From Apocalypse To Christmas: The Legacy Of Shirley Walker

It is far and away from being too emphatic to say that from 1979 to 2006, one woman was integral, sonically speaking, to your movie-going and television-watching experiences. If you grew up with the gothic triumphs of Batman (and his animated counterpart), the horror and nightmares of Colonel Kurtz, the yardstick-wielding antics of Chucky, the L.A.-surfing badassness of Snake Plissken, the cookie-cut heart of Edward Scissorhands, or the delightfully disturbing designs of Death itself, you’ve heard the musical mastery and felt the very presence of the one and only, Shirley Walker.

Shirley began her career as a pianist, working specifically in the San Francisco Symphony, meanwhile writing music primarily for industrial films and commercial projects from the late 1960s into the 1970s, until finally being brought onto the incredible musical team of Apocalypse Now (1979) to perform synths and arrange parts for other synth players, realising Carmine Coppola’s score. Her work and arrangements can be heard, eerily interwoven throughout the film, but notably during cues like “Do Lung” and “The Delta”. Almost immediately, she would work again with Carmine, orchestrating the score for The Black Stallion (1979) as well as writing additional cues, receiving credits such as “Additional music by” or even “Co-composed by” this time around, giving her an official start and making her one of the rare few female film composers of the time alongside Wendy Carlos, Rachel Elkind, Delia Derbyshire, Angela Morley, and Suzanne Ciani. However, what made Shirley stand out among her peers was her ability to work with an orchestra and this talent would come to shape so many beloved film scores.

Shirley Walker and David Rubinson working on Apocalypse Now.

To be a composer is not unusual. Nor is it to be an orchestrator. Or a conductor, for that matter. What is unusual, is to be one that does all three and Shirley was exactly that. She knew exactly how music worked, how it was written, and how (or if) it could be played by musicians. Her roles would include making sure each cue was recorded how it needed to be with the speed, tone, and musical sound design in mind, based on the composer’s wishes as well as her own, but also to watch over the orchestra and let a composer/orchestrator/studio figure know that a certain piece can only be performed a certain amount of times before the musicians wear out.

In the DVD commentary for Final Destination, Shirley recounts a time when there was a problem with music being recorded for a Disney picture she was conducting. The composer and producers were sat in the control booth, playing back the recordings and bickering, leaving the musicians idle for forty-five minutes. Rather than have them be paid to do nothing, the producers suggested to Shirley that they rehearse music not yet recorded. Shirley agreed but quietly told the orchestra how she felt this was ridiculous, that she didn’t want them wearing out, and she had a different plan. In this particular studio, Shirley was on an elevated platform to where the orchestra was essentially hidden below and only Shirley could be seen from the booth. She utilised this, and knowing that the orchestra couldn’t actually be heard unless recording was in progress, she mimed conducting, waving her arms, pointing to the score, and completely putting on an act for the producers, but all the while telling jokes and keeping things light with the musicians.

 With this kind of prowess and spirit, and while she was still writing for television in the early 1980s, Shirley would be frequently hired by other composers to orchestrate and/or conduct their scores. Some of these included Murder in Coweta Country (1980) for Brad Fiedel, Cujo (1983) for Charles Bernstein, and Ghost Warrior (1984) for Richard Band for which she also wrote additional music. Shirley would also team up with Band as co-composers on The Dungeonmaster (1984) and Ghoulies (1985). Interestingly, Shirley’s imprint makes these latter two scores stand out, with the score for Ghoulies specifically sounding much like a classic Danny Elfman score, though predating Shirley’s work with Danny and even his very first film score for Pee-wee’s Big Adventure (1985) by six months. Band surely had a hand in the score, but Band a part, the score feels very Shirley. (Just listen to the cue entitled, “In Bed With… Ghoulies” and hear for yourself.) It was perhaps inevitable that the fun, yet slightly twisted, playful, yet no-less powerful compositions and orchestrations of Shirley’s would reach Danny.

Shirley continued to score various television projects and work simultaneously as an orchestrator/conductor into the late 1980s, continuing a long-running collaboration with Brad Fiedel. Around the time of orchestrating and conducting Fiedel’s score for The Accused (1988), Shirley would conduct the score for Scrooged (1988), marking her first work with Danny Elfman. She would go on to orchestrate and/or conduct his scores for Batman (1989), Nightbreed (1990), Dick Tracy (1990), Darkman (1990), Edward Scissorhands (1990), and finally Article 99 (1992), injecting Elfman’s already-wild, weird, and wicked music with further spirit. Shirley also composed additional cues for both Nightbreed and Dick Tracy and unless it was Elfman-regular Steve Bartek, she likely orchestrated/conducted the theme for Tales From The Crypt (1989 – 1996) as it was recorded on the back-end of a Batman recording session.

