“Subtlety in movies? Of course there’s subtleties in movies, just be sure you make them obvious.” – Billy Wilder, 1906-2002

I used to work at a venerable book shop on the corner of Rodeo Drive and “Little” Santa Monica, right in the heart of Beverly Hills, and in two years there I saw many legendary show biz folk from every era, saw, mostly, what they were like when shopping.

The list is impressive even yet, even to me, because everybody came through Hunter’s Books when they were in L.A. and it’s a little surprising to think I came that close to so many legends who are now gone: Cary Grant, in the store just three minutes before everyone, customers and employees on all three floors, knew he was there and the staring and whispers started; Laurence Olivier, quite jaunty in cowboy hat and boots, trying to find a book no one in town seemed to have; the legendary writer-director John Huston, forced by advancing emphysema to rest by the front doors while his family shopped for him, giving me a courtly smile as I stacked his art books; Barbara Stanwyck, always charming and gracious when I carted her purchases to the car for her.

Some of my fondest memories from that time, circa 1980-81, are of passing the incomparable Billy Wilder on the street while on my way to work. In those days his office was directly across Little Santa Monica from Hunter’s in a nondescript stucco building and he was still going in to work every day, getting on the phone to the studios and the agents and the investors, not yet resigned, as he would be later with characteristic irony, to having been forgotten by the cruelest business in the world. He must have known it was coming: one look at his greatest film Sunset Boulevard (1950), and there can be little doubt Billy Wilder knew where he was and how he made his living. He was a peerless hustler and schmoozer, moving seemingly without effort through a society that has no memory, that uses the unwary and the dreamers like a cat uses a mouse.

But he could also be a kind and generous man, in spite of contrary reports. One of the 20th century’s most famous cynics, Billy once endured an entire shooting schedule (while making Sabrina, 1953) without speaking to his star, Humphrey Bogart (another Top Ten Cynic), because each of them thought the other was the most unpleasant man to ever walk the planet. It’s not that he didn’t suffer foolishness gladly. He didn’t suffer it at all.

An undisputed master of the snappy comeback long before he immigrated from Nazi Germany in the 30s, he hooked up with an American novelist, Charles Brackett, in order to write comedies in English and became the acerbic half of the most sought after writing duo of the era, his penetrating mind zeroing-in on the American vernacular and firing off some of the most pricelss dialogue in screwball comedy. But Wilder had no compunction about dropping his partner when the conservative Brackett objected that his pet directing project Double Indemnity (1944) was patently immoral. Billy simply found another writing partner (the amazing, and always drunk, novelist Raymond Chandler) and made the movie anyway, morality be damned, kicking off the as-yet unnamed genre of film noir and making a film of such disturbing and entertaining poetry, and unqualified critical and commercial success, Brackett had no choice but to admit defeat and return for another six years of frenzied, unequalled work, culminating in Sunset Boulevard.

Billy was just getting started. During the two decades following Indemnity he made some of the greatest films in Hollywood history, never doing the same thing twice, always revealing a distinctive, infectiously entertaining vision of the world that could be mistaken for no one else. He had a profoundly deep understanding of human suffering, but in film after film he refused to let the darkness conquer the business of living. He looked long and hard into the abyss, and he made us look, too, made us contemplate its presence in our daily lives, but he would also trot out a lacerating wit to protect both himself and his audience, facing Depravity and Death and Despair with a defiantly funny, verbal thrust-and-parry. After he and Brackett went their separate ways in the fifties, Billy found a writing soul mate in his new partner, the erudite and serenely caustic I.A.L. Diamond (a.k.a. Izzy), and the sophistication of the Wilder vision became its own genre, the unmistakable stamp of an inimitable artist.

Only Wilder could turn the horror of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre into a brilliant cross-dressing farce (Some Like It Hot, 1959), and only Wilder could then transform a door-slamming bedroom comedy into bittersweet high drama (The Apartment, 1960). His magic, and the most enduring aspect of his art, was to meld the yin-yang of comedy and tragedy until they were indistinguishable parts of the same dramatic experience, to be savored as one.

But he also told biting truths about the motivations of our species and he never shirked his duty to skewer sentimentality wherever he found it. Occasionally, as with Ace in the Hole (1951), his least successful film at the box-office and his most vitriolic, he slipped and forgot to be openly funny and a genuine bitterness and rage at the world’s cruelty would surface, chilling in its absolute clarity. He was, above all, a survivor, with a survivor’s practical embrace of necessity, a driving need to call things exactly what they were, and his films either beat down euphemism at all cost, as with his portrait of Hollywood as a dumpster of twisted dreams (Sunset Boulevard again), or he would turn the unspeakable to his advantage, filling a movie like Some Like It Hot with so much double entendre it can’t be catalogued.

No one gets to hold onto the magic forever. Audiences changed in the sixties, seeking a different kind of entertaining truth from that offered by Billy Wilder, often something less sophisticated, and the films he made became less effective, as well. He still showed flashes of genius, like casting Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau together for the first time (in The Fortune Cookie, 1966) and helping to invent and shape their comic chemistry. But he increasingly turned to old formulas and over the next two decades the Wilder edge eventually dulled, as all edges must, his films becoming sometimes vulgar (Kiss Me Stupid, 1964), sometimes strident (The Front Page, 1974), sometimes wobbly echoes of his former glory (Fedora, 1978).

But he never gave up, and why should he? He’d already done the impossible by the age of 54, becoming Hollywood’s most celebrated and beloved outsider. Cynic or not, he’d been nominated for 21 Oscars (and had won 6) for writing, directing and producing his films. Between 1944 and 1966, he’d turned out a nearly unbroken string of box-office hits, not an easy thing to accomplish and remain sane (when asked if he thought it was an insult to be called a commercial director, he answered, “It depends on the percentage I have of the picture”), and so he continued to go to work every weekday morning for thirty more years because, genius aside, it was the work that drove him — the writing and the directing, the creation — not the result. Long after he could raise the cash to make one last film, he kept trying, because making films is what Billy Wilder did.

So, as I said, I used to pass him many mornings, on the terribly clean sidewalks of Beverly Hills. I would be headed to my lowly job as an overstock clerk in a tony book shop for the Hollywood elite and Billy would come my way from the opposite direction, a stocky, bespectacled man walking briskly toward his office, hands rocking freely at his sides, his body language full of purpose and nervous intelligence. The first time he caught me looking at him, he said, “Morning,” and I mumbled a hello and tried to process the fact Billy Wilder had just spoken to me. Later, other mornings, I ventured a smile and greeted him first.

I’m such a dope, sometimes.

I wish I could say I took advantage of this situation and got to know him. One of the all-time great raconteurs, he loved visitors. A couple of my less well-mannered co-workers went banging on his office door once with the chutzpah to ask that he autograph an unauthorized Billy Wilder biography, which he did gladly, talking with them for an hour. One of them kept harassing me to do the same, but I was still pretty starstruck and new to L.A. I hadn’t yet learned how to bother the rich and famous with my own dark neediness.

