DUDE, BRO

I've been laughing nonstop.

ANNABELLE COMES HOME (2019)

The haunting and deeply questioned career of demonologists/paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren seemed like the very last thing that would lend to a cinematic shared universe, but after the two main Conjuring entries, an army of spinoffs has pervaded theaters since—all of them based on otherwise insignificant details from the series. 

After The Conjuring, Warner Bros. moved forward with Annabelle, directed by The Conjuring’s director of photography John R. Leonetti. It made for only a mediocre experience due to its weak script, weaker ending, and uninspired casting, although it managed a handful of creepy scenes. Following The Conjuring 2, Warner then announced two spinoffs: The Nun, based on the creepy visage of demon nun Valak (which was only ever a machination of in-film Lorraine Warren’s imagination) and The Crooked Man, which is dated for a 2020 release. (If you can’t wait, there’s a direct-to-video knock-off starring Michael Jai White!)  Following that came Annabelle: Creation, the prequel to the prequel to The Conjuring, directed by Lights Out director David F. Sandberg. To say that it’s better than Annabelle would be an understatement. It was actually one of the most frightening films of the year. Following that came The Curse of La Llorona, which didn’t have squat to do with the series, minus a small part where a familiar character shows up to influence that connection. (It doesn’t work, but that doesn’t matter, as the film itself was very bland.) Now there’s Annabelle Comes Home, the third and purportedly final entry in this particular offshoot of the Conjuring series, which comes under the helm of longtime series screenwriter Gary Dauberman (IT: Chapter One; IT: Chapter Two) making his directorial debut.  

The Annabelle series rides kind of a stupid concept: a creepy looking doll that demons like to hang out with. That’s…primarily it. Though the first Annabelle wasn’t by any stretch a “good” film, it didn’t turn the doll into some kind of living Chucky doll murderer that sprang to life at night and set up booby-traps around the house. It respected the maturity and class of the Conjuring series by maintaining the idea of the doll being used as a conduit by demonic entities and it didn’t take any ridiculous liberties. Annabelle Comes Home follows that same mold, with results more effective than the first film, though not as successful as the second. However, to be fair, Annabelle Comes Home is designed differently than the previous outings. Annabelle vied to feel as much like The Conjuring as possible but without being able to rely on ghostly visages. Annabelle: Creation, however, pushed supernatural horror to its breaking point, turning the events in that isolated farmhouse into something disturbing, in part due to some graphic violence the consistently R-rated series had otherwise avoided. Annabelle Comes Home is The Conjuring meets Poltergeist (aka Insidious) – a fun, spookshow experience designed to feel like you’re walking the narrow halls of a haunt during the Halloween season. It’s the highest concept yet of the series, one built on pure scares, and made with the mindset of, “Hey, let’s just have FUN.” A horror version of Night at the Museum, Annabelle Comes Home literally brings to life previous cases (allegedly) investigated by the Warrens, or artifacts tied to said cases, and these come in different forms. 

Not to pull my hipster card, but as someone intensely interested in the paranormal, I’d read about the Warrens years before The Conjuring became a phenomenon, chief among them a book called The Demonologist, which delved heavily into the Warrens’ background and many of their cases. To my memory, none of the specters that appear in Annabelle Comes Home are based on the reality confined to that book and the Warrens’ body of work—not even in exaggerated forms. Basically, the creepy things that stalk our characters reek of Hollywood hokum, even if the Warrens “worked” a case involving a werewolf, which was rumored to be the plot of the third Conjuring. (Oh, I’m calling it now: Warners is going to announce The Ferryman within the year.) Again, Dauberman’s approach is to create a pure, horror-based environment where nightmares walk, all to thrill his audience, and he mostly succeeds. 

Warmly, Vera Farmiga and Patrick Wilson make brief appearances that bookend the film, notably at the beginning that sees them bridging the gap between the opening moments of The Conjuring, during which they take possession of the Annabelle doll, to Annabelle Comes Home, which sees them bringing the doll home and experiencing spooky things along the way. It’s nice to see them, as these spinoffs have lacked their appearance (some for obvious reasons) and it grants this newest spinoff a touch of legitimacy. However, it’s a trio of kids who become our main characters, led by Judy, the Warrens’ daughter (Mckenna Grace, who excelled in another recent superior horror effort, The Haunting of Hill House, and who replaces previous Conjuring actress Sterling Jerins), along with her babysitter, Mary Ellen (Madison Iseman), and her mischievous, trouble-making friend, Daniela (Katie Sarife). Despite the typical horror-movie carelessness that causes Annabelle to become free of her mystical, magical glass prison and animate the evil in the Warrens’ Occult Museum, it’s founded on an honestly touching moment, which helps to offset that it’s one of those face-palm moments where a character makes a stupid decision and starts a whole bunch of shit. 

