust.  Starting life anew as an archeologist, he is requested by Catholic officials to accompany an expedition to Kenya where a 5th-Century Byzantine church has been unearthed.  Soon upon his arrival, a young boy exhibits signs of possession, tribal wars begin to rumble, and Merrin is transformed into a holy action figure, battling the forces of evil while the audience battles Alexi Hawley’s ludicrous screenplay and some of the worst computer-generated effects ever unleashed.  Despite Harlin’s liberal splashes of gore and subtle-as-a-sledgehammer visual assaults, this is an unmitigated mess, and a needless waste of film.  In the name of all that’s holy, take a pass.  (Astonishingly, Paul Schrader had directed an earlier version of this story that was shelved, with Harlin coming on to re-shoot the entire film.  The idea that Skarsgaard and crew had to go through this hell twice surely qualifies them for sainthood.)