One day as I stood in line at the tobacconist’s shop down the street, Mr. Wilder came in and stood behind me. I turned and said hello as if we were, in fact, the buddies I wished we could be. We small-talked pleasantly about the weather, while just under my surface I yearned to babble, suddenly, that I loved all his films, and to prove it by listing them all right there. But I had too much impulse control at the time, an affliction that can lead to a continual litany of missed chances.

Advice to the hopeful and the doomed: if one of your favorite directors comes into a store and stands in line behind you, go ahead and risk pissing him/her off and gush your admiration for them without delay. What’s the worst that could happen? They could be insufferable and say don’t bother me, but at least you’ll know you were a mensch.

The customer ahead of us was finished and the owner of the shop looked straight through me to the bigshot Hollywood director, who had been buying cigars there for thirty years, and asked him what he wanted. I thought that was a little rude, but I was perfectly willing to let the great Billy Wilder go before me. Billy Wilder, however, reminded the sycophantic owner that I had been there first, and she impatiently sold me my $2.00 pack of cigarettes while he waited to pick out some extremely expensive cigars in the world class humidor at the back.

Just a small moment, but I still think about it every time I read or hear about what an unpleasant man Billy Wilder could be, and I smile, I am amused, because I met many unpleasant people in L.A., especially after I became a waiter, a profession in which the perpetually unpleasant are part of the daily job, and Billy Wilder just wasn‘t one of them. He was a gentleman with me and with my friends.

The experience held true with most of the truly famous and accomplished people I bumped into in that town, which you can‘t help doing if you’re there a week. It was the wanna-bes and the never-gonna-bes who behaved badly. But Cary Grant was poised, gracious and polite to every person who spoke to him, John Huston was princely in his acknowledgement of my labors, and Tony Perkins was as sweet and unassuming as his Norman Bates persona (which admittedly could make some people nervous, but which made me laugh and set me at ease — “He really is like that.”).

I think Billy Wilder probably was an unpleasant fellow — that is, if he was dealing with unpleasant, egotistical Hollywood types more interested in making a buck than in making a good movie. The town is full of them, always has been, and no doubt some were offended by his propensity for calling a fool a fool. But I’ve seen most of his movies and I can tell you that, in film after film, he celebrated the honesty and the plight of the little guy, the average schmuck, the poor bastard who goes to work every day for doodly-squat and believes happiness is possible, in spite of the evidence. No matter the heights of Tinsel Town acceptance he reached, no matter how wickedly funny his tongue, Billy Wilder could tell a hawk from a handsaw in a pinch, and he wasn’t just nice to me because he could see adoration in my eyes.

He was a singular mensch, rich and famous by default. He let me go first because that’s what people do.

Billy Wilder’s Greatest Hits

An undertow of wry humor flows through his most serious dramas, while his comedies never quite shake the specter of mortality. All of his films are written for the sensibilities of people who have moved beyond puberty. Most are available to rent on VHS, and more are being released on DVD every year. Now that he‘s gone, perhaps we‘ll finally get to see them all.

Double Indemnity (1944):

Stanwyck: I wonder if I know what you mean.

MacMurray: I wonder if you wonder.

Wilder’s third film as a director was his breakthrough, a stunning chiaroscuro journey into lust and murder, adapted by Billy and the king of forties street poetry, Raymond Chandler, from James M. Cain’s hard-boiled novel . The casting of amiable good guy Fred MacMurray as a cynical insurance hustler who is too smart for his own good was a typically Wilderian stroke of dissonant genius. Barbara Stanwyck was hardly ever sexier, and surely one of Edward G. Robinson’s greatest performances, as an avuncular claims investigator.

The Lost Weekend (1945): A landmark Hollywood drama that flouted all censorship conventions against treating addiction in the movies. Still harrowing in its depiction of alcoholism, its perpetual humiliations and petty terrors, Wilder once again casting an actor who was best known as a light comedian, this time the dapper Ray Milland as a groveling, tortured Everyman who is ravaged by his own impulses. Time and the demise of Production Code standards have taken the sharpest edges off this movie, but it is all the more startling because of that, and for what Wilder was able to slip through the censor’s net even though it wasn‘t officially allowed.

Sunset Boulevard (1950):

Holden: You’re Norma Desmond. You used to be in silent pictures. You used to be big.

Swanson: I am big. It’s the pictures that got small.

At once surreal and grittily realistic, hilarious and chilling, if I was forced to pick Wilder’s masterpiece, this would be it. Still the best film about Hollywood anyone ever tried to make, Wilder captures a bitterness and despair in Tinsel Town that no one else has dared to examine, because it acknowledges the filmmaker’s own complicity in the Great Lies of show business. Filled with inside jokes that have lost some of their sting if you’re not strong in early film lore, you need to know that Gloria Swanson was indeed a forgotten beauty queen of silent cinema, and her butler Erich von Stroheim was, indeed, a great director from the early days who had been thrown on the ash heap of movie history. Cameos from many other pioneers of the art form, including the magnificently deadpan comedian Buster Keaton.

Unforgettable dialogue in every scene. If you ever wondered which was the higher art form, comedy or tragedy, the satire of Sunset Boulevard could convince you that the pinnacle of storytelling may lie somewhere in between.

Ace in the Hole (1951; a.k.a. The Big Carnival):

Douglas: They’re having a rosary at that little church this evening. I want you to be there.

Sterling: I don’t go to church. Kneeling bags my nylons.

Wilder’s least popular film is also his bleakest, the tale of a hustling reporter, played by a swaggering Kirk Douglas, whose heartlessness leads him to exploit a small town tragedy by turning it into a national media circus. Decades ahead of its time, a film that fearlessly examined the underside of news media power before it was fashionable to do so (and before so many major media corporations owned movie studios). Wilder’s first film after breaking up with writing partner Charles Brackett, it’s probably his most cynical, if such a thing is possible. With Jan Sterling in her best role as a two-timing small town floozy. Currently unavailable on home video, the most likely way to see this one is on cable.

Some Like It Hot (1959):

Curtis: But you’re not a girl, you’re a guy, and why would a guy want to marry a guy?!

Lemmon: Security!

The once-and-future cross-dressing farce, don’t be dismayed if it doesn’t make you howl at first. Part of its outrageousness flows from the fact no one had ever made a film like this before, while we’ve had plenty of them since. Trust me, though: Jack Lemmon is hysterically butch in high heels while Tony Curtis is gorgeous in same, when he’s not doing a dead-on impersonation of Cary Grant in Bringing Up Baby; Marilyn Monroe (as Sugar Kane) is at her most voluptuously innocent, and the sheer quantity of Wilder-Diamond one-liners beggars the outer limits of probability. Fabulous Roaring 20s atmosphere, a Who’s Who of great character actors from the 20s and 30s in bit roles, riotously choreographed chase scenes.

