“Don’t Look in the Basement” - A Look Back at WOR-TV

Released: 1973

Director: S.F. Brownrigg

Writers: Thomas Pope & Tim Pope

Starring: Bill McGhee, Rosie Holotik, Gene Ross, Annabelle Weenick

“Dini is insane!  She’s gonna kill me and she’s gonna kill you!!”

New York City television viewers had a plethora of channels to choose from in the 1970s.  And by plethora, I mean seven.  I know, I know…you're jealous.

Aside from the three major networks and PBS, New York also boasted a then-rare three independent stations.  In what surely helped forge my personality, these three broadcasters LOVED to show movies.

WNEW and WPIX introduced me to such early drive-in classics as Zombies of Mora Tau, The Giant Gila Monster, and The Flesh Eaters.

WOR-TV, on the other hand, brought the hard stuff.  True F’dup Flix, direct from 42nd Street.  Films like S.F. Brownrigg’s sleazy shocker, Don't Look in the Basement.

Oh, yeah.  Another cool thing about WOR-TV?  They often showed the films uncut!

WOR-TV made headlines for this very reason when it aired the television premier of The Deer Hunter in November, 1980.  CBS had initially bought broadcast rights to the Academy Award winning film but later backed out of the deal when their Standards & Practices dept. couldn't figure out how to edit around the Russian roulette scenes.

RKO General, WOR-TV’s parent company, then stepped in, scooped up the telecast rights, and solved the problem easily.  They slapped a disclaimer on the front of the film and showed The Deer Hunter in its entirety.  Fuck Standards & Practices!

As shocked as some people might have been (and they were), this was hardly news to my friends and I.  We all knew – even if our parents did not – that WOR-TV had been airing unedited programs for years...and not just award-winning stuff.

We first uncovered this little secret when The Benny Hill Show took America by storm in 1976.  Benny Hill was a vaudeville comic who’d been making specials for British TV since the ‘50s.  As the British are far less puritanical than us Americans, Hill’s skits occasionally included a glimpse of bare breasts.

Imagine my surprise the first time I saw one of Hill’s bawdier skits air intact on WOR-TV.  To paraphrase a sketch from Monty Python (another British import that occasionally featured brief nudity): “What’s that on the telly?”  “Looks like a nipple!”

Obviously, this became quite the topic of schoolyard conversation.

Around that same time, WOR-TV started airing a bunch of newer, and rougher, horror and exploitation films.  Psychomania, The Mad Bomber (a/k/a Police Connection), ChildrenShouldn't Play with Dead Things, Deathdream, and The Crazies all popped up with regularity…and nary a hint of a splice. 

At least, at first.

See, the first time you’d catch one of these flicks, it might contain a bit of nudity, some gore and foul language.  Then, the next time it ran, maybe it would play just as you remembered it, or maybe you’d find the nudity was suddenly gone.  The time after that, the violence might have been toned down.  Finally, and for all subsequent broadcasts, the profanity would have been removed, and the conversion of the film from transgressive art to unintelligible bore was now complete.

It was a race against time!

You had to catch these flicks early in their runs, before the complaints poured in and the scissors came out!  So, my friends and I did our best to keep each other informed about which titles to keep an eye on.

Don’t Look in the Basement first hit my radar when I was in 9th grade.  One day in Social Studies class, a friend asked if I had seen "that crazy film the other night."  When I said I hadn't, he proceeded to tell me the very end.

His capsule summary (spoilers, duh!):  "A mental patient chops up everyone in the nuthouse with an axe, and then sits down to suck on a popsicle. "  He may have given away the ending, but he got my attention

I ran home and tore through TV Guide to find the name of this gem.  There it is!  Don't Look in the Basement.

Luckily, since this was WOR-TV, the movie aired again in what seemed like mere weeks.  In my memory, that broadcast, my first viewing, occurred late on Saturday night, long after everyone else was asleep.  However, according to James Arena in his awesome book, “Fright Night on Channel 9” (a precursor of which is available here), Don't Look in the Basement didn't air again in that slot for years.  

