City of the Living Dead (Lucio Fulci, 1980)

While most people seem obsessed with the scene where Michele Soavi's wide-eyed girlfriend literally pukes her own guts as a direct result of staring at a demonic priest for far too long, I'd like to focus on eyebrows, or, more specifically, on how they're filmed throughout City of the Living Dead (a.k.a. The Gates of Hell), the Italian zombie film about some weird shit that goes down in a town called Dunwich. However, before I continue down this hair raising path, let me check outside to make sure the apocalypse isn't taking place. It seems no less hellish than usual. Oh, what's that, why did I just look outside to make sure the my bird bath wasn't filled to the brim with blood and acidic pus wasn't oozing from the trees? It's simple, really. I didn't want to be writing about eyebrows as the world ended. But now that I know everything is fine, I can continue in a calm and rational manner. (You think everything is fine?!?) Okay, maybe it's not fine. Let's just say it's on the cusp of being fine and move on. Now, where was I? (Eyebrows!) Ah, yes. Do the actors who appear in Lucio Fulci films, especially the one's made during this period, ever feel self-conscious about their eyebrows after they watch the way the camera gets all up in their brow-zone over the course of these films? Of course, the lovely Catriona MacColl isn't going to feel self-conscious, as her eyebrows are so immaculately groomed, you could eat off them. (Eww, why would anyone in their right mind want to consume food that's been served on Catriona MacColl's eyebrows?) First of all, I said you "could" eat off them. And secondly, I was speaking metaphorically.

It would seem that I lost my train of thought again. Could you help a brother out? (Eyebrows!) Ah, yes. The men in this film, on the other hand, would probably think long and hard about buying a pair of tweezers after they saw the unruly nature of their eyebrows in this film. Quick question: Can you purchase tweezers individually, or do you need to get them with a bunch of other items, like a manicure set? I've always wondered about that. If you think I'm crazy to spend so much time yacking about eyebrows, then I'm afraid you haven't experienced this film with the full force of your eyeballs. (Huh?) What I mean is, if you haven't seen this film, you won't know what I'm talking about. However, if you have seen this film, and you happen to think my eyebrow fixation makes me crazy, you clearly didn't watch the same movie I did.

My obsessive interest may lay squarely at the bushy, rarely trimmed feet of eyebrows, but Lucio Fulci's primarily interested in what lies just beneath them. (He's interested in nostrils?) No, silly, he's interested in the eyes of his characters. Though, imagine if he was obsessed with nostrils, how weird would that be? (Yeah, you would be going on about how you could eat a whole catered lunch off Catriona MacColl's nostrils and how the guys in this film should start thinking about investing in a nose hair trimmer.) I know for a fact, by the way, that you can buy nose hair trimmers individually, as I've seen them listed in old-timey catalogues. For my money, you're better off going with an all-purpose hair trimmer, as you get more value for your buck.

The eyes are the window to the soul, or so they say. When Lucio Fulci zooms in close to the eyes of his characters, he's not trying give us any insight as to what they're thinking, he wants us to fear what could happen to them if they were prodded with a sharp object. While no eyeballs are perforated in the classic sense in this film, many an eyeball does ooze blood. (Bleeding eyes? Awesome.)

(Wait a minute, how do you make an eyeballs bleed if you don't prod them something?) Prepare to have your mind blown, you make eyeballs bleed by staring into the eyes of the living dead. If I'm going eat anything off Catriona MacColl, it's going to be... (Oh-oh, here we go.) Why do you always think I'm going to say, "vagina"? Sure, I wouldn't mind eating some chicken fricassee off her spacious pussy area, but I was actually thinking about eating something off another part of her body all-together.

Do you see that giant swath of pale skin located above her eyebrows. (You mean her forehead?) Yeah, her forehead (you should be a doctor). Well, I want to eat a regular-size bowl of ice cream and use her massive forehead as a makeshift lucite table. (Interesting. Why ice cream, though?) Don't you get it? Her eyes in this movie drip strawberry sauce. (On your marks, get set, yum!) Um, I hate to break it to you, but that ain't strawberry sauce, it's blood. Now that I've established that Catriona MacColl has a big forehead and that I'm certifiably insane, I can safely move on to less idiotic ground.

A seance is taking place in New York City and a priest hangs himself in a cemetery in a town called Dunwich (Yeah-ea-eah!). No, this is not the set up to some lame joke, it's serious business. The spiritual well-being of the planet is jeopardy, and the only person with the power to make things right has just died. Yeah, you heard right, Mary Woodhouse (Catriona MacColl) is dead. Seeing a priest hang himself in a vision was too much for her and she died. The end. Oh, and according to Theresa (Adelaide Aste), one of Mary's psychic friends and a big fan of The Book of Enoch, something "horrendously awful" is about to occur. (You mean the actor who plays the detective who interviews those who were present when Mary died is about to start acting?) While he could be described as "horrendously awful," I was actually referring to the army of zombies that are currently amassing in a town called Dunwich.