The Apartment (1960):

MacLaine: Why can’t I ever fall in love with somebody nice like you?

Lemmon: Yeah, well, that’s the way it crumbles. Cookie-wise.

The pinnacle of the Wilder-Diamond collaborations, Billy’s most perfect tragicomedy slides effortlessly from door-slamming lunacy to heartrending drama to exultant romance without ever missing a step or seeming to change gears. A valentine to Jack Lemmon’s dazzling versatility, casting him as the ultimate Wilderesque schmuck, a hapless Everyman just trying to survive backstage politics at a monolithic insurance company by loaning out his apartment key to executives. One of Shirley MacLaine’s finest performances as Fran Kubelik, elevator operator of Lemmon’s dreams, and Fred MacMurray returns to the Wilder universe as their irredeemably smarmy boss.

Rainy Day Wilder

Not his greatest films, but second rate Wilder is often better than first-rate anyone else:

Stalag 17 (1953): Emotionally brutal comedy-drama in a WWII prison camp, but hang in there for the unforgettable second and third acts. Great Oscar-winning performance by William Holden. The unlikely basis for TV’s Hogan’s Heroes.

Sabrina (1954): First of two Wilder tributes to the enchanting talents of Audrey Hepburn, watch her steal the show from veterans Holden and Bogart.

The Seven-Year Itch (1955): Source of the world-famous shot with Monroe holding down her skirt above a windy subway grating. Lighthearted, knowing comedy of married man going through a mid-life crisis while his wife is out of town.

Love in the Afternoon (1957): Wilder’s second Hepburn fantasy, his first collaboration with Diamond, casting aging heartthrob Gary Cooper in a May-December romance with the ultimate gamine in mid-century Paris. The mood changes are heavier than usual, but the film’s sentiment is on target.

Witness for the Prosecution (1957): Wilder does Agatha Christie in high theatrical style, with great performances by many Old Hollywood legends, including Marlene Dietrich and Tyrone Power. Charles Laughton runs off with the whole show, however, a great actor in one of his finest moments.

One, Two, Three (1961): Frantic comedy with James Cagney as a Coca-Cola executive trying to avert diplomatic disaster in Cold War era West Berlin. Silly and on the mark.

The Fortune Cookie (1966): Historic first teaming of odd couple Lemmon and Matthau, a rude comedy about a TV cameraman coerced by his unscrupulous brother-in-law into swindling an insurance company over a minor injury. The two stars are in top form and became a renowned box-office team in the wake of this movie.

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970): Intended to be a much longer film, a very personal and bittersweet speculation on the likely demons of the world’s most famous detective. Taken away by the studio and cut to pieces, it was a box-office disaster anyway. This is another Wilder film, along with Ace in the Hole, that is slowly gaining a reputation among some film historians as a lost masterwork.

Avanti! (1972): Jack Lemmon travels to Italy to bury his father, whom he discovers was conducting a long time affair with an Englishwoman, and falls in love with the daughter of his father’s mistress, played by Juliet Mills. Witty, winking good fun.

THE BEST HORROR FILMS OF THE 20TH CENTURY
by Troy Brownfield

I’d like to start this list off with a few qualifiers. The following films are the best based purely and entirely on my opinion. I have seen all of the films, and believe that each holds a place on the list. While it’s true that your personal favorite may not appear, you will find that several films I like myself didn’t make the cut.

What I am attempting to do is to merely provide a guideline for quality films rooted firmly in the horror genre. I’ve had to make judgment calls on several films as to whether or not they are “too sci-fi” or “too something” to be included on a horror list. However, I think I’ve achieved a good stretch of diversity by including films that branch off into action, humor or other classifications.

The list will start with the ’20s and move forward from there. Each decade’s films will be presented in alphabetical order. I am not attempting to choose a best film for each decade or anything like that. These are simply movies that deserve to be seen.

Before I get going, I’d like to give a couple of thanks and recommend a couple of resources. First, thanks to Sharon Russell, my film professor from Indiana State University. A lover of horror films, she transfers her passion and knowledge to her students in a tremendously accessible fashion. For resources, check out John Stanley’s Creature Features video guide, Stephen King’s Danse Macabre and David J. Skal’s The Monster Show; these books provide great direction for anyone wanting to learn more about solid horror movies.

This list is dedicated to local television stations and PBS stations, who, in the days before satellites and digital cable, would run classic horror and sci-fi in the early afternoons. They introduced me to the genre. My love for these films would also not have been complete without Bob Carter, better known in the Indianapolis area as Sammy Terry, late-night horror host. From about the time I was eight till about my 15th year when he left the air, no weekend was really complete without catching him and his spider George introducing flicks like Children of the Full Moon or Baron Blood. When I think about it, his spooky intro and deep laugh were staggering influences on my childhood.

The 1920’s

Nosferatu (1922): There were earlier horror films, like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari in 1919, but this is truly the one that everyone seems to start with. One possible reason is that it’s the first feature-length (though unauthorized) adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. F.W. Murnau based his silent film in Germany and changed the monster’s name to Count Orlock, but the story is obviously Stoker’s. Though it’s not a very exciting film by today’s standards, it contains some classic moments, and Max Schreck’s horrific appearance contributed to many horror staples.

The Phantom of the Opera (1925): Including the greatest horror movie unmasking of all time, The Phantom of the Opera is dominated by Lon Chaney Sr.’s triumphant turn as the disfigured musical genius who falls in love. Based on Gaston Leroux’s novel, this was the first of the big Universal Monster movies. While silents can be hard to view in comparison to today’s sound-drenched films, the great sets and the amazing Chaney make it a stalwart and massively influential work.

The 1930’s

Bride of Frankenstein (1935): From start to finish, one of the best horror films ever. Anyone with even the weakest grasp of popular culture knows Elsa Lanchester’s gravity-defying hair-do and legendary scream. With incredible high sets that seem to stretch to the moon and other startling visuals, director James Whale hammers out another Universal classic. Best bit of dialogue? The Frankenstein Monster himself (Boris Karloff, of course) intoning, “We . . . belong . . . dead.” Great, great stuff.

Dracula (1931): The film that launched a thousand clichés, Dracula will forever be associated with Bela Lugosi’s portrayal of the Count. While Tod Browning’s direction is more stagey than usual, and the script is hampered by being adapted from the stage play rather than directly from the novel, Dracula comes loaded with immortal bits that make the viewer think, “So that’s where that came from!” The best part of the film is the beginning, when Renfield (Dwight Frye) arrives at Dracula’s castle. Overall, another brilliant Universal offering.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1932): Frederic March won an Oscar for his portrayal of Robert Louis Stevenson’s famous superego and id. This effort raised the bar for effects in its day by showing March actually transforming on screen.

