HEYYYYYYYYY. Just barely in time for this year’s 31 Days of Halloween, I am also celebrating 7 years of writing with the smartest, best humans and one (alleged) space lady at The Cultural Gutter! We are your source for thoughtful writing about disreputable art, lavishing on films, comics, books, and video games. Check us out for recent pieces on The People’s Joker, The Vast of Night, Ghoul, Swamp Thing, and my own latest on the heroines of the Good For Her meme and why they are not Final Girls.
As for myself, I’m not great at self-promotion [gestures to this here fallow blog], but here are ten(ish) articles I’ve written over the last few years that have garnered some kind attention, and mayhap they will also be of use to you this spooky szn? To the list!
Sheriff Andy Taylor Is the Prince of Lies earned me one of the most amazing pieces of hate mail I have ever, ever received and I cherish it, I do. Totally missed my point and, as it happens, Andy’s point, too. The thesis here is that what keeps the idyllic Southern hamlet of Mayberry humming is not virtue, charity, and good fellowship, so much as plain old deceit. I look forward to your letters.
Halloween: The Curse of Sam Loomiswent way over word count, much as my heart brims over with love for moviedom’s worst practicing psychiatrist, and I’m including Dr Channard, Dr. Decker, and Dr. Lecter. One day, Good Lord willing, Imma write a spec script for a Loomis origin story. It will be terrible.
As we look forward to Halloween Ends,The Many Lives of Laurie Strode may be useful to keep track of your Halloween chronologies. (Note that this was written before Halloween Kills, which imho proved to be the most Halloween II of the Halloween IIs, mostly in bad ways.)
I have two articles about the Hellraiser franchise at the Gutter. The first, Hell Hath No Fury, is about Julia, the woman who loved not wisely, but too well, and also with a claw hammer; the second is about the whole dang franchise in Stuck in Development Hell. The second piece is from 2018, when the last official Hellraiser sequel Hellraiser: Judgment was pumped out to VOD. And just in time for the 2022 Hellraiser reboot premiering TODAY, I can plagiarize myself. "You know, I don’t have the energy to be angry about continuity for its own sake anymore. I used to be that kind of fan, a long time ago when I could be threatened by the idea of something I loved changing. That me wouldn’t have accepted a Hell Priest other than Doug Bradley. But I’ve seen too many once-exciting series collapse under their own weight, too many promising stories choked by audience expectation and overpromising creative folks, and frankly, too many successes that a younger, furiously-certain me never would have given a chance. I’ve written about that before, and I think about it in relationship to Hellraiser here, not so much in that my heart is open for a new, different Hellraiser, though it is, but more that I’m not blinding myself to the strengths and weaknesses of the beloved original. There was no mythology underpinning Clive Barker’s tale of a wronged woman doing very wrong things for the wrong man. Julia was always the real villain, and the Cenobites were a cool-looking manifestation of the most unwholesome appetites. That was their strength. They were as uninterested in guilt or innocence as the blade of a headsman’s axe. They just wanted to play."
Bela Lugosi was my first crush, I love Christopher Lee, and I’ll never delete the Jeremy Brett as Dracula stills from my Pinterest, but hear me when I say William Marshall played the best and most romantic of Draculas. Blacula Is Beautiful!
As a latchkey key kid and a Gen Xer, the popular and widely syndicated Friday the 13th movies were my gateway into the horror genre, and my favorite might actually be the widely-panned Jason X. The Once and Future Jason is all about that. Pity we don’t have a new Friday the 13th this year. I really enjoyed They/Them for what it was, but it wasn’t that.
In Ari Aster Has a Plan For Your Life, I talk about fatedness as the clockwork heart of Aster’s meticulous horror universes in Midsommar and Hereditary. I can’t wait to pay too much attention to the set design of Disappointment Blvd.
This isn’t the right holiday to talk about Die Hard, but Home Depot and Costco already have the Christmas trees out, so why not? I got good feedback on this ‘un. The True Meaning of Masculinity.
If You Love Something, Let It Reboot. This article ended up being a little ironic because I HATED what Chris Chibnall did with his run of Doctor Who–loved Thirteen, loved the art direction, love my officially-licensed Thirteen trenchcoat and flattering rainbow top, loved the Fugitive Doctor, loved Sacha Master, but HATED the Timeless Child arc and every blah de blah workmanlike episode until I finally gave up on this last series. Still, insofar as the article was about letting go of a selfish, exclusionary, inappropriately ego-staking enthusiasm for an artistic work, I feel like it’s evergreen, especially now, when the consumption of film and TV has become not just a primary diversion for all of us but how we relate to each other in an increasingly connected-yet-isolated world. So…anybody wanna buy my entire collection of New Who-era bric-a-brac? …except chibi Twelve. Him, I’m keeping.
[tunelessly] On the third day of Halloween, Sam Hain gave to me…a cool Swedish horror indie.
Skickelsen (Out of the Darkness), short film, written by Jonas Gramming and Mikael Holmström, directed by Jonas Gramming, 2020.
