
Creepy families with murderous intentions have become a staple of horror cinema. Most recently directors like Rob Zombie have attempted to cash in on this long standing tradition with films like House of 1000 Corpses (2003) and The Devil’s Rejects (2005), but long before Rob ever stood behind a camera other directors such as Jack Hill (Spider Baby; 1968), Tobe Hooper (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre; 1974), Pete Walker (Frightmare; 1974) and Wes Craven (The Hills Have Eyes; 1977) were plotting out similar scenarios with more worthwhile results.
One of the earliest and most interesting films in this tradition is Freddie Francis’ Girly aka Mumsy, Nanny, Sonny and Girly (1969). The plot of Girly is rather simple and involves a strange wealthy family that live on an isolated British estate. The family consists of Mumsy (Ursula Howells) and her two children Girly (Vanessa Howard) and Sonny (Howard Trevor) who are cared for by their doting Nanny (Pat Heywood). Girly and Sonny act like two naughty schoolchildren and Mumsy and Nanny enjoy babying them both. They sleep in cribs and play with toys as if they were infants, but the siblings are actually much older and enjoy spending their time luring adult men or new “friends” home to play “games” that revolve around torture and death.
Girly isn’t one of Francis’ best looking films, but it is one of his funniest and most unusual movies. This blacker than black horror comedy offers plenty of uncomfortable laughs along with a few chills and thrills. The script by author Brian Comport is smart and surprising. It was based on a play called Happy Family written by Maisie Mosco in 1966. I don’t know much about the original play, but with the script’s obvious swipes at the British upper-class and its timely take on the era’s sexual politics, Girly seems to distantly echo some of the social themes found in “kitchen sink dramas” that were popular in Britain throughout the ‘60s.
Before Freddie Francis started directing horror films he worked as a cinematographer on celebrated British dramas such as Room at the Top (1959) and Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (1960). His unique talents helped give birth to the British New Wave and he was partially responsible for ushering in a new era of British cinema. Francis considered Girly to be one of his best films and I think it’s fascinating to view the movie as an extension of his previous work as a cinematographer. In some ways Girly could be seen as a seamless blend of Francis’ early beginnings in the British New wave along with his bleak sense of humor and macabre sensibilities.


I make no apology for my sincere admiration of British director Danny Boyle. Since I first sat through a late night showing of Shallow Grave back in 1994 I’ve been impressed with his frenetic and edgy directing style as well as his ability to get incredibly nuanced performances from his actors. I believe Boyle is one of our most interesting modern directors and 28 Days Later is one of his greatest achievements.
28 Days Later tells the story of young Jim (Cillian Murphy) who awakens from a long coma in an empty London hospital surrounded by a seemingly deserted city. While Jim was sleeping a powerful virus swept through the country turning its victims into murderous monsters that resemble zombies. Throughout the course of the film Jim becomes a reluctant hero who helps other survivors try to stay alive in a situation that becomes more desperate and bleak by the hour.
The film was impressively shot by cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle using digital film for most of its running time. Instead of it being a distraction, the use of digital film in 28 Days Later actually adds to the grungy feel of the urban landscape and gives the city of London an extremely menacing look. Writer Alex Garland wrote the script, which makes many references to other movies such as The Last Man On Earth (1964), The Day of the Triffids (1962), Omega Man (1971), A Clockwork Orange (1971) and George Romero’s Dead Trilogy. But in a decade that was littered with tired ‘reimaginings’ and lackluster remakes Danny Boyle was able to revitalize familiar themes and turn 28 Days Later into one of the decades most frightening, creative, entertaining and thought-provoking horror films. 28 Days Later managed to make zombies interesting again and it also made Cillian Murphy an internationally renowned star who has developed into one of our best working actors.



When I first saw Calvaire (2004) it haunted me for weeks. No matter how much I tried to forgot the film’s snow saturated landscapes, strange characters, unhinged violence and unsettling atmosphere I just couldn’t shake the movie from my memory. Images from Calvaire haunted my dreams and threatened to consume my thoughts.