Frankenstein (1931): James Whale directing Boris Karloff in Jack Pierce make-up? Call it the ultimate in Universal Studios horror. This adaptation of Mary Shelley’s brief novel, staggering in its artistic value, surely represents one of the greatest filmmaking achievements ever. Whether it’s Colin Clive screaming “It’s alive!” or the hoard of angry villagers or the monster’s isolation, very few pictures can lodge themselves so firmly into the consciousness of popular culture with such staying power. And just in case there’s still any question, Frankenstein is the doctor, not the monster.

Freaks (1932): Widely discussed, but infrequently seen, Tod Browning’s Freaks can be difficult to watch. Why? Mainly because this tale of betrayal at a sideshow features real “human oddities”. At times bizarrely hilarious, at other times unsettling, Freaks pulls the same trick as Frankenstein by generating sympathy for the “monsters” and showing that so-called regular people can be incredibly evil. With a great climax, Freaks has to be recognized as a classic. Musical footnote: The Ramones’ “Pinhead” was inspired by the film, right down to its “Gabba gabba! We accept you! One of us!” chant.

The Invisible Man (1933): It almost redundant to say it again, but here’s another Universal Studios masterpiece directed by James Whale. However, the star this time is Claude Rains. Rains turns the amazing trick of giving a powerhouse performance while being either a)unseen or b)wrapped in bandages and dark glasses. Based on H.G. Wells’s novel, this is one of the landmark stories that simultaneously straddles science fiction and horror. For spectacular use of this character today, check out Alan Moore’s comic series, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, where the Invisible Man plays a very visible part.

Island of Lost Souls (1933): Another Wells adaptation? You bet. Souls is based on The Island of Dr. Moreau, a tract questioning the role of science versus nature. Here the mad doctor (played by Charles Laughton) is conducting experiments that turn animals into human/animal hybrids. Moreau gives them laws to follow, which are recited by Sayer of the Law Bela Lugosi in an awesome performance. A rock solid interpretation of the book. The 1977 version, which goes by the original name, is quite good as well, but do yourself a favor and skip the botched Brando/Kilmer affair.

King Kong (1933): Is there anything more fun than a giant gorilla? Not much. The progenitor of all giant monster films, Kong begat legion of imitators after him, some of which (Godzilla, Gamera, etc.) became legends in their own right. Nearly everything about this film is a classic. Willis O’Brien’s stop-motion effects were stunning in their day and continue to be fun. The set pieces, such as the “sacrifice” of Fay Wray to Kong, Kong’s battles to save her against other giant monsters, the rampage through New York and the siege at the Empire State Building, have been absorbed into our mass consciousness. Though some of the scenes with the natives are uncomfortable today, there remains a resounding sense of zeal, Hollywood spirit and sympathy for Kong about the whole deal. And of course, there’s always the fact that giant apes are just plain cool.

M (1930): A German film that dealt with pedophilia and child murdering in the 1930’s, you might ask? M attacks those topics in an intelligent manner, buoyed by Peter Lorre’s debut performance. Although the picture pigeon-holed Lorre as “the creepy guy” for life, he comes across as thoroughly chilling in Fritz Lang’s psychological examination. What’s really more frightening is that the story is based on a true case.

Mad Love (1935): Another Lorre vehicle, this one based on Maurice Renard’s The Hands of Orlac. Everyone’s seen movies or TV shows that deal with the notion of transplanted body parts taking over someone’s body; this is where the idea was pilfered from. Even though I’ll always think of Peter Lorre first in his role from Casablanca (”Pleeeese! Help me, Reeeck!”), his portrayal of Dr. Gogol is certainly a memorable one.

The Mummy (1932): Welcome back to Universal’s domination of 1930’s horror. Boris Karloff strikes again as Im-Ho-Tep, once again done up by Jack Pierce. Exploring Egyptian burial customs (though not actual Egyptian legends), the film features striking set pieces as Karloff searches for what he believes to be the reincarnation of his lost love. It may not have the special effects razzle-dazzle of the 1999 version, but it’s got style, it’s got class, and it’s got Karloff.

The 1940’s

Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948): I can hear the groans now, but man, this movie is absolutely hilarious and an enormous amount of fun. Despite the title, Frankenstein’s monster (here, Glenn Strange) isn’t the only one involved. We’ve also got Dracula (Bela Lugosi, for God’s sake!) and the Wolf Man (Lon Chaney Jr.!), not to mention a cameo by the Invisible Man (the voice of Vincent Price!). The astounding cast gives uniformly appealing performances, and Lou Costello has never been funnier. Classic comedy line: As Larry Talbot (Chaney) tells Costello that he becomes a wolf at night, Costello remarks, “You and a million other guys.” Simply beautiful.

Cat People (1942): Great atmosphere and interesting sexual overtones lend this thriller a fine noir feeling. Simone Simon believes that getting turned on turns into a panther. Does it? The build-up is great, particularly as Jane Randolph is stalked on both a city street and in a darkened swimming pool. Most of what makes it so good is what you don’t actually see. Credit director Jacques Tourneur, producer Val Lewton and writer Dewitt Bodeen for this particularly strong effort.

Dead of Night (1945): Troy’s rule of horror #17: Dummies aren’t cool. This anthology features several ghost stories and a framing device with a great ending. One of the first British horror films just after World War II, Dead of Night carries the elegiac weight of a country that had been under attack for the better part of five years. Very creepy in parts (especially that damn dummy), Dead of Night is built to make you think.

The Wolf Man (1941): Though he got to the Universal party a little late, The Wolf Man has distinguished himself as a horror favorite. Werewolves represent a fascinating dichotomy that draws in audiences (particularly me; I love a good werewolf flick), and this is the best. Lon Chaney Jr. plays poor Larry Talbot, who receives the curse from the bite of another werewolf (Bela Lugosi, who else?). Jack Pierce does the make up yet again, and it’s immortal. Also on hand are Claude Rains as Chaney’s dad and Maria Ouspenskaya as the gypsy lady who recites the most famous poem in horror film (Even a man who’s pure in heart . . .). For my money, no other werewolf film has been able to beat it.

The 1950’s

The Blob (1951): Steve McQueen’s film debut wasn’t as a cop or a gunslinger, but as the central teen in this story of a protoplasmic entity that arrives via meteorite and begins swallowing the town. Fun effects dominate, particularly in the movie theater and diner scenes. One of the things that I especially like about the film is the ambiguity of the ending; as Dan Patrick might put it, “You can’t destroy the blob; you can only contain him.”