As if 1990 wasn’t already a busy enough year for her, Shirley would also do an uncredited orchestration of the score for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, then onto orchestrating and conducting Trevor Jones’ score for the Spielberg-produced, Arachnophobia. She would also orchestrate and conduct Graeme Revell’s score for Child’s Play 2, adding her charm and dark playfulness to the music that would harken back to the demented carnival cue in Apocalypse Now as well as helping to craft one of the most iconic themes/scores in the Child’s Play franchise. The memorable music would also re-appear briefly in Revell’s score for Bride Of Chucky (1998) and be used in much of the marketing of the upcoming Chucky television series.

Following the success of Batman and Batman Returns (1992), Batman: The Animated Series (1992 – 1995) was created with Danny Elfman composing the main theme and Shirley Walker writing additional themes and becoming one of the show’s primary composers/directors, ultimately leading to her scoring the animated feature, Batman: Mask Of The Phantasm (1993), which is still one of her most highly-regarded works. As another example of the fun which Shirley would inspire in music and performances, the lyrics which the choir sing throughout the Mask Of The Phantasm score, often presumed to be in Latin or some similar language, are actually the names off all the orchestra members backwards, so what’s being sung is essentially nonsense – silly, yet effective. Shirley would continue to compose and shepherd the music of sequel series’, The New Batman Adventures (1997 – 1999) and Batman Beyond (1999 – 2001). For her work on The Animated Series and Beyond, Shirley would win two Daytime Emmy’s in 1996 and 2001, respectively. These would be the only awards she would ever receive.

All the while managing her working relationships with Elfman and Fiedel, Shirley would mentor and collaborate with up-and-comer, Hans Zimmer (who, incidentally, would provide synths for Mask Of The Phantasm). She would orchestrate and/or conduct his scores for Black Rain (1989), Bird On A Wire (1990), Backdraft (1991), A League Of Their Own (1992), and Toys (1992), to name a few. She would also collaborate with Carter Burwell at the end of her orchestrating/conducting-for-others days, including the incredible score for Fear (1996). She would even return to Batman on film one last time in 1995 with uncredited orchestration on Batman Forever.

However, one of Shirley’s most important efforts was the literally thankless (uncredited) job of conducting the score for National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (1989), for only a few years later, when John Carpenter was making Memoirs Of An Invisible Man (1992), he was to seek out a new composer, replacing Jack Nitzsche, in one of the rare instances where Carpenter (and frequent partner, Alan Howarth) didn’t write the music. Chevy Chase, who played the lead in Memoirs, recalled visiting a recording session for Christmas Vacation and being impressed by the conductor. He recommended her to Carpenter and she got the job. And so, this would become Shirley Walker’s first, proper, official, solo film score. Even more amazing is the important cinematic history this made, where Suzanne Ciani is the first woman to receive solo credit for a film score with 1981’s The Incredible Shrinking Woman, Shirley has the distinction of being the first woman to have composed an entire symphonic score, which she also orchestrated and conducted alone. Though the film itself would be a critical and box office failure, Shirley’s score was marvelous, capturing the excitement, adventure, mystery, and occasional zaniness of the story.

In another rare move from Carpenter, he would bring Shirley back as a composer to work with he and Alan Howarth on the score for Escape from L.A. (1996), for which she provided her signature lavish, sophisticated, and infallibly fun orchestration atop the ever-enjoyable synth and rock efforts of Carpenter and Howarth, making for a unique, bold, and sometimes epically groovy sounding score. If you listen specifically to a cue called, “Queen Mary/Hang Glider Attack”, it gives you the perspective that Shirley very easily could have done the oft-prestigious score to a James Bond film, standing seamlessly alongside the works of John Barry, David Arnold, George Martin, Hans Zimmer, and Thomas Newman. This was the level of quality Shirley would bring to every score, be it for a high-budget, high-tension Hollywood picture like Memoirs or a rag-tag science-fiction sequel like Escape.

Shirley Walker with John Carpenter, during their work on Escape from L.A.

From 1996 to 1999, Shirley would work her last two times for Brad Fiedel on Eden and Rasputin, then focus primarily on scoring, orchestrating, and conducting her own music for projects such as the HBO television film, Turbulence, and the Disney reboot of The Love Bug, plus additional music for Mystery Men, all whilst overseeing the music for the animated Batman shows and others like, Spawn (1997-1999) and Superman: The Animated Series (1996-2000). By the end of the decade, two filmmakers, James Wong and Glen Morgan, who had begun their film careers after seeing and being inspired by Apocalypse Now twenty years prior, with a script penned by Jeffrey Reddick, would take on the task of bringing to life a story of death.