Maybe my friend saw the film outside of the “Fright Night” showcase, and I caught the midnight run.  Maybe I caught a 4pm re-airing some weekday afternoon.  Either way, I was unprepared for what I was about to see.

Don't Look in the Basement was my first exposure to “regional horror” filmmaking, films made outside of Hollywood and New York that used the local color of their surroundings to their advantage.  Yes, you could argue that Night of the LivingDead is a regional horror film.  However, as my home state of New Jersey shares a border with Pennsylvania, that film took place in what felt like MY region.  Don’t Look in the Basement quite clearly did not...

Don’t Look in the Basement was filmed in Texas, but at heart it is a full-blown Southern gothic.  Isolation, unchecked desires, shared sins and shame...   It’s every Tennessee Williams play ever written, acted out in an insane asylum.  The film opens and closes with an ax murder, but in between it’s pretty much a family melodrama, albeit one where the underlying emotions are played at top volume.  Yep, this one goes to 11.

Detractors of the film have three main knocks. 

The first is that the film was made by amateurs.  Not true.

Three of the four leads had acting careers before and after (Bill McGhee, Annabelle Weenick, and Gene Ross) and the fourth (Rosie Holotik) was a Playboy model, hardly the first to make the leap from glossy pages to silver screen…

Even Brownrigg, himself, worked on other films before his debut as director, most notably with a couple of other regional horror players, Irvin Berwick (Strange Compulsion) and Larry Buchanan (Zontar: Thing from Venus).  For my money, Brownrigg is a better filmmaker than either.

Setting aside the factual inaccuracy, one could still make a case that the film is “amateurish.”  It is very low budget and contains a number of unorthodox choices in both direction and performance.  But if by “amateurish” you mean “without skill,” I’ll still fight you.

True, some of the performances are completely unmodulated.  The constant cackling of spoiled brat Danny (Jessie Kirby) and the 0-60 mood swings, from childish coos to “I’ll kill you”s, by baby mama Harriet (Camilla Carr), grate on the nerves like nails on a chalkboard.   Likewise, Brownrigg’s pervasive use of intense close-ups – often too close for comfort – seem like technical gaffes.

Combined, these details make every synapse in your brain scream: “get me outta here!”  Of course, that response dovetails nicely with final girl Nurse Beale’s increasingly agitated emotional state.

So, are these regrettable mistakes or crude, yet effective, devices designed to put you into an uncomfortable headspace?

Even conceding the histrionics and sometimes-stilted dialog, Gene Ross’s performance as The Judge shines through as a minor miracle.  His part is completely under-written, forcing the actor to repeat one line of dialog again and again (“Oliver W. Cameron, adjudicator...”) while most of the rest is a jumble of quasi-legalese (“The verdict is unanimous.”). 

And yet, and yet… Through faraway stares and well-chosen pauses, Ross manages to convince us that some completely different movie plays out behind his eyes.  And whatever his unexplored backstory might be, it haunts him.

The second most common knock against the film is that the “twist” is too easy to figure out.

Well, first off, there are two “twists” in the film and, clearly, Brownrigg and writers Tim and Thomas Pope aren’t hiding either.   This is not The Sixth Sense, we’re talking about here.  More to the point, it isn’t any of the OTHER Shyamalan films, whose success depends entirely on a twist that proves lame.

The fact that Dr. Masters, the woman who runs the asylum with an iron first, is actually a patient, is hinted at throughout, from her odd line of questioning during Nurse Beale’s interview (“They knew about your coming here?”) to the close-up of her hiding the identity card of one of the residents.  Had the filmmakers intended this to be a mind-blowing revelation, they would not have dropped such hints.

Furthermore, the twist is revealed to the audience less than an hour into the film, and then to the unwitting Nurse Beale a mere 10 minutes later.  So, there are still 20 minutes of story left once everyone knows the big secret and these turn out to be the best 20 minutes of the entire movie.

As for the second twist, that plays right into the third common complaint about the film: The title makes no sense.

Wrong, again!

The second twist is that the good doctor who started the whole experimental living arrangement at this sanitarium is alive!  He survived the ax attack at the beginning of the film and has been hidden away in the basement by man-child Sam and Dr. ...er, patient Masters.

