Flickers on the Wall: Masters of Horror (Part 3)

I return for the final time to season one of Masters of Horror. It’s taken me three columns to cover this momentous project, but there were thirteen films; anything shorter would have been negligent. The series was the creation of writer/producer/director Mick Garris, who may not have an impressive directing résumé, but does know a good idea when he sees it. Masters of Horror is a platform for some of today’s finest horror filmmakers and originally aired on the cable network Showtime before hitting DVD shelves. That’s enough backtracking. Take a look at Part 1 and Part 2 of this article before digging into this one (go ahead; I’ll wait).

The series has it ups and downs and extreme shifts, but the last four episodes take that to bizarre levels. The best and worst are there. Also the most perverse, the most sexual, the cruelest, the dullest, and the one that just may damage you for life. It’s a deeply strange way to end what is a rather peculiar show, and that’s what makes it so much fun.

Ep 1.10: Sick Girl {Director: Lucky McKee. Writer: Sean Hood}

It’s time for romance, with a 1950s creature feature edge. Ida (Angela Bettis) is an entomologist with an unfulfilling lovelife. She’s stiff, awkward, and shy, but far worse, she’s a lesbian, and girls don’t dig bugs. Her coworker, who’s both concerned for her and dying to hear about some good girl-on-girl action, pushes her toward an attractive artist, Misty (Erin Brown), with the warning, “don’t tell her what you do.” He needn’t have worried. Misty, who’s almost as timid as Ida, likes insects and really likes the idea of some tender time with Ida. It looks like the future is filled with carnal happiness, but there’s a bit of a hiccup. Ida recently received an odd bug in the mail, which managed to escape, and at the worst moment, gets its venomous proboscis into Misty. Do you think she might start acting oddly?

Sick Girl took me back to my childhood, watching cheesy but thoroughly enjoyable ‘50s mutant monster flicks on the local UHF channel—except those lacked lesbians and bare breasts. They did have special effects of nearly equal quality, but that isn’t a criticism of Sick Girl, which simply doesn’t exist in a photo-realistic world. The characters are too quirky for our universe; true-to-life effects would have been out of place.

The heart of the episode is the love affair. It’s sweet, which isn’t something that pops up often in modern horror. Ida is a little broken, invoking my sympathy almost from the first minute. If Bettis would have reined in the more bizarre extremes of her portrayal, her situation would have been even more poignant. No matter, since Brown steals every scene. Better known by her nom de plume, Misty Mondae, Brown is the queen of micro-budget softcore, creating an unusual persona for the business. Sure, she’s sexy, but a more appropriate accolade would be adorable. With a library of sex films under her…belt, her vibe is that of a pure angel, just one who takes her clothes off. And that’s how she plays it here. She’s cuter than six puppies, and when her doe eyes focus on another woman, I challenge anyone not to root for her to get exactly what she wants.

The horror elements give this gentle relationship piece some bite. Sensitively is nice, but every romance needs some blood, though perhaps it’s best if that’s not normally taken literally. The single, gore-soaked moment, obviously tossed in to mollify extreme horror fans, breaks with the story’s tone. Sick Girl is best when it is a dark, deranged tale of love.

As with most of the Masters of Horror films, symbolism and metaphors are everywhere, but also like most of them, they doesn’t come to much. The insect sting = rape. The disgust women have toward Ida’s interest in insects = the disgust expressed by society in general toward lesbians. The change in Misty after being bitten = the negative change in a new lover after sex. This last one seems to be the message of the movie for a time but fades away to be replaced by a greater truth: even the best relationships will go through some hard times.

Rating: Average

A Master? Is Lucky McKee one of the thirteen masters of horror? Hmmmm. His most famous work is the indie May. Have you seen it? The potential is there, but he hasn’t earned his stripes yet.

Ep 1.11: Pick Me Up {Director: Larry Cohen. Writer: David Schow}

It’s serial killer meets serial killer in what can best be described as a shaggy dog story. It seems the clichéd mass-murdering hitchhiker (Warren Kole) has entered the territory of the clichéd mass-murdering truck driver (Michael Moriarty). In case anyone is slow picking up the joke, they’re named Walker and Wheeler. A broken-down bus supplies both with victims, but Stacia, a tough, switchblade-wielding girl (Fairuza Balk from The Craft), misses the fun, choosing to hike to the nearest town before either killer shows up. The two psychos take the position that the road isn’t big enough for the two of them, and when everyone ends up at the same motel, Stacia becomes the goal of a strange, fatal competition.

