FILM FRENZY

Troll; Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein

By Matt Brunson

(For View From the Couch: Halloween Edition, go here.)

Need some Halloween viewing suggestions? Here are 16 movies — many frightfully good, a couple terrifyingly bad — presently available for Amazon Prime subscribers to watch for free.

ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN (1948). In their heyday, the team of Bud Abbott and Lou Costello made a sizable number of smash hits, but none have endured quite like this horror-comedy classic, enshrined in modern times by both the Library of Congress and the American Film Institute. This is the best of the boys’ efforts, allowing them to go for the nyuks yet never diminishing the standing of the classic Universal Studios monsters that figure in its plot. Bud and Lou are Chick and Wilbur, baggage handlers who end up delivering crates containing the bodies of Dracula (Bela Lugosi) and the Frankenstein monster (Glenn Strange) to a Florida horror museum. Soon, the ghouls are up and about, with Dracula planning to put Wilbur’s dim brain inside the creature’s body. Lawrence Talbot (Lon Chaney Jr.) arrives to warn the pair, but his aid is interrupted whenever a full moon turns him into the wolf man. (Talbot: “I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but in half an hour the moon will rise and I’ll turn into a wolf.” Wilbur: “You and 20 million other guys!”) This was the final film in the prosperous monster cycle that had begun with the one-two punch of Dracula and Frankenstein in 1931; as for Abbott and Costello, the success of this picture led to them meeting other horror icons over the ensuing years, including the Mummy, the Invisible Man, and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

BLACK SUNDAY (1960) / KILL, BABY … KILL! (1966). One of the leading directors of Italian horror cinema, Mario Bava began as a cinematographer before spending the two decades preceding his death (in 1980) helming such notable efforts as the pair covered here.

Bava made his official directorial debut with Black Sunday (aka The Mask of Satan), a beautifully composed picture whose moments of genuine shock surely rattled many a patron back in the day (indeed, the movie was banned in England for many years). Barbara Steele, in the role that turned her into a horror film icon, plays Asa, a 17th century witch who swears vengeance as she’s burned at the stake. Cut to two centuries later, and a revived Asa schemes to gain immortality by drinking the blood of her descendant (also Steele). Bava and his crew’s employment of unique camera angles, heavily atmospheric sets, and startling moments of violence combine to create a trendsetting picture that has influenced generations of filmmakers (including Martin Scorsese and Tim Burton).

Known as Operation Fear in its Italian homeland — and given the rather generic title Curse of the Living Dead upon one of its U.S. re-releases — Kill, Baby … Kill! remains one of the most popular of all Bava films, and for viewers unfamiliar with his work, it’s about as good a place to start as any. Around the turn of the century, Dr. Paul Eswai (Giacomo Rossi-Stuart) is summoned to a small village to perform an autopsy on a young woman who died under mysterious circumstances. Dr. Eswai and Inspector Kruger (Piero Lulli) look for logical clues to explain the death, but everyone else is convinced that the woman was merely the latest victim of the ghostly child who haunts the town. Kill, Baby … Kill! provides a master class in directorial prowess, with Bava employing inventive color schemes and interesting camera placements to help punch across many of his startling set-pieces.

THE HORROR OF PARTY BEACH (1964). Although it was eventually featured on a cherished 1997 episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000, The Horror of Party Beach was a favorite of bad-movie buffs long before its selection on the beloved TV series. It was a staple on late-night television in the 1970s, and the 1986 book Son of Golden Turkey Awards featured it in the category of “The Worst Beach Movie Ever Made,” where it beat out the likes of The Beach Girls and the Monster and How to Stuff a Wild Bikini. After a barrel of radioactive waste is dumped into the ocean, sea monsters with bulging eyes and what appears to be sausages stuffed into their mouths rise from the murky depths to attack fun-loving teenagers as they shimmy to such tunes as “Wigglin’ Wobblin’” and “The Zombie Stomp” (performed by The Del-Aires, who were never confused with The Beach Boys). Billed upon its initial release as “The First Horror Monster Musical,” it’s a hybrid of a creature feature and a beach-party picture — and it’s awful on both counts. Yet like Robot Monster, Eegah!, and other grade-Z atrocities, it’s the sort of mindboggling film that triggers amusement rather than anger at its absolute incompetence — meaning it’s an absolute must-see for connoisseurs of turkey cinema. Interestingly, director Del Tenney’s other 1964 release, The Curse of the Living Corpse (featuring no less than Roy Scheider in his film debut), is comparatively more accomplished — logically, both were paired on a successful double bill back in the day.

REPULSION (1965). Roman Polanski’s first English-language film stars Catherine Deneuve as Carol, a young Belgian woman who shares a London apartment with her sister Helene (Yvonne Furneaux). A blonde beauty who’s viewed as little more than a sex object by the men she encounters, Carol is quiet, introverted, and revulsed by the idea of physical contact. When Helene and her boorish boyfriend (Ian Hendry) take off on holiday for a fortnight, Carol is left home alone, whereupon she slowly experiences a mental breakdown that leads to grotesque hallucinations as well as some real-life violence. Psychological thrillers had already galvanized the era’s audiences via Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom (both 1960), yet this is the only one of the influential trio to place viewer sympathy firmly in the corner of the disturbed individual rather than on those on the receiving end of the sharp/blunt objects. A couple of shots (including the final fadeout) suggest the reason for Carol’s state of mind, but the real focus is on detailing how the callous treatment of Carol by practically everyone around her only further serves to denigrate her standing as a “real” person rather than just a desirable beauty. For all its merits, this doesn’t come close to matching Psycho’s sheer brilliance or even Peeping Tom’s creep-out factor, but its bronze finish is a respectable one.

WAR-GODS OF THE DEEP (1965). A great director who has never received his proper due, Jacques Tourneur’s credits include a few classics on the order of Cat People, I Walked With a Zombie, and Out of the Past. It’s a shame, therefore, that his career ended with this disappointing fantasy yarn that’s also known by the title City Under the Sea. Vincent Price had just ended his run of tremendously successful Edgar Allan Poe adaptations for Roger Corman, so the makers of this picture hoped to capitalize by snatching the title of a Poe poem (“The City in the Sea”) and having the actor recite a few lines in voiceover at a couple of points during the film. It didn’t fool anyone: Despite the tenuous Poe connection, this is more of a cut-rate version of such nautical adventures as 1954’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and 1961’s Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. Price stars as the ruler of an underwater city who has to contend with the unexpected arrival of a pair of surface dwellers (Tab Hunter and David Tomlinson) seeking their kidnapped friend (Susan Hart), who — wouldn’t you know it — looks exactly like the ruler’s dearly departed love. The production design is fairly impressive, but the sea creatures encountered by the heroes are hardly menacing (they look like those startled emoticons), and the repeated comic shtick — mostly represented by the fussbudget played by Tomlinson (Mr. Banks in Mary Poppins) and his pet rooster — kills any chance of the piece establishing any sense of awe or any sort of atmosphere.

FRANKENSTEIN: THE TRUE STORY (1973). Belying its made-for-television roots, this ambitious take on the Mary Shelley classic is one of the most literate Frankenstein productions ever made, as writers Christopher Isherwood and Don Bachardy touch upon all manner of subtext on their way to crafting an intelligent and elegant interpretation of the classic horror standby. Not as faithful to its source material as its title would indicate (although it does retain many literary elements usually dropped in other adaptations), the film presents its Victor Frankenstein (Leonard Whiting) as an inquisitive young doctor whose tutelage under Dr. Henry Clerval (David McCallum) and, later, Dr. Polidori (James Mason) leads to the “births” of, respectively, the Creature (Michael Sarrazin) and his potential mate (Jane Seymour). But this Creature starts life as a handsome young man, only turning into a physical ogre as time passes; this angle allows Isherwood and Bachardy the opportunity to explore the homoerotic bond between Victor and his boy-toy as well as offer a searing indictment of humankind’s cruelty to those it deems physically imperfect. Strong performances abound, particularly by Mason as the scheming Polidori, Seymour as the casually cruel Prima, Nicola Pagett as Victor’s resourceful bride Elizabeth, and especially Sarrazin as the childlike Creature, whose innocence is corrupted by the actions of those around him. Frankenstein: The True Story has long been available in a butchered, 120-minute cut that played overseas theatrically; alas, it appears this might be the version available for free on Amazon Prime. It’s better than nothing, but do try to locate the 200-minute original.

THE BOYS FROM BRAZIL (1978). The works of Ira Levin have proven to be a gusher for Hollywood filmmakers, resulting in motion pictures both good (1956’s A Kiss Before Dying, 1968’s Rosemary’s Baby, 1975’s The Stepford Wives) and bad (1991’s A Kiss Before Dying, 1993’s Sliver, 2004’s The Stepford Wives). The Boys From Brazil registers as the most contentious of all Levin adaptations, with many responding favorably to its intriguing storyline and others scoffing at its histrionics (particularly that whopper of a climax involving ferocious Dobermans). In a rare (extremely rare) villainous turn, Gregory Peck stars as real-life Nazi war criminal Josef Mengele, seen here hatching a diabolical plot that can only be stopped by dedicated Nazi hunter Ezra Lieberman (Laurence Olivier, playing a character based on Simon Wiesenthal). The polished direction by Franklin J. Schaffner (Patton) and the presence of a strong supporting roster (James Mason, Uta Hagen, Denholm Elliott, Walter Gotell; even Steve Guttenberg isn’t bad) lend stature to the farfetched proceedings. Peck earned a Best Actor Golden Globe nomination for his work, although it was Olivier who snagged the Best Actor Academy Award nomination for an engaging (if occasionally ham-filled) turn. The movie garnered additional Oscar nods for Best Original Score (Jerry Goldsmith) and Best Film Editing. Trivial Pursuit: As a young lad living in Portugal, Peck was already my favorite actor (still is!), so when this production came to a neighboring suburb for some filming in early 1978, I was able to snag his autograph. It remains in my possession, and, no, I won’t be selling it on eBay.

GALAXY OF TERROR (1981) / FORBIDDEN WORLD (1982). Here are two alien flicks from the Roger Corman factory, both designed as rip-offs of, well, Alien.

Although it was conceived as an Alien steal, Galaxy of Terror (aka Mindwarp: An Infinity of Terror) gets some credit for branching off in its own direction, relating how a spaceship’s crew members end up on a planet that pits them against their own fears (the “worm rape” sequence earned this film a small measure of notoriety). Some ripe performances and a thinly developed script kill this, but then again, where else can you find a cast eclectic enough to include Joanie Loves Chachi’s Erin Moran, Twin Peaks’ Grace Zabriskie, My Favorite Martian’s Ray Walston, future softcore filmmaker Zalman King (Red Shoe Diaries), House of 1000 Corpses’ Sid Haig, and a pre-Freddy Krueger Robert Englund? And the fellow primarily responsible for the impressive set design? Merely a rising talent named James Cameron.

Corman and company went back to the Alien well for Forbidden World, which skews more closely to its source in that it basically finds a gruesome creature bumping off the hapless humans in a deep-space lab complex. One of the gloppiest movies ever made — alien slime, human innards, or some variation thereof seem to pop up in nearly every sequence — there isn’t much to recommend this formulaic jaunt, although I guess I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the titter-inducing scene in which, in the midst of all the bloodletting, the blonde scientist (June Chadwick) and the curvaceous lab assistant (Dawn Dunlap) elect to shuck their clothes for a shower in which they calmly discuss the situation while soaping each other’s backs.

THE THING (1982). I was all of 16 during that summer when The Thing and Blade Runner opened to blistering reviews and tepid box office, but even at that undeveloped age, I knew both critics and audiences were wrong. It took a little longer for John Carpenter’s horror opus to earn its richly deserved kudos than it did Ridley Scott’s science fiction epic, but time has nevertheless been kind to both films, with each now considered a masterwork of its genre. Based on John W. Campbell Jr.’s 1938 novella Who Goes There? (earlier turned into the 1951 classic The Thing From Another World), this version finds Kurt Russell delivering a suitably gruff performance as MacReady, just one of the 12 men stationed at an Antarctic research facility that’s soon under attack by a shape-shifting alien entity. Because the creature has the ability to absorb and then imitate the men, it leads to all of them becoming fearful and distrustful of one another, a powder keg situation that becomes even more fraught once the hapless humans start getting picked off one by one. Far and away the best film of Carpenter’s career, this features a tight script by Bill Lancaster (Burt’s son) as well as one of Ennio Morricone’s most minimalist — and greatest — scores. Between his work on The Howling and this picture, Rob Bottin proved himself to be a world-class makeup artist (it’s ridiculous that his name isn’t as well-known as that of Rick Baker or Stan Winston), and his gross-out creations are nicely supported by the efforts of visual effects artist extraordinaire Albert Whitlock.

LIFEFORCE (1985). This adaptation of Colin Wilson’s novel The Space Vampires was first edited down before its release by approximately 15 minutes, then badly marketed, and finally indifferently received by critics and audiences. Yet the movie must have made up some ground on home video, considering that the mere mention of its title will trigger memories among many people of A) a gorgeous space vampire prone to walking around London completely nude, B) a pre-Star Trek: The Next Generation Patrick Stewart getting possessed by said beauty, or C) both. Kicking off like Alien (Dan O’Bannon co-wrote both), this deals with the discovery of three humanoids (and hundreds of batlike creatures) inside an edifice concealed by Halley’s Comet. The humanoids are brought back to Earth, and the female one (Mathilda May) breaks free and commences a reign of terror, one which involves sucking all the energy out of hapless people and leaving them in a mummified zombie state. It’s up to an American astronaut (Steve Railsback) and a handful of European brainiacs (Peter Firth, Frank Finlay, Michael Gothard) to stop her, but that becomes even more difficult as London is soon engulfed in flames and overrun by zombies. The visual effects by two-time Oscar winner John Dykstra (Star Wars, Spider-Man 2) are, as expected, excellent — in fact, there’s no criticizing any technical aspect of this film. A similar compliment cannot be bestowed on the absurd story, but if ever a movie existed as a guilty pleasure, it’s this one: Even with a few risible moments and an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink finale, it’s tough to resist this movie’s loopy charms.

TROLL (1986) / TROLL 2 (1990) / BEST WORST MOVIE (2009). I actually caught the first Troll during its original theatrical run back in my college days, and the only thing I remembered about the experience was Sonny Bono turning into an assemblage of plants. Revisiting the picture (which, like 1984’s Ghoulies, is a blatant Gremlins wannabe), it turns out it offers other goofy pleasures as well, including 80s-tastic makeup schemes on the titular creature, Gary Sandy (likable Andy on TV’s WKRP in Cincinnati) as a macho right-wing buffoon, a va-va-voomish Julia Louis-Dreyfus (in her film debut) a loooong way from Seinfeld as a neighbor who transforms into a forest nymph, and Michael Moriarty and Noah Hathaway as characters named Harry Potter and Harry Potter Jr. You won’t be bored watching Troll, but you’ll hate yourself in the morning.

If Troll falls into the so-bad-it’s-good category, then Troll 2 arguably falls into the so-awful-it’s-a-masterpiece camp. It has nothing to do with the original picture — in fact, it has broken free of the shackles of association and become an unstoppable entity in its own right, earning a designation among some bad-movie buffs as the worst film of all time. I’ve seen worse, but nevertheless, this is wretched, bottom-of-the-barrel stuff, largely sunk by the most atrocious acting imaginable (particularly by Margo Prey, who plays mom Diana).

Michael Stephenson, who stars as the young boy Joshua in Troll 2, later directed and produced Best Worst Movie, a documentary examining the phenomenon behind the renewed popularity of that film. The scenes in which Troll 2 director Claudio Fragasso maintains he made a very good movie are amusing; the segment in which the clearly troubled Prey asserts that Troll 2 has more in common with classic films starring the likes of Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn than with modern horror films is surreal; and the sequences in which affable dentist George Hardy (who played dad Michael) attempts to stretch his 15 minutes into an extra week or two (including making a desultory appearance at a horror convention) are initially humorous before turning awkward and uncomfortable.

SPECIES (1995). A sleeper hit during the summer of ’95, Species is an imaginatively cast and tautly directed sci-fi/horror hybrid that doesn’t quite escape the timeworn dictates of its plotline. A group of scientists foolishly combines human and alien DNA, and the resultant growth, named Sil, turns out to be a beautiful woman (Natasha Henstridge) with a nasty habit of turning into a grotesque creature and ripping spines out of people’s backs. The head scientist (Ben Kingsley) responsible for Sil’s creation is hot on its (her?) trail, aided in his efforts by a gruff assassin-for-hire (Michael Madsen), a tortured empath (Forest Whitaker), a lonely professor (Alfred Molina), and a bright biologist (Marg Helgenberger). With the help of effects experts Richard Edlund and Steve Johnson, Oscar-winning artist H.R. Giger (Alien) created a memorable movie monster in Sil, although Dennis Feldman’s script is frequently more perfunctory (to say nothing of ludicrous) than inspired. Still, the film is better than its mangy reputation, although it’s best to skip its three sequels (the first two featuring Henstridge). Incidentally, the younger Sil is played by a 14-year-old Michelle Williams, a full decade before Brokeback Mountain kicked off her still-going-strong run as a critical darling and Oscar bridesmaid.

BTW, here’s my vintage interview with Giger, conducted by phone (he was living in Switzerland) following the successful release of Species: