MELVIN

I used to be a ventriloquist. I auditioned for the 4th grade talent show at my school and I won with my pal, Slappy. In 5th grade, I wanted a better dummy. So at an antique mall, I found Melvin. He has real hair and these icy blue eyes that move side to side. They seem to pierce your soul. This will scare those bastards at school.

We auditioned and won again. Melvin was more popular than Slappy, and I got to sign a kid's forehead last year!

After that, me and Mel started an internet series that is still on YouTube. But a few years ago I gave up ventriloquism.

It could be due to my loss of popularity or my lack of joke-writing ability. Or it could be because of the nightmares.

Every few nights I'd wake up in a cold sweat with chills running down my spine. In the nightmares, Melvin would mutilate my family members and say it was because he wasn't getting what he wanted. I started to go mad. I heard voices in my head after that. Melvin's voice, telling me what a worthless piece of shit I was, and how I was only something because he let me be something. I was alive because he let me live.

I made the mistake of telling my family. They took me to a therapist. But when that didn't work, they put Melvin under the house, in the crawlspace. That only made things worse. Melvin's face would appear in my dreams with his twisted grin and piercing blue eyes. He'd open his big red mouth and release a garbled, high-pitched laugh, like an action figure whose batteries were dying. Then blood would flood out. My family began to worry for my mental health, but I knew why this was. It was because Melvin wasn't getting what he wanted.

A month later, I found him in the crawlspace. The voice in my head was going mad. Melvin was furious with me and he threatened to kill my family and make me watch. I pleaded with him to change his mind. I told him I'd do anything if he'd change his mind. He told me he wouldn't kill them...if I did.

I tied him up and put him in a trunk, which I tucked away in the basement. I knew the nightmares would continue, but I had to protect my family.

The next day my therapist asked me to bring Melvin to her. I did so, believing she could stop Melvin. But when I got Melvin out, I set him on the couch next to me, and he opened his mouth and a siren wailed out of it. Meanwhile she told me Melvin was just a dummy and it was all in my head. I started screaming and she ran out of the room to get help. Meanwhile, me and Mel sat on the couch screaming.

So now I'm in the hospital receiving treatment. I don't know what happened to Melvin after my "episode." My family probably got rid of him. I still have nightmares about him. Blood flooding from his mouth, from behind his piercing blue eyes. The doctors keep telling me it's all in my head. I started to believe them. Until I got the news.

My family was dead.

Source.

TEOS RECOMMENDS: LORD OF TEARS

 

Available now in an unorthodox but attractive little package is filmmaker Lawrie Brewster's Lord of Tears, a bizarre tale about a man named James revisiting his childhood home after the death of his mother in order to confront the nightmares he has about having lived there in his youth. These nightmares seem to be focused around a mysterious figure with the head and claws of an owl but the body of a (suited) man. Though his mother's final letter written to her son beg him never to go there, James goes anyway in an attempt to make sense of his nightmares. While there, he meets a stranger named Evie, an American living abroad and traveling the world. Together they delve into the mystery surrounding the house and James' nightmares of the Owl Man.

It's been a few days since I watched my copy of Lord of Tears, kindly sent to me by its creator, but I'm still having trouble putting into words exactly what it is I watched. Though its set-up is similar to another recent film called The Last Will and Testament of Rosalind Leigh, in which a son goes to the house of his recently deceased mother and finds himself caught in a nightmare, the similarities end there after their fairly straightforward first acts. After that, Lord of Tears becomes this...thing. It involves ritualistic sacrifice, blood history, beheading, and that friggin' creepy Owl Man. I applaud any reviewer out there who attempts to break down and analyze Lord of Tears beyond what is simply presented on screen. That's certainly not for me to attempt, so I'll just leave that lie for now.

Lord of Tears is not for the impatient viewer. Brewester sprinkles in a few creepy and/or jarring scenes here and there to keep you on your toes, but until the last act, Lord of Tears is about this lonely man named James (Euen Douglas) investigating an old house and getting to know the flamboyant and mysterious Evie Turner (the incredibly beautiful Lexy Hulme). There is a nice feeling of dread draped over everything, and the occasional glimpse of the Owl Man certainly keeps you guarded, but Lord of Tears is not your traditional horror film. Brewster's purposeful homage/ode to old school Gothic horror and the works of H.P. Lovecraft are certainly palpable, but they are also an acquired taste, especially in today's fast-paced, quick-cut world.