Again, whether or not this reveal comes as a surprise is beside the point.  The true horror from the situation reveals itself when the terrified Beale ventures into the basement and mistakenly beats the wounded doctor to death (with Sam’s boat, no less) when he grabs at her from beneath the stairs.

So, yes, the title has meaning.  (By the way, IMDb lists this film under an alternate title, The Forgotten.  Although I’ve never seen the film show anywhere under that title, even IT makes sense, as the name could refer to both the doctor, left to bleed in the basement, as well as the inmates themselves, who hope to be left alone.)

Putting to rest any remaining assertions that the film is poorly made, I submit the last 20 minutes, which are clearly crafted with the utmost of care.

As the clinic descends into depravity on the final night, Nurse Beale encounters one horror after another: dead bodies, necrophilia, loss of identity, betrayal...  It’s like a garrote, that you didn’t even feel slipped around your throat, slowly tightening.

Equally impressive is Sam’s back-to-back-to-back change of heart from gentle giant, to hulking captor, to avenging angel.  Although the turns occur with breakneck speed, the seeds for these swings are sown from the earliest scenes in the film, so his actions feel motivated and logical.

Also, I should add, that Sam’s final scene, the one which my friend supposedly spoiled, plays even BETTER than described.  Sam’s final cries of despair, as he sucks on his popsicle, are truly heart breaking.

Re-watching the film today, I’m astounded at how closely the uncut DVD matches up with my memories of that initial viewing on WOR-TV.  The ax murders, tongue removal, death by spindle, leering come-ons and, of course, the blood-drenched finale are all pretty much as I remembered.  A few instances of nudity might have been trimmed, but I can’t say for certain as the film boasts plenty of side-boob, which certainly aired as-is.

40 years on, I’m struck by the fact that some regional filmmakers at one end of the country, and a regional broadcaster at the other, both broke the rules to serve up an uncompromising film to what they hoped would be a receptive audience.

I know it was the ‘70s, but still... They must have been crazy!

Footnotes:

1. The pictures on this page are screengrabs from VCI Home Video’s DVD release, which appears to be out of print.  The photos are heavily compressed and do not represent the actual PQ of this release, but, frankly, every DVD version I’ve seen is full-frame, from an analog tape source, and looks pretty poor.

“Dawn of the Dead” and The Hidden Meaning

Released: 1979

Director: George A. Romero

Writer: George A. Romero

Starring:  David Emge, Ken Foree, Scott H. Reiniger, Gaylen Ross

“This was an important place in their lives.”

I first saw Dawn of the Dead upon its theatrical release.  It was 1979 and I was 15 years old.  I’d see it another dozen times, in theaters, over the next few years.  Not only is it one of my most cherished F'dup Flix, it is one of my favorite films in any genre.

It is also the movie that taught me about theme.

If you read my post on Night of the Living Dead, you’ll realize that I saw Dawn before I ever saw the end of Night.  Such was the difficulty in re-watching a film, pre-home video.

Being underage, the path to seeing the unrated sequel was not a straight line either.

I first became aware of Dawn thanks to a newspaper ad.  In my memory, it was a full-page ad in the Sunday New York Times, with that big ol’ zombie head rising like the sun.

However, a little research at the library has proven that can’t be true.   Of course, it isn’t an NYT sort of film.  In fact, NYT film critic Janet Maslin walked out after 15 minutes, yet still filed a review!

Back in those days, I was enamored with the NYT.  It became my go-to read, once my older sister started bringing it home on Sundays, along with the New York Daily News (traditionally, we were a Daily News house).  More to the point, the NYT's Arts & Entertainment section was my go-to read.   All those in-depth articles about current films.  All those full-page ads for upcoming releases…

Maybe I saw the full-page ad in the Daily News.  Or perhaps, the small sidebar just appeared larger to me at the time because the tidings it conveyed were so monumental.

As the ad itself heralded: “First there was NIGHT of the LIVING DEAD.  Now George A. Romero’s DAWN OF THE DEAD.”

Imagine my surprise.  The film that scared the crap out of my mom had a sequel?  And it was going to play at a theater near me?!   Life was good!

 Now, I just had to convince someone to take me.