Shirley had already worked with Wong and Morgan in 1995, scoring their television series, Space: Above and Beyond, establishing their relationship and apparently sealing the deal when it came time to find a composer for Final Destination (2000). She was brought in to write chilling and thrilling music for the film to accompany a group of plane crash survivors as they evade and/or fall prey to Death in horrifying fashion. And Shirley could not have been giddier at the opportunity, especially being afforded the chance to compose an ominous, foreboding theme for an opening credits sequence, which set the tone and establish the death motif which would feature in the next three sequels. And while horror icon, Tony Todd, may have played the visible, teased manifestation of Death, Shirley Walker was without question the invisible incarnation. Her score would feature classic haunting and suspenseful instrumentation amidst contemporary elements like electronic percussion and always perfectly capture the macabre mischievousness of the reaper, but if you listen really close, throughout the film, ghostly exhalations, almost like airy laughing, can be heard. (Listen to the cue, “Fire Signs”, for example.) This is none other than the voice of Shirley Walker herself, cameoing as a portent of Death.

Final Destination was a success and, as certain are death and sequels, so too, was the return of Shirley to the franchise for Final Destination 2 (2003), following her scoring Tales From The Crypt: Ritual (2002), this time crafting a more exciting score, with another Bond-like take on the main theme, joined by her son, Ian Walker, for electronic percussion and help with orchestration. The same year, she would also work on Glen Morgan’s remake of Willard. The accordions heard in the music of the film were Shirley’s idea to match the off-beat nature and outsider qualities of the titular character, but their inclusion was up for some debate, with director Glen Morgan loving them and producer James Wong being uncertain about them. In the documentary found on the Willard DVD, Shirley stated of director Morgan and producer Wong: “The two of them, as in many of their ideas about filmmaking and their conceptualizing, they’re just enough apart and going in opposite directions to where they are a real good balance for each other. So I know if I’ve got Jim just a little bit alarmed and I’ve got Glen not too, like, off the wall about like (Shirley mimics Glen) ‘Oh yeah, this is killer! This is just right! It’s the only thing I can have!’, you know, if I’ve got those two things in balance, I know I’m in good shape.” And so, with Shirley’s savvy, the accordions stayed and with that, she once again made cinematic history with the first film score to ever feature an accordion section in the orchestra. (Accordions are also featured prominently in Crispin Glover’s cover of “Ben” for the film’s soundtrack, though it’s uncertain if Shirley had anything to do with the music for the track.)

Shirley would come to complete a trilogy of scores upon composing for James Wong’s Final Destination 3 (2006), returning to its roots in suspense and playful presence of Death after the action-oriented predecessor. However, it was all still charming and fun, where for this particular film, a tool was invented by her scoring mixer, Bobby Fernandez, called the “GrossOMeter”, and utilised by Shirley to dictate how a certain cue should be performed by the orchestra to match the intensity and grotesque goings-on of the scene on screen. Later that year, Glen Morgan would direct another remake, this time being Black Christmas. The film was notoriously butchered during production, with Morgan’s original vision left marred, though the score casts some familiar light on the final product. While it sounds just a little less polished and a little more intimate, with more focus on synths and atmospheres, it still maintains that quirky, dark sense of merriment only Shirley could bring with plucky, detuned strings, brass stings, and very angry sleigh bells.

Sadly, a great loss came when Shirley passed away on the 30th of November, 2006 at only age 61, after complications from a stroke. In the credits of Final Destination 3 and Black Christmas are the messages “In memory of Shirley Walker” and “Goodbye Shirley”. Her death was overlooked during the following Academy Awards ceremony’s “In Memoriam” in 2007, though a plaque was made in her honor at the Eastwood Scoring Stage. Her work continued to be referenced in later Batman shows and her death motif was covered by Brian Tyler for The Final Destination (2009) while composer Bear McCreary cited Shirley Walker as his primary source of inspiration in the scoring of the series, Agents Of S.H.I.E.L.D. (2013 – 2020). In 2014, ASCAP created the Shirley Walker Award for “those whose achievements have contributed to the diversity of film and television music” and has been given to Wendy Melvoin & Lisa Coleman, Deborah Lurie, Germaine Franco, and Pinar Toprak, to date. Meanwhile, brilliant female composers such as Mica Levi, Hildur Guðnadóttir, Steph Copeland, and Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch follow in Shirley’s footsteps while carving their own paths.

So, remember, when you see and relive your favourite cinematic moments like Batman fighting The Joker and his minions, Captain Willard making his way up river, Chucky hanging out with Phil, Snake Plissken shooting hoops and bad guys, Edward Scissorhands carving topiaries, or Death making designs for corpses-to-be, these were all elevated by their respective composers, but also in no small part by the brilliant, skilled, and always fun…Shirley Walker.

