Well, I just got one movie done since putting up that list. I think I can find the time.
It's after midnight right now on the East Coast, so it's officially September.
#100. Wes Craven's New Nightmare (1994, directed by Wes Craven)
Folks who hate
Scream are only too quick to point to this film as the ultimate contemporary meta-tation on the genre and high-horsed contrarian authority figures insinuating that horror damages those who watch it. People, it's All About Context. This film definitely has some pretty good meta on its' plate but almost none of it has to do with the horror genre. And
Scream's primary focus was on the media, something a lot of fans haven't noticed since they believe that film has a one trick mind. Sadly, for those who have trouble letting go,
New Nightmare has not stood up very well after all these years. The differences in cultural sensibilities between then and now is a big reason. Heather Langenkamp's often highly flawed acting is another. What this movie is really about is the idea that the production of the original
Nightmare was so close-knit that the cast and crew who worked on it, despite going their separate ways, have become like family to each other. This is a rare idea and it could only be proposed with a studio who at the time had only recently become a major Hollywood player. They're big time now but they're not forgetting the people who got them there. In reality, however, the story goes a little differently. The movie features New Line Cinema president Bob Shaye telling us the reason Wes Craven didn't call them after the last film he made at New Line was that he "hadn't had any scary nightmares" (which are his driving creative force). In reality, Craven was having financial difficulties after the first film's success, had trouble getting enough work to pay his bills, and was sued by someone who claimed
Nightmare was their idea as New Line launched into a series of million-dollar banking sequels, not a penny of which went into Wes's pocket. He wasn't too happy about that, though he did sign on to co-write the third film in the series. Things got so uncomfortable between Craven and New Line that they had to have a special forgive-and-forget meeting where at the end they would discuss - the possibility of - doing a seventh film. Which Wes had to convince Shaye was more about cleansing the series after sequel-itis had taken the franchise so far away from Craven's artistic vision for the characters and story. What resulted from this reunion made
a lot of fans happy yet, somehow, it's never much pleased me. But you certainly can't fault the meta for that. This isn't the first film about blurring the line between the movies and reality but it does have some incredibly impressive moments (the talk show scene, the
Nosferatu reference) and the hospital scenes are quite fascinating. It's not the same movie the fans remember but it has caused a few sleepless nights of its' own.
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#99. I, Madman (1989, directed by Tibor Takács)
A more gruesome, grisly version of your average
Phantom of the Opera adaptation. But, instead of being merely a typical stalker formula, this particular incarnation mixes in elements of shadowy, 80's detective noir.
Near Dark's Jenny Wright plays a bookish library worker who doesn't just crave tales of the mad, monstrous, and depraved, she literally gets inside of them, becoming the character she chooses to identify with. The book fills her apartment with strange, disturbing noises, she loses track of time, and, eventually, the thing she's reading about shows itself to her. The movie almost seems a darkly funny parable about how, though it seems like a good alternative to the trash on the characters' televisions, books are dangerous and can even get in the way of your relationship. The latter thankfully never becomes heavy-handed, in no small part due to
April Fools' Day's Clayton Rohner playing yet another World's Greatest Boyfriend (he was also the object of Joyce Hyser's affection in 1985's
Just One of the Guys) and again, he makes you believe he is. But the movie goes to a few laughable extremes to raise a case for the former. Not only does Wright's "imagination" get her in trouble with the police, at a crucial moment of intensity- the gun flies out of her hand and drops under an immovable mountain of books. That's not all; as she attempts to flea from the killer, another mountain of books completely block her passageway and she leaps upon them only to have them slide her back down into harm's way. One might think they were almost working against her. Anyway, unlike Alicia Silverstone thrillers (1995's
True Crime) where every cop who warns her against trying to solve the mystery and reveal the killer because she's in way over her head is made to be right, anyone who holds Wright back or patronize her are proven to not only be wrong but their disbelief is what leads to the bodies piling up here, despite her repeated warnings. Books might be responsible for introducing the idea of a threat but this movie proves - in the grand tradition of
A Nightmare on Elm Street - that you can't write off a cinematic witness for being bookish or mousey. They might be telling you the truth.
I, Madman is one of the best horror movies you've probably never heard of. The acting and writing are solid, the special effects gnarly but applied with sophistication and power (the title's killer is also aided in his abundant creepiness by a great sense of physicality and an unforgettable voice), the sexuality mature and adult (there are touches here and there), the cinematography sumptuous and striking, and the music and sound design give you a few good jolts occasionally.
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#98. Sleepy Hollow (1999, directed by Tim Burton)
In the realm of the Hollywood period-piece horror film, the 1990's was... well, it
was an orgy because, even though most of them were long-winded bores which simply served to reinforce the Hollywood attitude that horror films which try to be intelligent, sophisticated, and emotionally complex can't be called horror films for fear that snobby awards committees won't give them the time of day, apparently audiences kept paying to see them (after the very
Twilight-of-the-90's
Interview with the Vampire, I can't imagine why). Meanwhile, this ingenious strategy may have enabled Hollywood to rope the likes of Robert De Niro, John Malkovich, Gary Oldman, Tom Cruise and so forth into doing projects most of them likely regret, because none of these films have stood the test of time - I really mean: fan devotion - like your
Dawn of the Deads,
Texas Chainsaw Massacres,
Halloweens, etc. And that's what lasts after the exhaust of award hype has dissipated. Horror films should be made for the fans or by people who love the genre. And, after more than 15 years in the business, Tim Burton decided to make his first full-barrel horror film. A lush, extravagant (expensive) tribute to the Hammer horror of his childhood which was also Hollywood's final deathbed effort in the non-PG-13 period piece subgenre. It might not have paid off, financially, as they expected. But in terms of giving the fans something they can actually sink their teeth into,
Sleepy Hollow is vastly superior to most of its' type. Visually, this is like a 10-course banquet for people looking for some style to counterbalance the late 90's when horror was beginning to have the art drained out of it. Who would expect anything less from the director of
Beetlejuice? There are even some
Nightmare Before Christmas touches that bleed into the fold (noteworthy since he only produced that film). The cast, nearly all of which are strangers to horror, treat the material with proper respect and most of them don't seem to bat an eye at the eventual prospect of having their characters' heads lopped off or insides come pouring out. One of the movie's flaws is that it doesn't know how to provide much inventiveness with the death scenes, given that nearly every victim is merely decapitated. After fewer than half the movie's bodycount have hit the floor, you'll be yawning at the suggestion of another Horseman attack (although, this problem is certainly solved after awhile). But the movie has yet another trick up its' sleeve to contend with this, something else the genre was in dire need of at the time: black humor. Blood flies like this were a Peter Jackson film, monsters and corpses with a lot of Raimi-esque energy leap out of meditative states or tight spots undercover to throw blood and clawed fingers at the screen, Johnny Depp tears bodies apart while shocked villagers look on in horror, and that's only the beginning. Finally, the film stages a climax that no one on Earth would have expected to work and yet... it does. How? By having the mastermind rant like a cleverly disturbed Bond villain. A brilliant and tastefully campy performance cred is much overdue to Miranda Richardson.
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#97. Wolfen (1981, directed by Michael Wadleigh)
This one's tricky. It means something. It really does. I... just haven't been able to figure it out yet. Far as I can tell, it's about Native Americans who sit and watch over the white man (and by this, I mean the world of corruption they've created and everyone but this film's crew of wild-living conscientious objectors contribute to it), are able to shapeshift into wolves, and have now decided to teach them a lesson for abusing the land and the people who have to live there by launching an attack on a high-profile jet-setter's family and anyone who tries to investigate the killings. I'm really not sure it all gels. Especially since, at a point, people start dropping for no rhyme or reason whatsoever. From businessmen to homeless people, cops to environmental professors. I'd very much like to know why. But I haven't found an explanation yet. I suppose this almost makes the film a continually fascinating commentary on the forces of nature as it will always leave you guessing. But again, the problem with this is that the killer wolves do in fact have a voice- the Native Americans. And they're more than willing to spew out philosophical theories and ideas. On why the killing is happening. And by film's end, it's made perfectly clear what the wolves' beef is with society. Which almost makes the not-random-enough deaths a tragic result of industrial demolition and corporate takeover. Almost as in: it doesn't create any empathy or sympathy for the wolf-people that they're willing to kill several innocent people just to prove a point. Isn't it lucky then that the film's jaded cop team are brave enough to keep staring death via anthropomorphic killers in the face long enough to uncover the truth and learn who the real enemy is? I will admit that the film's anti-gun sub-message is at least set-up before Albert Finney is evil-eyed into laying down his firearm. Religion is poked. The pureness of political agitators is challenged. There's easily a lot of room to say the film isn't holding anything sacred except for nature itself. I gather the real answers lie in the book the film was based on, which I have not read (big shocker). What
Wolfen really offers isn't answers but a unique experience as a film. An elegantly paced, graceful horror film. With often breathtaking visuals, skillfully executed dialogue and scenes of generational conflict (I'm referring to the cops' scenes with each other mostly), and surprisingly patient yet potent scare scenes. The opening murder set-piece in particular is astonishing. The kind of thing
Silver Bullet spent its' entire running time trying to reproduce.
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