This fascinating horror film was directed and co-written by Belgium born filmmaker Fabrice Du Welz and shot by the extraordinary cinematographer Benoît Debie. Together Fabrice Du Welz and Benoît Debie form part of an important group of European filmmakers who are producing some of today’s most innovative and cutting edge films. This creative group includes controversial directors Gaspar Noé and Lucile Hadzihalilovic, as well as Peter Van Hees who recently helmed Left Bank. Together these filmmakers seem to be redefining horror cinema and invoking the darkest and arguably most interesting aspects of cinema fantastique.
Calvaire brazenly borrows ideas from classic survival horror films such as Deliverance (1972), The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) and The Hills Have Eyes (1977). But director Fabrice Du Welz manages to infuse his film with a dark romanticism that would make Matthew “Monk” Lewis proud.
The film stars the talented French actor Laurent Lucas as a young entertainer named Marc whose van breakdowns somewhere in the Belgian countryside. Marc soon becomes an object of admiration and incomprehensible cruelty for a local innkeeper named Bartel (Jackie Berroyer).
What separates Calvaire from other films involving individuals who find themselves lost in the wilderness and preyed upon by crazed locals, is the way the film dares to play with gender roles. Calvaire smartly subverts the idea of the “final girl’ that is prevalent in many popular horror films and turns it on its head. The film is also beautifully photographed by Benoît Debie who makes the most of Belgium’s winter weather and invokes a creepy gothic ambiance that is often missing from contemporary horror movies.
Last but not least, Calvaire also boasts a brief but memorable appearance by the beautiful European horror icon and erotic actress Brigitte Lahaie who has appeared in many Jean Rollin films including The Grapes of Death (1978), Fascination (1979) and Night of the Hunted (1980) and as well as Jess Franco’s Faceless (1987) and critically acclaimed films such as Diva (1981) and Henry & June (1990).


Before the Fall (aka Tres días) is a terrific Spanish thriller with an end-of-the-world setting. This thoughtful genre-mixing film takes place in a small Spanish village as the news breaks that a giant meteor has begun rapidly descending towards earth. The meteor is expected to hit the planet in just three days and scientists predict that the world will come to a sudden and violent end when it does. As these events begin to unfold director and co-writer F. Javier Gutiérrez focuses his camera on one very troubled family that is struggling to live with some deep scars caused by a traumatic encounter with a serial killer many years earlier. Unfortunately the family is forced to face their past head-on when the killer escapes from jail in the chaos following the frantic news announcement of the meteor’s decent.
In most films with a doomsday plot line the characters act as if they don’t have a past. But they’re willing to fight for a future that often seems vague and undefined. Characters might struggle with family matters before the action starts and occasionally make reference to it as the drama progresses, but once the adrenaline kicks in their personal history mysteriously seems to vanish into thin air. This lack of emotional depth and character development in many science fiction films and thrillers can be distracting and exasperating for some viewers. Before the Fall is smart enough to reject typical scenarios found in countless apocalyptic films and instead director F. Javier Gutiérrez managed to craft a taut psychological thriller that never forgets about its very human characters.
The film’s deep sense of humanity is what separates Before the Fall from countless other end-of-the-world films that have preceded it. Throughout the course of the film the flawed protagonists in Before the Fall are never allowed to forget their past and the events that have shaped them. Director F. Javier Gutiérrez knows that death is inevitable whether it comes in the form of a giant falling meteor, suicide or a serial killer so the meteor plunging towards earth in Before the Fall is only a minor distraction that never gets in the way of life’s bigger questions and conflicts. The film unapologetically allows viewers to forget about the impending disaster facing planet earth and embrace the troubled family in their very personal plight.