Shirley Walker Recommended Listening:

1. “Main Theme” from Memoirs Of An Invisible Man (1992)

2. “The Delta” from Apocalypse Now (1979)

3. “In Bed With… Ghoulies” from Ghoulies (1985)

4. “Queen Mary/Hang Glider Attack” from Escape from L.A. (1996)

5. “Ice Dance” from Edward Scissorhands (1990)

6. “End Titles” from Child’s Play 2 (1990)

7. “Main Title” from Batman: Mask Of The Phantasm (1993)

8. “Main Titles” from Final Destination (2000)

9. “Main Titles” from Willard (2003)

10. “Main Title” from Final Destination 2 (2003)

Bonus: “Fire Signs” from Final Destination (2000)

“Every Corpse Tells A Story”: The Charming Morbidity Of The Mortuary Collection

The canon of anthological horror cinema is engorged with myriad entries of all shapes and sizes, each with their own macabre and often darkly humorous tales to tell. With notable examples such as Dead Of Night (1945), Trilogy Of Terror (1975), Creepshow (1982), Body Bags (1993), Tales From The Hood (1995), Trick ’r Treat (2007), The ABCs Of Death (2012), and Tales Of Halloween (2015), the method seemingly preserves itself and stays from wearing out its welcome. 2019 (or 2021, for those of us who waited for the physical copy release), then saw the arrival of an addition which feels both fresh and comfortable whilst being fiendishly fun and ceaselessly charming: The Mortuary Collection.

This particular anthology film, written and directed by Ryan Spindell, takes an immediate unique approach in making the wrap-around narrative the driving force of the feature, rather than just leaving it be the typical cohesive element. It’s in this primary plot that we follow the mortician of Raven’s End, Montgomery Dark, played with equal parts spook and sympathy by the ever-fantastic Clancy Brown, who gives his young new applicant, Sam, played by Caitlin Custer, a tour of the mortuary all the while telling her the tales which make up the rest of the film, though are carefully interwoven akin to the structure of Trick ’r Treat.  

“So these are all stories about how people died?” – Sam

“Not just how, my dear…Why.” – Montgomery Dark

Not only are these segments full of the usual fun, frights, twists, and turns, but Spindell and co. manage to add refreshing depth to every story and character with clever details and incredible performances, making it effortless to feel invested paired with never-ending cinematic eye candy. Characters like Wendell, Sandra, and Dr. Kubler (incidentally, the only character to appear in every part of the film) are infectious and intriguing. And be it the sardonic satire and body horror of “Unprotected” or the bittersweet and gory gut-punch of a love story that is, “Til Death Do Us Part”, the vignettes all offer something compelling where the spectacle of how the deaths come to be is as enjoyable as the well-thought-out purpose of why.

As we return to Sam and Montgomery each time, the two perform little verbal autopsies on the story we’ve just seen wherein the film manages to commentate on storytelling and the nature of anthologies without the awkward social commentary and mean-spiritedness of something like Scare Me (2020), rather keeping it tongue-in-cheek and never too serious. Not to say The Mortuary Collection is the Scream of horror anthologies, but it’s the kind of film that knows what it is, yet keeps its meta notes effectively focused on the plot and character interactions.

“The form may be familiar, but the message is timeless.” – Montgomery Dark

Meanwhile, the film wears its influences on its sleeve, creatively and technically, referencing other works such as Evil Dead II, Phantasm, The Shining, and Halloween, yet it owns these homages and seamlessly stitches them into itself. The look and feel of the film harkens back to classic films, utilizing beautiful matte paintings and transitional cinematography/editing taken from the school of Hitchcock’s Rope. Tom Woodruff Jr. and Alec Gillis’ Amalgamated Dynamics handle the plethora of practical effects, including Clancy Brown’s Angus Scrimm-doppelganger appearance, some crispy demon children, and a tentacle monster which might look familiar to Tremors fans. The score by the Mondo Boys traverses and unifies the various decades in which the film takes place and boasts everything from haunting, classical orchestral arrangements to Californian surf rock, whilst managing to remain authentic, a la Fallout. All of the aforementioned components work intravenously, injecting personality, style, and genuine fun into a tried-and-true form which gives us the rigor mortis romp that is, The Mortuary Collection.

“That’s pretty cool.” – Sam

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?”– Montgomery Dark

I not only recommend one viewing of this delightful anthology, but several as it has incredible replay value atop being a generally entertaining watch. Much like its Trick ’r Treat counterpart, there are countless new, witty, and surprising details to pick up on with subsequent viewings. For example: Every phone number, license plate, and other featured sequence of digits will always add up to 13. Certain characters appear in more than one story (aside from Dr. Kubler). And if you can read Latin, you’re in for a little treat.

And lastly, I know (at the time of writing this) that this film is available on various streaming services, including Shudder, but if you can, I implore you to purchase the physical copy as it comes with several extras you can’t experience with streaming, including a fantastic and sincere commentary from the writer/director as well as fourteen behind the scenes featurettes and a deleted scenes featurette, all equating to roughly two hours of bonus material, which is invaluable to both fans and filmmakers alike. And quite frankly, they’re just very fun, in-depth looks into all the love, work, and fun that went into the making of the film.