I’d seen a couple of R-rated films by then and I hadn’t puked or turned into a psychopath.  Obviously, I was one of those “mature audience” types that could handle adult themes and situations.

Immediately, I went to work on my mother and sister, the parent and guardian in my life, to convince them that they should see this film…and take me with them.

However, as I went back to that full-page ad (go with me on this, will ya?), I slowly became aware of something very strange.  Something that could be a fatal roadblock to all of my scheming.

Every other movie ad I’d ever seen had an MPAA rating at the bottom, but this one had only a box of plain text.  

"No explicit sex”…blah, blah, blah…“scenes of violence”…blah, blah, blah…”No one under 17 will be admitted.”

WHAT?! 

That was the same restriction as a XXX film!  And this didn’t have any sex in it!  How could they do this to me?  I’ll murderlize, ‘em, to quote Bugs Bunny.

With typical kid logic, I decided to fight the prohibition with the most powerful weapon in my arsenal.  I would pretend that I didn’t know.

Eventually, I convinced my mother to take a friend and me one Friday night.  My mother liked all sorts of movies – so it was entirely possible that she would like this – and she had no moral issue with horror films.  However, she had not been to a theater since Jaws, four years earlier.  So, this was a mighty big concession on her part.

Luckily, the force of my willed ignorance worked like a charm, once we got to the theater.

Local theater owners seemed confused how to handle an unrated film.  Although they strictly adhered to the guidelines for every other film, they treated this one as if it was Rated R: No one under 17 admitted without a parent.  As a result, my mom was able to buy us tickets, no questions asked.

The hard work done, I ditched mom.

Yep, my friend and I moved way down to the front of the theater and left my mom, in the back, to sit through this gore-fest all by herself.

As the bloodshed and body count ticked upward during the film, I felt a twinge of guilt.  But at the end of the day, she was a good sport, and it became one of her favorite things to throw back in my face whenever she wanted me to do something:  “Remember how I took you to that gross movie and you made me sit...  All.  By.  MY.  SELF?”

Whenever I think about Dawn, the first word that comes to mind is gleeful.  The movie is flat out fun!  It’s scary, exciting, funny, gory, intense.  It has zombies and soldiers and bikers.  It even takes place at a shopping mall, which was my favorite place at the time (maybe now, as well), aside from a movie theater.

Simply put, Romero nails it in this film.  His ambitions were huge and he achieves all that and a box of Sno-Caps.  Yes, the micro-budget shows in everything from the secondary performances to the quickie blue make-up on the background zombies.  But I didn’t – and don’t – care about any of that. 

As a horror film, as an action film, as an allegory, this film over-delivers.

Remember that none of the common wisdom of “zombie = consumer” existed as yet.  This is the film that launched that discussion.  So, my friend and I did not walk out of the theater discussing the finer points of the film-as-metaphor.

And yet, certain parts of the film made me realize that some unstated thing was going on here.

Yes, the screwdriver through the ear was awesome.  Also, I loved the gag of the blood pressure machine reading zero, after the zombies tear the biker away from the machine…and his arm.  But there were other shots and scenes that hinted at something deeper.

As I played the film over in my mind, I came to pin all of these lingering questions on a single shot.

It’s not one of the classic gore set pieces.  It’s not a payoff to a joke.  In fact, the shot likely means nothing to anyone else.  But Romero chose to show it in a big, juicy close-up and I could not figure out why.

In the years since, I’ve read interviews with Romero where he states that he’d rather get 100 good shots, instead of a single perfect one, when shooting a scene.  It gives him choices in the editing room.

In my heart, I am certain that this shot – and therefore all of the things that I learned about storytelling because of it – is in this film due to that conviction.  Thank you, George Romero!

The shot is toward the end of the film.  The bikers invade, the good guys defend, the zombies win.  The mall is theirs, once more.  As Francine and Peter argue about whether or not to leave, we see that Stephen has turned.

Yet, with all that going on, Romero cuts away to an interesting sequence. 

The zombies bump about merchandise in the mall.  Inside a department store, one zombie knocks some beauty supplies to the floor.  A second zombie steps on them.  In an insert that fills the frame, the once precious product squeezes out across the photo of the beautiful model on the display, wasted.