There’s some stereotypical backwoods killer-type violence and gore, and the requisite bare breasts, but those don’t add up to real horror. It’s a gag situation, which would work nicely if there were some laughs. A few witty lines might have justified the fifty-eight minute running time, but none are to be heard. Everyone talks a great deal, but it’s pretty drab, and if you’ve seen a few dozen low budget horror flicks, you’ll be able to recite the lines before the characters do.

The lead character should be Stacia. She’s the one we’re supposed to care about, but she gets less screen time than the killers and no development beyond “she’s tough and bitter.” The murders lack the Hannibal Lector charm, so we’re left with no one to cheer on. They kill people or they don’t. Stacia lives or dies. It doesn’t matter.

All that leaves is the central idea of two urban legends mashed together, which is worth maybe twenty minutes (a good editor could cover the material in eight). By the time Pick Me Up is halfway over, like all shaggy dog stories, it’s become an endurance test. And if your head is lying on a pillow, you’re going to lose.

Rating: Poor

A Master? An occupant of the horror budget basement, Larry Cohen is responsible for the laughable It’s Alive series, the mildly enjoyable giant monster pic, Q - The Winged Serpent, and the abysmal Wicked Stepmother. He did better with ‘70s blaxploitation, which doesn’t gain him any much-needed points in horror. He’s out of his league, and it shows.

Ep 1.12: Haeckel’s Tale {Director: John McNaughton. Writers: Mick Garris, Clive Barker (story)}

Haeckel’s Tale plays like an old Night Gallery episode, with necrophilia added or, even more, like an E.C. comic. It’s ridiculous, but once it gets going, joyfully ghoulish in a way that will warm the heart of every thirteen-year-old boy. And as most men’s hearts change little, it’s likely to still have that effect on old men like me. Unfortunately, it takes far too long to get going. This is a gloriously fiendish twenty-minute movie that runs more than twice that length.

In a framing story, a recent widower visits an elderly necromancer, requesting her to bring back his wife. To dissuade him, she tells him the tale of Ernst Haeckel (Derek Cecil), a medical student obsessed with the secret of life. Having heard of Doctor Frankenstein’s experiments, he attempts his own, but meets only failure. Depressed, he goes to see Montesquino (Jon Polito), who is said to be able to raise the dead, but even seeing the man succeed does not temper his arrogance. Hearing that his father is near death, Haeckel sets off on a cross-country trudge. When he takes refuge for the night near a graveyard, a friendly old farmer (Tom McBeath) offers him shelter. In the stranger’s house, Haeckel meets the man’s beautiful young wife (Leela Savasta) and becomes aware that a dark, sex-drenched secret hangs over them, one that involves Montesquino.

It takes twenty-five minutes for the real story to start. First we’re stuck listening to Haeckel’s yammering as we’re given plot points that will be forgotten once he arrives at the farm. It doesn’t matter that Haeckel is a scientist or that his father is dying, nor that he’s in conflict with his teachers. He could have been a skeptical traveling salesman, which would have jettisoned all the junk and gotten him to the old man and his sensual wife in five minutes. Apparently, the script editor was out sick.

Luckily, DVDs solve this problem. Since you already know that Montesquino is a necromancer (the only important information in the first half), put in your disk, jump to 25:30, and enjoy.

Rating: Average (better if you jump in a few tracks)

A Master? With Henry - Portrait of a Serial Killer the closest thing to horror on his resume, John McNaughton seems out of place. But I’ll cut him some slack as he was a replacement for George A. Romero, who ducked out, presumably to work on Diary of the Dead. No matter, since Clive Barker is connected to Haeckel’s Tale, and I can’t think of anyone who can better claim the title of Master of Horror than he. It’s unfortunate that Barker wasn’t asked to direct and adapt his story. We would have found something more perverse, and more fun.

Ep 1.13: Imprint {Director: Takashi Miike Writers: Daisuke Tengan, Shimako Iwai (novel)}

With Showtime contented to air nude mutant girls eating cat innards, anal rape, a head being machetted off, necrophilia, and intestines being fed through a projector, it is no little statement that they wouldn’t broadcast Imprint. Hey, what could be more disturbing than a naked girl riding a zombie? As it turns out, a lot. I don’t agree with Showtime’s position, but I understand it. I would have suggested showing it with a special warning—perhaps a red light blinking for ten minutes as a drill sergeant screams, “You can’t handle this!” Chances are, you can’t.

