patrick lussier's MY BLOODY VALENTINE 3-D (2009)

tobe hooper & steven spielberg's POLTERGEIST (1982)

sam raimi & rob tapert's GHOST HOUSE UNDERGROUND series

as countless film fans have no doubt spent the bulk of October appreciating, horror may well be the healthiest of film genres, and has been for some time. not so much creatively, perhaps (Cloverfield is the only theatrical release sitting above par so far this year) but certainly from a production and distribution standpoint: besides the standard wide theatrical model, scary movies of all stripes continue to find audiences through channels that would almost surely fail, say, similarly low-on-the-radar romantic comedies or costume dramas.

the venues are wide-ranging. on television, Showtime's "Masters Of Horror" and NBC's "Fear Itself" both attracted major genre players to a rebirth of the horror anthology, while On Demand network FEARnet and its website mix higher-profile screamers with easy-to-license cheapies. theatrically, After Dark Films have found considerable success with their Horrorfest, an annual eight-film lineup simulcast to theaters across the country.

it's the oft-maligned "straight to video" strategy, though, that drives horror's unique self-sufficiency. The most conspicuous player has recently been the Weinstein Company's Dimension Extreme boutique label, which has distributed new films by George Romero and Dario Argento as well as surprises like last year's charming vagina-dentata caper Teeth, but earlier this month a potentially stiff competitor emerged in the form of Ghost House Underground, a likeminded line of DVDs ostensibly presided over by Evil Dead masterminds Sam Raimi and Rob Tapert's Ghost House Productions.

watching Ghost House Underground's eight debut films, the more relevant factor in the indie horror boom looms heavily: the reason these companies have found such success in alternative distribution is that the core audience for these films have notoriously (if self-consciously) low standards. no one will speak as fondly about abjectly terrible films as the horror connoisseur; some seem to relish inept writing and inert performances nearly as much as stomach-turning violence.

a test, then, for that sort of horror fan: try Brotherhood Of Blood on for size. perhaps the line's most high profile title considering the presence of genre stalwarts Sid Haig and Ken Foree, Brotherhood is also by some margin the least watchable. its vampire-hunting scenario is passable, and both actors seem to be having their share of fun, but nearly everything else about the film (directed by Uwe Boll compatriots Michael Roesch and Peter Scheerer) handily overshadows anything that might be construed as entertainment; in acting, artifice and tone, Brotherhood Of Blood feels like a failed pilot for a macabre soap opera, shot on Hi8 through a dirty window.

the other two American films in the set benefit only by comparison. Gregg Bishop's prom-night zombie chopper Dance Of The Dead has already met a kind reaction from the fanboy community through festival screenings, but that's as much to do with the glut of pandering genre in-jokes than with any particular merit. its emphasis on comedy does set it apart from the rest of the too-serious Ghost House set, but it would stand out more if the comedy were actually funny; there are three or four good chuckles and one unique idea (the zombies react curiously to terrible pop-punk) but overall Dance doesn't reflect well on self-styled wunderkind Bishop as a humorist or a filmmaker.

nor does No Man's Land: The Rise Of Reeker give any inkling as to why writer/director Dave Payne thought it would be worthwhile to give the Evil Dead II half-sequel, half-remake treatment to his recent grim reaper re-imagining Reeker. it's at the very least one of the set's handsomest productions, but innocuously self-indulgent to a fault: while horror movies often stoop to contrivance and flawed logic, No Man's Land settles -- strives, even -- for a complete logical vacuum in both motivation and the narrative itself. It's engaging, but don't expect it to justify itself.

Ghost House Underground's five imports paint a rosier picture of the state of horror filmmaking, mired though they are in invasive American influence (and awful English dubs, though subtitles and original audio are included on each DVD.) the most eye-catching one, in fact, was shot in English and boasts studio-caliber production values: Finland's Dark Floors, a haunted hospital tale that doubles as a vanity project for mega-popular costumed Finnish power metal band Lordi. Dark Floors walks a fine line between a surprisingly creepy tone and the necessary silliness of building a scary movie around five hard-rocking monsters, but a decline in focus leaves Dark Floors little more than a precious novelty. (the disc also includes the best of the set's moderately generous special features, including two music videos and a hilariously blase press conference.)

on the other side of the American influence there is unfortunately also the tedious, unpleasant Trackman, a slick Russian thriller about a sewer-dwelling, eyeball-plucking maniac tailing escaping bank robbers and their hostages. though it contains the set's most accomplished gore, there is nothing further to recommend, and the contents of your stomach are just as threatened by the film's shakycam affectations as its violence.

