Lights, camera, brain matter splatter
“It’s not human, and it’s got an axe!” – The Prey, 1984
I think I’ve finally reached critical cheese mass… I recently found myself inappropriately excited at the prospect of spending long, inhuman hours on the set of a vampire movie being shot in Jozi, sweating and hammering and building and painting and pasting and wielding a nail gun and maybe a coffeepot for mahala… Yep, you heard right: not money, just experience, and because I’m crazy like that. Also, the idea of building and decorating coffins for the undead somehow doesn’t give me the heebie jeebies… Quite the contrary, actually.
“Take the stairs. Take the stairs. For God’s sake, take the stairs!!!” – The Lift, 1983
I’m not entirely sure when I started becoming so obsessed with cheesy horror and all things B-grade… It was probably an act of self-preservation, in light of all the intellectual, arty, high-concept movies I’d been reviewing for years as one of the perks of being an entertainment journalist. And, of course, the glossy, overproduced blockbusters designed to blow your audio-visual receptors. Who knows what the last straw was… Maybe the day I found myself intelligently discussing stuff like Mise-en-scene?
“It’s cheaper than a chainsaw!” – The Nail Gun Massacre, 1985
Whatever it was, at just the right moment, and with a nudge from some already geekified friends, I stumbled head-over-heels into the wonderful world of shockingly cheesy B-grade movies. The introduction? Mystery Science Theatre 3000. The result? A peanut gallery of ten or so inebriated like-minded people (well, one or two were casting furtive wide-eyed stares at the rest of us), bunched onto two couches in a tiny flat and hurling the verbal equivalent of rotten tomatoes at an innocent TV screen, where two robots and a man were already providing their own dialogue for a medieval fantasy featuring knights with mullets. Some of these gems actually made their way into our everyday conversations for a while: “You! Lick me!” and “Who are we? Bats! What do we want? Insects! When do we want it? Now!” being especial favourites.
“Trapped in time. Surrounded by evil. Low on gas.” – Army Of Darkness, 1992
It was only the beginning. In less time than it takes for the scantily clad bosoms-a-heaving blonde to get her insides ripped out I was hooked. Sam Raimi’s delirious stroke of genius in casting Bruce “The Chin” Campbell as Ash in the Evil Dead movies… Undead armies marching on the embattled walls of a desperate castle, making inappropriate “wheeeee!” sounds… Shy teenage redheads getting bitten by strange beasts and progressively getting vampy, snappy and seriously wolfed out… Peter Jackson’s forays into zombie sex, murderous muppets and the delicious eyeballs-in-custard dessert… Virginity taken to new, mythological levels when vagina dentata makes a surprise visit… Werewolves being kept at bay by a well-swung frying pan… Man-eating sheep, demented fluffy bunnies (my next project) and zombies kept as Playstation partners…
“Hell hath no fury like a hippo with a machine gun.” – Meet The Feebles, 1989
I can tell you about the rules that every Horror Head has taken to heart, such as don’t have sex, don’t strut about in your underwear, don’t go downstairs to check on a noise, never check if the monster is dead… Actually, just don’t sign up for this movie. I can name the directors most likely to make writhing in agony look like an orgasm, use bucketloads of corn syrup as a “fuck you” to sublety and insert inappropriate sound effects. Sam Raimi, I’m looking at you and your demented handkerchief. We can have long conversations about the relative merits of different vampires and werewolves and zombies and when is too much just too much? (Answer: never.)
“Please do not disturb Evelyn. She already is.” – Mountaintop Motel Massacre, 1983
Someone once asked me what the real reason was for my obsession. I think there are two. The first: the social aspect. The joy of watching these gorefests with others who love them just as much, who can point out subtle references and sly digs because they’ve watched them so many times. There’s nothing like buckets of blood to bond a band of brothers.
The second: there’s just nothing these crazy movies won’t do. It’s sheer indulgence of the most ridiculous kind. Need more entrails? NO problem. Should the love interest be a zombie? Of course. Typewriters: evil? You said it. Should I rather buy a chastity belt before having sex with that deceptively shy girl? Hell, yes. And on and on and on… It’s escapism, a platform for all our secret twisted geeky desires, an opportunity to laugh in the face of werewolves and get away with it. And it’s funny and often really slyly clever and ironic… People having fun with their wildest fears. And most of the heroes are so, well, normal… They make you think that you, too, can OWN that vampire!
That’s also one of the reasons that I HATE “real” horror… Like Hostel and the Saw movies. They take away the fun bonding, instead isolating you in your own head, and disturbing you to the point where then laughing about it with your friends just feels a bit sick. And it pushes indulgence from the ridiculous to the sickening, leaving you with the scary question: “what if it’s real?” Cos while werewolves and vampires go their weary ways when daylight strikes, humans remain. And they’re actually the biggest monsters of all.
But I digress. And I’ve got some hammering to do – those crypts dont’ build themselves, you know!
Originally published in February 2010 on my now defunct blog, dustbunniesproject.com
