J. was adamant that we line up early for the Diary of the Dead premiere and for once not only were we on the same page but we actually made it work. We scoped the line three hours before the event, and already there were two people waiting. An hour later we returned and managed to snag a spot a few dozen people back. Quick film festival tip: You can usually count on the amount of people in front of you to expand by 50% to 100% by the time the doors actually open as friends let friends who let friends cut in with them. Never before have I stood in line for a movie longer than the running time of the screening itself. Considering that this was the world premiere of the latest film by the director of my favourite horror movie of all time I was willing to make an exception.

By the time we finally made our way inside, our line had wrapped around half a sizable city block and the rush line, that last great hope for people who couldn’t get tickets beforehand, had stretched out to well over one hundred people, only a handful of whom would be getting in. J. and I ran into the theatre and, while we still didn’t get the best seats in the house despite our preparations, we did manage to snag a couple of choice seats. Our appoach was slightly more practical than the crowds I saw standing in the aisles futilely trying to find both good seats and enough to accomodate their crew. I swear, I overheard one couple who, in the span of mentioning that they didn’t want to take two seats off to the side, realized that those seats and every other two-seat combo had already been taken. It was a madhouse.

This is all just preamble to set you up for what happened next.

There were two empty seats beside ours, right up against the aisle. Less than a minute after we sat down this guy comes over and asks us if we have an extra ticket. He said he managed to get in through the rush line, but his girlfriend had no such luck. In hindsight, his story doesn’t make much sense. Did they let the rush line in at the same time as the regular line? Why was his girlfriend in the regular line but not in the rush line with him? Regardless, I could relate, having been in tight spots similar to his, so I gave him a ticket to give to his girlfriend. Of course, now that he had the ticket he had to go outside and give it to her, thereby losing the two empty seats beside us. So he asked us, two complete strangers, if we could hold onto both highly accessible seats for more than ten minutes in the most chaotic theatre I had ever visited for the movie voted “most anticipated of the festival”. So we refused. He offered to leave his wallet as an assurance that he would be back. We refused even more forcefully, not wanting to take on the responsibilty of looking after a stranger’s wallet. We tried to explain that the theatre was entirely too busy to be saving seats. He ignored us, explained again that he would be right back, and took off.

We gave the seats to the first couple who asked.

About fifteen minutes later the guy returned and he was furious. He kept repeating that he had offered to leave his wallet and that the seats would have been his if only we had accepted it. He continued hollering about it for a few minutes, puffing up his chest, waving his arms around and glaring at the poor people who had taken the seats and who had no idea what was going on. I have to admit, I was at a total loss. I actually started laughing, which probably didn’t help any. Later J. claimed that it looked like he had wanted to start an actual fistfight. She says I could have easily shoved his enormous sense of entitlement down his throat (she’s so sweet), but I somehow doubt I could have taken a fight like that seriously enough to actually win. He finally ran out of steam and skulked off, and we explained the backstory to the people sitting beside us. A few minutes later one of our neighbours pointed out that the guy had crossed the theatre and was pleading his case with some of the volunteers. I missed it, which is too bad because if I hadn’t I would have taken a picture. Now that would have set him off.

And that’s my favourite memory from the Toronto International Film Festival Midnight Madness.

The Brooklyn Rail has posted a terrific little interview with Death Note director Shusuke Kaneko.

“At the same time the creepiest part of shooting was when Light was actually writing down the name. I was focusing on his hand; it’s only writing but at the same time it means he’s killing someone, it kind of symbolizes the death of another person. So for me it was a stressful procedure just to shoot that particular scene.”

What’s especially gratifying about it is the interviewer’s knowledge of the director’s intriguing career choices and Kaneko’s willingness to talk about it. They run through Kaneko’s past as a director on roman-porno, his miraculous revamp of Gamera, their favourite kaiju, and even talk about Death Note a little. The only thing missing is a discussion of Kaneko’s Godzilla, Mothra and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack, possibly the best of the Millennium Era entries.

A few years back I was lucky if I could attend just one major horror event up here in Canada. Usually it came down to a choice between the Fantasia film festival in Montreal and Rue Morgue’s Festival of Fear. It just dawned on me today that, not only did I attend both of the above, but I also got to experience the Toronto International Film Festival Midnight Madness program for the first time and I will also be attending the Toronto After Dark film festival. Connect Four!

Toronto After Dark is looking ridiculously kickass, even with only half their programming announced so far. I can personally vouch for Mulberry Street, which is one of the best horror films i’ve seen so far this year. When I told J. we’d have a chance to see it again she lost it. If you can make it, don’t miss out. Another film in their line-up I’ve already watched, and will probably watch again, is Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead, which has to be seen in a theatre packed with Troma fans to be fully appreciated. Other horror selections include Automaton Transfusion, a fast-paced zombie flick that I’ve been dying to catch, and a bevy of short films, which is great because I’ve somehow managed to miss all the shorts presentations at all the other events over the summer. Even the non-horror stuff is catching my eye, from the Russian sword-and-sorcery of The Wolfhound to Audience of One, about a priest’s attempt to create a kind of Christian Star Wars. He should have shot it in Turkey. You can get away with anything there.

