Trick 'r Treat (Michael Dougherty, 2008)

The most disturbing aspect about trick-or-treating for me wasn't the ghastly costumes (the tight crotch of my Jane Badler from 'V' getup would cause me to itch like a motherfucker) or the heightened bully factor ("Mommy, some mean kids stole my Maltesers"), uh-uh, it was most definitely the act of becoming acutely aware of the people who actually lived in my neighbourhood. Standing in their dingy doorways, awash in cigarette smoke and abject failure, the sight of these shrill monstrosities peering their ungroomed heads out into the cool October air to briefly participate in the narrative of my childhood never fails to flood my psyche with feelings of bleak disquietude. On top that, the fact that I was willingly passing barely eatable foodstuff through my still developing digestive system is my very definition of the "willies." Well, exploiting those troubled feelings is the tautly paced Trick 'r Treat (a.k.a. Terreur à l'Halloween), a Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada set horror film that explores some of the myths and legends that surround Halloween, yet another in a long line of calendar-based holidays that humanity has made up to make their dreary lives seem a little less sad. (Why don't you people watch porn or something?)

Episodic in nature, the film, which was written and directed by Michael Dougherty (Urban Legends: Bloody Mary), cleverly jumps back and forth between storylines that revolve around the rituals of dressing up in kooky outfits, carving faces into the skin of gourd-like squash, and asking strangers to place or drop sugary snacks into makeshift sacks. Focusing on multiple characters at once, the film's lone constant is a creepy minor with a thick layer of burlap covering his face and head.

Now, I'm not %100 sure if he or she was wearing a costume, but I do know that if something unpleasant is going down, this wee figure is somehow involved. And I also know that they take Halloween very serious. How serious? Well, apparently you're not supposed to extinguish the light inside your hollowed out gourd-like squash until the night's festivities are officially over. A woman dressed as a robot learns this lesson the hard way.

Not one to let a height-challenged fiend with re-attachable limbs have all the fun, an unassumingly guy named Steven has decided to take advantage of the day's lax morals when it comes to acting evil in public. Of course, when you need an actor to lift a large tarp covering a pre-dug grave in his background with a convincing brand of nonchalance, you should look no further than Dylan Baker, the top of the ladder when it comes to suburban psychosis. Whether bashing the demented kid from Bad Santa in the head with a shovel or having the tables turned on him by a pack of ravenous hosebeasts, Dylan takes it all in stride.

"Ain't nobody gonna break my stride / Nobody's gonna slow me down / Oh no, I've got to keep on movin'."

Reminding me of the Dead Like Me episode "Haunted," the way murderers, anthropomorphic carnivores, and ghostly quarry kids all seemed to manipulate the innate vulnerabilities people seem to display on All Hallows' eve was mildly fascinating, in that it showed how easily the wicked can fraternize with the clueless.

It's true, the fact that Trick 'r Treat was filmed in Vancouver (Hollywood North), and features Britt McKillip as a prankish teen and Christine Willes as a drunken party host (both from DLM) helped me greatly in the reminding department. But if you check out that particular episode and compare it to this movie, you'll no doubt agree that my allusion to it is not only sound, but totally warranted.

Anyway, speaking of Britt, I'd like to move on to my favourite chapter/segment of the film, and that is the whole story involving five kids in their low teens trick-or-treating and collecting gourd-like squash for charity, and a mysterious school bus that apparently crashed into a quarry back in the 1960s. First of all, I liked it because it had a supremely creepy atmosphere throughout its brief running time. Incorporating gorgeous cinematography and an ominous layer of mist, the eerie darkness of this sequence was explored fully. And secondly, it featured children in peril as supposed to stupid adults, who technically should know better than to goof off in and around a spooky hole in the ground.

If I can be as so bold to come up with a third reason, I'd have to say the look of the kids was pretty instrumental in attaining my goodwill towards this slice of plot. Everything from headgear worn by Isabelle Deluce to the witch garb Samm Todd sported gave the film a slightly off-kilter vibe that was most welcome.

The exquisite longness of Lauren Lee Smith's neck shows up every now and then to politely remind the neck deficient what a human neck should look like. Oh, man, would I love to see her receive a pearl necklace. (And, no, I don't mean a clunky piece of jewelry. I'm talking about large circular droplets of seminal fluid. Don't be crude.)

Wearing a cloak like it were second nature, Anna Paquin, her gap tooth shimmering in the fake autumn twilight, may just spend most of her time wandering around the leafy streets like a lost puppy, but the striking manner in which she wanders, the redness of the cloak, the gapiness of the gap, all comes to together with a purposeful panache.