Skickelsen stars Lars Väringer, who you may remember as the Hårgan elder with the game show host charisma in Midsommar’s final ceremony, as a strange old man who moves into heroine Sara’s (Lova Schildt) apartment building at exactly the right time. How do we know it’s the right time? Because he’s timing himself. This short has more mood than plot, reminiscent of Oz Perkins’ work, but it’s well worth the little time it asks. The way Väringer’s features and manner slide from harmless, amiable old man next door into impassive brick of black suit is like a hologram or something.
Continuing Skickelsen’s…uncommon…justice theme, it’s time to laugh and learn again with Christopher Landon.
Freaky, film, written by Michael Kennedy and Christopher Landon, directed by Christopher Landon, HBO Max, 2020.
I absolutely loved Christopher Landon’s Happy Death Day movies, and Freaky is more of the same: clever, but not for its own sake, funny, gleefully gory, featuring genuine characters you will love having genuine moments you will want them to have. It’s a feelgood film for people who don’t want to feel good.
Just as Happy Death Day played with the Groundhog Day concept, Freaky rejiggers family classic Freaky Friday. The big difference is in this film, the body switching is between a savage serial killer (Vince Vaughn, in the roles he was born to play) and his would-be victim Millie (Kathryn Newton). As Millie struggles to evade a police manhunt and get anyone to believe scummy Vince Vaughn is a sweet, bullied teenage girl inside, Vince Vaughn does a tremendous job of making us believe he’s a sweet, bullied teenage girl inside. Meanwhile, Kathryn Newton stalks and murders Millie’s classmates with vicious aplomb that, ironically, shows Millie living her best life. It’s incredibly fun, just a perfect horror-comedy with no fat on it anywhere. I heart it.
Well, that’s quite enough feeling good. Let’s watch something that will hurt.
In the Earth, written and directed by Ben Wheatley, Hulu, 2021.
In the Earth is about humanity carrying on after a pandemic, or at least that’s how it starts. I know that about 5 minutes in, as nebbish scientist Martin (Joel Fry) demasks and submits documentation to prove he’s not contagious, I asked myself why I was watching any given Thursday. But Ellora Torchia looked really cool on the cover art, so I stuck with it. Luckily, I didn’t have to hang long before In the Earth pulled a switcheroo. As soon as Ellora’s park ranger Alma leads Martin on a seemingly routine dispatch to another scientist’s camp–a former flame of Martin’s, in fact–the movie veers from its bleak pandemic premise into a bleak weirdos in the woods are going to hurt you premise. Somewhere around the middle, I think it also briefly became Mandy (2018).
I didn’t dislike In the Earth, and I respect the hell out of the tiny cast, tasked with what was, beneath all the prog rock, technobabble, and Wheatley’s epilepsy-inducing adventures in the editing room, people just being fucked-up savages at each other, a tale as old as time and pretty cheap to film. Martin in particular gets carved on and tormented kind of a lot, and I really liked and identified with Alma, who is forced to carry Martin like an overloaded rucksack all the way to the psychedelic conclusion. Alma is every woman who has ever been in charge of an office, while Martin is the entirety of that office.
I did find it interesting as a contemporary riff on Folk Horror, something I will be obsessing on quite a bit in the coming week.
Also, enjoy one of my favorite subtitles in recent memory:
Hoo-boy, and then I binged the rest of Midnight Mass.
Midnight Mass, miniseries, written by Mike Flanagan, James Flanagan, Elan Gale, Dani Parker, and Jeff Howard, directed by Mike Flanagan, Netflix, 2021.
Midnight Mass is about what happens after a charismatic new priest brings miracles to a tiny New England fishing village on the brink of desolation. His arrival coincides with the return of one of the village’s most infamous citizens, Riley Flynn, released from prison but still serving time in his head for killing a young woman in a drunk driving accident; Riley’s unwed, pregnant love interest, Erin, back home after adventures in the wide world turned sour; and the new law in town, Sheriff Hassan, who has to take the ferry to the mainland to worship because he and his teenage son are Muslim.
I have too much to say about Midnight Mass, and almost all of it is a spoiler or spoiler adjacent, because it’s that kind of show. So what can I say?
I loved it.
It did things with [redacted] stories that I actually haven’t seen done before.
It really felt like a Stephen King ensemble horror from go–think Needful Things or ‘Salem’s Lot–and despite having several compelling individual arcs, it never strays from that community-based perspective, which is a strength and a weakness.
Does no one in this town ever watch [redacted] stories? NO ONE? No one has ever seen [redacted]?
So well plotted. Everything fits together like bricks and mortar. The revelations are all prepared for and characters are consistent.
I do have notes though.
Who remembers Tilda Swinton’s terrible age/sex makeup in Suspiria? You will be reminded.
If two characters are in a conversation, they should probably switch talking every minute or so.
Or at least react.
Or check their phone.
Realism, Mr. Flanagan. Also pacing.
Kate Siegel is amazing and she should not be referred to as Mike Flanagan’s wife. He is Kate Siegel’s husband.
According to my Catholic-raised husband, the Catholicism is extremely legit up until about episode 3, but to be fair, that’s when [redacted redacted redacted].
