MANGA

HORROR NIGHT

REVIEW: CROPSEY

There’s a scene during Cropsey, a documentary that explores the events behind several missing Staten Island kids from 1972-87, where someone holds up a photo of the presumed killer.

He says:

“I can show you this picture…

…and tell you this guy murdered five children. And you would say, ‘Yeah, yeah…I can see it. I can see it.’ But then I can show you this same picture…

…and tell you, ‘This guy saved five children from a burning building,’ and you would say, “Yeah, yeah…I can see it. I can see it.’ ”

That pretty much sums up Cropsey in its entirety. It is a documentary that relates events between 1972 and 1987 when five special needs children went missing. To date, none of those bodies have been found…except for the young girl who had vanished most recently. Because the young girl's body was unearthed in the woods not far from suspected Andre Rand's campsite/home, he was charged and remains in prison to this day...but his legacy never left Staten Island. Cropsey dredges up old memories and recollections, and shows you that the horror that took place on this island so many years ago still weighs heavily on so many hearts. But unfortunately, it asks a whole lot of questions and doesn’t really provide any answers.

Who really was Andre Rand?

Could he really be responsible for the kidnapping and murder of five missing children over a period of 15 years?

Was he a Satanist, or was he involved in Satanism groups said to inhabit the island during that time?

Did the prosecution that went after Rand really have anything more than circumstantial evidence and eyewitness testimonies from known alcoholics and drug addicts?

Were the charges against Rand just, or did the jury and surrounding community judge him too harshly based on his manic appearance and behavior?

Sadly, you don’t really find out the answers to any of these questions. The filmmakers – Joshua Zeman and Barbara Brancaccio – present multiple theories on what could have happened that caused those children to go missing and never return. Many theories are suggested, but only one of them really receives the bulk of the documentary's focus: that Andre Rand was the true killer, and that he acted alone. 

There’s a difference between research and investigation, and it would seem the filmmakers opted to focus on the former. Cropsey is based primarily on what everyone already knew; it’s a Cliffsnotes version of the true story. It presents no new information and no revelations. And while the filmmakers leave “the truth” ambiguous, it seems pretty obvious that Rand is the Cropsey the island is searching for. After all, the first time you see Rand in the documentary, he is being taken into police custody; his eyes are wide and empty, as if there is no soul behind them, and a thick line of drool hangs from mouth. It is an eerie sight, knowing that this man is allegedly human...

Despite its shortcomings, the documentary is not entirely without merit. For those who had never heard of the Staten Island murders, the doc fills you in and provides you with a wealth of background. Parents and friends of the missing kids are interviewed, as well as other Staten Island citizens who lived through the ordeal. Police officers, detectives, lawyers, news reporters—everyone who was around at that time and involved in the investigation are fairly represented.

The most shocking piece of footage from the film comes not from the filmmakers, but Geraldo Rivera’s exposé shot at the island’s Willowbrook Sanitarium. In an effort to show the world the horrid conditions that both the patients and the staff underwent while confined there, Rivera turned his cameras to the suffering, the unhinged, and the insane. This is important to mention, because Rand had been employed at Willowbrook, and it was his interaction with these special needs children that many people believe later fueled his impulse to kill them. He allegedly once said that special-needs kids did not deserve the life they were forced to live, and further, they could potentially pass down their deficiencies to future generations of children. Rivera's exposé was a visualization of what Rand was supposedly thinking: "What a horrid life to have to live...if only someone would do something to end their suffering..."

Why Cropsey for the documentary’s title? Because the name “Cropsey” is synonymous with urban legends—a popular name given to a killer who lurks camp grounds at night, looking to mutilate any camper out of their bunks after lights out. The name was even given to the killer in The Burning, a cheap slasher movie from the 80s most famous for its special effects work from genius Tom Savini (and written by Bob and Harvey Weinstein, of all people). The filmmakers explain in their documentary that before, during, and after the five Staten Island children went missing, the legend of Cropsey remained consistently strong…but unlike other urban legends, this one was real.

While the documentary has good intentions, it only really manages to be superficially entertaining, not thought provoking. At best you will be left with “I wonder who really killed those kids.” But because that’s the question you already had when the documentary began, you’ll be left feeling a little disappointed.

On a technical level the documentary is very well made. The “direction,” insofar as one could utilize within a documentary, is competent. The editing keeps things moving steadily, although the bit where the filmmakers go to the sanitarium at night – and see a pack of people coming towards them in the darkness, only to realize they are thrill-seeking teens – reeks too much of sensationalism. This scene brought nothing to the overall investigation except an empty thrill. Sure, it's a bit eerie the first time you see it, but when you realize it's just kids, and there is no threat, you wonder why it was even included.