Lastly, I gotta give some measured props to Brian Cox as Mr. Kreeg, Steven's extremely cranky next-door neighbour. Old school horror fans will probably dig his segment the most, as it boasts the film's most confrontational temperament. I don't want to give too much away, but let's just say he gets up close and personal with the smallish person with the fetish for gourd-like squash I mentioned earlier.

Trick 'r Treat - Trailer
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Hell Night (Tom DeSimone, 1981)

A convoluted night of collegiate hazing involving four potential fraternity and sorority pledges being forced to spend the night at a creepy mansion in period clothing sets the simplistic stage for Hell Night ("Pray For Day"), a highly effective survival horror flick that plunges our collective faces deep into to dark recesses of Linda Blair's cavernous, bodice-assisted cleavage. Now, it may be dark down there, but the nook and cranny filled abode is thankfully well-endowed when it came to lit candles. Of course, I'm talking about the luminosity of the Garth Manor, not the exquisite plumpness of Miss Blair's bosom segmentation. Anyway, akin to the photographic work of John Alcott in Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon, cinematographer Mac Ahlberg (My Boyfriend's Back) and director Tom DeSimone (Reform School Girls) have fashioned a shadowy infernal region where light and darkness literally battle each other in a series of enclosed, dimly lit spaces. Decked out in 19th century regalia, four prospective members of the prestigious Alpha Sigma Rho find themselves willfully confined to the foggy grounds of a roomy mansion with a murderous past. Eloquently informed of this ominous history beforehand by the fraternities charismatic leader, Peter Bennett (Kevin Brophy), the foursome enter the house and split into groups of two.

Party animal/surfer dude Seth (Vincent Van Patten) is paired with a British lingerie fancier named Denise (Suki Goodwin), while the dashing Jeff (Peter Barton) and the classy Marti Gaines (Linda Blair), a hush-hush mechanic who believes in ghosts, team up for the long night ahead of them. Not one to let an opportunity for nocturnal prankishness slip through his fingers, Peter Bennett and a couple of his buddies (Jenny Neumann and Jimmy Sturtevant) have booby trapped the house with a wide array of spooky bells and whistles.

Initially, the pranks are a minor annoyance (a harmless mix of bloodcurdling screams and disparaging shrieks), but when the pranksters themselves begin losing their heads in a non-consensual manner, the stories about deformed freaks living in the tunnels underneath the house start to sound less and less far-fetched. Boasting multiple scenes that revolve around quiet lurking, Hell Night is somehow able create to a lurid atmosphere through simple act of depicting a character slowly investigating their sinister surroundings in a patient manner.

Keenly aware that some people might get a tad weary of watching overdressed youngsters inquiring about the origins of a particularly curious noise, Tom DeSimone does subtle things like focus of the foppish symmetry of Suki Goodwin's garter belt, and makes sure the fright that punctuates each exploratory endeavour is well-earned.

The gorgeously attired presence of the lovely Linda Blair was the predictable highlight of this surprisingly taut slasher film. Sure, the fact that the deformed entity, who threatens our fraternal/sororal heroes/heroines was kept hidden for a good chunk of the piece, did a terrific job of generating suspense, and I liked how the film's overall Gothic tone rarely clashed with the year it was set. (You almost forget that the early 1980s are chugging along beyond the mansion's spiky iron gates.) However, to pretend not be moderately enamoured by the undiluted elegance that Miss Blair put out there as Marti would be an act of extreme foolhardiness.

Saddled with an outfit so dainty, that even the most accomplished of actresses would be intimidated by its apparent uncomfortableness, Linda Blair takes her frilly, bodice gown, shell cameo (attached to a tasty neckband), and white boots and proceeds to execute her thespian duties like a seasoned professional. In search of something different after the leg revealing splendour that was Roller Boogie, it's obvious that Linda wanted to shine the spotlight on the partition that keeps her ample breasts from touching one another for a change.

Which was not only appreciated on a perverted level, but also a cinematic one.

You see, the film, like I said before, is rather dark from a photographic point-of-view, and most time Linda's pearlescent cleavage was the sole object visible at times. As you would expect, this chest-based beacon not only elevated her performance, but was the main reason why this slasher turned out to be a resounding success.