Annabelle Comes Home isn’t the best of the series, but it’s the purest and makes for a fun, inconsequential watch during the coming Halloween season. The series has been all over the place, chronologically, and used up seemingly every timeline in which to tell a story, but if the audience demands it, there’s no keeping a good doll down. (Technically, a film could be made about the three college students featured in the opening moments of the first Conjuring who started all this trouble in the first place – Warners, please send a check to the DG offices to my attention.) As someone who prefers original horror to endless sequels, I do hope this is the final entry, but based on what this series has offered so far, I’d certainly see what else Annabelle has up her tiny sleeves. 

[Reprinted from Daily Grindhouse.]

THEY LIVE 'N LIE

Just tremendous. This is real and happening right now.

Get the info.

TALES FROM THE CRYPT PRESENTS: BORDELLO OF BLOOD (1996)

Bordello of Blood is bad bad bad. There's no getting around it.

The anthological nature of HBO's Tales from the Crypt series allowed a rare leg-up over its television show colleagues: besides maintaining a basic skeleton design for the show (and I don't mean the Cryptkeeper! heeee haaaa haaa haaa haaa haaa!!), every episode was allowed to start from the ground up, building a brand new story with a brand new cast every week, while also inviting different writers and directors with different sensibilities to make the show as varied as possible. Looking to EC Comics' 1950s run for inspiration, the stories were either faithfully or loosely adapted, but all maintained the tongue-in-cheek nature, the macabre set-pieces, and the ironic but predictable twist. Because of this, some episodes of the show turned out much, much better than others. 

And that's okay! The show was designed to appeal to as wide of a horror-loving audience as possible, and just like any other audience types, they all have their preferences. Some prefer an approach of the horrific, others more cheeky and campy, while sometimes it's a combination of both. Tying it together, always, was a touch of seedy erotica and a nasty/funny conclusion that usually saw the main hero/heroine (aka the villain) receive their just desserts, either poetically or literally. Much like the comic books that preceded it, the television series were morality tales. Sometimes the heroes escaped unscathed and sometimes they didn't; meanwhile, the villainous almost always suffered, and that was part of the joy. If someone were flat-out unlikable, it was only a matter of time before they were taxidermied and mounted on a wall, or cut exactly in half with a chainsaw.

Which brings us to the abysmal failure that is Bordello of Blood - one of those "bad episodes" of Tales from the Crypt - and not because the story's design wasn't fully in line with the Tales from the Crypt aesthetic. It did, after all, feature unscrupulous characters, sexiness, bodily explosions, monsters, and cheeky humor. No, it fails because there are very few likable people in the cast. Let's start with Dennis Miller, who apparently rewrote all of his dialogue (which made several scenes incomprehensible, considering that the other actors against whom he was acting were forced to recite their dialogue as originally written), and who tries to make every single thing that spews out of his mouth funny or sarcastic in some way. And not just in-general, every-day funny, but Dennis-Miller funny, which equates to overbearing, exhausting, and not at all funny. 

In Miller's defense, so little about Bordello of Blood works that he's just one more body adding to the huge pile of not-working. Corey Feldman is on screen long enough for you to dislike his human version, and then flat-out abhor his vampire version, which is so over the top and stupid that I'm mystified he's mystified he couldn't find work for five years following Bordello of Blood's release. Erika Eleniak gets by with a marginally acceptable performance, but at times her disdain for the material definitely shows through. Angie Everhart, who gave what's become a legendarily terrible performance in her first acting role, does seem to be trying, but ooh boy, so little of what she does actually translates well to the screen. Tales from the Crypt often relied on hot and handsome actors and Bordello of Blood is no different, but sometimes those hot and handsome actors could act. Everhart could not, and maybe she still can't. (Apparently she was really, really nice on set, and that's all that matters.) 