Get your passes now, but not before I get mine.

The Third Mother, a witch of unimaginable power, is unleashed upon Rome, and a woman with a mysterious past must find the courage to try and stop her.

It’s always difficult to disassemble and examine a Dario Argento film. Not unlike the riddles his characters encounter in his films, closer examination can reveal new insights and even the smallest newfound detail can affect your perception of his work. More than once I’ve revisited an Argento film and come away with an entirely different reaction from my first viewing. It’s why committing to a stance is so intimidating.

The conclusion to the Three Mothers trilogy is so completely unlike the other two installments, and the majority of Argento’s work, that at times it seems to be a reaction to those earlier films, if not outright parody. Perhaps the most noticable difference is in the attitude of the main character, Sarah. Gone are the plucky heroines and amateur sleuths of Argento’s early career, their curiosity replaced by indifference and outright cowardice. Sarah spends nearly the entire movie running away from her obstacles rather than facing them head-on. Where characters in Argento productions of the past willingly took a path through Hell to satisfy their curiosity, Sarah takes a cab.

So much of Argento’s work is about mysteries and secrets. In what seems to be a refutation of his earlier obsessions, Argento reveals everything in Mother of Tears, stripping the supernatural of its mystique. Where before Argento would build his themes upon visual cues and hope that his audience could keep up, here everything is laid out in lengthy scenes of exposition. Characters are carted out at regular intervals to reveal layers upon layers of backstory and mythology, almost all of which are useless to the heroes. The madness caused by The Third Mother is similarly underwhelming. We’re told that there’s a violent epidemic taking place, but with few exceptions the acts of carnage are almost mundane, with muggings and minor acts of vandalism being the most prominently displayed. Even the acts of heroism are almost an afterthought. It’s as if Argento spent his youth scratching away at the natural to find secrets and the supernatural underneath, only to dig even further in his later years and find his way back to the mundane. This is most strikingly apparent in the appearance of the Third Mother herself, who is clothed in allure and mystery for most of the film, only to disrobe at the climax into something far less satisfying than what we were originally presented.

The vaccuum created by this rejection of the fantastic is filled by copious amounts of nudity and gore. Most of the kills, if lacking the visual flare of his earlier set-pieces, are extremely effective in their execution. It’s the one aspect of the film that seems to have roots in decades past, containing the same unrestrained glee and passion that Argento is renowned for. One sequence in particular is loaded with such deviancy, brutality and ritual that it made half the theatre scream out loud.

Whether you would find the above appealing or not, and I can already see that this is going to be a divisive film, there were a few aspects of Mother Of Tears that rubbed me the wrong way. The aforementioned exposition is provided by at least five different people when only one or two would have been sufficient, and the protagonists spend a great deal of time travelling to and fro in order to gain this knowledge, so much so that there were times I thought I was watching a travelogue. The person sitting next to me actually fell asleep. No, really. She was snoring. Also the line delivery was deplorable for the majority of the film. This was especially pronounced when compared to those instances when purely physical acting was on display.

While I’m currently convinced that Argento deliberately set out to confound the expectations of his audience, glimmers of which could be seen in Phenomena and Opera, and that despite a few rough patches it’s a trip worth taking, ask me again tomorrow. I may have changed my mind.

The Toronto Star has conducted an interview with David Cronenberg in anticipation of the premiere of Eastern Promises at the Toronto International Film Festival. This time around the director takes on the recent spate of torture movies, with considerably more sense than anyone who throws around the utterly useless term “torture porn”.

“When I see what’s out there, it’s not new. It’s not new stuff to me. I alluded to it in Videodrome, which was like, 30 years ago. What is new is the Internet, where we’ve been outgored by Muslim extremists. There’s the accessibility, anytime of day or night, that you can have this, and there have been attempts to legitimize it.”

There’s more where that came from, including Cronenberg’s playful reminiscence of Rabid, the suggestion that his obsession with the body hasn’t abated despite his movement away from horror, and Viggo Mortensen’s cock and balls. Don’t ever change, David Cronenberg.

Rumours have been floating around for awhile that the granddaddy of midnight madness cinematic freakshows, Rocky Horror Picture Show, is going to get a remake. Rumour has it that Susan Sarandon’s daughter, Eva Amurri, was approached to take on the role made infamous by her Mom. What does the original Janet have to say about the whole affair?

“Why would anyone want to do a remake of a cult classic? There was at one time a sequel discussed with me — and they may have even done it, I’m not sure — but none of us were really interested.”