Denmark's two entries, on the other hand, bring a bit of dignity to the table. Ole Bornedal's The Substitute (a moody sci-fi riff on "Miss Nelson Is Missing") steps the furthest outside the bounds of niche horror, but from script to screen it's Martin Barnewitz' Room 205 that proves the real high point. the story of a transfer student confronting a dormitory's ghostly secrets, Room 205 is staged with considerably more care and talent than its Ghost House peers, and despite obvious debts to haunted-girl J-horror there is a clarity of purpose that keeps its tone and pacing surprisingly steady.

regardless, if there is one Ghost House Underground film destined to connect with discriminating gorehounds, it's Gabriele Albanesi's unhinged Giallo throwback Last House In The Woods, which pits a young Italian couple against a troublesome cast of deranged forest-dwellers. familiar territory, sure, but the film has its own ideas as well, and enough depraved, graphic violence to fill in the holes. in a good many ways, in fact, it is Ghost House Underground's baddest of the bad, and the fact that that can mean different things to different people may be what keeps a beloved genre pumping blood.

(from the KNOXVILLE VOICE)

jaume balagueró's [REC] (2007)

steven spielberg's JURASSIC PARK (1993)

guillermo del toro's HELLBOY 2: THE GOLDEN ARMY (2008)

frank darabont's THE MIST (2007)

Darabont seems so professionally taken with the work of Stephen King that it's a little sad he doesn't really have the chops to make an actual horror film; i've got patience enough with his genial mediocrity, but The Mist bites off a little more than he can chew. there's a good bit to admire in his adaptation, from the portrait of ugly religious fervor (one wonders how a pared-down Mist might work on the stage) to it's heavy, audacious ending -- Darabont's heart was in the right place, and moreso his balls. but the movie that surrounds both his and King's better ideas is clumsy at best and corny at worst, plagued by hammy performances, inert staginess, and an apparent loss as to how to cut the film together without the odd Fade To Black, the sum result of which is a film far too confident in its potential to captivate.

still, just to rub sand in The Strangers' eyes, it must be said that this is a mainstream film with a bold bleakness that still manages to entertain and provoke thought. whether or not it earns the ending is perfectly arguable, but either way those last moments are saturated with desperate love rather than crass hatred, and there's simply no contest between the two, whatever their purpose.

bryan bertino's THE STRANGERS (2008)

what are the terms of the contract between a work of horror and its audience? it’s an interesting question with regard to any and all of the genre’s forms, from oral tradition to Stephen King, but it’s most pressing where the horror film is concerned: we’re asked, there in the dark, to place our trust in a variety of terror that will engage us on its own visceral terms rather than those tethered to our imaginations, and what we generally ask in return is to find entertainment in the provocation of our fears. horror fans come in many forms, of course, from the desensitized gorehound to the teenage girl two rows in front of you that collapses in laughter after each shriek without pausing to breathe; so, too, do the movies themselves run an astonishing gamut of styles and sensibilities, each wholly inappropriate for the wrong sort of audience. but the contract remains, and no matter how perverse the escapism is, it's still perfectly reasonable to expect that escape.

in many ways The Strangers is an exemplary American horror thriller, and a confident, undeniably auspicious debut for writer/director Bryan Bertino. the story is minimal, sure, and not entirely unfamiliar: two young lovers (Scott Speedman and Liv Tyler) find themselves alone in a remote summer home as a trio of masked interlopers, motive-free save for bloodlust, attack them unremittingly through the night.

it's a premise that demands quite a lot from its execution, and Bertino is up to the challenge. this is the rare horror film in which aspiring survivors do not simply run amok, lapsing in judgment at the plot's cruel whims; they are instead drawn as finely as the brisk running time will allow, and act with logic and dignity throughout. we are scared with them because we are ushered comfortably into their heads, and we root for them because we are unable to remove ourselves from the overwhelming doom. the film is intimate, even claustrophobic, and once the terrorizing begins it is never unclear that two against three are vastly unfavorable odds.

aesthetically, too, the film is accomplished. though Bertino cribs his creeps and crawls from elsewhere (particularly recent European horror) it all marries together handsomely, from the slow, sure burn of the first act to the nail-biting melee of the third. the antagonists' simple, striking masks (one little more than a small burlap sack) carry the innuendo of inhumanity as their figures initially fade into and pop out of the careful frames, and later suffocate any hope of mercy, or even the barest explanation. there is creepiness to spare in every empty room, creak or sudden twist of the head, until the film tires of being creepy and throws the curtain aside on a symphony of loud, unforgiving malevolence. there is relatively little by way of the graphic violence, but graphic violence would be beside the point -- the violence has long since crept from the screen and into our own helpless engagement.

more important than its craft, however, and more important than its power, is this: The Strangers is first and foremost a work of irredeemable garbage.