Let’s get the plot out of the way. In nineteenth century Japan, Christopher (Billy Drago), an American reporter, arrives at a disreputable island in search of Komomo, a prostitute he abandoned years earlier. With no word of her, he takes shelter in the brothel since the streets aren’t safe. His companion for the night (Youki Kudoh) has a deformed face—a long slit continuing where her mouth should end and above that, skin that could be mistaken as the result of fleshing being lost in a fire—but most of her clients are unconcerned as long as she can balance on all fours. But Christopher isn’t looking for a good time. He wants information, and the woman has it. Slowly, she relates the tragic story of Komomo. But her tale isn’t accurate at first, and with each retelling, it becomes harsher, more degrading, and harder to watch.

The story isn’t the thing here. It’s only semi-coherent anyway, and part of the point of the picture is that reality is never clear. No, Imprint is about images, images that will burn their way into your brain and won’t go away no matter how much vodka you drink. Is it that disturbing? That depends. If you had to look away during Jaws or The Exorcist, then Imprint will kill you. Your heart will burst out of your chest and go running for the 3:10 train to Yuma, perhaps with your liver in tow (and Takashi Miike will film it for his next feature). If you loved The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, laughed at Saw, and found Hostel to be strong but nothing overwhelming, then you’ll have no problem sitting through Imprint, though I can’t promise you won’t have a nightmare or two.

It’s a quiet freak show for its first half hour, and if you hadn’t read this, you might be wondering what all the fuss is about. This isn’t a film to go into wondering about anything; it’s one where you should be prepared. After that thirty-minute mark, the torture begins: burning of the armpits and needles graphically thrust under fingernails and into the gums. It continues for minutes and keeps getting worse, but after having watched the entire film, I look back at those moments as ones of gentle comfort. Yeah, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Child rape and incest are on the soft and fluffy side, too. What isn’t prosaic? I’ll just say: dead babies.

With all the brutality, you might think this would be an ugly movie, but that’s much of its brilliance. It’s beautiful. Each scene of barbarity is perfectly framed and lushly colored. It is not only the depravity that keeps your eyes glued to the screen, but the artistry.

Miike has placed his horror show in a mythic land, a Japan that never was, where ferrymen have a handy stick for pushing away bloated corpses and even the lowest of the low wears an elaborate kimono. Many of the secondary actresses only knew Japanese, so recited their lines phonetically, enhancing the dream-like quality of the picture. Youki Kudoh speaks fluid English, yet she too found a cadence that is a step away from reality. Only Drago misses the mark. Perhaps he got the wrong cues from Miike, who doesn’t know the language. Mind you, Drago’s performance is also unrealistic, but not in a way that is reminiscent of nightmares, but of a farce performed on an unamplified stage by cocaine addicts. His nonstop emotional vomit is the one failure of the piece. Luckily, the flashbacks make up the bulk of the picture.

Imprint pushes every boundary and laughs at taboos. It is shocking and exhilarating, and a treat for those with strong stomachs.

Rating: Superior

A Master? Takashi Miike isn’t the first name in Japanese horror—or the second, third, or fourth. He’s a prolific director, with over sixty films to his credit in fifteen years. He has no focus, working in kids TV as often as horror. He’s happily followed the J-Horror pack with One Missed Call and gone off on his own with the torture porn opus, Audition. Miike is a new voice in horror, and while it may be early to call him a master, it’s only a matter of time.

Perhaps there are no masterpieces made by the thirteen masters, though several are close, but the sum is greater than the parts. Masters of Horror isn’t the next great thing in horror but a guide to the state of the genre in the last twenty-five years, its quality side anyway. It’s a university course in fright films. It’s a bit light on the influence of Asian cinema, but the rest is here: graphic violence, torture, mystery, suspense, dark humor, politics, postmodernism, eroticism, “gratuitous” nudity, rape, revenge, body horror, shock, progressive social commentary, female empowerment, examination of loss and depression, and taboo busting. If you haven’t seen anything but Disney films since 1970, Masters of Horror will catch you up and reveal why there’s more insight into the human condition in an average horror film than in ten indie dramas.

Read: Part 1 | Part 2