Nothing speaks for the legacy of Rocky Horror sequel Shock Treatment so much as Susan Sarandon not only forgetting the movie’s title, but being unsure of its very existence.

I’m giving away one copy of the soundtrack for Rob Zombie’s Halloween, featuring KISS and Alice Fucking Cooper, provided by the fine folks at Deep Focus. To win, simply name the Halloween films that correspond with the masks shown above. Answers should be left in the comments. The first person to name them all correctly, or the person with the most correct answers by next Monday, gets the soundtrack. Good Luck! Halloween hits theatres August 31st.

Since I moved back to Southern Ontario I’ve been bragging about all the excellent horror and cult film events that I’m once again able to partake in. From Trash Palace to Toronto After Dark to the upcoming Festival of Fear and everything in-between, I’m spoiled for choice. One event that I haven’t mentioned yet which everyone keeps reminding me of is the Toronto International Film Festival Midnight Madness programming. With the debuts of Diary of the Dead, Mother Of All Tears and Sukiyaki Western Django you’d think I would have brought it up already. The truth is, I’m hesitant to go.

I’ve heard things.

I’m one of those people who bristles at the idea that genre films should be shown seperately from other, supposedly classier fare. I felt that it was unfair that Midnight Madness was segregated from the main event. As it turns out, it’s the regular festival that’s kept out of the Midnight Madness portion, for its own safety. Rumour has it that random, private screenings at Midnight Madness devolve into a cross between 42nd Street and Caligula. Even before the curtains go up you’ll find ushers pissing on the first three rows, and certain well-connected patrons of the Arts pay top dollar for the opportunity to watch. After everyone is seated, toting their gift bags full of lube and heroin, the debauchery truly begins. A Black Mass is staged down front. Prostitutes imported from Copenhagen flaggelate celebrities. The entire theatre becomes a whirlpool of sticky flesh and cigarette butts, and at its centre is Colin Geddes, born with eyes like dying embers and a 14-inch cock trapped in a rusty cage. His Satanic laughter echoes throughout the theatre, spurring the participants on to greater depths of depravity until the screen is covered with so much blood and semen that it’s almost impossible to make out the film. Almost.

And don’t even get me started about the after parties.

So, yeah, I’m going this year. They’re finally sucking me in with films like Frontière(s) and Stuck. Say a prayer for me.

Whenever I grow tired of recent trends in movies I usually end up wallowing in the dumpsters of Horror history to find the trash and treasures of years gone by. One of the great joys of being an amateur cinephile is in continually delving deeper and deeper into the wonders of the past and never really seeing bottom. Sometimes you find a one-off gem, other times you find an entire sub-genre that yields dozens of unsung titles.

It probably goes without saying that the internet has made the hunt a lot easier. One of the most memorable aspects of my initial forays into Horror’s forgotten past is the Gray Market trade, where movies both obscure and discarded are scooped up and sold without an official release. Here were the true dregs of exploitation cinema, titles I would never find anywhere outside of a shadowy circle of aficionados.

As more people get higher bandwidth, this market has begun to venture out of tape trading and burnt dvds and into direct downloads. Case in point, Cosmic Hex, fine purveyors of rare and sleazy cinematic oddities. They have so may titles I’ve never heard of that, like some kind of born-again virgin of the grindhouse set, I feel as if I’m once again on the threshold of that journey into the bizarre. Don’t believe me? Here’s just a sampling.

Caltiki, the Immortal Monster, Cut-Throats Nine, Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, Four Flies on Grey Velvet, Planet of Horrors, Shriek of the Mutilated, Werewolf of Woodstock, Fantômas, Infra-Man, Yeti: The Giant of the 20th Century, Yor, the Hunter from the Future, just to name a small sampling.

First time’s free if you sign up. It took less than half-an-hour for me to download The Headless Eyes, and I plan on snagging a few more. If you decide to give them a spin, please do me a favour and tell them thehorrorblog sent you.

A few warnings upfront. The quality here is atrocious, particularly the sound. Also, Paramount has been taking these down fairly quickly, so I can’t guarantee how much longer this particular video will be available.

People have been speculating as to the nature of the J.J. Abrams-produced project code-named Cloverfield for awhile now. The trailer seen above has only added fuel to the fire.

In the event that you won’t, or can’t, see for yourself, the teaser shows a group of young adults throwing a farewell party for a friend in an apartment in New York City. Distant rumbling, power outages, and inhuman roars prompt the partygoers to go to the roof to see what’s going on. An explosion blocks away causes everyone to panic, making their way to the streets. There a giant projectile falls into the crowd, causing all sorts of property damage. The trailer is seen through the lens of the video cameras from the party and apparently the entire movie will be shot the same way.

The general consensus seems to be that this will be a giant monster movie, with some speculating that it is in fact a remake of The Host or Godzilla. Others are convinced that it will be a Lost tie-in.