there are, of course, those who would say the same thing about any given horror film, with varying degrees of validity. and there's damn sure little to defend the spate of witless, sadistic Xeroxes currently masquerading as mainstream American horror. but what makes The Strangers so egregious, so thoroughly immoral, is that it's very tangibly a worthy genre entry; its artifice and effectiveness preclude the sort of dismissal we might reserve for, say, One Missed Call or whichever numeral they're remaking Saw under this year. it demands and even deserves to be taken seriously, to the degree that when the lights come up and we realize we've just seen a glorified snuff film while Kung Fu Panda played next door, there's little to do but take the entire genre to task, and ourselves as its accomplice.

but that's a trap. The Strangers' real crime, the one that so readily outshines what might otherwise be called virtues, is that behind its polish there is nothing intended to provoke thought or entertainment; it's a glib construction existing only to manipulate your fears and sour your stomach about the depths of human nature. (worst of all the film plays out under the auspices that it was "inspired by true events", a transparent stab at legitimizing its bleak, abhorrent ending.) more than anything else The Strangers seems a tailor-made validation of Michael Haneke's wry, inscrutable Funny Games, which actively chides and goads its audience for daring to eke entertainment from a murderous home invasion sure to end badly for any innocent with the misfortune to be involved. here, in The Strangers, is the same film lobotomized, substituting slick, sick panache for an inkling of thought or conscience.

this is not what horror film is about. the best of them parade wit, joy, ingenuity, and subtext, while even the worst can rely on intrigue and formula to satisfy, even delight, while they scare. and while it's to be acknowledged that there always have been and always will be works akin to The Strangers, on both its own terms and those of its vexing, meritless cynicism, those films don't typically come in third place at the box office; as little we can ask and expect of mainstream horror, it's always been encouraging that films taking us to the edge are typically willing to give us a lift back.

(from the KNOXVILLE VOICE)

sam raimi's EVIL DEAD 2: DEAD BY DAWN (1987)

two things stick out returning to Raimi's rough masterpiece, which i've been on hiatus from after wearing out my VHS copy in high school. first, Evil Dead 2 is still every bit as inspiring to me as a filmmaker as it was the first, second, and twentieth time i saw it; there's a freshness, wit and ingenuity to nearly every element that does an astounding job of obscuring the production's limitations, and it's no exaggeration to suggest it as the Citizen Kane of low-budget horror. secondly, and more specifically, the film's pacing is very nearly flawless; one of the curses of extreme familiarity with a work (even after several years i found myself anticipating favorite edits and minute sound cues) is that wasted scenes and poor sequence choices can become downright interminable, but Evil Dead 2 sails along briskly from the first frame to the last, never faltering in tone or energy.

mitchell lichtenstein's TEETH (2007)

guillermo del toro's HELLBOY (2004)

robert wise's THE HAUNTING (1963)

it's all too true that they don't make 'em like they used to, just as it's true that Robert Wise managed to make this one like they wouldn't for years to come. The Haunting drags a little towards the beginning, sure, and could use more showing and less telling where Eleanor is concerned, but there's no denying the film's creepy power over the audience, just as there's no underestimating the presence of mind in Wise's craft; though the genre today scrapes by on a much lower brow, horror's hacks and heroes are all still taking cues from The Haunting's accomplishments.

david slade's 30 DAYS OF NIGHT (2007)

it's rare that i'd fault a film for insufficient pilfering, but 30 Days Of Night is the exception: regardless of Slade's own considerable talents and instincts, i spent a good deal of the film wishing he'd spent his downtime screening and re-screening The Thing and Assault On Precinct 13, notepad by his side. it's obvious, handsome and moody though the film is, that Carpenter's knack for sustained, intimate tension would be a great help, but Slade takes it at his own muddled pace, so we never get a definitive feel for the geography or timeframe, and that hobbles an otherwise frightening film. still, there's little to grumble at technically; an extended bird's eye tracking shot of the town under vampire seige is surely one of the most striking setpieces in recent horror.

paddy breathnach's SHROOMS (2007)

part of me wouldn't have minded enjoying Shrooms; the premise isn't necessarily the worst that teen horror has to offer, and it's put together handsomely enough. but damned if it doesn't use its psychotropic premise as an excuse not to make any sense, and as such forgoes any real scares despite the odd tense moment. and more egregious than the nonsense is that the film gets so caught up in its boring, hackneyed twist that it almost entirely forgets to mislead beyond a bit of cursory j-horror aesthetic pilfering. we're misled into thinking there's a supernatural element to the proceedings, and its three manifestations could have been genuinely interesting and even (gasp!) scary in their dynamic interrelations, but despite their seeming high profile, the script never thinks to treat the supposed ghosts/monsters/whatevs as anything but a throwaway red herring.