Bo Burnham’s Inside Offers A Master Class In Existential Dread

This isn’t your average comedy special.

Just a few days ago, I was only mildly aware of Bo Burnham. A vine here, a meme there – I knew him primarily as some kid who got famous on the internet and made fun of my parents. I certainly would never have guessed he would be the one to hand deliver the gut-wrenching, soul-cleansing, out-of-body catharsis I’ve needed desperately since the start of the pandemic.

In Burnham’s new Netflix “comedy special,” Inside, that’s exactly what he does, taking his audience through the exhausting task of creating art in quarantine while trying to resist the urge to kill himself. The classic Existential Crisis is on full HD display here, from early stages of anxiety as Burnham questions a comedian’s role in the modern world (Oh, shit / Should I be joking at a time like this?) to the crushing despair of a man on the verge of finishing the lone project that’s kept him going. We’re invited to watch as the single room in which Inside is shot falls into complete disarray – along with our host – and sing along to the bleak deterioration of the ego in the juxtaposing throes of hyper-stimulation and loneliness.

That’s not to say Inside is without humor. It’s hilarious, just not in the thigh-slapping sense. There are a couple of brief stand-up routines and a few clever sketches commenting on the nature of “woke” marketing and self-immolation by way of YouTube, which are depressingly fun. He also sings upbeat songs about classism and not showering for nine days that are damn catchy. More than anything, though, and especially through the show’s masterful production design and semi-linear format, Burnham taps into the darkest of comedy by offering raw exhibitions of all-too relatable mania loosely woven together with visceral bouts of ambivalence. One has to laugh to avoid total paralysis or an onset of tears.

Thankfully, after each fragment of uncertainty, maniacal laughter, or ennui, comes the catharsis. I can’t speak for everyone, but I personally have never related to anyone as intensely as I relate to Bo Burnham during Inside‘s 87 minutes of runtime. He’s managed to capture the entire pandemic experience in a way that is poignant and devastatingly human, then delivers it in bittersweet spoonfuls (which makes his opening song all the more apropos, as he sings: Look, I made you some content / Daddy made you your favorite / Open wide / Here comes the content).

And it must be said again that a huge contributor to the effectiveness of Inside is its production. Burnham wrote, directed, shot, and edited this entire special alone in one room over the course of a year, utilizing a wealth of everyday objects to create mood lighting, visual effects, shockingly accurate parodies of Instagram photos, and even a subservient co-host. Venetian blinds act as prison bars (a noir staple), patterns of suggestive emojis are projected across his face during a soulful song about sexting, and shadowplay creates the illusion that he has backup dancers as he wails his way angrily into his thirties. If nothing else, Inside is an absolute feast of ingenuity and creativity within its medium.

I’ve used several food metaphors in this review, haven’t I?

Like I said… Apropos.

Whether the wide array of emotions we witness here are sincere or performative, only Bo knows, but I don’t think it really matters. They feel incredibly, painfully real and their impact is deafening. Most of us have, to varying degrees and in myriad ways, been worn down by the pandemic, the political climate in America, systemic racism, cancel culture… We’ve spent seemingly endless months in conference with ourselves, trying to make sense of it all, wondering what will happen – and how we will live – when the madness has passed and the time comes to move forward. We’ve had a lot of time to think. Clearly, so has Bo Burnham.

Through Inside, he’s given voice to those thoughts, asking all the right questions and finding that perhaps there are no easy answers, uniting his audience in solemn deliverance while remaining six feet away.

No rating for this one.

It’s too good for my silly little pink skulls.

Nightmares and Seascapes: The Dreamy Genius of Dead and Buried

WARNING: Vague spoilers ahead.

I honestly couldn’t tell you why it took me so long to watch the nightmare fuel that is Gary Sherman’s Dead and Buried (1981). In several ways, it’s precisely my kind of movie: A visually striking cocktail of melancholic brutality with a healthy dose of mystery and a quirky mortician to boot. Seeing it for the first time felt like falling into a fever dream, which isn’t necessarily what I’d expected from an early eighties zombie movie. Of course, Dead and Buried is so much more than that… and the people of Potters Bluff are far from typical zombies.

Set in the foggy portside town of Potters Bluff, Dead and Buried feels a bit more like “Texas Chainsaw by the sea” at the start, introducing us to a host of nameless townsfolk as they brutalize a tourist on the beach, many contentedly photographing the ordeal for reasons unknown. From there, we shift to Sheriff Gillis (James Farentino), who gradually falls down the rabbit hole as the body count rises. He eventually finds himself hip-deep in an occult investigation revolving around the people he trusts the most, which transforms a cruel exercise in vérité into a waking dreamscape surreal enough to give Phantasm a run for its money.

