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)

jody hill's THE FOOT FIST WAY and steve conrad's THE PROMOTION (2008)

there's an important bit of screenwriting wisdom stressing the odd but undeniable truth that comedy is a much harder thing to write than drama. where dramatic pieces only necessarily require the tangible minimums of storytelling (scenario, character, conflict) and leave everything else wide open, even the stupidest of comedy scripts ideally involves painstaking attention not only to what is or is not funny but also how to package it; after all, miscalculations in tone, pacing, or performance can conceivably mean the difference between belly laughs and bad times. (see: The Love Guru.)

(just kidding, please don't see The Love Guru.)

even harder is consideration of the comic character, which folds its requirements back into the more complicated realms of drama. it's not quite important that we believe the characters could exist (it's sufficient to understand how they might), but constructing a story around them requires something more: an emotional connection, however slight, is what keeps audiences in the seats even when the jokes start to spoil.

it's a credit to Jody Hill, then, that his The Foot Fist Way almost manages to succeed as a comedy despite careless disregard for any and all of these guidelines. here is a microbudgeted film (shot in Concord, NC) that remains microbudgeted in spirit, from the indifferent staging and inert pace to the woefully modest scope of its story, and for the most part lacks the sort of inspiration that typically leads a group of friends to make a feature film. throughout the running time there is vulgarity, misanthropy, awkwardness, and even misogyny.

ah, but there is also Danny McBride. perhaps recognizable to some from stolen scenes in David Gordon Green's underappreciated romance All The Real Girls or the probably-suitably-appreciated Hot Rod, the pudgy, mustachioed McBride plays Fred "King Of The Demo" Simmons, a small-town Tae Kwon Do instructor with an unfaithful wife, somewhat dubious credentials, and few friends beyond the children and smattering of adults that faithfully attend his dojo. there is a bit (only a bit) more to the story, but it's fair to say that the focus is much more on McBride than anything to do with the plot, as he gifts the almost forgettable film with a towering, ferociously deadpan comedic performance that has already facilitated his clean jump into mainstream comedy. (next up: a supporting role in Green's Apatow-produced stoner thriller Pineapple Express.) from getting riled up about 2-for-1 crab legs to cornering a pretty student with thickheaded advances, Fred Simmons is a living, breathing (and unmistakably Southern) dumbass, and McBride gives the comedic turn of the year so far.

until, that is, the film finally collapses under his weight. the amateur cast makes The Foot Fist Way's sloppy chug that much slower, and in the end the whole thing is done in by its limitations. though Fred Simmons is an undeniably funny character, neither the filmmakers nor the audience manage anything approaching real empathy on his behalf, and being put-upon and cheated on don't carry that much weight when we're indifferent to their victim's plight. The Foot Fist Way will doubtlessly achieve cult longevity (it was distributed by Will Ferrell, who would likely chair the film's fan club) but it's much more of a raw showcase than a comedic film.

Steve Conrad's The Promotion, on the other hand, has an embarrassment of riches where emotional identification is concerned. the story of two Chicago men (Seann William Scott and John C. Reilly) competing for the managership of their grocery chain's nearest location is ripe enough material for a light dramatic comedy by itself, but Conrard shakes things up by approaching the rivals with equal sympathy and intelligence, ensuring in the process that each member of the audience's moment-to-moment alliances will not only shift but do so independently of everyone else's.

the film is presented primarily from Scott's perspective (the narration is among the tonal debts to Alexander Payne's kindred Election) but we grow increasingly weary of his white lies and poor impulse control; Reilly, on the other hand, emerges as a shady, Canadian usurper to Scott's grocer throne but ends up charming with his innocence. over the course of the movie each man makes decisions and acts in ways that speak alternately well and ill of his character, and we are asked to determine for ourselves the worthiness of each choice.

The Promotion is nuanced, emotionally intelligent, and above all humanistic in a way few films are. Conrard (making his debut behind the camera after writing The Weather Man and The Pursuit Of Happyness) continues to explore the way people define themselves by the work they do, for better or worse, and when the dust settles on the titular promotion it's hard not to feel simultaneously glad and disappointed in the outcome. there are more hard laughs to be found in Foot Fist Way, but why bother with a caricature when the real thing is so much more satisfying?

(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.