I don't know 'bout you, but this film could really use some Giovanni Lombardo Radice (Cannibal Ferox) right about now. And wouldn't you know it, there he is, in all his awesome glory. I won't mince words, I love this guy, as he makes everything better. Anyway, don't ask me what his deal is in this movie, 'cause I have no idea. Playing Bob, Giovanni, when he's not playing with blow up dolls, can be usually seen wandering around the wind swept streets of Dunwich in a daze.

Since the film needs more than dead psychics and blonde buffoons to move its story along, we're introduced to a New York reporter named Peter Bell (Christopher George, Pieces), Sandra (Janet Agren, Eaten Alive!), a Dunwich artist with sharp cheekbones, and Gerry (Carlo De Mejo, The Other Hell), a bearded shrink. In fact, these three, along with Mary, do the majority of the film's heavy lifting when it comes to advancing the plot. (Wait, what do you mean, "along with Mary"? She's dead.)

It will take a lot more than being declared clinically dead to keep Mary down. In the film's first great scene, Peter Bell frees Mary, who was sort of buried in her coffin (one of the gravediggers, by the way, is played by Michael Gaunt, A Women's Torment), by using a pick-axe. Thinking that he hears screams coming from Mary's partially buried coffin, Peter debates with himself whether or not to investigate. The way Peter's indecisiveness combined with Mary's panicked screams was pretty intense (even more so if you have a fear of enclosed spaces).

(Why did they bury Mary if she wasn't dead?) It doesn't matter. What does matter is, she's well-rested and she's ready to close the gates of hell. She better hurry, though, All Saints Day is fast approaching, and, according to The Book of Enoch, if the gates aren't closed come midnight, the dead will rise from their graves and take over the world.

Bumming a ride with Peter Bell, Mary heads down to Dunwich to stop all this from happening. Meanwhile, one of the citizens of Dunwich is about to experience the worst case of irritable bowel syndrome ever. Earlier I called the actress who vomits up her guts as "Michele Soavi's wide-eyed girlfriend." This was an error on my part, as Daniela Doria deserves to be lavished with copious amounts of praise for the ordeal she is put through in this movie. As the larger organs start to spill forth from her mouth, it's obvious they're using a dummy mouth. However, in the early going, when the intestines begin to spew, it's clear that Daniela Doria has a mouth full of real entrails.

If you're starting to envy Michele Soavi's character (who is sitting next to Daniela Doria as she pukes her guts out), don't. He suffers the first of the film's many brain grabbings. And believe me, it's as nasty as it sounds. Though, it's not as nasty as the face drilling scene. Now, I won't say which character suffers this unpleasant fate, but let's just say it wasn't a bit player. And that what makes City of the Living Dead such a harrowing ordeal, anyone can be killed (i.e. have their brain grabbed) at any given moment.

Maggot storms, gut puking, face drilling, brain grabbing, and bleeding eyes might grab get all the headlines, but the film, thanks in part to the excellent score by Fabio Frizzi, is actually quite atmospheric in places. I'm not comfortable declaring this to be my favourite Lucio Fulci film (it is severely lacking in the perversion department and fashion-wise the film is a bust), but it's definitely in the top three.

The Sect (Michele Soavi, 1991)

It's all Soavi, all the time, and I'm lovin' it. You could say that my brain is now officially a citizen of the U.S.S.R. Get it? My cranial allegiances are now squarely with the United Soavi Socialists Republics. Wow. You noticed that the name, "Soavi," the surname of the writer-director of The Sect, the latest mind-scrambler from Michele Soavi (Stage Fright), sort of sounded like "Soviet," and you somehow manged to tie them together. Very clever. No, seriously. I'm impressed. It's not everyday you come across someone who is openly willing to point out the similarities between "Soavi" and "Soviet." But here you are, doing exactly that. I must say, I commend your dedication to your craft. Okay, that's enough praise for one day. Let's focus our attention on The Sect, shall we? Word on the street says that it's got mischievous bunny rabbits and surprisingly chic grey blazers that were both, get this, purchased on a German teacher's salary. Oh, yeah, there's a movie to write about, and a delightfully fucked up one at that. First things first, was it wrong to feel gladness in my tum tum when a bunch of hippies are murdered by a gang of devil worshipers in the California desert in the early 1970s? Really? So, you're saying that's the correct thing to feel. That's a relief. I mean, here I was, feeling guilty about being all glad and junk that an entire commune of hippies, including their annoying children, were sacrificially slaughtered by the aforementioned Satanists. But it turns out, it's completely natural to want hippies to be murdered. What about bunny rabbits, is it okay to want them to die as well? That's a little more tricky. You see, humans care more about animals than they do people, so you better careful. Besides, bunny rabbits bring joy to millions, while everyone hates hippies. Just kidding about the over the top hippie animosity. In reality, I'm indifferent to their earth tone promoting, headband-friendly lifestyle.
 