Adding to the film’s purgatorial tenor are a lovely, gloomy score from Joe Renzetti, and Stan Winston’s truly – and not surprisingly – spectacular makeup FX. The latter particularly leave me enchanted and traumatized, from the charred body of first victim Freddy screaming upside down in a blazing car to the time-lapsed reconstruction of the upper body of a bludgeoned hitchhiker, Winston’s masterful combination of puppetry and makeup result in some of the most haunting FX I think I’ve ever seen in a movie of this era. 

Even a hastily constructed head replica used in a cringey death-by-acid effect (of which Winston was less than proud) feels perfectly in place here, as its unusually obvious flaws only strengthen the sense that we’re wandering through a pretty fucked up dream. I feel similarly about the sound design for the film, which is distractingly low-budget at times, but over time, it becomes as essential to the overall weirdness as everything else.

We also have deliciously unsettling performances from the residents of Potters Bluff, the most notable of which are that of Jack Albertson, who plays Dobbs, the town’s darkly humorous mortician, and Melody Anderson as Janet, the sheriff’s wife. I got the sense from the very beginning that these two were up to no good, but somehow, they managed to catch me off guard repeatedly with their bizarre behavior and endearing monologues. 

The one potential problem with Dead and Buried’s nightmarish descent into madness is one of plausibility. As more is revealed about the residents of this quaint little hamlet, the story begins to make less sense, which is especially jarring given how grounded things are at first. Thankfully, writers Dan O’Bannon and Ronald Shusett (Alien, Total Recall) knew just how to combat their plot holes: By delivering a shocking and fantastical twist at the last second. The ending reframes the entire movie as though it were one long episode of The Twilight Zone, which instantly negates the need for clear-cut logic. It doesn’t matter how or why the people of Potters Bluff do what they do because they’re simply bit players on a stage of pure terror.

In fact, the ending of Dead and Buried is, to me, the very best thing about it. Any questions I may have as the sinister nature of the town’s inhabitants are unveiled is dissolved upon that utterly satisfying moment when the screen freezes on the film’s final, awful truth. 

All in all, I was so pleasantly surprised by this movie. It amused me, gave me the creeps more than a couple of times, and kept me guessing from start to finish. My favorite line in the film comes from Gillis who, having reached the end of his rope, simply throws his arms out and shouts, “What the hell is going on in this town?!” At that moment, fully enthralled and lost beyond measure, I couldn’t have said it better myself. 

What I love about it: Exquisite makeup FX, beautiful set design, high “WTF?” factor, a truly entertaining villain, getting to see Robert Englund play just an everyday sort of guy.

What doesn’t quite work for me: Yep, I got nothing. This movie just works.

Overall rating:

If Only DEADCON Had Been A Comedy…

The premise of Caryn Waechter’s Deadcon is, to me, hilarious: The ghost of a lonely little boy terrorizes entitled vloggers at what is essentially VidCon. It’s a cautionary tale for the “Age of the YouTuber,” a retro-infused frolic through a haunted hotel, a possession story without all that pesky religious stuff. Its biggest problem? It isn’t actually a comedy.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some deliberately funny things in this film. The nervous hotel clerk (Brian Kimmet), for instance, spiritedly refusing to change the lightbulb in the closet of the haunted room? That scene made me laugh out loud. When one of our main characters, Ashley (Lauren Elizabeth), is walking around the hotel possessed, commenters on another vlogger’s live stream crack jokes about her being, y’know, possessed. Even Das Mörtal’s score, which incorporates dial-up sound effects to call back to the opening kill, is having a bit of fun, but these clever and whimsical elements are often overridden by the movie’s determination to deliver half-formed social commentary and scares that just aren’t scary.

Yes, I know. That rhymed. But that doesn’t make it any less true.

Almost commendably, but not quite, Deadcon is trying to do too much and in too many different ways. It starts out as a fairly straight-forward – albeit messy – possession story, then jarringly shifts our focus to entirely different characters and becomes a bit of a murder mystery. The ghost’s abilities and limitations vary from scene to scene, as does the film’s self-awareness, and its depictions of internet influencers are all over the place. Sometimes, it feels like it was written by someone with only a rudimentary understanding of both horror movies and YouTube culture, but there are also moments where it kind of nails both. Frankly, it’s frustrating. So, what would have fixed it? In my opinion, fully utilizing the talent of the cast and firmly embracing the movie’s comedic elements.

The disgruntled concierge (Dominic Burgess) who knowingly sends people to their doom for being mean to him could have been such a fun twist on an age-old trope. Ashley’s behavior during her possession – which, remember, is being orchestrated by the ghost of a bored six year old – could have been played up in a way that was far less sinister and much more absurd. Actual bubbly YouTuber Caeli playing herself was a stroke of genius, but feels like such a letdown, as she seems to be the only real vlogger at the forefront and her scenes are much too short. Even the wardrobe for the influencers could have been flashier, more glam-inspired, to create a real sense of caricature, and we probably should have had a lot more crossover between their live streams. Also, I have to ask: When gamer Dave (Keith Machekanyanga) is researching the ghost’s history at his computer, why was that not a montage? This is an eighties-inspired movie, isn’t it? About YouTubers? We needed at least one montage set to upbeat synth pop. And, no, the slow-motion “Megan getting drunk” sequence at the nightclub doesn’t count.