The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954): Gilled death rises from the deep, and Universal Studios is there! Originally shot in 3D by director Jack Arnold, Creature contains stellar underwater photography for the time period and a fantastically designed monster. One of the highlights is the Creature stalking the heroine in the water (while she’s wearing what Stephen King calls “the requisite one-piece white swimsuit”). Other films have sunk trying to imitate the style and atmosphere, but Creature rises above them all.

The Fly (1958): Featuring the immortal “Help me, pleeeease! Help me!”, The Fly was as close to a gross-out film as you could get in the late ’50s. With the giant fly’s head and hand grafted onto a hapless human scientist, you know that you’re in for a good time. And of course, there’s Vincent Price, who can elevate the quality of a horror film just by walking into the room. The Fly is another movie that straddles the lines of science fiction and horror, but I think that anyone who’s seen the awesome costume and chilling ending knows exactly which side it belongs too.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters (1958): The title says it all. Godzilla is the king! The movie that launched an industry of atomic-powered monsters, Godzilla still reigns as the 400-foot tall champion. I recommend picking up the unedited Japanese version if you get a chance. It’s longer and doesn’t have Raymond Burr cut in as reporter Steve Martin. Still, Godzilla rules the rubber-suit kingdom regardless. Despite the dated effects, the movie still holds up extremely well; it crushes by comparison the weak Devlin/Emmerich remake from ‘98. Hell, the scene of Bob Goldthwait in a Godzilla suit stomping the model development in One Crazy Summer is about twenty times as good as the Devlin/Emmerich version.

Horror of Dracula (1958): Christopher Lee as Dracula vs. Peter Cushing as Van Helsing. I could stop the review there and you’d understand why this is so great. However, other points need to be made, like the fact that this launched the Hammer Studios franchise, and that the blood ran in color. Though the film’s script is brutal on the novel, there is so much going on that the film takes on a life of its own. The climatic battle between the Count and his nemesis is fantastic. Many, many Lee/Cushing films followed. Good, good stuff.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956): Though director Don Siegel insisted that this wasn’t a McCarthyist allegory, it still works in that fashion amazingly well. As in Jack Finney’s novel, the hero (Kevin McCarthy, ironically enough) discovers that alien pods are replacing people. A ticking clock of suspense, the movie is especially memorable for the scene of McCarthy shouting in the middle of the street. The 1970s remake is pretty darn good too, as in the ’90s version, simply titled Body Snatchers.

The Thing . . . From Another World (1951): Commonly known as The Thing, this absolutely awesome flick set many standards for ’50s horror and science fiction. Drawn from John W. Campbell’s “Who Goes There?”, the film is set at an isolated Arctic research station with a mix of military and scientific personnel. The sci-fi chestnut of “destroy the alien or study it” is clearly defined here. Though Christian Nyby gets the directorial credit, it’s generally understood that producer Howard Hawks oversaw the whole deal. The entire affair moves at a slam-bang pace with great suspense. And now dig this: James “Marshall Dillon” Arness played The Thing.

The 1960’s

The Birds (1963): Two words: Alfred Hitchcock. The man who basically defined suspense throughout the decade used a creepy story by Daphne DuMaurier (and scripted by Evan Hunter a.k.a. Ed McBain) to crank up this firecracker of avian terror. The cast is filled with familiar names (Jessica Tandy, Tippi Hedren, Suzanne Pleshette, even a very young Morgan Brittany) and the direction is spectacular. It’s enough to put you off pet shops.

The Haunting (1963): Not to be confused with the recent bad remake, the Robert Wise-directed ultimate haunted house party came from Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House. Featuring some all-time chilling scenes, all of which are based in pure psychological fear, the film also boasts an awesome cast in Claire Bloom, Julie Harris, Russ Tamblyn and Richard Johnson. Whatever walks in Hill House may walk alone; see this movie, and you won’t want to sleep that way.

The Masque of the Red Death (1964): Edgar Allan Poe will always be the first scary author I read as a child. Roger Corman also found the inspiration from the poor, doomed writer to make some of the best movies of his career. Teaming up with the always fantastic Vincent Price as Prospero, Corman crafted this colorful allegory into a fine picture.

Night of the Living Dead (1968): George Romero introduced himself to the horror world with this black-and-white spear of icy darkness. Redefining horror and revolutionizing zombie films, Night of the Living Dead begins simply and builds to a horrifying climax. Though many of its motifs have been repeated over and over in subsequent films, the movie retains its simple power. Romero also shattered several taboos, including vivid realizations of cannibalism and matricide. Elements of the sheriff and national guard scenes were intended to evoke images of news footage from Vietnam, which was reaching a fever pitch at the time of filming. Night was followed by two sequels: Dawn of the Dead and Day of the Dead. The Return of the Living Dead films are not related to Romero’s work.

Psycho (1960): Alfred Hitchcock. Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates. Janet Leigh in the shower. What else really needs to be said? Perhaps horror’s finest moment in the 1960s (maybe ever). The screenplay by Joseph Stefano came from Robert Bloch’s novel, itself said to have been based on the true-life case of serial killer Ed Gein (also an inspiration for The Texas Chainsaw Massacre).

The Raven (1963): Roger Corman goes back to Poe for material, and this time Richard Matheson writes the screenplay. Even with that high-class pedigree, Corman has actors Vincent Price, Peter Lorre and Boris Karloff in his corner. And he makes a comedy! But what a comedy. The Raven stands out as an incredibly fun movie, highlighted by a wizard’s duel that really only has a rival in the Merlin-Mad Madame Mim showdown from Disney’s The Sword in the Stone.

Rosemary’s Baby (1968): Stephen King noted in Danse Macabre that this was one of the few film’s that is so close to the book it was based on, that you almost don’t need to read it. I tend to agree with him; Roman Polanski’s adaptation of Ira Levin’s corker is amazingly accurate. Mia Farrow is believably naive as Rosemary, a young woman who is pregnant . . . with something. This film is so creepy that even Anton LaVey has a cameo (seriously). Not to be viewed by Lamaze classes.

The 1970’s

Alien (1979): While undoubtedly rooted in science-fiction, the thrill-engine that is Alien churns ahead with relentless power. A masterful combination of direction (Ridley Scott), writing (Dan O’Bannon), design (H.R. Giger) and score (Jerry Goldsmith), Alien rips through your guard with shocks both psychological and spattered with gore. The brilliant cast plays every note perfectly, from the infamous chestburster through the mounting tension. You can see the influence of H.P. Lovecraft in the proceedings with the notion of hideously terrifying power hidden among the stars. Without a doubt, a classic. Don’t miss the sequel (and one of the greatest action movies ever), Aliens, which is and always will be (despite the Oscars) James Cameron’s finest hour.

Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter (1972): Beating Blade to the big-screen by about 26 years, Captain Kronos wielded a mighty sword against the bloodsucking undead. With his snuff-sniffing mannerisms and hunchbacked sidekick, Kronos should have been another franchise for Hammer Studios. The atmosphere brings Errol Flynn to mind, and Horst Janson is perfect as Kronos. It’s just cool.