When [redacted] [redacted], my heart burst, and then [redacted] tried to [redacted] but she wouldn’t [redacted], and I have tears in my eyes remembering it, and at the end, the way they [redacted] at the little bridge she loved, I’M CRYING
LOL Midnight Mass season 2 searches.
Bingo Hell, film, written by Perry Blackshear, Shane McKenzie, and Gigi Saul Guerrero, directed by Gigi Saul Guerrero, Amazon Prime, 2021.
I wanted to watch something different. Something new. Something I don’t have 16 permutations of in my various queues. So I turned to Gigi Saul Guerrero’s Bingo Hell, with its badass grandmas taking on the devil in a fatal game of…bingo.
Bingo Hell brings joyfulness and heart to its gory Creepshow-y story of found families in the scrimpy ghost town barrio of Oak Springs. With all the younger people moving up and out, it’s up to Lupita (Adriana Barraza) to protect her neighborhood–not just from encroaching gangs, poverty, and despair, but a demon offering glitzy cash payouts at the usual eternal interest rates. Bingo Hell reminded me a lot of Bubba Ho-Tep (2002) because fanciful and gross with dynamic senior citizen (ok, Bruce Campbell wasn’t ACTUALLY, but) leads, but I loved this so much more because…I don’t know. It’s more authentic? Grounded? I’ve just never been that into Elvis? They’d make a great double bill though.
Next up, October 7 is Clive Barker’s birthday, and I kept it as I traditionally do: by listening to him read me the audiobook of The Hellbound Heart.
The Hellbound Heart, audiobook, written and read by Clive Barker, 1986.
The Hellbound Heart joins The Shining and The Haunting of Hill House as novels I curl into like a favorite duvet about once a year, and it has more in common with the other two than it might seem. It is, in its hellbound heart, also a haunted house story, on very much the same psychological and psychosexual terms as King and Jackson’s novels, only so much more situated in the flesh. As the basis for the Hellraiser franchise–which I’ve written and talked about A LOT–the original story dwells more on blighted passion and lovelessness than butchery, but there’s still plenty of blunt violence and corrugated flesh. It’s amazing to think 35 years after it was published that Clive Barker created an entirely new monster with the Cenobites: angels to some, demons to others. The Clive-narrated audiobook is worth seeking out.
Oh, and here’s a couple Hellraiser articles at the Cultural Gutter I’m not ashamed of, about Julia and the franchise up through 2018’s Hellraiser: Judgment. I’m looking forward to our new Hell Priestess, Jamie Clayton, in the upcoming Hulu series, too; it’s clear from the lead Cenobite’s description in the novella, gender is as fluid as everything else once these angels get their hooks into you.
The Horror Stories of Robert E. Howard, audiobook, written by Robert E. Howard, read by Robertson Dean, published 2010, stories from the 1920s and 30s.
In-between stuff, I am also listening to the audiobook The Horror Stories of Robert E. Howard, and will be for a while because it’s 36 hours. Pro-lif-ic mfer. Today, Howard is best remembered for creating Conan the Barbarian, but in his too-brief life, he turned out amazing weird tales, too, the kind of stuff that I listen to and marvel at the dynamism of his narrative, the clarity of his images, the precision of his language. Unlike Big Daddy Lovecraft, he’s quite happy to show, don’t tell, and I’m just sitting there, listening, thinking…he wrote all this beautiful, arterial prose without even being able to backspace.
It should be noted–and it is, strenuously, in the introduction–that Howard sometimes uses the racist language of his day. I wouldn’t be reading him if I thought he was malicious with it, but just like Uncle John at dinner after he’s been bathing in Tucker Carlson, it happens and when it does, you have to drop your fork and confront it. Howard likes to write about distant times and fantastic places, and in those flights of the imagination, melanin tends to travel with adjectives and stereotypes no one outside a Trump rally would use today. To take an example, in “The Spirit of Tom Molyneaux,” he tells the story of a black boxer who exhorts his long-dead hero (an actual historical figure, kids!) for help in a fight against an undefeated opponent who might well kill him on the mat. Howard’s portrait of the fighter, Jessel, lavishes him with masculine virtues, and he clearly thinks Jessel is super cool, BUT, filtered as it is through the voice of his rich white manager, all that praise comes off as patronizing, and you can justifiably ask if Jessel’s obsequiousness to his manager is a racist stereotype or not. I still like the story, but I think Jessel’s character must resonate and be appreciated in a way his author might not have entertained.
Here’s a reading, not from the audiobook, but a story included in the audiobook, from Horrorbabble, “In the Forest of Villefére.” It’s kind of a bicep flexing “Little Red Riding Hood” with even more coded sexual tension because cis het manliness, but.
(Man, I’d love to read what Clive Barker could do with this…)
Okay, so thank you for joining me for another post! This next whole week, I’m covering the Nightstream Festival for The Cultural Gutter, so you can check out more there or, naturally, here, as press embargos lift and I have more to see and say. And you can go to the festival for yourself! It’s virtual!
Speaking of which, my eyeballs have an appointment with an exorcism gone wrong. Peace be with you!