 

I did, however, wind up developing an intense dislike for the hippies that appear in the opening scene of The Sect. I don't know, there was something about the way they implemented their hippie-centric point-of-view that rubbed me the wrong way. Taking the living on the land thing to whole new level of obnoxiousness, the hippies communing with nature in this flick are visited by a hirsute Rolling Stones fan. Reciting the lyrics to "Sympathy For The Devil" (I heard the Laibach version first, so I view it more as a Laibach song), Damon (Tomas Arana), a Christ-like stranger wanders into their patchouli-drenched fold. The fact that Damon doesn't seem visibly irked by the hippie woman who insisted on guessing the name of the Stones' song he was reciting in a menacing spoken word fashion was odd because I desperately wanted to tell her to shut her gaping pie hole.
 

 

Don't worry her pie hole won't tasting any pies where she's going. Wait a minute. That doesn't make a lick of sense. What I think you meant to say was: Her pie hole has tasted its last pie, as Damon and his bike-riding, devil worshiping friends slaughter them without mercy (some have their faces ripped clean off and tossed in a nearby  campfire). Yep, I'm afraid, on top of pies, these hippies have painted their last boob, destroyed their last clock (time is an artificial construct, man), as they all fall victim to a, and I quote, "blood thirsty demonic sect."
 

 

Flash-forward to 1991, Frankfurt, Germany, where a nondescript woman is window shopping one moment, and the next she's being stabbed to death by Giovanni Lombardo Radice; isn't it weird how these things happen? Anyway, caught carrying her heart on the subway (a pickpocket inadvertently tries to steal it), Giovanni flees the train only to end up cornered by police. Realizing that he's got nowhere to go, Giovanni shoots himself with one of the policeman's guns.
 

 

Meanwhile, in another, less gruesome part of town, a mysterious old man (Herbert Lom) is preparing for a trip. It would seem that he's not coming back, as he let's his canary out of its cage and mumbles to himself: "It is time at last. It is time." Time for what, I don't know. But you know it's going to involve some seriously weird shit. Seemingly oblivious to the news reports blasting from a portable television being watched by the other passengers pertaining to the recent slaying, a slaying that's been connected to a series of killings that revolve around the aforementioned blood thirsty demonic sect, the old man, clutching a package, rides the bus with a purposeful placidity.
 

 

"Don't touch my package!" He screams at his fellow bus riders as they attempt to help him when he starts to convulse. I'm no detective, but I think there's something important in that package of his. Either way, after putting in some strange eye drops, the old man seems fine. At a rest stop, the other passengers are getting snacks and relieving themselves. But not the old man. No, he's standing in the middle of the road. He seems to be waiting for someone. But who? Who could he be waiting for at a random rest stop? As expected, the old man is nearly run down by a woman wearing a grey suit.
 

 

Now lying in the middle of the road, the old man eventually opens his eyes only to find that there are a bunch of people standing around him. Feeling terrible about what happened, Miriam Kreisl (Kelly Curtis), the woman driving the car that almost hit him, offers to take him to her house to rest. That's right, Miriam, an attractive woman who rocks a grey pencil skirt with a matching jacket like nobody's business, just offered to take a dishevelled old man carrying a strange package home with her.
 

 

I don't think this is a good idea, Miriam. What? You don't care. Fine, don't listen to me. But don't come crying to me if you wake up with mealworms coming out of your ears.
 

 

We get a great shot of Miriam's grey suit as she's making tea in the kitchen. What the fuck? You're making tea for him?!? Are you blind? He's up to no good. Look at him!
 

 

Despite my objections, Miriam welcomes the old man into her home, which, get this, he says is very familiar. You see, right there. That's a definite red flag. Very familiar my ass. Introducing him to her nameless bunny, a bunny that will be surprisingly integral to the film's plot later on, Miriam and the old man relax in the living room to discuss life and the Rolling Stones. Hold on. Isn't that the same band the guy from the 1970s...I'm way ahead of you.
 

 

Holy crap! She's letting him spend the night. I'm surprised she didn't let him sleep in her bed. What's this? The old man is opening his package. This can't be good. Okay, he's now walking upstairs. Again, nothing good can come from this. Standing over Miriam, who's snug as a bug, the old man starts to fiddle with something. It's funny you should say, "snug as a bug," because the old man is putting a live insect on her face. Oh, look. The insect just crawled up Miriam's nose.
 

 

As the insect makes its way through Miriam's nasal cavity, we're zapped into her subconscious. Containing a lush field covered with red flowers, Miriam's brain might seem like paradise. But lurking underneath all that berenyian lushness lies something sinister. While Miriam was doing the whole exploring her dream realm in a nightgown thing (watch out, that giant bird wants to peck your neck), it suddenly dawned on me that Kelly Curtis has an electrifying screen presence. And, get this, she spends most of the movie in a drab grey suit. I would definitely put Kelly Curtis' performance in The Sect in the same category as Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby and Catherine Deneuve in Repulsion in terms of frazzled white women in peril.
 