Besides some surprisingly creative directing choices by Gutiérrez, the film also features some wonderful performances from Víctor Clavijo as the reluctant hero of the film as well as Mariana Cordero as his mother and Eduard Fernández as the determined killer. These three characters really make up the heart, soul and mind of this unusual movie that happens to be one of my favorite films of the last decade.
Is it Monday already? Lately the weeks seem to fly by but I managed to pull a little something together for Modern Monday. Forgive the brevity of my blog posts lately, but house hunting continues to consume most of my free time at the moment. With that in mind I figured I’d share a little something about a film that is much more interested in images than words.
Last Life in the Universe (aka Ruang rak noi nid mahasan, 2003) is a beautiful and thoughtful meditation on life, death, alienation and reconciliation written and directed by Pen-Ek Ratanaruang with breathtaking cinematography by the impeccable Christopher Doyle. It also features an wonderfully subtle performance by one of my favorite working actors, the brilliant Tadanobu Asano.
Last Life in the Universe forgoes familiar storytelling techniques and uses it’s own surreal language to examine familiar themes in an unconventional way. This macabre and melancholy movie is touching but never sappy and it always maintains its sense of humor. Pen-Ek Ratanaruang’s innovative film occasionally recalls the work of filmmakers such as Louis Bunuel and even Jean Cocteau but Pen-Ek Ratanaruang’s Thai background gives his film a unique perspective and tone.

I first saw Servando González’s 1965 film The Fool Killer (aka El asesino de tontos) almost twenty years ago and it’s haunted me ever since. The film features Anthony Perkins in one of his best roles and I got the urge to watch it again last year while I was obsessing over Perkins’ music career. For some unknown reason The Fool Killer isn’t available on DVD yet so I had to purchase a used VHS copy of the film to see it.
I shouldn’t have been too surprised that The Fool Killer was unavailable on DVD because Mexican director Servando González is almost unheard of in the United States. I haven’t had the opportunity to see any of the director’s other films myself so my own appreciation of his work revolves around my deep affection for The Fool Killer, but I was disappointed to learn that the director had passed away in October of last year. Servando González’s death appears to have gone almost completely unnoticed by the film community except in Latin America. This is really unfortunate because The Fool Killer clearly shows that González was a talented filmmaker with the ability to create wonderfully atmospheric films that could remain with viewers long after they had ended. Trying to find any noteworthy information about The Fool Killer is nearly impossible, but I thought I’d share some of my own thoughts about Servando González’s exceptional film in an effort to broaden appreciation of his work.
The Fool Killer is an extremely dark and ominous film starring thirteen year-old actor Edward Albert as a deeply troubled young orphan named George. After a brief opening montage filled with idyllic images of the American countryside, the film begins with George receiving a nasty beating from his foster parents while they recite Bible verses in an effort to soften the blows. Poor George blames himself for the beatings he receives because he thinks that the “foolish things” he’s done shouldn’t go unpunished. But dropping a butter churn and playing with dandelions are clearly not acts worthy of the beatings he gets. After the physical pain wears off, the emotional scars become evident when young George decides that he’s had enough abuse and heads out into the world on his own. His odyssey will take him through the dusty back roads of rural Tennessee where he’ll encounter an unusual cast of characters who consciously and unconsciously guide him on his journey.
The film is based on a novel of the same name written by Helen Eustis, but the legend of the Fool Killer was first written down by author O. Henry (aka William Sydney Porter). I’m not sure how much of the legend is based on fact or if the whole concept is a work of fiction conjured up by the author’s absinthe fueled imagination, but according to O. Henry his tale of the Fool Killer was based on an old southern myth, “like Santa Claus and Jack Frost and General Prosperity and all those concrete conceptions that are supposed to represent an idea that Nature has failed to embody.”
In his short tale O. Henry’s also tells us that the Fool Killer was a “terrible old man, in gray clothes, with a long, ragged, gray beard, and reddish, fierce eyes” who “come stumping up the road in a cloud of dust, with a white oak staff in his hand” and would “kill anyone who perpetrates some particularly monumental piece of foolishness.”