Dawn of the Dead (1979): Romero’s sequel to Night of the Living Dead rises above the predecessor with blood-drenched color and slow, shuffling menace. A genuinely unsettling and frightening movie, Dawn cleverly sets itself up as a wicked satire of consumer culture as well. Zombies always tend to bother me, but zombie children are particularly bad. On a dumb note, this is the film that inspired the New Radicals video. On a sublime note, this film more than any other contributed to Neil Wright’s formation of the Warriors of the Inevitable Zombie Apocalypse® (see Features).

All kidding aside, I dare you to watch this then go sit outside alone in the dark. You won’t last ten minutes.

The Exorcist (1973): William Friedkin directed William Peter Blatty’s novel into screen history. This brutal, scary picture plays on parents fears while simultaneously pushing the taboo buttons for sacrilege and gore. What young Linda Blair does with the crucifix turns my stomach also as easily as she turns her head. Mercedes McCambridge essays the voice of Evil, and Max von Sydow (who strikes that legendary pose outside the McNeil house) is awesome as a servant of God bent on moral victory. Man, what a ride.

Halloween (1978): John Carpenter stormed into the upper echelon of horror directors with this masterpiece. Co-written with Debra Hill and layered with unforgettable music of Carpenter’s own devising, Halloween brings us young Jamie Lee Curtis being stalked by the William Shatner-masked Michael Myers. Myers is a study in slow, dogged persistence, and it’s that relentless, determined quality that heightens the fear. Donald Pleasence is magnificent as Michael’s psychiatrist, delivering one of the best last lines in horror history. A must for any October 31st movie-watching party. Just be sure to get the smart babysitter . . .

Jaws (1975): Though at times more of an adventure/buddy movie than a horror film, Jaws abounds with scary moments. Though Roy Schneider aptly observes, “We’re gonna need a bigger boat”, this boat is big enough to contain spectacular performances by Schneider, Richard Dreyfuss and Robert Shaw. After seeing this film, a few things will be certain: you won’t want to swim at night or wear a lifejacket again, and if you ever work up the nerve to go on one, you will need a bigger boat.

The Night Stalker (1972): The first made-for-TV project on the list, The Night Stalker surprised everyone by becoming the highest rated TV movie ever at the time. The reasons why should surprise no one: produced by Dan Curtis, written by Richard Matheson from Jeff Rice’s book, and starring Darren McGavin in a tremendous performance. McGavin plays hard-bitten reporter Karl Kolchak who stumbles onto the trail of a vampire in Vegas. This is a great story that inspired its own spin-off series and helped spark the concept of The X-Files.

Nosferatu-The Vampire (1979): A remake of the original by Werner Herzog, starring Klaus Kinski in the title role. Beautiful Isabella Adjani plays the heroic woman at the center of the tale, and the vampire make-up and plague images are incredibly disturbing. This is a really well-made film that deserves much more recognition that it’s received over the years.

The Omen (1976): It’s all for you, Damien!! Often imitated but never duplicated, The Omen sparked several sequels, knock-offs and a trend of devil-child flicks. Boasting a strong cast in Gregory Peck, Lee Remick and David Warner, Richard Donner’s film contains several sensationalistic (for the time) set pieces, including decapitation, dog attacks, and the world-famous kid’s-bike-knocking-mom-over-the-railing.

Phantasm (1979): Angus Scrimm delivers an immortal horror performance as the Tall Man in Don Coscarelli’s graveyard bash. Second-billing goes to the flying steel ball with the drill. Phantasm gets bonus points for the Tall Man’s Jawa-like dwarven assistants. A really weird film overall, it also pumped out a couple of fun sequels. Not really for the squeamish, but the hardcore will love it.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975): Obviously, this isn’t here because it’s scary, but because it’s got such love for the horror classics of yesteryear. Skewering horror conventions with its rock-musical mileu, Rocky justifiably earned its cult status for insanely catchy and memorable tunes and the plethora of great characters. This one is just packed with fun moments, whether it’s Susan Sarandon busting out with Toucha Toucha Touch Me, Richard O’Brien screaming through Time Warp (”I rememmmmber . . . doin’ the Tiiiiime WARP!!) or Barry Bostwick’s remarkably uptight Brad. Tim Curry turns in the classic centerpiece though, as Dr. Frank N. Furter, Sweet Transvestite from Transsexual, Transylvania. I have to also note, Rocky contains one of my all-time favorite movie lines (Richard O’Brien’s “They didn’t like me! They never liked me!”). It’s all in the delivery, and this is all about delivery. (Editor’s Note: In college, I once won a Rocky Horror costume contest for dressing like Tim Curry. What’s better, my better half, Becky won as Janet. However, Comic Kingdom founder Nick Jankowski sort of outdid us both by winning for Magenta. College was great.)

‘Salem’s Lot (1979): Made for TV from Stephen King’s amazing book, Lot fails to live up to its source material in several ways. However, as a TV work, it’s pretty effective, and it has the distinction of one of the scariest scenes in any kind of film ever. When the little boy who has been turned into a vampire floats outside the window with his otherworldly grin, you’ll be leaping to close your blinds. I saw that as a kid, and I’ve never gotten over it.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974): Though its perceived reputation is that of a gorefest, Chainsaw really proves itself in the viewing as a well-constructed, albeit brutal, film. Tobe Hooper put this together based on the real-life case of Ed Gein, just as Psycho was, illustrating how the same source material can yield wildy different treatments. Certainly not for the weak of will.

Young Frankenstein (1974): Mel Brooks’s monument of hilarity, Young Frankenstein still holds up amazingly well. Parodying the Universal classics with razor-sharp wit, Brooks and co-writer (and star) Gene Wilder pile up more one-liners and sight gags in a second than some comedies do in an entire film. Wilder, Marty Feldman, Terri Garr, Peter Boyle, Gene Hackman, Cloris Leachman and Madeleine Khan are uniformly brilliant. Featuring an inspired duet of Puttin’ on the Ritz and some of the best dialogue ever (”Werewolf?” “Where wolf? There wolf! There castle!”), YF remains a truly great movie experience.

Zombie (1979): An exercise in brutality from Lucio Fulci, Zombie is notable for several reasons. One is a scene of a zombie versus a shark. Another is a really sick eyeball scene. And chief among the reasons, a lengthy, Wild Bunch-like last stand against the advancing undead. This should probably only be seen by hardcore zombie or gore buffs.

The 1980’s

An American Werewolf in London (1981): I see the Bad Moon Risin’ . . . John Landis’s horror flick doesn’t always take itself seriously, but in the moments that it does, credit Rick Baker’s genius effects work. The scene of David Naughton transforming took movie visuals to a completely different level. As a whole, this is an enjoyable film, though some of it might be hard to take for the weaker of stomach.