The only one in the cast doing anything worth watching is Chris Sarandon, slumming in what would be one of his final theatrical film appearances. The enthusiasm and energy he injects into his Reverend Current is utterly wasted, and deserving of a much better film. The sequence during which he kills a room full of vampire prostitutes with a holy water super-soaker, causing them to explode into guts, bones, and fire, also deserves to be in something far more deserving. The fact that it's Chris Sarandon doing it makes it ten times as awesome.

Likely due to the production's necessary reshoots, the editing of Bordello of Blood is extremely awkward at times, suggesting the film were being stapled together rather than fluidly designed. Not helping this theory is the unsubtle distinction between Eleniak's real hair and the obvious wig she's forced to use during certain sequences. For a film born out of mistreatment of the Tales from the Crypt brand (story writer Robert Zemeckis basically blackmailed Universal into buying this script), it's no surprise that the final product is a chore to sit through.

Universal Studios had originally intended on creating a Tales from the Crypt-based film trilogy, beginning with the very successful Demon Knight (almost continuing with the Tarantino/Rodriguez collaboration From Dusk Till Dawn before Tarantino asked for too much money), and ultimately concluding one film early with Bordello of Blood, a film that even its star, Dennis Miller, ordered his audience to avoid while it was in theaters. That it was a box office bomb assured further tales spun by the Cryptkeeper would be relegated back to television screens, which is a shame, because the brand has carried a lot of weight since the comic book's introduction back in the 1950s and has been sitting dormant way too long.

And it's all your fault, Bordello of Blood. Thanks for nothing.

Bordello of Blood is atrocious. Even those who like the film have to admit it ain't at all that good. Fun and gory violence and a story that really does smack of that ol' EC Comics aesthetic aside, so little of it works that it's almost amazing it ever saw the light of day - and from a major studio, no less.   

TALES FROM THE CRYPT PRESENTS: DEMON KNIGHT (1995)

It was the summer of 1995. I was about to enter the fifth grade, but by then I was already a total horror junkie, much to the chagrin of my very worried mother. Efforts on her part to prevent my delving into the horror genre were met with refusal, dismissal, and probably a lot of whining. By this point in time, I'd worked my way through the entire Halloween and Friday the 13th franchises and was halfway through Hellraiser. But such viewings had to be done in secret. Should my mother throw open the door to our finished basement and descend the stairs to put in a load of laundry, I had to quickly shut off the tape of whatever horror VHS I'd been secretly watching and pretend instead to be watching one of those courtroom television shows or whatever happened to be on during that 3:00-5:00 weekday block. I was fooling exactly no one with this maneuver, but she was likely satisfied by my attempts. In her mind, at least I knew I wasn't supposed to be watching it.

My parents decided they wanted to take an overnight trip during that summer, sans kids, so my brother and I were dropped off at my uncle's for the weekend. It was a pretty cool and relaxed affair - my uncle's ideas on what were suitable movies and TV shows for kids were a bit more liberal than my mother's - so when my cousin announced she would go to the video store and rent some movies for us, I jumped at the chance.

"Can you see if they have Demon Knight?" I asked. Chronologically, I don't remember what came first: my devotion to HBO's Tales from the Crypt television series, or my obsession with collecting the 1990s' reprint run of EC Comics' Tales from the Crypt, The Vault of Horror, and The Haunt of Fear. I just knew that Demon Knight was out there in the world on blocky VHS, and I needed it in my eyeballs, stat.

"There's nothing bad in that, is there?" my uncle asked, merely out of obligation.

"It's about dummies," I lied. (Although it was kind of true. There was a dummy in there, after all.)

And so my uncle gave my cousin the nod of approval and off she went. She later returned with a pile of junk food and a big plastic VHS rental case for Tales from the Crypt Presents: Demon Knight.

And we all watched it together: my uncle, my brother, a few cousins, and myself.

What followed was ninety of the most exhilarating minutes of my life, as my straight-edged, non-horror-loving family sat in total slack-jawed shock that little unassuming me was into such ghastly things: body mutilation! heads being punched off! clomping dummy jaws! electric sex! a room filled with tits! Dick Miller!

The room was astounded that such a movie even existed in their world; and had it not been for me, in what circumstances would they have ever laid eyes upon it?

Never. 

But what permeated through that room for one of the silliest, ghastliest, most taboo-shattering communal experiences ever to happen among unsuspecting family members was tantamount to how the theatrical experience must've been prior to the invention of the cell phone.

How crazy would this movie get?

How far would it go?

Is that Lowell from Wings?

Nudity already?