Part horror film, part fairytale and pure allegory. Nothing in Lucile Hadzihalilovic’s 2004 film is as it seems. Much like her artistic partner, filmmaker Gaspar Noé, Hadzihalilovic is obviously interested in making films that push past expectations and delve into the unconscious mind. Innocence isn’t simply a film about what’s on the screen. It is a film that reflects what the audience chooses to see when they watch it. The movie takes place in the dream-like surroundings of a gated school for young women where imagery is much more important than story. Characters speak very little and what they do say is often less important than what they don’t say.
Throughout Innocence Lucile Hadzihalilovic’s direction is flawless and once you’ve entered the world she’s created it’s impossible to forget it. Much like Peter Weir’s excellent 1975 film Picnic at Hanging Rock, Innocence uses the sterile and beautiful world of a girl’s boarding school as a backdrop for exploring ideas about society, power, control and gender. How we respond to these films often illustrates the way in which we see the world. But there’s no denying that Innocence is a film intended to shake up its audience and make them think. At times watching Innocence is an uncomfortable experience and it should make viewers squirm. It’s a horror film without shocks. It’s a fairytale for adults. Innocence is anything but forgettable entertainment. It will crawl under your skin and stick there.

As someone who came of age during the ’80s, I’ve become increasingly disturbed by the critical response to director John Hughes’ recent death. Over and over again I’ve been told that he was “the voice” of my generation and that he “defined the ’80s.” And instead of pointing out the crass commercialism that made up the man’s entire film career, The New York Times has let A.O. Scott proclaim that John Hughes was “our Godard.”
John Hughes may have been many things to many people, but there’s just no denying that as a director his career had a hell of a lot more in common with Michael Bay than Jean-Luc Godard. How any film critic who writes for the New York Times could call Hughes our generation’s Godard and get paid for it is beyond my comprehension. And as someone who was a teenager in the ’80s, I also find it deeply sad and frustrating.
I’m unabashedly naive and extremely sentimental when it comes to my childhood in the 1970s, but the 1980s ignites a different kind of nostalgia in me. It’s an unpleasant nostalgia that took shape while my innocence was melting away and my teenage hormones were raging. That teenage rage has carried into adulthood and occasionally manifests into fits of anger like the one you’re about to read.
It’s important to note that I’m not angry at John Hughes the man or the people who enjoy his films. I’m angry at the absurd critical response to the director’s death and I blame a culture that conveniently forgets facts in order to build critical arguments. If the cultural pundits and film critics are to be believed, an entire generation bought what John Hughes was selling them. But the truth is much more complex than that.
Hughes made films for mainstream America that resembled the Gidget movies of the late 1950s and early ‘60s. As a rebellious teenager I absolutely hated Hughes’ films. Hughes’ simplistic, Reagan-fueled, whitewashed, upper middle-class view of the world reflected everything that was loathsome about the ’80s in my mind. Hughes was a conservative baby boomer and a yuppie that spoon-feed my generation - so-called Generation X - the worst kind of ’50s nostalgia imaginable in order to make a buck. His films didn’t speak to me at all since I had much more in common with James Dean than Gidget. And John Hughes was no Nicholas Ray.
I’m told in countless obits written about John Hughes that some segment of ’80s youth culture found comfort in the way that his movies portrayed teenagers as well as outsiders and malcontents. But if you were actually questioning authority during the ’80s it was impossible to identify with any of the faux rebellion found in Hughes’ movies. The man preached conformity over and over again. The so-called “outsiders” in Hughes’ films rejected other teens like themselves so they could date popular jocks or beauty queens. In other words, if you followed the social rules laid out by John Hughes you’d get a “hot date” for the school prom and be “accepted” into Reagan’s America. Reality check; the real teenage rebels and outsiders didn’t go to school proms in the ’80s. They also skipped detention.