Hmmm.

All hell is breaking loose and Romero zeros in for a moment which has no bearing on the life & death struggle of our heroes?

The shot hit me on some subconscious level.  I knew right away that it was trying to tell me something, but I could not verbalize what.

I mentioned the shot to my friends.  No one who saw the film remembered it, and more to the point, no one understood why I cared.   Once again, I went back to the library and dove into all of the reviews that I could find of the film.

Here, I’m going to give credit to Roger Ebert, solely to show how wrong I was about his love of genre films in my post on Night.  Check out his glowing review of Dawn.

Notice the line in the first paragraph: a “satiric view of American consumer society.”  And there it is: us = consumer; zombie = consumer; ergo, us = zombie.

Was Ebert the first critic to call out this idea now considered zombie gospel?  Maybe.  It certainly wasn’t Janet Maslin (though she did make a dismissive reference to this theme in her review).

Was he the one who spelled out the theme FOR ME?  Honestly, I doubt it.  I can’t imagine how I would have gotten access to the Chicago Sun-Times, during an era when only national publications were indexed and catalogued.

Although I can’t remember which critic and which article made the light bulb go off for me (and for that I am deeply sorry), I feel comfortable crediting Ebert with a big assist in getting the conversation started.

Once I was given that simple tool – a satire of consumerism – I was like a zombie set loose in a mall, myself.  I began to bump into all kinds of thematic associations.  Each time I watched it, I stumbled away with something new.

The argument in the TV station about whether it was more important to post an accurate list of rescue stations or keep the graphics up so viewers will keep watching =  The news/entertainment divide.

 

Peter and Stephen burying Roger in the only bit of dirt available inside the mall: a planter = The folly of Vietnam.

Stephen and Francine’s chilly, post-proposal bedroom scene = The battle of the sexes, and the crumbling of the traditional male patriarchy.

The bikers’s rally cry to attack the mall after our heroes ignore them: “We don't like people who don't share. You just fucked up REAL bad!”  = The riots which rocked the inner cities, earlier in the decade.

In point of fact, this film is not only about consumerism.  It is about the sorry state of our great nation at the end of the 1970s.

And exploding heads, and marauding bikers, and infectious zombie bites.

A few years before Dawn, a film entitled Network came out.  It is a film filled with big ideas.  It won Oscars.  It was talked about by everyone.  It was rated R.

I did not beg my mother to take me to see Network.  I waited patiently until it popped up on broadcast television, years later.  It’s a great flick. I really respect it.  Somewhere around here I have the UK Blu-ray…still in the shrink-wrap.

And that might be the most enduring lesson that I’ve learned from Dawn.   Even a lowly genre film can tackle lofty themes.  The audience begging to see it might not be expecting any such thing, but maybe, just maybe, they’ll walk out with more than they expect.

Janet Maslin, not withstanding.

Footnotes:

1. The pictures on this page are screengrabs from the Anchor Bay Ultimate Edition DVD, now out of print, but still highly recommended.  The photos are heavily compressed and do not represent the actual PQ of this release.  You can buy used copies of this 3 disc set here.

"Night of the Living Dead" and The Joy of Research

Released: 1968

Director: George A. Romero

Writers: John A. Russo and George A. Romero

Starring: Duane Jones, Judith O’Dea, Karl Hardman, Marilyn Eastman, Keith Wayne, Judith Ridley, Kyra Schon

“Yeah, they’re dead. They’re all messed up.”

When I came up with the idea for this blog, I thought that Dawn of the Dead would be the first film I discussed.  It’s not only a great F’dup Flick, it’s also one of my favorite films.  But as I gathered my thoughts, I came to the realization that, like the movies themselves, Night must come first.

I first saw Night of the Living Dead on TV, as part of the WABC 11:30 Saturday Night Movie some time in the early 1970s.  I was probably about 10 or 11 years old.

I’d long ago won the battle for a later bedtime on Saturday nights, so that I could stay up and watch monster movies (Godzilla, being my first victory).  This was likely a concession on the part of my mother so that the rest of my family wouldn’t be forced to watch these kinds of films with me. 