Despite everything, Cropsey is worth a watch. With the right frame of mind, it’s a conversation starter, and would satisfy those looking for a dark piece of thrilling true crime. But while Cropsey might be the most prominent examination of Andre Rand to date, it would hardly be considered definitive.

TWIST THE KNIFE

Just discovered these guys. I guess I'm way behind the times.

SOUNDSCAPE: THE FOG

My obsession with John Carpenter's The Fog should be well-known 'round these blog pages by now. At various times over the years, I've hailed either Halloween or The Thing as my be-all/end-all favorite Carpenter movie—it's a strength of the filmmaker's talent that I was unable to nail down a perpetual favorite. When I was young, it was Halloween all the way. Slasher movies were pretty much king to me at that time, and Halloween was king of them. Later on, I'd decided to move onto his more complex and impressive remake of The Thing. And while his bloody and gooey gore show is an absolute classic – one that should not have derailed his career as a studio director – I am simply head-over-heels in love with The Fog. No, it's not perfect, nor is it his best film, but horror set at a sea-side town is always going to intrigue me, and there's nothing like a nice, old-fashioned ghost story. His score is the best he's ever done, and when you mix all that up with some Atkins, you've got a nice little flick that plays well at any time of year.

So here is my ode to The Fog. In its running time of eleven minutes, I use maybe 10-15 seconds from the film itself – all the rest was cherry-picked from other sources and weaved together to recreate what Antonio Bay might have sounded like on that infamous April 21st. The emphasis is mostly on ambiance, not story. It's told from the point of view of a fly-on-the-wall witness who is dropped into the middle of Antonio Bay and is left to wander the beach and the streets as the clock strikes twelve...and the sins of Antonio Bay come back from their watery graves...

As always, please listen with headphones.

SHITTY FLICKS: AMITYVILLE 4: THE EVIL ESCAPES

Shitty Flicks is an ongoing column that celebrates the most hilariously incompetent, amusingly pedestrian, and mind-bogglingly stupid movies ever made by people with a bit of money, some prior porn-directing experience, and no clue whatsoever. It is here you will find unrestrained joy in movies meant to terrify and thrill, but instead poke at your funny bone with their weird, mutant camp-girl penis.

WARNING: I tend to give away major plot points and twist endings in my reviews because, whatever. Shut up.

After a highly-publicized series of bizarre encounters that the Lutz family of Deer Park, New York, allegedly experienced during the early 70s, it was only a matter of time before their debacle was made into a high-profile Hollywood film.

The Amityville Horror, starring a heavily-bearded James Brolin, a soon-to-be-crazy Margot Kidder, and the all-around loveable Rod Steiger, assaulted audiences in 1979. The movie contained terrifying scenes of buzzing flies, glowing-eyed ghost pigs, and multiple takes of James Brolin chopping wood and shivering. That's...about it. The movie that people now hail as a classic, frankly, is pretty fucking stupid. It’s quite boring, and for long periods of time, nothing happens, but it’s a premise that has somehow stretched on for eight films and one remake.

For years, debates between the former owners (now deceased), ghost hunters, lawyers, and occultists have long debated over the facts of this case. Did the Lutzes truly experience these ghostly happenings they had claimed, or did they overly-sensationalize a boring house that they realized far-too-late was well out of their budgetary means? The "was it/wasn't it?" debate to this day remains more interesting than any of the films it inspired.

Speaking of uninteresting, this particular installment was the first to introduce the idea that all future "plots" didn't have to involve the infamous house at all; instead, various objects acquired from the house itself could be the reason for the bumps in the night. What sort of objects, you ask? Oh, I dunno... perhaps a stupid lamp.

- "Ugh, there's a demon in it. Let's take a ride so I can return it."
- "Where to?"
- "IKEA."
- "Fuck that. Just keep it."

Our story begins with carloads of priests pulling up in front of 112 Ocean Avenue, the mailing address for TERROR. As three priests wander through the house with their arsenal of crucifixes and holy water-flingers, attempting to purge the evil from the house, it's okay for you to laugh as you remember this house was blown to bits at the end of the previous Amityville film. They walk through the house as shutters bang, doors open and close, chandeliers swing, and blood drips from the wall. While Father Kibbler dodges flung rocking chairs, Father Manfred deals with a wacko-jacko kitchen chock-full of flaming stove tops and banging cabinets...for the house is haunted by the spirit of Kevin McCallister.

As Father Manfred takes over Father Kibbler’s station and purges the evil, we see a small bulge pop from the plug of some unseen household device, which travels up and up the cord until blowing its evil load in...a lamp.

A cloud of really mean flies come and knock over a priest, so they all flee. Despite this, they believe they've exorcised the house of its evil, anyway.

Speaking of evil, Patty Duke's in this movie.