One of the many pitfalls of low budget film-making (and an easy target) is the acting, especially in films like this in which there are very few characters. Unfortunately, the performances from our two leads range from inconsistent to not great. Scenes in which they share dialogue do not feel natural; in fact, they feel strangely awkward and uncomfortable, as if the two actors never found their natural rhythm with each other. This isn't really detrimental, thankfully, as so much of the film is dedicated to establishing mood and trying to make you feel uneasy, but it's unfortunate all the same.

I would, however, like to applaud Brewster on his tremendous and interesting direction. Lord of Tears has some legitimately creepy moments - some that may come to a surprise if you have the same kind of natural prejudice against low budget horror that I do. (Can't help it, I've seen too much crap in my time.) But Brewster stages several different scenes and uses something as simple as a halfway open door, or an overflowing bathtub, to make his audience feel uneasy. Though there are some unusual choices (the two very random dance sequences; certain scenes that go on for longer than they should), Brewster still directs the hell out of this thing. 

Despite my misgivings with the performances and with certain creative choices, I still recommend Lord of Tears. Fans of The Wicker Man or The Dunwich Horror should definitely check it out. 

Get your own.

HIGH-CHAIR

A young couple were waiting impatiently to leave on their first vacation since the baby was born but the woman’s aunt, who would be babysitting, was thirty minutes late. The young woman called her elderly aunt to find out what was going on, and the old woman apologized for her forgetfulness, and said she’d speed right over. Since the aunt was only a couple miles away, the couple decided they’d go ahead and go rather than wait for her and risk missing their flight.  

Two weeks later when the couple returned they were horrified to find the baby still in its high-chair where they’d left it, except now it was dead and bloated, covered with flies. The aunt really had sped, and unfortunately crashed and died before she made it over.

Image source.

CALLIGROVE

DON'T LOOK BEHIND YOU

In the town where I lived, there was an abandoned apartment with two floors. It had broken windows and dirty, crumbling walls, so no locals would ever go near it.

One day, me and my friend decided to explore the place. It was still early in the afternoon and there was a lot of light, so we ventured to the second floor.

And there on one of the doors we found some graffiti.

We went closer to have a look and found some words that said: “I am in the room ahead.”

We decided to go through the door.

We walked until we reached a fork and on the wall it said: “I am on the left.”

We were getting slightly scared but decided to turn left.

Then we came to the place where there were rooms on both sides of us.

And on the wall it said, “My head is on the left and my body is on the right.”

My friend, as soon as he saw it, lost nerve and ran away. But I decided to stay and, mustering all my courage, walked through the door on the right. I walked to the farthest wall in the room and on the wall it said: “My body is underneath.” 

I looked down and on the floor it said: “My head is coming here from the room on the left. Don’t look behind you.”

UNSUNG HORRORS: STAKE LAND

Every once in a while, a genuinely great horror movie—one that would rightfully be considered a classic, had it gotten more exposure and love at the box office—makes an appearance. It comes, no one notices, and it goes. But movies like this are important. They need to be treasured and remembered. If intelligent, original horror is supported, then that's what we'll begin to receive, in droves. We need to make these movies a part of the legendary genre we hold so dear. Because these are the unsung horrors. These are the movies that should have been successful, but were instead ignored. They should be rightfully praised for the freshness and intelligence and craft that they have contributed to our genre. 

 So, better late than never, we’re going to celebrate them now… one at a time.

Dir. Jim Mickle
2010
Dark Sky Films / Glass Eye Pix
United States

"Months passed in a blur of days and nights. We traveled east and west, but always north. Away from death. We avoided the cities. Mister said they were the worst, hit the hardest in the beginning. As people flocked together for safety, the plague marched through their locked gates and they became death traps. When Washington fell, it was over for America as we knew her. As government blew away, our great leaders ran for it. And hope was abandoned. We were on our own now."

Vampires!