The horror genre has been a big part of my life, and there are certain titles I will always hold in higher regard than others, for they were my gateway films. They were the titles that made me realize horror was my life, and no matter how good or bad they got, I would love them in equal measure.

Demon Knight is one of those titles.

Never had there been such a successful leap from small screen to big by the time Demon Knight wrenched free from its 30-minute constraints to unleash on audiences a full feature film of demonic debauchery, gruesome violence, the blackest of gallows humor, and wobbling dummy heads. Nothing was lost in translation. The chaotic sensibilities of the show, the unashamed look at violence and pulpy storytelling, and the nudity - oh, heavens, the nudity! - all survived that trip from television screens to theatrical exhibition. Demon Knight has everything: unrestrained violence, thrilling action, sexual titillation, excellent performances, and C.C.H. Pounder throwing up directly on the camera. Who wouldn't love this?

Director Ernest Dickerson, who only had two films under his directorial belt at this point (he'd been a longtime DP for Spike Lee), seems like he were born to take on the horror genre. (Well, sort of.  He's also responsible for Bones - the awful Snoop Dogg urban horror film, not the awful forensics show for white people.) Dickerson's visual design is fully informed by the comic book aesthetic: blues for dusky interiors, browns for the war flashbacks (the staging of which seems heavily inspired by the covers of Frontline Combat, EC Comics' lesser known imprint), and let's not forget the neon green demon blood. Nearly every frame of Demon Knight is decked out in bold and vibrant comic book colors, tending to favor blue more than anything else. Brief flashbacks to the Christ crucifixion, or the marauding demons with their glow-in-the-dark eyes creeping around like raptors while set against the blue/black desert night sky, enforce his talent for capturing compelling images. He also chose a hell of a cast. There are no signs of the typical executive producer throwing his cast-preference weight around (more on this during the Bordello of Blood review). When William Sadler plays the hero and a pre-Titanic Billy Zane plays the villain, you know these were actors chosen specifically by the director for their talents and their appeal. They weren't chosen because of their box-office draw or their recognition among audiences. Additional names like C.C.H. Pounder, Thomas Haden Church, Charles Fleischer, and a pre-fame Jade Pinkett (Smith) confirm that the best possible actors were chosen for their roles, and not for their marquee value. And that's amazing, because that hardly happens anymore.

Demon Knight, to this day, remains an absolute favorite. The perfect flick to play on Halloween, or late at night when the whole world is quiet, Demon Knight is one of the funnest horror films to come along throughout the entire horror movement. Only when horror films turn the tables on their viewing audiences and take on a full-meta approach (Scream, The Cabin in the Woods) are when it seems safe for these audiences to admit they had fun at the theater. But there were no self-awareness gimmicks needed to tell Demon Knight's story. It didn't need to be in on the joke to be fun. Based on grisly comic books from the 1950s, Demon Knight isn't ashamed to be what it is, and doesn't hide from its point of origin. It exists only to be thrilling and entertaining and titillating, and that's exactly what it does. Don't even fight the smile that forms at the corners of your mouth when watching it. Don't act like you're above seeing demons drip glow-in-the-dark neon blood all over the ground as they shriek and smash in all the windows. When Billy Zane is out in the desert doing his best Beetlejuice impression and calling his soon-to-be victims "fucking ho-dunk, po-dunk, well-then-there motherfuckers!," just ENJOY IT, because this film was made for all of us.

Films like Demon Knight barely exist anymore. And when they do, they're called "throwback" and "homage" and "grindhouse," because of the rarity in which they come into being. Tales from the Crypt is a solid brand with a built-in appreciation, and so it's a shame that the second attempt at bridging the gap between television and features would be with the miserable Bordello of Blood - a film so heinously bad that it would spell the end for Crypt-branded features. While there has been an ongoing attempt by M. Night Shyamalan to reintroduce Tales from the Crypt to a new generation, so far nothing has manifested, so all we have is what's come before: the comic line, the British feature adaptations, the HBO series, and then its subsequent features. There's a lot of good in that legacy, and some not so good. Demon Knight is among the best.

JOHN CARPENTER: MAN OF ACTION

I wish this were real.

BEWARE THE CHILDREN

God said, "Let us make man in Our image, after Our likeness.” But image does not mean outer image, or every statue or photograph would be man. It means the inner image—the spirit, the soul. But what of those in our midst who do not have individual souls? Or spirits? They have one mind that they share between them—one spirit. They have the look of man, but not the nature of mankind…