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Mirror Mirror (Marina Sargenti, 1990)

A mirror normally provides nonjudgmental feedback to those who look upon its surface. Whether it be a causal glance or a more purposeful glare, the mirror will not lie to you. No matter the level of your self-esteem, the information retained will be coming from a totally unbiased place. On the other hand, if, say, the mirrored surface, the one that just happens to be creepily sitting in the corner of your newly acquired bedroom, is the gateway to a demonic netherworld, the reflections it furnishes may not be the most trustworthy. I'd recommend keeping it turned against the wall in the back of a barely opened closet. I mean, other than throwing it in the ocean or shooting it into space, this is probably the best, and the least expensive solution to curbing its wicked behaviour. Unfortunately, the complete opposite occurs in Mirror Mirror, Marina Sargenti's creepy teen horror extravaganza that owes a large debt to film's like, Carrie, Heathers, Beetlejuice and Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael. The mirror is promptly awoken from its fifty year slumber, by someone who has little or no experience fighting epic battles with possessed furniture, and is ready to once again inflict harm on those who dare to look in its general direction. What is essentially a Goth survival guided masquerading a supernatural thriller, the film follows the shy misadventures of one Megan Gordon (Rainbow Harvest), who has just moved into a new house with her recently widowed mother (the always awesome, always wonderfully deranged Karen Black) and her two dogs. As expected, the not-so perky student repeatedly finds herself at odds with her overly chipper classmates. (The looks of derision she gets will ring true for anyone who has selected sullen stripling as their subculture of choice.)

Sporting a healthy penchant for dark clothing, the black-eyed newcomer defies the odds and befriends a non-Goth named Nikki (Kristin Dattillo), much to the chagrin of her athletic, sandwich-loving boyfriend. (I wish I had lived in a 1990 where Goths had friends named Nikki.)

The friendship with the kindhearted Nikki eases Megan's awkward transition and gets her used to new surroundings. However, nothing can seem to stop the constant harassment she faces at the hands of Charleen Kane (Charlie Spradling), a catty wench who bullies Megan with the help of her sycophantic friends. In fact, it's gets so bad, that the oppressed outsider resorts to, like the majority of aggrieved teenagers, employing the malevolent assistance of the bloodthirsty mirror in her bedroom.

Her single-minded intention? Exact some painful vengeance on those who dare to agitate her Gothic integrity. Of course, things start off small: a vicious nose bleed here, a heart attack there. But soon the acts of retribution increase in their ghastliness, as Megan begins to slowly succumb to the mirror's evil allure.

The morbid splendour that is the performance and wardrobe of Rainbow Harvest as the glum Megan is what constantly elevates Mirror Mirror from being your standard mirror gone awry flick. Obviously emulating the stellar work of Beth Gondek as Jess Browning, the doomed new waver in Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night II, Miss Harvest manages to excrete a graceful elegance as the troubled mirror owner.

Which is something you wouldn't normally expect from someone who spends a great deal of time lurking around in a black Boy George style cowboy hat. But that's just it, despite these apparent roadblocks, Rainbow comes off as sexy and mysterious. So much so, that even her impromptu make out session with her blood covered mirror comes across as mildly titillating.

Also an eyeopener was the film's unique take on goths and physical education. Now, as a rule, the two usually don't mix. But, like its kooky premise, this film isn't about doing what's conventional. I can't count the number of times I saw Goths, or as they were called in my day, "Freaks," fleeing phys-ed for darker, less structured pastures. Yet, to see the ashen skinned Megan partaking in tennis and water polo was not only an illuminating spectacle, but a bewitching treat for the goth/freak senses.

I'd like to comment more on the merits of Mirror Mirror as a horror film; you know, things like gore, atmosphere and Yvonne De Carlo. But since I didn't really pay much attention to that aspect of the film, I'm gonna have to pass.

I will say that I did enjoy the editing of the water polo-shower sequence. Cutting back and forth between shots of a bodacious Charlie "Take a bite of peach" Spradling in the shower and underwater footage of her classmate's legs frantically kicking during a heated water polo match, the tension of this particular bit was just smidgeon behind Rainbow Harvest's mirror molestation scene in terms of perversion and overall entertainment value.