No, don't run. Seriously. I know, I know – plagiarist Mormon authors and NBC have turned our vampires into dapper-dressed James Bond supervillains. These new vamps woo, smolder, sparkle, and play baseball. They go to their classes even though they're dead and are therefore (mostly) incapable of achieving the American dream. If you've got a brain in that there skull of yours, I don't have to tell you vampires were fucking scary once. They were ratlike skeletal albinos with ten-inch fingers. There are parts of the world that still believe in them – that still bury their dead beneath wrought-iron cages to prevent them from coming out of the ground for a midnight snack. Thankfully there are people out there who know this and make their fanged nemeses nasty, vicious, and hideous. These monsters don't imprint on babies – they suck the blood from them and toss them onto the ground before they're onto their next pulsing target.

Enter Stake Land, the second collaboration from film-making partners Nick Damici (actor/co-writer) and Jim Mickle (co-writer/director), following their second equally great and equally unheralded Mulberry Street. Theirs is a film that played the festival circuit for a year or so before being quietly released onto video in 2010. A cast of familiar faces and not-so-familiar faces works well alongside the assured, pensive, bloody, and melancholic direction. It is a pastiche of the post-apocalyptic wasteland made mainstream by the Mad Max trilogy, combined with sensibilities of the western's lone-rider. and lastly, the good, old fashioned vampire.

Martin (Connor Paolo, Mystic River), while his family packs to hit the road in hopes of avoiding this new strange outbreak plaguing the country (or world?), watches as all of them are suddenly and viciously attacked by vampires. His own number is nearly up before a stranger called only Mister (Nick Damici, World Trade Center) springs up out of nowhere and saves Martin's life. Now with no one to look out for him, Mister takes Martin out on the road with him, preparing him for a life of fending off not only vampires, but "The Brotherhood" – a group of nutty humans who believe that the vampires are God's way of bringing about end times, and therefore want the vamps to succeed. (You mean humans are worse than the monsters? Romero would be proud.) Along the way, Martin and Mister meet other lost souls looking to make sense of this new world they had no idea they were inheriting. Among them are Sister (Kelly McGillis, Top Gun), a nun attacked and possibly raped by the cannibals; Belle, (Danielle Harris, the Halloween series), a very pregnant bar maid who seems more lost than any of them; and Willie (Sean Nelson, The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3), a former Marine. These five homeless and nearly hopeless individuals come together to form the closest idea of a family that can be formed here in this new world called Stake Land and attempt to forge ahead and make it the alleged last safe zone in the country called New Eden.

Stake Land will feel very familiar if you have seen the 2009 film adaptation of The Road, but that's not to say Stake Land is unoriginal or disingenuous. No, tales of the apocalypse have been explored in every medium for as long as existence of the realization that our time here on earth is limited, and as such these tales are bound to share common themes and tropes. Stake Land presents you with dirty bands of people in ragged clothing foraging for food and consumables to help them on the road; two groups of people - the good and the bad, one trying to survive, and the other trying to make it so no one can; and most importantly, the underlying message that even the most hopeless should never give up hope. Though Stake Land shares this last bit with The Road strictly thematically, it also shares John Hillcoat's pretty and philosophical direction. Though Stake Land is an ugly story about living in an ugly world, director Jim Mickle never fails to make it picturesque. Sweeping shots of untouched naturescape and close-ups of wheat billowing in the breeze reinforces this idea that it's not the world which makes humanity ugly, but the human race – that we like to think we're merely an unfortunate byproduct of our environment, but that we're actually a product of our own deep-seated selfishness and evil. (More on that in a bit.)

Mickle and Co. have a assembled a hell of a cast here. Nick Damici's Mister is the true Clint Eastwood/Man-With-No-Name archetype (hence his "name" being Mister). His history is vague, almost non-existent; there is a darkness to him, but also a light when he thinks no one might be looking. I always like seeing the dark and brooding hero/heroine enjoy a private moment to surrender to human goodness and smile or laugh. Mister isn't a barrel of laughs, but there is a certain kindness to him somewhere underneath that filthy and silent hero. He's not optimistic about the future, but it's not in him to steal that optimism from anyone else.