 

After the old man opens a secret door in Miriam's basement (a door Miriam had no idea existed), the film's surreal plot starts to thicken. A young doctor named Frank (Michel Adatte) and Miriam's friend Kathryn (Mariangela Giordano from Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror), a fellow teacher, are soon added to the mix. And just in time, as Miriam needs all the help she can get in order to maintain her sanity. A demonic wash cloth with a mind of its own is turning people into raving lunatics, Miriam's water has blue slime in it (check out the "pipe cam" scene, as we follow the bluish water to the tap), pesky Asian women who randomly show up in her German basement (Coming this Fall to FOX: There's an Asian Woman in My German Basement - starring Brenda Song and Franke Potente), and her pet bunny watches television (and I don't mean it simply stares at the television, it uses the remote to change the channels and everything).   
 

 

You know for sure that things are about to go off the rails when Carla Cassola shows up as Dr. Pernath, an understatedly leggy surgeon/Satanist who sort of looked like an Italian version of Helen Mirran. I don't know, there was something about her that practically screamed cult member. Sure, she's got a wrist tattoo to prove she's in league with Satan, but her greyish bob hairstyle and affinity for white nylons were dead giveaways as far as I'm concerned.
 

 

I loved the face ripping hooks, the giant stork, the necessary close-up of Miriam's nylon encased feet, the creepy well in Miriam's German basement (you know, the one that is replete with Asian ladies), the morgue scene, and the shot of Kelly Curtis' climbing out of a wrecked car in a torn nightie. I love them all. But what I don't understand is, why do the sect members seem shocked, especially the old man, when Miriam doesn't act enthusiastic when it comes time to ask her to join their demonic club. You can't expect a grown woman, one who has a sweet teaching gig that allows her to wear grey suits on a daily basis, to suddenly fall head over heels for Satan. It doesn't make any sense. I mean, you would think they'd have planned a little better. After all, they've had thousands of years to prepare. But that's just a minor quibble. In the grand scheme of things, The Sect is yet another awesome helping of Italian made crazy, one that repeatedly fingered my sweet spot.

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The Church (Michele Soavi, 1989)

You're raging ball of adorableness named Asia Argento, you're fourteen, no, wait, you're fifteen, yeah, fifteen years old, and you have a choice: Either you can hang out in a moldy Gothic church with your equally moldy parents, or go clubbing in striped tights. Damn, that's a tough one. Just kidding. The correct answer is: Clubbing. Okay, before I continue, I'm curious: When do you think Asia Argento is going to turn eighteen? The only reason I ask is that I wanna be able to monitor the amount of creepiness I put out there when talking about a teenage Asia Argento prancing about in Michele Soavi's The Church, the supernatural follow up to his amazing debut, Stage Fright, the best slasher film ever to feature a chainsaw-wielding maniac wearing a giant owl head. You see, I don't want to come off as a creep. Yet, I don't want to stifle my true self, either. That's not to say that my true self is a creep. On the contrary, I just don't want to be hamstrung by the square values of others. So, without further ado, I do solemnly swear that Asia Argento's innate cuteness will not be ignored over the course of this review. That being said, I also promise that I will not cross the imaginary line that dictates what is appropriate and what is inappropriate when waxing about the smoothness of Asia's soon to be sexy knees. Hey, isn't Asia Argento related to director Dario Argento, who is credited as one of the screenwriters on this movie? Good idea. Let's talk about that. Yeah, she is related to him. She's the daughter of director Dario Argento and actress Daria Nicolodi (Delirium: Photo of Gioia). Isn't that nepotism? I guess. But even at such a young age, it's clear that Asia has talent. How can you tell? Well, for one thing, you can see it in her eyes. While most actresses are devoid of anything close to resembling a personality, Asia Argento's aura is literally oozing five buckets worth of charm-aligned spunk at any given moment.
 

 

It's a good thing Asia's got spunk, because it would seem that Barbara Cupisti forgot to bring any of her precious spunk; the same spunk that served her so well in the giant owl head movie. Sure, her character can jump through a window without getting as much as a scratch, but what kind of final girl allows herself to be violated by a sexually active goat demon on a concrete slab in the basement of a Gothic cathedral that is about to collapse? I'll tell you what kind, the kind that don't make wisecracks right before they perform the coup de grâce on the film's primary antagonist. Besides, there's no-one to crack wise to in The Church, as the evil in this film doesn't even have a physical body.
 

 

Supposedly going all the way back to the days when the Teutonic Knights ruled Europe with a spiky-gloved fist, the malevolent force in this film has been patiently waiting to return to the land of the living. Opening with a group of said knights galloping through the forest, we're quickly sucked into their bloody, evil-vanquishing world. Ordered to murder the entire population of a small medieval village (don't be fooled by their big grey eyes), the knights (their helmets adorned with cross-shaped eye-slits) make short work of the peasants (stabbing and slicing their way through everyone in sight). After the slaughter has finished, we're whisked away to a large makeshift burial pit, where a mass grave is being prepared.
 

 

When some of the dead bodies start to twitch, a dude wearing a robe begins to freak out. It would seem that the peasants are in fact in league with the Devil. In order to placate their revenge, the ground is blessed and a church is built on top of their burial pit. And not just any church, a large, Gothic-style cathedral; the kind that will someday attract Hungarian tourists.
 

