REVIEW: THE DARK DEALER

Finally debuting on DVD after its long (and probably unnoticed) absence, 1995's The Dark Dealer, the adult version of Nickelodeon's popular "Are You Afraid of the Dark?", is now here. Directed by Tom Alexander and Wyn Winberg, The Dark Dealer is an anthology horror featuring glowing orbs, bulky and suited monsters, and ghosts of very spiteful blues men. 

It all begins with a young teen running in terror from a large, flashing orb-thing straight from Spencer Gifts. The boy luckily dodges into a room and stumbles across a poker game filled with a shady cast of characters. The boy takes a seat and listens as each poker player unfolds his own story, laying down the events which led them to their seat at the table.

From two unlucky thieves using the wrong old man's apartment to hide from the law, to an overambitious entertainment lawyer stealing an old forgotten black musician's songs to hit it big, to the final and wraparound story featuring orbs, drugs, and crack dens, The Dark Dealer unfolds with the same kind of overly cheesy and EC-comic-book style as its source of inspiration, Creepshow. And since the film was made in 1995, there is no garish and boring CGI to offend the eye - it's all practical here, baby. Rubber faces, white face make-up, and all the screaming skeletons money can buy.

Quite obviously, The Dark Dealer is no Creepshow. It's not even Creepshow 2. If it was, you would've heard of it already. (It's way better than Creepshow 3, but, so is bloody stool.) That doesn't mean, however, that it's not watchable...because it is. Released during the height of the direct-to-video movement, The Dark Dealer encompasses all you would expect from that era: corny gore, sex for no reason, and awful humor.

Fans of quirky and low budget horror will find something to enjoy, even though each story unfolds with the kind of tedious inevitability, with the main character receiving his just desserts served with a dash of irony, that Tales from the Crypt made famous. But in the interim, bodies transform with rubber intensity and claymation demons faces scream RIGHT AT YOU.

It's all in good fun, and you'll likely enjoy yourself.

Buy the film here (and watch out for flying soup ladles).

TRUTH

LEVITY

SLEEPING BEAUTY

Rosalia Lombardo was born in 1918 in Palermo, Sicily. She died of pneumonia on December 6, 1920. Rosalia's father was sorely grieved upon her death, so he approached Dr. Alfredo Salafia, a noted embalmer, to preserve her.  Her body was one of the last corpses to be admitted to the Capuchin catacombs of Palermo in Sicily.

Thanks to Dr. Salafia's embalming techniques, the body has been well-preserved. X-rays of the body show that the organs are remarkably intact. The child appears as if she were only sleeping, hence receiving the name "Sleeping Beauty," though due to the discoloration that has become more pronounced in the years following her preservation, it is quite obvious she is deceased.

Rosalia Lombardo's body is kept in a small chapel at the end of the catacomb's tour and is encased in a glass covered coffin, placed on a marble pedestal.

YIKES

FATHER

CREEP

When I was about 4, I was sitting alone in the living room playing with marbles. One of them rolled under the couch, and I stuck my hand as far under as I could to find it. I couldn't find it, so I withdrew my hand... and a black, withered, feminine hand reached out from under the couch after me. I remember it clearly. I sat there, too young to really know how batshit insane this was, but I remember thinking to myself "this is not right." I sat there dumbfounded and watched it; it groped around, then withdrew. Then it emerged again, pushing some plastic wrappers at me, as if it was trying to give them to me. When I didn't take them, it withdrew again, taking the trash with it, and was gone.

I got up very calmly and walked to my mother in the kitchen, at the other side of the house, and told her, "Mommy, a hand just reached out from under the couch." She got an odd look on her face, of course, but I was a very quiet, obedient kid who did not tell stories. She told me that was impossible and walked back to the living room with me, and even reached her hands under the couch to show me there was nothing there. Later, my dad came home and lifted the couch, and all that was under there was my marbles, and some random trash.

For years, I discounted this as just a vivid dream I had had when I was a child; obviously I didn't believe it really happened. But years later, when I was like 18, I mentioned it to my mother in recollection. She surprised me by saying that, no, it actually happened; she remembered me coming to her that afternoon and telling her about the hand under the couch. She said it had disturbed her greatly, and was the reason they had thrown the couch out soon after, because she had bought the couch second hand, and the seller told her that an elderly black lady had died on it.

Story and image source unknown.