I knew nothing about Night before the broadcast, but it did have “dead” in the title.  So, with the rest of the family off to bed, I tuned in and hoped for the best.

 

The first thing I remember about this broadcast was that the station made a special point of reminding viewers at commercial breaks that the events being depicted were fictional.

How odd.  I’d never heard a disclaimer like that before (and only rarely since).   So, already I had the feeling that there was something unique about this film.  Later, I figured out that the station must have taken this precaution due to the faux radio and TV reports incorporated throughout the film.  After all, we didn’t want another “The War of the Worlds” broadcast now, did we?

The second thing I remember is that I fell asleep!

No, I wasn’t bored.  The flick starts off great with Johnny and Barbara’s ambush in the graveyard.  And Ben’s monologue, about his escape from the zombies at the dinner, is so vividly told that I was convinced, for years afterwards, that I’d actually seen the zombies racing after that burning fuel truck.

It was just late and I was a kid.

Before I fell asleep, my mother came over and asked what I was watching.  I filled her in and she sat down to watch it with me.  And then I nodded off…

The next morning, I asked my mother how the film ended.  This was not an unusual occurrence.  Normally, she recounted the events, in a slightly dismissive tone, as if these films were so predictable that she could have written them.  On this morning, however, her mood turned serious.  “What was that film?  It scared the crap out of me!”

A film so terrifying that it scared my mom?!  And I missed it?!!

Immediately, an obsession was born.   I MUST see the rest of this film!

In those days of pre-home video, seeing a film more than once meant waiting for it to air again on broadcast TV.  Dutifully, I checked TV Guide’s weekly movies list every issue, but I never saw it listed again.  

My God, why hast thou forsaken me?

Unable to actually watch the film, I decided to read everything I could about it.  This consisted mainly of a capsule review in my beloved copy of Steven H. Scheuer's “Movies on TV” book and maybe a brief footnote in whatever books on current cinema I could find in the library.  In other words, not much.

As I was introduced to new research tools in school, I immediately tested how useful they were by looking-up Night of the Living Dead. 

The Periodical Contents Index (do these guides even exist any more?) led me to an essay by Roger Ebert in "Reader’s Digest". 

For years afterward, I disliked Ebert, based on that single article, as I had misunderstood his self-described “review of the audience reaction” to be a condemnation of a film that was just TOO scary.

So, both “Reader’s Digest” and my mother were declaring this film the scariest movie ever made…and I MISSED IT!

My research into Night eventually led me to “Film Comment” magazine, and, in particular, the concept of the “Return of the Repressed” in an article by critic Robin Wood. (Vol. 14, No. 4 - July/August 1978). 

Oh, how I wish I could link to this groundbreaking article!  Alas, the piece is nowhere to be found online (but I’ll keep looking).

Not to overstate its importance, or anything, but that article struck me like Col. Kurtz’s “diamond bullet straight through my forehead.” 

For the first time I'd ever seen, a serious critic was treating these movies seriously, presenting the case that they reflected the turbulence of the era.  Wood later expanded upon these ideas in his books, but never again would he present the main points in such simple and straightforward language. If you are a fan of horror, you owe it to yourself to seek it out that article.

As I researched Night, I learned of Romero’s other flicks – Season of the Witch, There's Always Vanilla, The Crazies, and Martin – all of which sounded interesting and all of which were equally impossible to see. 

I also discovered other filmmakers in the horror genre, all creating a body of work that sounded darkly fascinating: David Cronenberg, Wes Craven, Bob Clark.  Of course, there was no way to see their films, either (though Bob Clark became a happy exception, to be covered in another post).  

A whole new world of cult and disreputable cinema existed out there...and no one in my hometown had even heard of it.

Finally, one summer day when I was about 17 or 18 years old, I heard a radio ad for a midnight show of Night: “Complete and unedited”. 

I could not believe my luck!

And so, come Saturday night, a group of friends and I headed to a theater a few towns over for my long anticipated, second chance screening of Night, together with a packed house and a six pack of beer.  

The screening went down pretty much exactly as Ebert described all those years before, sans the teary-eyed toddlers. 