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Society (Brian Yuzna, 1989)

We all want to feel like we belong to something that is greater than ourselves. In olden times this belonging void was filled by either dying of typhoid at early age (thus eliminating the need to discover a future outlet) or heed the nonsensical words uttered by undersexed men in robes. Call me someone who is full of piss yet nary a drop of vinegar, but as far choices go, that's not much of a selection. Nowadays, though, it has become a lot harder to find a group or thing to latch onto; in that, there so many different types of diversions, that choosing the one that is right for you can take as long as twenty years–I didn't discover I was into garish eyeshadow until I was 19 years old. Well, in Brian "Return of the Living Dead 3" Yuzna's twisted and strange Society, that choice is made for you, as in you're either a member of a society or you're not. What these so-called members of society do exactly in their precious society isn't quite clear early on, but you know you want to be associated with them one way or the other. Being the member of an affluent family, captain of the football team and the debating team, relatively handsome, the owner of a black jeep, and dating the head cheerleader, you'd think Bill Whitney (Billy Warlock from TV's Baywatch) would be a card carrying member of society.

However, that's not even close to being the case with the seemingly perfect high school senior. In-between psychiatry sessions and paranoid delusions, Bill has always suspected that there was something weird going on with his family. Up until now, the Beverly Hills, California teen's semi-regular bouts with hallucinatory madness have severely clouded his judgment when it comes to appraising sinister tomfoolery. This all changes when his sister's recently dumped (and extremely possessive) boyfriend (Tim Bartell) shares with Bill some of his disturbing discoveries while stalking her.

It turns out his paranoia is justified; this is especially true when he hears a tape of his sister Jenny (Patrice Jennings) getting it on (fornicating) with mom and dad.

Also giving Bill something to think about in the "my family is a highly organized collection of freaks" department was when the troubling sight of Jenny's irregularly located nipples first entered his visual arena. It's true, that he spots her back boobies through a blurry shower door. But still, there was definitely some mammary gland displacement going on in that spacious bathroom.

The fact that a guy with such a long list advantages in life, and, not to mention, a beautifully symmetrical head of hair, is having such a hard time fitting into a community that is pretty much tailor made for him was just one of the many fascinating things about Society, a film that dares to illuminate the dangers of yuppie acceptance, while simultaneously grossing out everyone within a four block radius.

If I was ignorant enough to think that the film's slight satirical bent, the pink bikini and acid wash accented gams of a structurally confident Heidi Kozak (Slumber Party Massacre II), and the front row exhibitionism of a noble-minded society member played by the delectable Devin DeVasquez (House II: The Second Story) was all Society had to offer in terms of corruptible nectar, I was promptly enlightened the moment the members of society began to disrobe at a swanky get together. Because what happens after they remove their clothes is something I will never forget.

Quite often when scribbling about encounters of an erotic nature, I will use the word "commingle," as in, "their firm bodies commingled with one another like a festering stew," to describe the act of inflamed human genitals lashing out at one another in a veiled attempt to find liquid satisfaction. It's a saucy metaphor for copulation, one that has yet to fail me when it comes to overstating the obvious. That is until I came face-to-face with the regurgitated mucus stain that is your average society orgy.

An extremely disgusting cornucopia of unknown wetness and coalescing flesh, the members of society have an irregular mind set when it comes to partying while naked. Gleefully feeding off the corporeal essence of any non-members of society they can get their elitist hands on, the debauched participants gather around their "meal" and absorb their fleshy nucleus by drawing it in through the pores of their skin.

I'll admit, I was genuinely appalled by this vile display. But a part of me was transfixed by the profound level of wrongness that was slimily playing out in front of my eyes. I mean, did I really just see Bill's dad transport his face to the dark, and normally uninhabited place, where his anus lives? (It gives new meaning to the crustacean colloquialism: "You've got crabs, ass-face!") Second in terms of did I just see that was the sight of Bill's mom with hands for feet and his sister's head inside her vagina. Whether these things actually transpired or not, there's no denying that the images witnessed during this gooey sequence will haunt me for days to come.

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Zombieland (Ruben Fleischer, 2009)

Proving that the lowly zombie has still got some erratic lunges up its tattered sleeve, Zombieland is probably one of the most educational zombies movies to come out in ages. A tongue-in-open-sore teaching guide on how to survive a zombie pandemic, first-time director Ruben Fleischer seems determined to impart some wisdom along with the prerequisite flesh tearing and skull ventilation. It's true, that the chances of worldwide zombie infection happening in the next year or so is a tad far-fetched. (I don't see something like that taking place until at least 1994.) But the helpful tips sprinkled throughout the film are useful in that they can be applied to either a zombie tainted world or just your average, everyday non-zombie existence. For instance, the tips (or "rules"), "beware of bathrooms," "travel light" and "seatbelts" should be employed whether or not there are zombies lurching, or, this film's case, staggering quickly outside your window. The first one especially, as I have witnessed a lot of weird mishegas going on in public bathrooms over the years: Cocaine usage, heterosexual intercourse, drunken knife fights, projectile vomiting, homosexual fellatio, sober knife fights and plenty of tampon irregularities.

Since a proper zombie flick cannot subside on sound advice alone, the producers of this organ ripping undertaking have added plenty of sly humour and a touch of sentiment to its grisly repertoire. Boasting a cast of characters that tops the scales at an agile four people, the film focuses mainly on a slightly nerdy collage age kid named Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg) – well, that's not really his name, that's the name another character gives him because he's from there. Anyway, a loner before the zombie plague was unleashed, Columbus finds himself thriving in this apocalyptic netherworld (a.k.a "Zombieland"). Utilizing a list of rules, the improbable survivor has become quite the zombie avoider/killer. The peculiar sight of Mr. Eisenberg wielding a shotgun, and wielding it effectively (Rule #2 - Double tap), was one of the film's many perverse thrills.

Topping Columbus' gusto, however, when it comes to dispatching zombies, is the no-nonsense Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson), a snake-skin jacket wearing, nut upping enthusiast with a serious hankering for a Twinkie. Unlike Columbus, who kills zombies out of necessity, Woody's character approaches bumping off brain-dead crazies with a fanatical glee (Rule #32 - Enjoy the little things). The two reluctantly team up and starting heading eastbound–the film takes place entirely in the United States of America (consult your atlas). Messing up their easterly plans are a pair of sisters, Wichita (Emma Stone) and Little Rock (Abigail Breslin), two con artists who are–you guessed it–heading west.

After hashing out some trust issues, the foursome settle down for a spell at the luxurious home of a big time Hollywood celebrity. I must say, Woody's enthusiasm for the celeb combined with the overall appearance of the said celeb (who looked like an undead Martha Stewart in an Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer wig) made for some of the film's most hilarious moments. ("I saw Eddie Van Halen at the Hollywood Bowl... he's a zombie.")

The unlikely pairing of the fidgety Jesse Eisenberg with the laid-back Woody Harrelson had me repeatedly thinking to myself: How did these two end up killing zombies together? It had to be an accident. I mean, there's no way they were cast on purpose. Well, what ever it was that brought them together, I'm sure glad they were, as their awkward back and forth is the nitty-gritty of this film's bizarre appeal.

Keeping with the trend of most zombie movies of recent years, Zombieland starts off with an euphoric bang. Serenading us with a steady dose of zombie-related chase scenarios, the eerily beautiful opening titles were like a deranged ballet, as stripper zombies (their titty tassels tripping the light fandango), immolated zombies, and little girl zombies pursue their out-of-shape (Rule #1 - Cardio) prey in regular and slow motion. The shot of mini-van woman's face sliding violently across the pavement, and the resulting blood trail, was topnotch in terms of realistic face-to-pavement physics (Rule #4 - Seatbelts).

Sheathed in black skintight trousers and sporting globs of unpredictable eye makeup, Emma Stone is a sneering and snarky delight as the untrustworthy Wichita, a flimflam artist who makes ample use of her supple frame during and before the zombie outbreak. Spending a good part of the film toying with the timid Columbus and undermining the headstrong Tallahassee – in other words, she's the girl-based antagonist – Emma finally gets to let her shotgun do the talking during a spirited sequence that takes place at an amusement park. Running and gunning like her life depended on it, Emma looked like a maniacal cherub as she blew away wave after wave of hungry corpses.

The fake rationality on why zombies are so popular has a lot to do with their inherent humanity. With the exception of ring-tailed lemur zombies and Horace Greeley zombies, the zombie is an unvarnished reflection of ourselves at our most primal and unkempt. On the other hand, the real reason zombies are as popular as they are is simply because they're called "zombies." To be more specific, the fact that word "zombie" starts with a 'z' is the sole reason why people love zombies so much. How else can you explain the popularity of zoos, actress Grace Zabriskie and Zima? You can't. Take for example the word "Xylophone." It may sound like a 'z' word, but it's an 'x' word. And just like the Clan of Xymox and Seattle SuperSonics forward Xavier McDaniel, it doesn't receive the benefits of being a genuine 'z' word. Just for record, I have no idea what I'm talking about.

If you're fan of films like, Night of the Comet and Return of the Living Dead, or liked 28 Days Later... but thought it could have been funnier, check out Zombieland; you'll see plenty of zombies re-slaughtered and you might just learn something.

Zombieland Trailer
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