"I'm sorry, son. I didn't mean it when I called you Blockhead.
Now take your blocks upstairs, Blockhead."

Now that the house has been cleansed of all evil, the priests decide to have a random yard sale of the house’s content, since they own all the stuff...right?

Say, I have a question: who the frig is going to buy junk from a place that once housed a brutal mass murder, various supernatural instances, and a vortex? Helen Peacock, that's who.

Yes, that's right, the nearby community that grew more and more terrified of the house from hell over the years now paw eagerly through its contents like beavers looking for…oh, say, delicious beaver candy that beavers eat.

So, Helen Peacock—

“Wait, stop. Her name is Peacock? Who wrote this movie, Parker Bros.?”

Well, though they're referred to as Leacock during the movie, the DVD I very temporarily owned called the family the 'Peacocks' in the summary, so 'Peacock' it shall be for me because that lends me joy.

Helen Peacock eagerly ponies up $100 for The Lamp, which had bore witness to a long list of atrocities, and crates it off to her sister, Alice, in California. Also, she cuts her finger on The Lamp, which gets infected with whatever - Hell, maybe - and she dies.

Score 1 for The Lamp.

Granny Alice receives The Lamp at the exact same moment that her daughter and grandkids come to live with her after the death of their husband/father/plot device. So, luckily, all of The Lamp’s trouble-making bullshit antics can be easily blamed on her three stupid grandchildren.

And The Lamp? Well, it’s an asshole. For serious. And it’s also hideous. It's a bronze tree with two arm things, and it contains one large non-shaded bulb which may or may not contain a demon troll from Ernest Scared Stupid.

The Lamp has hobbies, like making Nancy’s young son, Blockhead, pick up a chainsaw and thrash him around the fruit cellar as he inadvertently slices and dices Granny Alice’s precious jams and preserves.

The Stupid Fat Blockhead Kid Massacre

Or it will shove Granny Alice’s pet parakeet into the toaster oven. (And Granny Alice even goes so far as to blame herself for her pet bird ending up brown and toasty, insinuating that the bird opened its own cage [using its hands], set the toaster dial to crispy [using its hands and previously existing knowledge of kitchen appliances], opened and then shut the oven hatch behind it. However, that idea lasts for about two shakes before she begins to suspect that maybe it was one of her evil grandchildren performing all these random acts of "horror" that so far have not even surpassed the level of a mean-spirited camp prank.)

The Lamp oozes a sort of magical black goo - magical because it possesses the ability to get in a girl's mouth, or kill a plumber.

Speaking of that plumber, after he gets slapped in the face by a rubber hand and drowns in the goo, The Lamp spirits promptly drive his van away as Granny Alice looks on, clearly being able to see that no one is driving. It's a good thing she doesn't care. I don't, either, believe me.

Billy was really sore that he had been grounded,
so he figured he would let Mom know that.

Nancy’s youngest daughter, Annoying Brat, continuously upsets the family as she speaks to The Lamp, insisting it contains the spirit of her dead father. In fact, the family is so upset about the loss of their husband/family that he isn’t mentioned a single time outside of a brief “why they had to move out” exposition (bad debt).

As The Lamp begins to take control of the Annoying Brat, she begins to go “crazy” and smile wickedly as if she could somehow pull off being threatening instead of simply irritating. At one point in the movie, the housekeeper is strangled by The Lamp's Haunted Power Cord of Doom, relegating everyone else to ask the little girl where she is over and over. And the annoying brat just smiles in her annoyingly evil manner and tells everyone that she’s “gone home.” She's so - in fact, wait. Stop. Fucking look at this:

Get your slapping hand ready.

After some tedious lolly-gagging, there is a brief moment when the family is separated, so Annoying Brat runs up the stairs to the attic, where The Lamp now resides. The door slams shut behind her and she fucks The Lamp.

No, I’m kidding.

I guess The Lamp is trying to possess her or kill her or whatever the TV was trying to do to Carol-Anne in Poltergeist, because this film is clearly trying to rip off the other.

Father Kibbler, who has attempted to contact Nancy several times during the movie to warn her of The Lamp’s evil intentions (haha, that's weird), performs a half-assed exorcism on The Lamp. And when that doesn’t work, he does what I’m sure tens of people were shouting at their televisions when this movie premiered years ago:

“Throw the fucking thing out the window.”

And boy, does he.

The Lamp sails down over the rocks of the neighboring shore-line and dies (maybe). The family rejoices and they trade hugs for hours and hours.

Then Granny Alice's cat sticks its cat face into the shattered lamp, and as it looks at the camera, its eyes grow red and promises another sequel that would have actually been more interesting than what we ended up with: teens in a non-Amityville haunted house.

"And in 1947, I sewed a whole mitten-NO, KEVIN!"

LEVITY