I have the unenviable task of wrapping up the Morlocks’ week-long blogathon devoted to horror. Actually, most of us jumped the gun and wrote on horror movies or related subjects even before the blogathon began. I wish I were clever enough to offer an insightful summary or, at least, a show-stopping list of terrific horror movies, but I don’t think I can surpass the articles and lists already posted. Looking back over the blog topics for October, we covered everything from Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein to non-horror movies that are horrific to specific films that touched us for personal reasons, such as Voices and the The Hypnotic Eye. Along the way, we speculated on the meaning of monsters, questioned standard interpretations of classics, and drew attention to sound as a technique of terror. Our observations and interpretations speak volumes about the depth and breadth of horror, and I tip my hat to my fellow Morlocks for their insightful explorations of the genre. I conclude our blogathon by offering some thoughts on a genre that cinephiles tend to embrace, though mainstream movie-goers seldom take it seriously.

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Everybody has probably been haunted or permanently disturbed by some movie they saw as a kid that burned images into their brain they couldn’t process or handle. For me it was a sick little B-movie that popped up on the late show called THE HYPNOTIC EYE (1960) which I saw at the age of eight.       READ MORE

It’s no great surprise that the two movie genres that gripped me so thoroughly when I was a little kid and which continue to dominate my love of cinema to this day (as I careen towards geezerdom) are horror and comedy.  They are much closer than they might superficially appear.  I’ve been to plenty of comedy films that induced in audiences gasps of awe and terror, and horror films that provoked in audiences nervous laughter.  Drawing a line between the two involves splitting hairs and other forms of killjoy pedantry.

And so, in honor of Halloween, I’d like to tip my hat to one of the most venerable tropes of classic gothic horror, which also happens to be a slapstick mainstay: the old dark house!

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Give me a horror movie in which a woman climbs behind the wheel of a big American car and hits the road to meet her doom and I’m a happy hitcher. READ MORE

During the month of October I’m often asked to recommend my favorite horror films. But recommending scary movies can be a tricky business. What frightens me might make you merely shrug your shoulders and laugh out loud. And if you’re a serious horror fan there’s a high probability that you’ve seen a lot of well-regarded classic films such as THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (1925), FRANKENSTEIN (1931), PSYCHO (1960) and Val Lewton’s various movies as well as Halloween standards like THE SHINING (1980), CARRIE (1976), NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (1968) and HALLOWEEN (1978) so recommending movies can become rather redundant. Instead of simply suggesting some of my favorite horror films for you to watch I thought I’d share some of my favorite scary moments from films that have left a deep impression on me over the years. So pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable while I share something REALLY scary.

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While I have always loved horror and focus on it exclusively during October of every year, I often find myself liking the little things over the big stuff, and by “big stuff” I mean the big set-piece scenes that gets all the clip time and makes all the publicity stills.  But for me, like a character on a certain show on a certain network, I sometimes think I only like the beginnings of things, at least where movies are concerned.  That is to say, I often like the setup more than the delivery.   It’s in the setup that the little things happen.  The little creeping, menacing things that set the hair on end and send tiny, coded messages through your primal fear centers that tell you to be on the alert because anything could happen.  The thing is, when it does happen by the climax of the film, I just want to go back to the beginning and start the feeling of dread all over again.  Dread is so much stronger because the adrenalin hasn’t kicked in.  Adrenalin during the big, final scenes removes that sense of doom and kind of makes it okay but with dread, nothing is okay.  Dread tears away at the soul.

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For nine years running, MoMA’s To Save and Project international festival of film preservation has showcased the latest celluloid surgery jobs by archives the world over. It’s the one place where film stock is still a fetish, each new print ogled with the entitled leer of a sozzled Miss Universe judge. So I was sent to my oft-used fainting couch when it was announced that a digital restoration would open this year’s fest (which runs through Nov. 25th).   This prestigious pole-position was granted to Joe Dante’s The Movie Orgy (1968), a delirious mash-up of pop culture detritus, from psychotic b-movies to baffling Bufferin commercials.

Dante and Jon Davison edited the entire feature by hand, splicing in new scenes when intriguing material passed their way. Eventually the project ballooned to 7 hours, but with its broad humor, broads, and critique of the military-industrial complex, it toured college campuses under a Schlitz beer sponsorship. By the end of its run the print had more stitches than Frankenstein’s monster, without the salve of Karloff’s soulful stare. It would be unlikely to survive another trip through a projector. So Dante shoved the benighted thing through a film-to-tape transfer, and after some screenings on the West coast has finally brought his beast to the East. Now at a svelte 4 1/2 hours, it’s a marvel of gonzo editing. It contains an actual narrative, collapsing the apocalypses  of a bunch of sci-fi/teen rebel/horror cheapies into one mega-Armageddon, while finding time for mini-comedies and grace(less)-notes in between.

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Yesterday, I joined my friends from the Chicago Film Discussion Group for our monthly brunch at the tragically hip Holiday Club. Each month, we meet to discuss a designated topic, exchange suggestions for movies, and catch up on what everyone has seen. In tune with the season, the topic of discussion yesterday was horror films. Facilitated by our intrepid co-organizer, Brad Strauss, we spent three fun hours discussing subtle versus explicit horror, debating the merits of 1970s grindhouse movies, pondering whether women  see the conventions and themes of horror movies differently than men, and speculating on what makes a film frightening. New member Robert Dennis mentioned the importance of sound in making a film scary, prompting us to recall our favorite examples.

“Men trust their ears less than their eyes,” according to Ancient Greek historian Herodotus, and I think that applies to most movie-goers, who  are more aware of visual style in films than sound design. The exception may be the horror genre, which offers ample opportunity to explore the artistry of sound, because sound effects and music are such an important part of the texture of terror.

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Last week the manager, cashier, and projectionist at the film venue I program confronted me about the music I’d selected to play before the shows. I like to mix it up with classical, jazz, soul, but also contemporary indie rock – this last category being the one to get me in hot water. My staff let me know that several customers had complained, one even going so far as to suggest that whoever had assembled the music must be a blood thirsty deviant or pedophile. I was shocked, asked for the CD, and took it home so that I might hear it with new ears.  READ MORE