Despite the quality of the video, I’m sold. I’ve been anticipating a ground-level kaiju movie for years.

Bloor Street doesn’t wait for the clubs to let out before it mixes it up, street fighter-style. Starting in July it’ll be a rumble in the Annex every Friday night as the Fight and Fright festival asks you to bring a paper bag… to carry your teeth in! All summer long the Bloor Street Cinema comes at you direct with a one-two combo of kung-fu and horror, all for a fin. That’s advance, pal!

On July 6th Jackie Chan represents with a little something something called Rumble in the Bronx. He’ll be standing face-to-boomstick with Bruce Campbell in The Evil Dead. Fuck Vegas.

July 13th is unlucky for most, but most assuredly lucky for the audience as Tony Jaa brings sexy Ong Bak. Meanwhile, Voorhees tips the scales with Friday the 13th - The Final Chapter. It takes a nation of millions to hold them back.

July 20th presents a different brand of cockfight when Peter Parkour and the kids from District B13 descend on the Annex. And as if that weren’t enough, this fight is going on from Dusk ’till Dawn, cinematically if not literally. Testify!

The gloves have just come off, fuckers. Put ‘em up.

It may be stretching the mandate of this blog a bit, but Robert E. Howard’s sword and sorcery tales were filled with so many eldritch horrors I think I can get away with it.

After years of langushing at Warner Bros., the rights to Conan have been transferred to New Line Cinema. This is potentially great news, as people tell me that New Line showed a great deal of patience and respect in bringing an adaptation of Lord of the Rings to the screen. While I’m one of the few Howard enthusiasts who actually enjoyed the Milius version of Conan, and I’m still hopeful that Arnold Schwarzenegger could return as Conan the King, I welcome the opporunity to start fresh with true adaptations of Howard’s work.

But most of all I relish the idea that this could spawn numerous rip-offs. I think this is just the thing to bring the Italian genre film industry back to its former glory.

If all goes according to plan I will be travelling to Montreal for Fantasia, North America’s largest genre film festival. Nothing from the schedule is really leaping out at me this year, but that’s alright considering how often my favourite films of the festival are the ones which I have zero expectations. Here’s a sampling of what’s on the bill.

The Signal, Flight of the Living Dead, Roomates, Hatchet, Hell’s Ground, S&Man, Woman Transformation, Exte: Hair Extension, Right At Your Door, The Tripper, A Bloody Aria, On Evil Ground, End of the Line, The Rage, Death Note, Mulberry Street, Home Sick, Poultrygeist, The Backwoods, Frissons des Vampires, Dead In 3 Days, The Last Winter, The Ferryman, Trapped Ashes, Postal, and many more.

In addition, scheduled guests include Jean Rollin and Uwe Boll among others. And after all that, I’m ashamed to say that I’m most anticipating a trip to Cosmos.

A week ago the American Film Institute released a list of the 100 greatest American films as chosen by over 1500 industry professionals. I was curious to see how Horror did in the rankings, but not enough to post the results here. A new development has made me change my mind.

The Alliance of Women Film Journalists compiled their own top 100 list. It’s interesting to see the differences, and similarities, between the two lists, though considering that the AFI took votes from a wide range of people in the film industry, and the AWFJ list is composed entirely of journalists, it’s not exactly a controlled experiment.

I wasn’t expecting any horror to make it to either list, and was pleasantly surprised to see a few entries sneak in. What’s even more surprising is that there doesn’t seem to be any overlap between the two lists in regards to horror.

AFI - Psycho, King Kong, Jaws, The Silence of the Lambs.

AWFJ - Alien, Carrie, Rosemary’s Baby.

Kind of puts the lie to the idea that women aren’t really into horror. Gender studies isn’t really my cup of tea, but I wonder if a case can be made for the differences between these two lists and what it means concerning men, women, and their approach to horror. For example, two of the films in the AWFJ list have something to do with body horror, specifically child birth (all three if you want to stretch it), compared to zero in the AFI list.

As much as this article’s tone gets on my nerves, the quotes from those actually involved in 1408 have prompted me to take in the movie this weekend. I particularly enjoyed Samuel Jackson’s take on the recent spate of hardcore horror thrills.

“People used to jump for Vincent Price and now they jump for different shit … Kids are special-effects savvy. They’re making their own slasher movies in the sixth grade.”

Other highlights include Cusack’s comparison of his character to Houdini, director Mikael Hafstrom’s praise of Stephen King’s short stories and the revelation that Eli Roth was once slated to direct 1408.

Cinematical has posted their Box Office predictions for the weekend, with 1408 at number one with a 50 million dollar take. That seems pretty crazy to me, especially when it’s up against the family-friendly Evan Almighty.

And finally, a hotel in Florida is actively inviting guests to stay in room 1408 after watching the film. William Castle would be proud.