The film starts out creepy but fun in the early going, then settles in for some slow-boil interpersonal conflict.  But nothing prepares you for the final 30 minutes, when the film drags you straight down to hell.

From the moment the group decides to make a break from the farmhouse, the film delivers on its premise in a way that most horror films never do. 

The young lovers die first, burned to a crisp.  As if that’s not shocking enough, the zombies then descend and eat their burnt flesh, in gory detail.  Whoa!

Ben retreats back to the house and kills Mr. Cooper, after the coward locks him out. Johnny returns, as one of the dead, and pulls his sister Barbara, screaming, into a pack of the zombies.  Turns out that HE was coming to get you, Barbara.

In the most chilling sequence in the film, the sickly little girl in the basement, turns ghoul and kills her mother with a garden spade, before eating her.  The lighting, the shot selection, the distorted audio, the sheer awfulness of a child becoming a thing that sees only food when she looks at her mother, is one of the most terrifying sequences in horror. 

Ah, but in the end, the sun rises and the forces of good sweep down to rid the area of zombies.  Ben comes out of hiding, revealing that he survived the ordeal. Order is restored.

Except that the instrument of said order is some ignorant good ol’ boy, who promptly mistakes Ben for a zombie and shoots him in the head!

The film closes with a series of newspaper-like photographs depicting Ben’s lifeless body as it is dragged by meat hooks – meat hooks! – to a bonfire, where he is unceremoniously burned along with the rest of the dead.  The End.

What.  The.  Fuck!

Everyone died.  Everyone.  The smart, the cowardly, the lovers, the parents.   And these weren’t noble deaths.  These people did not go gentle into that good night.  They raged, raged against the dying of the light.  Fighting, clawing, betraying one another, until no one was left standing.

It was the bleakest ending I’d ever seen.  And yet it rang true in some post-‘60s hangover sort of way.  This was some heavy shit.

In many ways, falling asleep during that film shaped my taste in movies forever. Unlike you lazy bit torrent junkies today, I couldn’t just download the film to my phone and finish it on lunch break the next day.   I had to wait.

And wait and wait and wait...  As I waited for Night to return, I kept the light burning by reading as much as I could about it.   

What I uncovered was an alternate reality, an underground cult of filmmakers, fans and critics who recognized that horror could be so much more than just cheap scares.  It could be ABOUT stuff.

I couldn't say exactly WHAT, right then and there, but I knew for certain that, whatever it was, everyone else wanted to ignore it.

In effect, these films weren’t just about the return of the repressed, they WERE the return of the repressed.  To seek them out was to go down the rabbit-hole along with them.  As the meta-trailer might scream: "Finding them was a test of will.  Seeing them, an act of defiance!"

It was all so life-imitates-art perfect.  I was hooked!

P.S.: for an in-depth examination of the many themes at play within Night of the Living Dead, I highly recommend this BFI Film Classics book by Ben Hervey 


Footnotes:

1. The pictures on this page are screengrabs from the Elite Entertainment Millennium Edition DVD, now out of print.  The photos are heavily compressed and do not represent the actual PQ of this release.  If you are an Amazon prime member you can watch this movie for free here.

An F'dup Introduction

“How do these movies get made?"

Here’s the thing:

I love movies.  All kinds of movies. 

Casablanca is one of my favorite films.  Babe makes me go a big rubbery one (the pig movie, not the John Goodman one).  I could debate into the wee hours why I believe that The Conversation is better than either of the more celebrated The Godfather movies that it was made betwixt.

However, in addition to romances, classics, and family films, I also happen to love horror and exploitation movies. 

Gasp!

I know, I know...   Whenever I happen to mention one of my more offbeat likes, people wrinkle their noses and ask, “Why would you watch THAT?” 

The fact that I like all of those other kinds of films seems to make them even more disappointed, as if I should know better.

Having amassed a sizable DVD and Blu-ray collection over the past 15 years, I’ve discovered a rather unexpected personal tic.  Although I consider Stanley Kubrick a genius, I find myself re-visiting Bob Clark’s Black Christmas more often than any of my Kubrick discs.