Admittedly, the film’s seriousness isn’t its only fault, but it’s the one that stands out the most to me. Rewriting the whole thing in my head as a comedy really changes things: Suddenly, the loose ends regarding the LinkRabBIT storyline don’t bother me as much, the ghost jumping on the bed and his wandering bunny balloon seem charming, and the kills are a lot less ridiculous. In fact, reimagining the film as intentionally satirical throughout leaves me feeling satisfied, which makes the reality of the movie all the more disappointing.

As I’ve said many times, I’m not a filmmaker, so what do I know, really? All I can say for sure is, as a viewer, I would have been so much happier with Deadcon if it had tried to showcase not just the drama and darkness of YouTube culture and the horror genre, but the fun to be had by both, as well. The cast was more than capable and the score was working for them, but it just wasn’t enough. Instead of a smart, bloody romp through Hotel Meta, what we get is a heavy-handed, often cringe-worthy story about shallow people and a pretty underwhelming ghost.

What I love about it: The cast. Honestly, Caeli and Brian Kimmet genuinely cracked me up a couple of times and Lauren Elizabeth did a very good job with what little she was given.

What doesn’t work for me: Basically everything else.

Overall rating:

Scott Spiegel’s Intruder Slashes More Than Prices

With the holiday season careening around the corner, stores all over America are rolling out their seasonal junk and putting everything on sale. Naturally, this puts me in the mood for some consumer carnage. Enter Scott Spiegel’s fabulously fun 80s supermarket slasher, Intruder, the perfect bloody fit for those nights when you just want to shop ’til you drop… dead.

In all fairness, not much shopping actually happens in Intruder, but rather the night crew of the humble Walnut Lake Market is working hard to prepare for their Going Out of Business sale, an event which comes as a complete surprise to most of the store’s employees. Co-owner Bill (Dan Hicks) and young cashier Jennifer (Elizabeth Cox) seem especially downtrodden by the shop’s impending closure, but they power through their grief and try to get the job done. For Jennifer, this is easier said than done, as her abusive ex-boyfriend, Craig (David Byrnes), shows up at the store just before closing to announce that he’s been released from prison and doesn’t take kindly to his former lady-love’s lack of enthusiasm.

With Craig sniffing – or, rather, intensely leering – around and emotions running high, Walnut Lake becomes the perfect setting for a series of grizzly supermarket murders, most of which are humorously creative and provide the exact amount of grocery store gore one would hope to find in a film like this one. Are there meat hooks in the freezer? Let’s use those. Do we have a deli slicer? Oh, good – let’s rev that up, as well. Box cutter? Check! Hell, even the conveyor belts at the front of house get some good screen time.

In addition to Elizabeth Cox’s excellent induction into the final girl hall of fame, Intruder features memorable performances from both Sam and Ted Raimi, as well as a standout killer (he really is the perfect balance between hilarious and horrifying) and even a brief scene with a young Bruce Campbell in a snazzy police uniform. Overall, Intruder delivers a likable cast of characters and some genuine laughs, which is refreshing from within the din of cliché, two-dimensional kids getting killed left and right in traditional slashers (I say this, of course, as someone who prefers this genre above all others). I really dug most of the people in this movie and was sad to see them taken out. That’s also due to the real sense of camaraderie we feel from most of the staff; they feel very much like actual coworkers I’ve had throughout my life. They feel like friends.

One of the other things I enjoy most about Intruder is the camerawork. Cinematographer Fernando Arguelles (Mind Ripper, Hemlock Grove) made some unique and lovely choices throughout the film, from sinister reflections seen through glass bottles and fogged-up windows to a telephone conversation shot from inside the phone itself. A grocery store setting is rife with potential for visual creativity and Arguelles took full advantage of that environment, giving us a colorful stage upon which our victims can die good and proper.

And boy, do they die. All in all, I would say Intruder is a perfect watch for those nights when you’re looking for a horror film that’s quite bloody, a little manic and a lot of fun.

What I love about it: One of the more memorable (and criminally underappreciated) killers of the 80s, a truly kickass final girl and a great setting. Oh! And Bruce Campbell’s cameo.

What doesn’t quite work for me: Not enough Ted Raimi.