Angel Heart (1987): You almost can’t talk about this film without giving everything away. Steeped in noirish tradition and directed with dark atmosphere by Alan Parker, Angel Heart contains great performances by Mickey Rourke and Robert DeNiro. Though most of its press upon release hailed from former Cosby-kid Lisa Bonet’s revealing sex scene, it’s so much more, building to a startling finale.

The Company of Wolves (1985): This is one of my sentimental favorites. Directed with stunning visuals by Neil Jordan, Company finds its source material in the writing of Angela Carter. Carter had a gift for transforming fairy tales into gems of horror, as evinced in her collection The Bloody Chamber. Jordan works some of those tales into the tapestry of the film, notably an extended set piece built around the story of Little Red Riding Hood. Great transformation sequences abound and Anglea Landsbury is perfect as the Grandmother. Very artistic and moody, it’s a step above in terms of thought and meaning.

Demons (1985): If you aren’t familiar with the term splatterpunk, then this film will acquaint you. Set in that home of weirdness, Berlin, Demons is a full-on assault in terms of blood and gore. The action unfolds in a movie theater where the patrons begin falling prey an excruciating form of zombification. Man, it’s gross, but any movie where a guy rides a motorcycle through a movie theater while swinging a sword to take out zombies can’t be all bad.

Evil Dead 2: Dead By Dawn (1987): There are movies with sequels, there are movies with good sequels, and there are movies where the sequel rules with such a God-damn fist of steel that you could almost forget there was a part one. Guess what kind this is? The only zombie flick that you can really classify as a party movie, Evil Dead 2 showcases all-time horror hero Bruce “Groovy” Campbell again as Ash in the movie that makes the chainsaw the ultimate zombie-dispatching tool. Genius director Sam Raimi throws so much at you, it’s hard to assimilate. We’ve got severed hands, swallowed eyeballs and books bound in human flesh. It’s a full-scale siege on the senses and the sense of humor. An all-time classic, and the film that Spin magazine once named the number one movie of my generation. If you like horror, there is no excuse if you haven’t seen it. It’s only $8.99 to own on video, for God’s sake.

The Fly (1986): When is a remake better than the original? When David Cronenberg goes absolutely crazy with it. The movie won an Oscar for special effects as it follows Jeff Goldblum’s slow and sickening metamorphosis from doomed scientist into insectoid monstrosity. Geena Davis does a great job making her love for the increasingly foul Goldblum believable. New heights in gore are reached with acidic vomit and a birth sequence that will put you off Lamaze.

The Fog (1980): Another John Carpenter mind-blower. Starring scream-queens Jamie Lee Curtis and Adrienne Barbeau, The Fog has an unbelievable opening ghost story by John Houseman that will turn you white. I remember seeing this for the first time on ABC when I was a little kid and it completely scared the crap out of me. With sword-wielding corpses shambling from the mists, this one will also bother you for a long, long time. I live by a lake, and man, some days that steam out there just isn’t cool.

Fright Night (1986): A truly great and sorely underrated vampire film, Fright Night plays on the kid-knows-something-is-wrong-but-no-one-believes-him school. William Ragsdale is good as Charlie, and Chris Sarandon is great as vampire Jerry Dandridge, but its Stephen Geoffreys (as Charlie’s pal Evil Ed) and Roddy McDowell that steal the show. McDowell is utterly brilliant as Peter Vincent, Vampire Hunter!, a broken-down actor turned horror movie host that reluctantly becomes Charlie’s only ally. Loaded with cool sequences and building to an explosive finish, Fright Night positively rocks. If you like this one, you should also enjoy Fright Night 2, in which Charlie and Peter Vincent take on a whole group of vampires. Fine stuff.

Ghostbusters (1984): Not scary by any stretch, but it trades so heavily on horror elements as to demand inclusion. Hands-down, this has got to be one of the funniest movies ever made. The script by co-stars Dan Akroyd and Harold Ramis is loaded with hysterical one-liners while serving as a clever and knowing parody of the H.P. Lovecraft mythos (don’t believe me? Check out the running references to strange reference books, bizarre architecture, dimensional walls, ancient gods, etc.). At the center of the film is the immortal Bill Murray, defining that beautiful All-American Archetype: The Smartass. Murray plays Dr. Peter Venkman in a fairly understated style compared to other manic roles, but his lines sing and his put-downs drip with uncut acid. We can’t forget great supporting work by Ernie Hudson (who has seen shit that will turn you white), Rick Moranis (as both Lewis Tully and Vince Clortho, Keymaster of Gozar) and Sigourney Weaver (who must have a lovely singing voice). With dialogue that’s been quoted a million times and amazingly funny set pieces, Ghostbusters is a classic that simply doesn’t get old.

Gremlins (1984): Another movie that isn’t scary but involves enough horror elements to merit inclusion in my list, Gremlins stands out as a rocket-ride through the fun house. A collaboration between Stephen Spielberg, Joe Dante and Chris Columbus, Gremlins was one of two PG-films in ‘84 (the other being Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom) that contained so much violence they directly caused the creation of the PG-13 rating. All that aside, this one has the very cute Mogwai, the very cute Phoebe Cates, and the very entertaining creatures from the title. The kitchen battle scene is an all-time classic, and the scene where the Gremlins in the movie theater join in with the Seven Dwarves in singing “Heigh Ho” is one of the most ridiculously hilarious movie moments ever.

Hellraiser (1987): Clive Barker created, wrote and directed this downright frightening vision of worlds beyond our own with an eye toward “unexplored territory”. His Cenobites are monuments of horror, especially their leader, Pinhead. The metaphors of pleasure and pain, the skinless resurrection, and a hook-and-chain demise push your senses as you wonder if there really is good anywhere. Followed by Hellraiser II: Hellbound, a rare sequel that is on a par with the original. Strong, grotesque images and deep allegory make Hellraiser a solid inclusion.

The Hitcher (1986): One of the greatest second-life-on-video-and-cable films ever. The Hitcher distinguishes itself for a twisted Eric Red script, taught Robert Harmon direction, and tight performances by C. Thomas Howell and Jennifer Jason Leigh. However, the absolute star of the show is Rutger Hauer as a psychopath that is easily in the league with the pinnacle of thriller characters. This film exemplifies the idea of “Oh-my-God-now-I-know-it-can’t-get-worse-oh-hell-it-just-got-worse” as Hauer relentlessly torments Howell across endless miles of desert. You must see it; just don’t choose french fries as your snack.