Conor Paolo as Martin has the task of not only experiencing these strange events and reacting realistically to them, but because he is also the narrator, it's his job to catch up the audience on the past and present. It's not a personal diary so much as it is a relay of information. His thoughts are stripped of any kind of emotion, as that is saved strictly for the on-screen action.

Our supporting cast is wonderful. Kelly McGillis' career seems to be enjoying a second life, working with some pretty exciting names in the world of independent horror. Along with this, she has appeared in Ti West's excellent The Innkeepers, and appears in Mickle's upcoming remake of the Spanish film We Are What We Are. Her first appearance is as a frantic woman dressed in torn and bloody nun robes, fleeing from a group of maniacal men. After Mister saves her, she becomes mother to both him and Martin. Their relationship is enforced only by the audience's desire to see them all overcome the horrid shit going on around them and allow them to find each other, and for them to desire each other's love and comfort as much as we want them to obtain it. She's the glue that holds all this together and makes it possible.

With Danielle Harris' turn as the pregnant Belle, she holds her own against her counterparts, all with a prosthetic baby belly shoved inside her wardrobe. Her performance benefits from the fact that the horror community already loves her – we've been watching her run for her life since her debut as Jamie Lloyd in Halloween 4: The Return of Michael Myers – although she would have been just as fine without it. She's endearing and lovable, and the quasi puppy dog crush Martin has on her makes us care about both of them just a little bit more. (And c'mon...who wouldn't fall in love with Danielle Harris?)

This recent movement – this living painting approach to film-making – may not be new in its execution, but it perhaps has never been as beautiful. By this I mean the aforementioned The Road, or The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, or pretty much all of Terrence Malick's filmography, who is thankfully back in a big way. Lesser known filmmakers with lower budgets are starting to take notice. Between John Geddes' Exit Humanity, Gareth Edwards' Monsters, and now Stake Land, I'm delighted to see this approach taking root in the horror genre. Because horror, despite all the dripping and the wounds and the blood, can be gorgeous. Your characters are allowed to be pensive, and to wonder or philosophize. They're allowed to be more than just the end result of their nightmarish world. These filmmakers allow their cameras to settle on some piece of oft ignored iconography, complemented by either their off-screen narrators or musical score.

Speaking of music, it was wise to bring aboard composer Jeff Grace, who takes after his fearless leader and fashions his score around those created by Nick Cave & Warren Ellis for the two films earlier mentioned. The Road and Assassination had many scenes of introspection where the silent images onscreen did the only talking, and so the music had to be more than just background. Likewise, in Stake Land, the music knows when to heighten the vampire carnage, or when to be the driving force and propel the imagery of mountains and sky into your head and heart.

While Stake Land contains some pretty heavy sociopolitical themes, it seems to be even less happy with religion – or at least what we as people have let religion become. As one character commits suicide before a crucified scarecrow (calling it Father) begging for forgiveness, or one particular mutant vampire discloses that it prayed for salvation but instead became a monster, Stake Land isn't so much as condemning religion as it is as warning you to use it to complement your life – not let it rule who you are. Religion as a whole has been bastardized. Once originally looked upon to unite communities, it instead has made us perfect strangers – foolish for believing in a higher power, or heartless and doomed for not. We have our beliefs and our faith – some of us hold onto it, and so it remains intimate – but some of us believe our beliefs and faith are right and definitive, and those who do not share those same are damned, and will bring damnation to others.

Stake Land doesn't want to just give you a cheap thrill with monstrous vampire faces and shooting blood. An exaggerated future, yes, but the whole humans-unable-to-coexist-with-other-humans thing? That's not exactly something out of the realm of possibility. We can't elect government officials without slinging death threats and constructing racial epithets on our lawns. We can't drive by a lawn adorned with the nativity at Christmas time without making a wry comment or joking about stealing the Jesus. Comedians ridicule certain religions while TV pundits sweepingly label others as evil. We have become ugly. We haven't yet sprouted fangs, but we drain the life from each other all the time. Fox News goes for jugular, as does MSNBC. The only hope for salvation we have are ourselves. Therefore, there is no hope.

Have a nice day!

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