This is not a comment on Clockwork Orange or Full Metal Jacket, and I’m certainly not going to argue that Bob Clark is somehow a better filmmaker than Kubrick (well, not unless I’ve had a few beers and you’ve pissed me off by dismissing Deathdream as trash). 

For some reason, I seem to hold imperfect movies a little more dear than the perfect ones.

The fact that these movies where NOT made as grand artistic gestures, yet still managed to hit upon something that transcended the genre, makes them more interesting.

So, here’s my attempt to explain why these films are important TO ME and perhaps in doing so, why you might find them interesting, as well. 

These aren’t reviews – there are a great many other sites for that, many of which I read myself – just thoughts that struck me about a particular film.

Here’s the second thing: 

Everyone who has studied film criticism knows that movies are contextual.

In a good film, every piece is a microcosm of the entire movie.  It is no coincidence that Night of the Living Dead opens with a brother and sister discussing traditional burial rituals, as they drive to a cemetery, to place flowers on the grave of their long-deceased father.

It sets the mood, establishes a relationship between characters, and subconsciously gets us thinking about our own relationship with the dead.  

All so that the filmmakers can turn the world on its head and force us to realize that they really are coming to get you, Barbara!

Movie watching is contextual, as well. 

What we carry into a movie – how much we liked the trailer, our thoughts on the poster, the reviews we’ve read, what’s on our mind that day, the situation of the screening itself – all play a role in how we react to a film.

Tim Lucas wrote an incredible thought-experiment about a movie that he DIDN’T see when it first came out.  In his review of the mondo film, Sweden, Heaven and Hell, he not only captures his thoughts on the film, upon finally watching a gray market DVD-R many years later, but he also imagines what he MIGHT have felt had he gone to see the film when it first opened at a drive-in near his home those many years before. 

Much like Black Christmas, I can’t stop thinking about Tim’s piece.

So, in addition to discussing each film, I’m going to explain a little about the circumstances of how I came to see each in the first place.

Here’s the final thing: 

A very wise genre filmmaker once advised that for a horror film to be successful, the audience must first fear the director.  Ultimately, this is why I love watching all of these disreputable films. 

They break the rules.

Typically, you go into movies like these not trusting anyone.  The trailer lied to you by cramming every single action moment from the flick – and sometimes other flicks! – into ninety explosive seconds.  The poster featured some hot chick or amazing monster that likely isn’t even in the film.  The director and cast probably had no idea how to make a movie.  And yet… and yet…

Occasionally, the filmmakers, intentionally or not, stumble upon something that so shatters your expectations that it becomes profound.

One last story about one of my favorite movie-going experiences. 

After paying to see some utterly uninteresting film one Friday night, a friend and I decided to sneak over to see another film, as payback.  We ended up seeing a midnight show of Stuart Little. 

Kids flick.  Late show… Not surprisingly, we were the only ones in the theater.

As with every movie, I walked in hoping to like Stuart Little.  The book is whimsical.  Michael J. Fox is funny.  The mix of animation and live action looked good…

Whatever…none of it worked for me on that night.

About 45 minutes into the screening, some gangbangers crashed the same theater.  They were pretty rowdy, but I couldn’t exactly complain; I wasn’t supposed to be there either!

Anyway, their dates must have wanted to see the flick, and they eventually settled down.  So, there we were.  Six people who didn't belong there, quietly watching a mediocre kids film, at 1 in the morning.

As the film nears the end of Act II, the evil cat, Snowbell, tries to reclaim his place as the most beloved pet in the Little household.  He waits for the Littles to leave, then pulls Stuart aside.   Lying through his teeth, Snowbell explains that everyone would be better off if Stuart just left.  As a final stab in the back, he tells Stuart:  “They never really loved you.”  Stuart is crushed. 

We all sat in silence for a few seconds, letting this betrayal sink in.  Then, one of the gangbangers blurted out:  “That is FUCKED UP!”

And that’s the moment when a so-so movie became a most memorable screening.

Don’t you wish more movies made you want to shout that?

Footnotes:

1. The quote at the top of the post is from Robert Harmon, director of The Hitcher, in reference to an article that appeared in the "L.A. Times" at the time of that film’s release. More about that article to come.