 

Oh, and before the ground is blessed (a large cross is placed on top of the burial mound), a knight comes across a survivor wearing a wicker mask. When the knight removes the survivor's mask, it turns out to be a young girl. And not only that, the young girl is played by none other than Asia Argento. I don't know about you, but I sure hope this isn't the extent of Asia's role in The Church, 'cause it's implied that the knight stabs her with a spear.
 

 

Anyway, flash-forward to modern times, well, sort they're of modern, it's the late 1980s, and we get a first hand look at the church; it has pews, priests, a yuppie librarian, frescoes, and an elderly bishop. In other words, it's your avenge place of worship. However, we know something sinister rumbling underneath its so-called hallowed ground. Actually, I have a feeling the bishop (Feodor Chaliapin Jr.) knows about the rumblings as well, as he looks like he's hiding something. Or maybe that's just his normal demeanour; after all, he is old as fuck.
 

 

A sense of relief washes over me, as the next thing we see is Asia Argento's Lotte watching Evan (Tomas Aranas) the church's new librarian, arrive for his first day on the job. Spotting her hiding behind a desk, Evan introduces himself to Lotte, the daughter of Hermann (Roberto Corbiletto), the church's sacristan. Of course, the bishop interrupts them, and proceeds to scold Evan for being late. While the bishop is giving a lame ass sermon, we're also introduced to the church's reverend (Giovanni Lombardo Radice), Father Gus (Hugh Quarshie), and Lisa (Barbara Cupisti), the woman who's in charge of restoring the church's many frescoes.
 

 

Since Lotte is a tad on the young side, Evan hits on Lisa instead; he even pretends to care about the cracks she's trying to fill. Now, you would think the film is going to be chiefly about Evan and Lisa, and the relationship that develops between them as they attempt to decipher an ancient parchment. If you think that, you're partially right, as the film does follow their quest solve the church's many mysteries. But the film is nowhere near being that cut and dry.
 

 

Take, for instance, the scenes where Lotte sneaks out of the church at night, utilizing a secret passage that only she knows about, in order to go clubbing. They give us some great insight into what it must feel like to be a girl on the verge of womanhood. You know how I'm always saying how if I could come back as anyone, I would wanna come back as Mischa Barton when she was a teenager? Well, I think I'm ready to move on and openly declare that I now want to be an adolescent Asia Argento. Call me an unctuous blob of fatty acid, but I think I could accomplish so much more as an underage Asian Argento than I ever could as a juvenile Miss Mischa Barton. At least that's the vibe I picked up as I watched Asia saunter down the street in her skimpy, new wave-friendly black dress.
 

 

They may not show where she's going in that skimpy, new wave-friendly black dress (on top of being skimpy, it's shoulderless, too), but you can tell that teenage Asia Argento totally means business.
 

 

You know who doesn't like Asia Argento's skimpy, new wave-friendly black dress? Her sacristan father, that's who. In fact, he actually slaps her after he smells booze and cigarette smoke on her. Wait a minute, he slapped her? I know, what an asshole. Well, what do you expect from a sacristan?
 

 

While Lisa is busy reading Fulcanelli, Evan's making some serious inroads with the ancient parchment. All he has do to is find the "stone with seven eyes" and he should be well on his way. Oh, and how many of you thought Evan's attempt to get Lisa to read Fulcanelli was just a ploy to distract her? I wonder. Well, don't wonder for too long, because Evan's already started to snoop around in the church's eerie labyrinth of subterranean tunnels and caverns.
 

 

The jump scare that accompanies the snooping scene where Evan kneels in front of the stone with the seven eyes caused me to do just that, jump while slightly scared. I don't know, I guess I didn't expect the bag he finds to contain what it contained. The "jump scare," while an important horror ingredient, nothing gets my motor running more than a well-executed music cue. And The Church has the mother of all music cues. Clearly shaken by "the bag incident," Evan is struggling to come to grips with what has happened to him. His speech is slurred and his appearance dishevelled, Evan reaches into his chest and pulls out his heart. As he's lifting his still beating heart aloft in triumph (the sky has since turned blood red), Martin Goldray's version of Philip Glass' "Floe" begins to percolate on the soundtrack. The camera suddenly begins to zoom through streets with a lightening speed. A point-of-view tour of the city after dark set to the music of Philip Glass, it doesn't get anymore awesome than this. Or does it?
 

 

What could possibly be more awesome than a super-fast tour of an European city set to the music of Philip Glass? Don't look now, but Asia Argento is wearing striped tights. All right, try to remain calm. Yeah, but, she's wearing...I know what she's wearing. Just relax for a second. What you need to do is take a deep breath. Okay, I'm good. Are you sure? Yeah, let's do this. In the long, storied history of striped tights in movies, never has a pair of striped tights caused so much inner turmoil within the fetish community. Appearing briefly for a only few seconds (I know, what a gyp), Asia Argento's striped tights in The Church are on par with Samantha Mathis' striped tights in Pump Up the Volume. Holy crap! I can't believe you just went there. Oh, I went there. You realize that Samantha Mathis in Pump Up the Volume is the gold standard in which all instances where striped tights are worn in movies are judged. Yeah, I'm well aware of the legacy of Samantha Mathis' striped tights. It's just that I was blown away by the fact that Asia Argento and Samantha Mathis were both wearing striped tights at around the same time (both movies were filmed in 1988-89).
 

 

I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but while you were going on about striped tights, Lisa was attacked by a sexually active goat demon. Yeah, so what? I guess you have a point. Either way, don't expect find any sympathy from Evan. Why not? Well, for one thing, he's probably the sexually active goat demon in question. Besides, check out the dress Asia Argento is currently wearing. Aww, c'mon, man. You just did a whole bit about her, what was it? Oh, yeah, her "skimpy, new wave-friendly black dress, and, not to mention, her black and white striped tights. I know, but this dress is made from a print that features a map of Europe. Really? Yeah, the shoulder is covered with the Balkans. You heard right, the Balkans! How fucking chic is that? Okay, I'll admit. That's pretty fucking chic.
 

 

What the Hell? Evan is scoping Asia's, I mean, Lotte's legs in the church's library while she's painting his fingernails and listening to music on something called a "walkman." I know he's since turned into a sexually active goat demon and all, and scoping adolescent Asia Argento gams is par for the course for sexually active goat demons. But show some respect, Evan. She's only fifteen. Sure, she'll be eighteen in three years, two, if you pretend she's sixteen, one, if you, well, you get the idea. But still, try to muster a little self-control. Oh, and you know how I knew Evan had been removed from his gourd? He stopped brushing his floppy bangs out of his face. Lax bang management is one of the tell tale signs that someone has become possessed by a sexually active goat demon (look it up).
 

 

Since no-one wants to watch a bunch of priests being harrowed by an unseen entity lurking underneath a Gothic cathedral, a group of children on a school trip, a pair of bickering bikers, an elderly couple (who bicker just as much as the bickering bikers do), and the members of a bridal photo shoot, including a "bridal model" (Antonella Vitale), are added to the mix to give the film's insane finale an added kick in the pants. Trapped inside the church (the cathedral has a built-in security system), these people slowly become the focus of the movie as the characters of Evan, Lisa, and even Lotte, to a certain degree, take a backseat to these frightened newcomers. That being said, we do get to finally see Asia Argento in a nightclub setting during this period in the film; I can't tell you how pleased I was by this brief yet important scene. At any rate, as the temple of flesh (a tower made out of human bodies) began to rise from the depths of Hell, it dawned on me that this film is yet another glorious example of unchecked Italian insanity. I mean, you just can't find this level of crazy anywhere else. Don't believe me? A character at one point commits suicide with a jack hammer. 'Nuff said.
 

 

What do you mean that's not enough said? Okay, fine. A veiled public service announcement on the dangers of church-going, The Church is the film to watch for all your teenage Asia Argento needs.

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Stage Fright (Michele Soavi, 1987)

They say the show must go on, but this is ridiculous! Am I right, fellas? Ladies? Please tell me I'm right. Anybody? Fuck this shit. I don't need your validation. Artistic types are a funny bunch. And I've noticed that some of them will do just about anything to advance their so-called "art." Well, in the amazing Stage Fright, a stylish Italian slasher flick from Michele Soavi (The Sect) that features drills, knives, pickaxes, chainsaws, regular axes, and a hungry lionfish, one "artist" sees the grisly murder of a co-worker as a way to increase ticket sales. Little does he know, a killer is on the prowl. Wait a minute. What do you mean, "little does he know"? How could he not know? While I can't get inside the mind of a chain-smoking theatre director, one who pretends to be horrified when a seamstress working on the production of his play "The Night Owl" takes a pickaxe to the face one rain-soaked evening. However, I can judge his actions. And, I must say, he was completely right to exploit the death of the lowly crew member. But she wore a Cramps tour t-shirt...backwards! Yes, the irregularly worn Cramps tour shirt made her cool and junk, but she said it was bad luck when a black cat passed her path. I know, you're thinking to yourself, so what? Oh, boy. You should know by now that anybody who perpetuates such superstitious nonsense about black cats automatically loses their coolness in my book. She could have been wearing a Skinny Puppy t-shirt from, oh, let's say, their 1990 Too Dark Park tour, and I still would have deducted her of cool points. Yeah, but the theatre director dude picks up a black cat by the scruff of the neck. It's true, he does pick up a black cat in that manner at one point. But I never said he was cool, I just said I understood his desire to take advantage of an underlings untimely demise. You see, in the world art, you need to strike while the iron is hot.
 