Overall rating:

Don’t F*CK with the Brotherhood: The Hidden Depth of Black Circle Boys

The year was 1999. I was sitting in the middle of my mother’s living room floor, carrying out my weekend ritual of watching IFC on digital cable until my retinas burned. There were tons of extraordinary films being shown on the channel at that time: Tom DiCillo’s Living in Oblivion, Happiness (which was my first experience with Todd Solondz and, my god, did that make an impression), the criminally underappreciated The Addiction… and then there was Black Circle Boys. This film taught me two things the day it graced my television screen: Firstly, I will always find dudes in spiked belts attractive. Secondly, just because a movie is “bad,” doesn’t mean it isn’t also kind of fabulous.

Black Circle Boys tells the story of troubled teen Kyle Sullivan (played by a very surly Scott Bairstow) who tumbles down a destructive path after the death of his best friend. Transferred to a new school in a new town, Kyle falls in with a group of self-professed Satanists led by the quasi-charismatic Shane Carver (Eric Mabius) and their lives rapidly devolve into chaos. On its surface, it seems like your average low-budget “drug-addled kids on a warpath” film, following Kyle and his new friends as they bond and wreak havoc a la petty theft, breaking and entering, trying – and failing – to wail like Deicide and, in many ways, that’s exactly what it is. But impressive camera work, some very smart writing from Matthew Carnahan and a couple of bang-up performances make this a surprisingly moving journey of loss and a haphazard quest for fraternity. 

Sure, the film paints a frustratingly grim picture of goth culture at times and does nothing to help eradicate misconceptions about Satanism, which, frankly, pisses me off. There are also several scenes that feel better suited for a homespun afterschool special than a horror movie and Kyle’s hippie girlfriend being permanently clad in bright, light colors to represent the angel on his shoulder is a little on the nose for my taste. Despite these problems, however, the movie delivers refreshing realism thanks to cinematographer Geary McLeod and Mabius’s awkwardly emotional Shane. In fact, I enjoy Eric’s foray into edgy teen psychosis so much, I’m able to forgive – albeit laboriously – the fact that he was quite obviously twenty five years old when they shot this.  

Even more than Mabius’s clear devotion to the role, Shane Carver is brilliantly written, both as a liberal homage to real life teen murderer Richard Kasso and as the embodiment of youthful arrogance colliding with pain and ignorance. Shane wants desperately to feel validated and loved, to rise victoriously above the suffering he’s experienced at the hands of his father, but his methods are as misguided and abusive as one would expect and he fails at… well, basically everything. He tries to be cool, but no amount of black clothes and spiked jewelry can mask his sentimentality. He forms a “kickass” thrash band, but has no idea how to play the guitar and refuses to take lessons. He works hard to foster a deep relationship with Kyle, but his persistent intensity and lack of sound judgment ultimately push his new friend away. This is all endlessly frustrating for Shane, of course, but he’s unable to express that constructively, so he acts out more and more violently until things come to a fatal head. Simply put, Shane Carver is one of the more well crafted angsty-turned-murderous teenagers I’ve ever seen depicted on screen.

In addition to Shane, about whom I could probably rave for another six paragraphs, we also have his lackey Rory, played perfectly by a young Chad Lindberg (fresh out of community theater, no less). Rory is timid, unconfident and eager to please, seeing in Shane everything Shane wishes the rest of the world saw, but because Shane hates himself, he has no respect for his one true fan and treats him like garbage. It’s a dynamic that tugs at my heartstrings increasingly as the story goes on. Additionally, we get a poignant performance from Dee Wallace as Mrs. Sullivan, Kyle’s distraught mother, who reaches a breaking point with her son in a way that feels all too real for those of us who were prone to brooding rebellion as children. The film also features a couple of fun cameos from 90s sweetheart Lisa Loeb and X frontman John Doe, so… yeah, if I haven’t stressed this enough, it’s worth a watch for the cast alone.

Is it a scary movie? No, not really, unless you’re afraid of a pot-bellied gothed-out Donnie Walbergh with boundary issues, which is more than a little unsettling at first glance, let’s just air that out right now. What it lacks in terror, though, it makes up for in the aforementioned angst and a moderate amount of manic energy, culminating in a memorable second-to-last scene that I still think about from time to time after all these years. There’s also a fair amount of dark humor sprinkled throughout the film, found in moments like the boys’ one and only band rehearsal or at the dinner table, when Mrs. Sullivan asks Kyle how school was:

Mrs. Sullivan: How was school today, Kyle?

Kyle: Fine.

Mr. Sullivan: Answer your mother in complete sentences.

Kyle: It was fine. 

All in all, I feel Black Circle Boys is a bit of a hidden gem – deeply flawed, but charming in a way that seems to swell with repeat viewings. It has a depth I wasn’t expecting to find when I revisited it so many years later, most of which rests on the shoulders of – appropriately – the boys.

What I love about it: Mimi Melgaard’s refreshingly accurate wardrobe choices, an engaging story that hits on some pretty hard truths, Eric Mabius Eric Mabius Eric Mabius.

What doesn’t quite work for me: It’s obvious that our two main characters are fully grown adults, which diminishes the impact of some of their angst.

Overall rating: