I received tickets to an advanced screening of Grindhouse for Wednesday night, but I’m waiting to see it with J. so I was unable to attend. My friend Rony graciously took my place and agreed to provide The Horror Blog with the following review. In addition to being one of the original contributors to the old HorrorCast, Rony has also accompanied me on many cinematic excursions, including The Messengers, Blood + Chocolate, Night of the Living Dead 3-D, Ghost Rider and numerous other horror movies of dubious quality. Our “man-dates” and the shouting matches we had afterwards will be one of the few things I will miss when I leave Ottawa. Thanks, man!

Usually the hype for a movie can ruin it for you. You have high expectations but soon find yourself not as fulfilled as you’d originally hoped. Well let me tell you that no hype will ever bring Grindhouse down, unless you don’t like awesome. Do you like awesome? Do you?! I do, and that’s why I was blessed with a ticket to watch a sneak preview of Grindhouse.

Both movies were so friggin’ awesome that I would punch a baby to see it again! Although when watching the first half hour of “Death Proof” I was thinking ‘Son-of-a-bitch get on with the smashing already’. I would have wished the order was different because “Death Proof” was slow in the beginning and then kicked so much ass later, and “Planet Terror” was a non-stop zombie killing ride. If they were to start off slow and then kick things into high gear then you wouldn’t feel your ass getting numb.

Planet Torror was my favourite of the the two but I think it was because I’m a zombie lovin’ man. They were a bit different from your traditional zombies, like taking different twists on the sub-genre (eg. talking, running, etc.) from a bunch of movies and then smashing them into one movie with a fucking sledge hammer. This movie was hysterical and gross at the same time. If I had to describe how I was feeling during the movie it would go like this “Hahaha… Oh my God! BLAAAAAH(puking), hahaha, RUN DUMMY, RUN!! Hahaha. Fuck it’s over, I want more!!” One thing I really friggin’ hated that took me out of Planet Terror was Fergie. Why they chose her to be in this movie is beyond me. Even though she was only in the movie briefly, I hated every second of her on the screen. I don’t hate her music or anything, I just hate it when singers make the move into film and do a really shitty job. To be fair, they did do a nice long ass shot of her, but you can see that in any of her music videos. Also, Tarantino had a cameo in Planet Terror as “Rapist #1″ which is not entirely accurate. He should have been called “Attempted Rapist #1″. I cringed a bit during certain parts of Planet Terror and I hardly ever do that.

The trailers inbetween the movies were classic grindhouse and stuck really close to the old ones, which was awesome. All were good but I was hoping for a bit more from Rob Zombie’s trailer. Not too sure why, but it didn’t impress me as much as the others did.

Death Proof did chug in the beginning and I had to listen to all this boring stuff, which might not have been so boring if the first movie didn’t rock so much. Tarantino did his thing with the whole old school jive talkin’ dialogue like he always does. It’s so “Tarantino” that if you were to close your eyes it would seem like you were listening to Pulp Fiction. After the lengthy chit chat, in comes some full out, balls to the wall car driving. If you’re a gearhead, then you will blow your load at the awesomeness. Kurt Russell in this movie is one of the kings of cool and it reminded me why I love his movies. He’s not only badass, but he’s also downright friggin’ hilarious. Although I was hoping for the raspy voice like he did as Snake Plisskin, but oh well.

I was extremely glad I went because this double bill was totally worth skipping out on work and standing in line for an hour. Each movie had it’s lows and each had it’s super heroin eye injecting, face punching, groin grabbing, scream at the top of your lungs awesome highs. You will find yourself cheering throughout the length of the movie and if the person beside you talks you will want to rip out your chair and throw it directly into their mouth, instantly killing the A-hole. At the end, if you still have feeling in your legs, you should stand up and give a flying high five to the person beside you.

I’ve mentioned more than a few times my sordid past as a comics blogger. Those days may be long gone, but if you ever find yourself wondering what my comic blog may have looked like, ableit ten times better, you can always check out the misadventures of Mike Sterling over at Progressive Ruin. Mike is my Evil American Twin, compiling a four-colour smorgasbord every day of the week, filled with the kind of goofy stuff which drew us into comics to begin with and which we often lose track of as time goes on. In short, Progressive Ruin is the place to go when you absolutely must see farmers shooting space aliens or watch as Yoda hitches a ride on Bob Marley’s back. Today, Mike presents to you five fascinating tales from the dark side of the Big, Blue Boy Scout. Enjoy, and please check out Progressive Ruin.

Five Favorite Scary Superman Moments

When one thinks of “scary,” usually Superman comics don’t come to mind. Bright, cheery, sometimes even whimsical, sure…but scary? Not usually, but there are rare, very rare occasions when a moment in a Superman story will get under your skin, sticking with you long after the comic is put away. Here are just a handful of those instances, when the world of Superman was not as bright and friendly:

5. Superman is confronted with his own dead bodies (Action Comics #399, April 1971):

Following the explosion of an experimental power generator, Superman finds himself thrown out of our world…and into a giant crystalline “cell,” where he finds himself trapped with General Custer, Abraham Lincoln, and George Washington. Eventually Superman breaks free of the cage to discover that he’s in the future, being studied by a time-travelling historical institute…and that the common thread among the “guests” is that they’ve been brought from the past from just before their imminent deaths!

That’s not the only surprise awaiting Superman, as the future historians explain that he is, in fact, the third Superman! Following the death of the original Superman, Earth scientists clones a second Superman to take his place, removing the memories of his death. And when that second Superman died, a third was created…the Superman that has been brought to the future just prior to his own demise.

Superman doesn’t believe this, of course, but by coincidence, the crypt containing the three super-bodies is just below the historical center:

For the most part, this is your standard Superman adventure, with the twist being that Superman was in fact thrown into the future of a parallel universe, and thus the history being related to him is not the history he lived…no cloning, no deaths. But that brief sequence, with Superman being confronted with his own dead bodies, and his own fear at having to see the final clone body, supposedly his own…it remains quite affecting.

4. Superman can’t save everyone (Hitman #34, Feb 1999):

Superman and Tommy Monaghan have a brief heart-to-heart talk about what it means to be not just a hero, but a symbol of what heroism is meant to be, during which Superman relates an instance in which his own symbolism adds to an extra level of despair to an already tragic disaster.

A nuclear space shuttle headed for Mars is in trouble, and Superman has his hands full trying to shield the shuttle’s escape craft from the atomic reactor leak, when he notices another astronaut, previously thought dead, huddling in one corner of the bay.

Superman can do nothing…he has to continue shielding the crew from the radiation or they will be lost. The astronaut in the bay is doomed…he knows it, Superman knows it…and, as Superman says:

3. That werewolf cover (Superman #422, Aug 1986):

Okay, the story inside is no great shakes…yes, Superman fights a werewolf, never actually turning into one himself, and yes, all the characters in the story are scared, but nothing in those pages is actually scary.

That cover, on the other hand…no Superman image can top the sheer wrongness of those hideously overdetailed head and hands attached to the smoothly streamlined body, drawn as only that master of the disturbing image, Brian Bolland, can manage. And on top of that, presenting the image in stark black and white, save for the red eyes…this image is one of the epitomes of superhero creepiness.

2. The final Luthor/Brainiac team (Superman #423/Action #583):

Taking place in the near-future, as Superman’s last battle approaches, arch-nemesis Lex Luthor seeks out and finds the crippled body of Superman’s other arch-nemesis, the robotic Brainiac. Lifting Brainiac’s head, Luthor is startled to discover that his mechanical “comrade” is not as lifeless as he seems:

Using Luthor as a host-body, Brainiac trundles off into the distance, preparing whatever revenge he’s planning to exact on the Man of Steel…

…Until the story’s climatic battle, when, face to face with a super-powered Lana Lang (don’t ask), Luthor is able to break Brainiac’s hold just long enough to plead for death from his fellow former Smallvillite:

And if that’s not enough, Brainiac attempts to continue commanding his dead host body, until it gives up completely:

That whole sequence is creepy in and of itself, but what makes it even more affecting is the unique position this particular version of Luthor holds in Superman’s long history. This is the sympathetic Luthor, the Luthor who’s protective of his young sister Lena; who loves the people of the alien world Lexor, who worship him as a hero; who admires Albert Einstein; and who, when the time came, was able to call out to a former childhood friend and beg her to release him from his living hell.

1. The Phantom Zone #1 - #4 (Jan - April 1982):

Of all the Superman stories ever printed, none can top this for what may be one of the most off-model adventures for the Man of Steel. A very basic explanation of the plot sounds like it’s right out of the Silver Age: the Phantom Zone villains escape their prison, trapping Superman (and former Zone prisoner Quex-Ul) in the Zone in the process, and then proceed to wreak havoc on the Earth while Superman tries to escape.

What makes this different, however, is the brutal storytelling of writer Steve Gerber and artist Gene Colan. Colan’s portrayal of the Man of Steel’s adventure is unlike any other artists…dark, moody, and mysterious, all shadows and swirly smoke, when Superman is usually presented as bright and triumphant. For example, the Phantom Zone itself, the extra-dimensional prison for Krypton’s worst criminals, usually looks like it’s just a room filled with grey clouds and transparent “ghosts” who are just normal looking folks colored all in white. Colan’s Phantom Zone looks more like what one would think of as a nightmarish spiritual world:

Gerber pulls no punches from the story’s get-go, as he details the crimes of the various Phantom Zone villains back on Krypton…mass destruction, mayhem, and, in the case of the PZ villain Faora Hu-Ul, tortured and murdered men:

This brutality continues, as the freed Zone villains begin their reign of terror upon the Earth, threatening civilians and easily overpowering the remaining superheroes. And it’s not the typical clean, antiseptic superhero action you’d expect. In Gerber and Colan’s hands, it’s horrifying: buildings are razed, people are burned and broken, and none can stand against the freed Kryptonian criminals.

Trapped in the Phantom Zone, Superman and his companion, the former Kryptonian criminal Quex-Ul, travel deeper and deeper into the depths of the ethereal prison looking for an escape route…and find themselves confronting the alien presence whose being apparently encompasses and creates the Zone itself. Bizarre beings and scenarios are thrown into their path, such as this temple of masked priestesses, whose masks hide a frighteningly symbolic visage for Superman:

As the series reaches its climax, Superman and Quex-Ul find themselves in direct contact with the central alien intelligence controlling the realm, which tries to absorb their spiritual forces into its own. Quex-Ul makes one final attempt at defeating the creature, flying directly into the monster’s maw, only to have his soul destroyed in the process. Superman, angry and defiant, makes his own attack upon the being, avoiding Quex-Ul’s mistake but finding himself in a place that wears heavy upon his soul nonetheless:

Having passed through this final portal, Superman finds himself back in the corporeal world, and the Zone villains are quickly dealt with. But General Zod, the most famous, most notorious of the Zone villains, gets some special treatment from Superman for the part he played in sending Quel-Ul to his death in the Zone:

And of all the elements of this particular story, this is the one that sticks with me the most. This isn’t the staid, mannered Superman of the Silver Age, tricking villains into defeating themselves, or finding himself in a superheroic domestic comedy, trying to hide his identity from Lois. This is a Superman who is showing real human emotion, real anger — this Superman is, quite frankly, pissed off. And, for the 13-year-old kid I was when I read this comic for the first time, back in ‘82, back before “pissed-off” superheroes were the norm, this was indeed just a little scary.

This is how kids get their kicks these days. Squatting in filthy rags, all hopped up on goofballs and ludes, pretending at freedom. That is, until Daddy’s money runs out and the world comes knocking. Then those lousy beatniks end up looking down the neck of a bottle, or the barrel of a gun. Just like we did when we were kids. Yeah, the gutter is one sure way to close the generation gap. And if I were to place the blame for this epidemic of delinquency anywhere it would be square on the shoulders of one Little Danny, proprieter of a happening little pad called Office Naps. He’s the pusher. The one playing all the tunes and calling all the shots. Do you know what your children are listening to? Whatever Little Danny wants them to…

Shock Music in Hi-Fi

Hello Horror Blog readers! Little Danny of Office Naps here. The Honorable Mr. Wintle graciously extended the invitation for a Halloween-related post, and, in response, I’ve included a vintage bit of odd-io for your delectation.

I suppose the common complaint about some of our favorite holidays is that, in the interest of selling holiday-related merch and placating the anxieties of our more righteous, religious sectors, these same holidays tend to be expurgated of their color, piquancy, and content. That is, if you’re disappointed by the way that Halloween is routinely represented by ridiculous, warmed-over pap like “The Monster Mash,” I’m here to say that I feel your pain, horror fans. Of course, you likely know better. You likely know, when seeking your Halloween audio fix, to turn to the very musical underpinning of your obsession: the horror soundtrack. Yes, from the eerie synthesizers of the Italian horror oeuvre to classic Hitchcock-style staccato strings, the horror soundtrack has always been - and will always be - where the most unapologetically terrifying sounds dwell.

Enter Shock Music in Hi-Fi. Released in 1958, it was the first of two similarly-themed volumes (the second entitled, naturally, Panic: The Son of Shock) by noted composer, arranger, and producer Creed Taylor. These weren’t soundtracks per se. They were, rather, albums comprised of miniature 3 minute tableaux, self-contained musical storylines which took their cues from horror cinema and exercises like The Twilight Zone , and which set about terrifying us with dark, jazzy arrangements, creepy sound effects, and titles like “The Crank,” “You’re Driving Me Crazy,” and “Time Runs Out.” Take “The Crank,” for instance. We hear a phone number being dialed, we hear the phone ringing, we hear a friendly male voice answer. And then we hear the click of disconnection. It’s hard to convey its distinctly banal variety of psychological terror, but, repeated with increasing frequency - and set against a rising crescendo of dissonant horns and strings - this routine was typical fare for Shock Music in Hi-Fi. And it served its purpose very effectively.

Hand picked for the Horror Blog, this selection, “Heartbeat,” is also exemplary. Here we’re reminded that nothing can be as weirdly ominous as the awareness of our own breathing and heartbeat at the threshold of a darkened room. And the awareness of… ahem, someone else in that darkened room.

As you’ll hear. Here, then, is to heavy breathing! Happy Halloween!

The Creed Taylor Orchestra, Heartbeat
from Shock Music In Hi-Fi (ABC-Paramount, 1958)

The cover of A Minute to Pray, A Second to Die. The hand glows in the dark.

Probably my biggest fear in opening up The Horror Blog to outside contributors was the possiblity that they would show me up and reveal me for the fraud I am. I’m happy to report that our first guest blogger, Teresa, of the always edifying In Sequence, has done just that. Teresa is my comrade-in-arms from my days of haunting the comics blogosphere (as well as a superb belly-dancer as seen in the picture to the left) and it warms my heart to see one of the old guard still providing quality observations on the world of sequential art. Thanks again, Teresa, and if you like what you read below I urge you to visit In Sequence for more of the same.

The Flesheaters: A Minute to Pray, A Second to Die

When I first heard the Flesheaters second album, “A Minute to Pray, A Second to Die,” I didn’t think of it as being connected to the horror genre, a relationship that seems obvious to me now.

I was a teenager then, and the angst expressed by the punk bands I liked was what attracted me to them. Intellectually, I knew these bands were considered shocking and aberrant, but emotionally, they seemed like natural extensions of the feelings I had every day.

Listening to “A Minute to Pray, A Second to Die,” I felt drawn into an infernal yet sympathetic nocturnal world. The first cut, “Digging My Grave,” begins with a spooky slo-mo chant:

Joyride leading to jail
And as it breaks through the wall
A ten-year-old learns how to die
Headache under florescent light

The creaking noise beneath the chant quickly changes to a driving rock beat, punctuated by lead singer Chris D.’s screaming vocals and a piercing, demented saxophone. Marimbas chime in the background, creating a velvet mood.

The stories told in the album lyrics, all but one written by Chris D., are macabre. They begin with a grim tale of family murder and end with an ode to lycanthropic transition. The hand-scrawled lyrics contained on the album liner added to the sensation that the album was an urgent communication from a captive in a demon-filled insane asylum.

My favorite song on the album is “River of Fever.” The lyrics contain what I have always considered a profound meditation on fear:

Fear subdued by thought was no fear at all
And strength is left undone
Deep down you’re bold and clever
Til those fingers close round your heart

What it means to me is that fear is a primary, or frontline, emotion. True fear is not something that can be easily reigned in or overcome. Our more civilized or developed feelings, such as bravery or rationality or thoughtful planning may, in time, grow from having had a fearful experience. But in the moment, one does not quell fear. In the moment, fear is always bigger than one’s self.