 

An unscrupulous theatre director named Peter (David Brandon), and Ferrari (Piero Vida), his equally unscrupulous financial backer, think they have stumbled upon the ultimate public relations gimmick to sell their "intellectual musical" to the masses. However, and I'm 100% not sure if they're aware of this, but murder is serious business. In hindsight, I think they should have waited for the iron to cool down a few degrees, because they have no idea what kind of chaos they have unleashed. Sure, their greed unwittingly leads to an inordinate amount of legginess. But if bifurcation is one of the byproducts of their symbiotic selfishness, you can count me out. Hey, I like sexy, stocking-encased gams as much as the next guy. But call me old fashioned, but I like them when they're attached to a torso, preferably one with a living head atop its equally alive shoulders.
 

 

A black cat slinks past a pair of silver pumps standing on a sidewalk strewn with cigarette butts. Poured inside the pumps are two feet that are connected to a couple of legs that are sheathed in black nylons covered with a vine-like pattern. Let me stop there you for a second. Why are you telling me all this? Haven't you heard? The film, Stage Fright, one of the best slasher flicks I have ever seen, opens with a shot of Barbara Cupisti's feet, and then the camera slowly pans up her legs, which, like I said, are sheathed in a pair of black stockings with a vine theme, past her stomach and chest until will reach her face. In other words, I'm going to try squeeze out every inch of awesomeness this film has to offer. And, believe me, it's got a lot to offer.
 

 

Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the film opens with a close-up of Barbara Cupisti's nylon-adorned legs standing on a sidewalk. As the camera finishes panning up her appropriately whorish frame, which is clad in the aforementioned silver pumps and vine-inspired hosiery, a gold skirt, a black, belly-revealing tank-top, and a curly blonde wet poodle wig, Barbara takes a drag on her cigarette and surveys the grimy street life. Stopping near a dark doorway to straighten her hose, she is suddenly pulled into the dark doorway by an unseen assailant. Her screams attract a throng of pimps, junkies, and fellow streetwalkers, as they're all curious to know what happened to the lithe prostitute. Just as the music on the soundtrack is about to go into overdrive, a man with an owl head dives out of the dark doorway and begins to...dance!
 

 

As the camera pulls back on the street scene, the owl man continuing to dance up a storm, West Side Story-style (the owl man has since been joined by the pimps, junkies and whores), it is slowly revealed that this isn't real life, but merely a set on a stage. I knew something was up the moment a brief shot of a woman dressed like Marilyn Monroe from The Seven Year Itch playing the saxophone on the roof of one of the fake buildings enters the frame. Anyway, while Alicia (Barbara Cupisti) is lying on stage pretending to be dead, Peter, the play's director, looks on in horror. Unconvinced, he yells at her, "You're supposed to be a whore!" Ouch! What's this guy's problem. I thought Alicia was a first-rate whore. Either way, Peter is not a happy camper (they're supposed to open in a week).
 

 

Meanwhile, backstage, my favourite character is busy shaving her armpits and applying makeup to her gorgeous gob. It didn't take long, but I knew the second I saw Laurel (Mary Sellers), Alicia's acting rival, that my rooting interest would be squarely in her corner. I don't know, there was something about her face, wide eyes and full lips that appealed to me. My love for her was pretty much made official the moment she dons her red fright wig, matching red tights, and slipped on her blue dress with the puffy sleeves.
 

 

The guy wearing the owl head, by the way, is Brett (Giovanni Lombardo Radice, House on the Edge of the Park), a struggling actor whose seen it all. When he's not stomping around backstage complaining about his costume, the Dorothy-adjacent Brett can be usually found exchanging insults with Laurel; the fact that Laurel could hold her own with such a catty cunt was a testament to her claw-like charisma.
 

 

On top of finding out who wears the owl head in this movie, we also meet Betty (Ulrike Schwirk), the show's seamstress, and, it would seem, Alicia's only friend in the entire production; well, Ferrari likes her, but in a more unseemly way. Oh, and don't you dare compare the way I feel about Laurel to the sick thing Ferrari has going on with Alicia, they're totally different. A stagehand named Mark (Martin Philips) is spotted at one point and so is Sybil (Jo Ann Smith), an actress with short blonde hair who is talking on the telephone.
 

 

While I was admiring the fact that Sybil is wearing black hold-up stockings over top a pair of tan pantyhose, Brett makes a crack about Laurel's old job, which apparently involved microwaving chilly at a restaurant called "Mexico Joe's." What an asshole. Good line, though. I only wish Giovanni and Mary Sellers had more scenes like this together, as their shrewish back and forth was one of the film's strong points during the early going.  That being said, it's not really needed once the synthesizer-enhanced mayhem begins to kick up its heels.
 

 

Speaking of synthesizers, we get our first taste of the electronic instrument during Alicia and Betty's trip to the hospital. You see, Alicia's ankle hurts, so, Betty, using something called a "phone book," discovers that there's one just down the road. Still wearing her hooker outfit, and Betty, who is wearing a jacket over her backwards Cramps tour t-shirt, with the help of Willy (James Sampson), the caretaker of Stage No. 3, head out. (The reason they need Willy's help is because they're under strict orders not to leave.) When they get there, they're shocked to discover it's a mental hospital for the criminally insane. I wonder what the scene where a nurse feeds guppies to a lionfish is supposed represent? Hmmm. Yeah, well, one of the doctors agrees to help Alicia, and ends up massaging her thigh. Um, hello? I said it was ankle that hurt, and that's clearly not my ankle. Actually, she doesn't to mind the superfluous thigh-groping.
 

 

While walking down hall, Alicia notices a creepy patient in one of the rooms. It turns out it's demented serial killer Irving Wallace (Clain Parker), an actor whose killing spree cost the lives of sixteen people. What are odds of Irving breaking out of the hospital, following Alicia and Betty back to Stage No. 3, and continuing his love for serial killing? I'm going to go out on a limb, and say, pretty high.
 

 

You would have thought that Alicia was the one who had murdered a bunch of people judging by the way Peter treats her when she comes back from the hospital. Told to pack up her things and get out, Alicia slinks off, as Laurel grins sheepishly off to the side; to add insult to injury, Laurel fans herself with a harpie-esque aplomb.
 

 

The rain drenched parking lot of Stage No. 3 is not a safe place, as Betty is about to find out. Running back into the studio, Alicia tells the others that something terrible has happened. As the police and actors gather around the crime scene, it's obvious that Peter sees her death as opportunity. Telling the press that Betty was an actress (he wants to exploit the events to maximum effect, as no-one is going to care about some dead seamstress), Peter does a quick re-write of his script, so that it mirrors the real life horror, and informs the cast (including Alicia, who's back in Peter's good graces) that they will be rehearsing all-night.
 

 

Realizing that some of the actors might not want to spend the night rehearsing, especially when you consider what happened out in the parking lot, Peter instructs an actress named Corinne (Loredana Parrella) to hide the key. This action all but seals their fate, as they have been unwittingly locked inside a dark warehouse with a deranged mad man. Actually, that doesn't sound so bad. Oh, it doesn't, eh? Well, wait until he puts on the giant owl head, as there's something extra unnerving about a man wielding a chainsaw in a giant owl head. Think about it: A man without a giant owl head wielding a chainsaw is still pretty scary. Okay, now try to imagine that very same man, but instead of no giant owl head, picture him wearing a giant owl head. Pretty scary, right?
 

 

Don't look now, but Mary Sellers is about to remove her red wig. She's about to what? Oh my God. Forget about psycho-killers who wear giant owl heads for dramatic effect, this is the moment I've dreading throughout Stage Fright, and I can't believe it's about to happen; I'm literally on the near the area of my seat if it were the kind of seat that had edges (bean bag chairs don't have edges, dingus). Will Mary Sellers' Laurel be able to maintain her allure sans wig? I'm going to have to say, that, yes, Mary Sellers does manage maintain her allure. If anything, I thought she managed increase her allure. Oh, you would say that. No, seriously. Well, for one thing, her legginess rating increased by at least six points on the leggy scale, as the black slip she changes into did nothing but accentuate the sturdiness of her long, dancer legs. And secondly, the way the pink hair scarf commingled with her natural brown locks was surprisingly effective.
 

 

I liked how Laurel, despite the chaos caused by the owl head killer, still managed...yeah, yeah, we know, she managed to maintain her allure. No, what I was gonna say was: I liked how Laurel kept trying undermine Alicia during the mayhem. The part where she blames Alicia for bringing the killer to Stage No. 3 was one example. Which, if you think about it, is absolutely true. I mean, if it wasn't for her trip to the hospital, none of this would have happened. And the other example was when Laurel knocks Alicia off a ladder. But again, Alicia was grabbing her Laurel's leg. Hey, Alicia. Stop grabbing her leg, you thin-lipped hosebeast, a full-lipped goddess with eyes the size of dinner plates is trying to climb that fucking ladder.
 

 

If you're in any way concerned about Jo Ann Smith's black hold-up stockings over top tan pantyhose pulling the same stunt as a Mary Sellers' wig. Don't worry, they remain attached to her doll-like frame for the duration of the movie. Um, actually, that's not entirely true. How 'bout this: They remain attached to her legs for the duration of the movie. Yeah, that's much better. You'll know what I'm talking about once you see the movie.
 

 

Oh, and I wasn't kidding when I casually called Stage Fright, "one of the best slasher flicks I have ever seen." I don't how Michele Soavi managed to pull this off, but the film contains all the ingredients I look for in a good slasher flick. Leggy babes in peril, intense synthesizer flourishes, grisly murder sequences (pickaxes, drills, knives, and chainsaws), a black cat who has a habit of making his or her presence felt during moments that could best described as "inappropriate," sexy outfits (do I have to mention Sybil's hosiery double whammy again?), a vivid colour scheme, and a great location. This film has it all. Hell, even the killer is cool. And you wouldn't think so given the fact that he wears a giant owl head. But you know what? I slowly grew to like the idea of a killer who wears a giant owl head. It's a testament to a filmmaker working at the height of his or her talent, when they can employ something that could easily induce ridicule in a way that seems effortless.

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