The Howling (1981): Take Joe Dante’s slick direction, a cool script by John Sayles, and Rob Bottin’s mind-blowing transformation sequences and you’ve got yourselves one awesome werewolf flick. Dee Wallace screams her lungs out as protagonist, a reporter checking out a strange retreat. She gets more than she expected. Some great old-school performers fill out cameos and small roles, including Forest J. Ackerman, Roger Corman, Slim Pickens, Patrick Macnee and John Carradine.

The Lost Boys (1987): Before wiping his backside with the Batman franchise, Joel Schumacher directed some cool movies; this is by far the coolest. The cast is impeccable, with such actors as Corey Haim, Corey Feldman, Jason Patric, Jami Gertz and Dianne Wiest filling out their roles perfectly. Kiefer Sutherland stands out as the main “lost boy”, vampires who prey on the residents of carnival-beach community Santa Carla. The Lost Boys is one of those fanboy touchstones; the main teens learn how to take out bloodsuckers from comic books and movies, then kick ass in inventive ways, employing squirt guns filled with holy water and a really, really great dog. Bernard Hughes is hysterical as the grandpa, delivering one of the best final lines in any movie genre.

The Monster Squad (1987): Another fanboy classic that deals with teens versus monsters, The Monster Squad is all about laughs and fun. Using the Universal Monsters (Dracula, Frankenstein’s monster, the Wolf Man, the Mummy and The Creature from the Black Lagoon), director/co-writer Fred Dekker and co-writer Shane Black tell a fast-paced story about Dracula’s efforts to take over the world and the kids that stand in his way. Duncan Regehr’s Dracula is particularly ruthless, and the whole thing is really enjoyable.

Near Dark (1987): Director Kathryn Bigelow (Strange Days) and writer Eric Red fashioned this dark and violent tale of dirty Texas vampires. The monsters kill because they like it, especially leader Lance Henriksen and maniacal Bill Paxton. There are lots of great twists on the vampire clichés to be found, such as the black-windowed van and the concept of how to cure the infection. Harrowing in places, Near Dark deserves much more attention than it gets.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984): Don’t groan. Before he became an overplayed joke, Wes Craven’s dream-killing slasher Freddy Krueger was genuinely frightening. Never was Robert Englund’s portrayal of the razor-handed one more chilling than in the first installment of the franchise. Heather Langenkamp and John Saxon turn in good performances, and Johnny Depp dies in spectacularly bloody fashion. Truly scary.

Poltergeist (1982): I think by now everyone’s seen this Spielberg-produced, Tobe Hooper directed cable mainstay. Everyone knows about “They’re here” and the corpses in the swimming pool. You should know then, what is truly the most frightening part of the entire movie: that God damn clown. You know what I’m talking about, and the clown alone lands Poltergeist right here.

Prince of Darkness (1987): This John Carpenter film is scary as hell. One of my favorite horror flicks, it has roach-reanimated corpses, demonically possessed homeless people, Donald Pleasance as a priest, an abandoned church as the setting and tons of style. It’s thought-provoking and unsettling. The “broadcasts” will give you nightmares. A creepiness factor of ten, and overwhelming evidence that Evil Incarnate is real.

Re-Animator (1985): Based on the writings of H.P. Lovecraft and featuring a genuine horror hero in mad doctor Herbert West, Re-Animator is actually a fun zombie flick. Great disgusting special effects abound, the most special of which is Barbara Crampton’s (of CBS soap fame) natural charms. It really has to be seen to be believed.

The Shining (1980): Though Stanley Kubrick dropped the ball at adapting what Stephen King actually wrote, he made a spectacular movie when viewed on its own terms. Jack Nicholson rips through an amazing performance as he spirals into axe-swinging madness. I have a number of problems with the adaptation (not the least of which is the fate of Scatman Crothers, an ugly departure from the book), but I will admit to the film’s power.

Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat (1989): This movie, so obscure that I’m not sure it’s even a cult classic, pulls off the best vampire-western gestalt I can think of. It features the great Bruce Campbell alongside the immortal David Carradine in a truly bizarre movie that juggles conventions like ping pong balls. A definite curiousity, worthy of a look. How many other vampire films can resolve themselves in an O.K. Corral-style shoot-out?

The Thing (1982): A special effects blowout from director John Carpenter that hews closer to the John W. Campbell source material than the 1951 film version. Carpenter’s main man Kurt Russell leads a great cast as the alien monster of the title does horrible things to the crew of an Antarctic research station. Truly an amazing exercise in gore. That poor dog.

Tremors (1989): Tremors simply rocks. First of all, it’s got everyman Fred Ward. It racks up points in Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. And it’s got Reba McEntire and Michael Gross shooting giant monsters with elephant guns. It’s just an all-around fun movie. (Editor’s Note: Becky and I saw Reba McEntire live once. As part of her effects-laden show, there was a segment where she did Ringo Starr’s Act Naturally as she changed in and out of costumes from all of her movies. During the Tremors part, one of the monsters came up through the floor and ate one her dancers. I’m serious. It was brilliant).

Vampire Hunter D (1985): Anime that RULES for fans and non-fans alike. Set in 12,000 A.D., the film follows “D”, a supernatural monster killer that protects a peasant family against a blood-drinking feudal lord. It plays like a combination of Shane and Blade with fast moving action scenes, spooky style and an ambiguous ending. Good stuff.

Waxwork (1988): A rollicking monster mash directed by Anthony Hickox, Waxwork follows young people trapped in a musuem where the exhibits come to life as classic worlds of horror. Packed with great cameos and a self-referential over-the-top attitude, the film moves quickly and wraps with a great battle between old guys wielding pitchforks and torches against a legion of familiar creatures. Righteous party flick.

The 1990’s

Blade (1998): Marvel Comics, the House that Stan and Jack built, finally launched one of their characters into theaters in a movie that vibrates with life, over-the-top action, a pulsing soundtrack and miles of cool. The flick gets right down to business, opening with an amazing montage that plunges the viewers into the vampire world. Immediately afterward, we are treated to one of the coolest action sequences ever, as Blade shows up and opens a can of vampire-slaying whoop-ass that rivals the operatic shoot-outs of John Woo. Wesley Snipes, looking every bit the part, hits like the Tazmanian Devil on acid, taking out bloodsuckers with every conceivable weapon at his disposal. Blade uses innovative camera work, a cool-as-anything techno-driven soundtrack and wicked pacing to keep things going. Every action scene is beautifully done, evoking everything from (again) Woo to the Shaw Brothers, from Tsui Hark to John Carpenter. It’s a roller-coster ride through a dark funhouse. Blade kills.

The Blair Witch Project (1999): Maybe it’s a bit early to include this, but what the hell? If you can get past the shaky-cam and the middle-section meandering, this film works. It requires suspension of disbelief, but I don’t find that hard because it’s a movie. If you just let yourself be taken by the flow, it’s gripping, creepy and has a knock-out ending. It’s my wish that other young filmmakers learn two things from Blair: how to use real darkness, and atmosphere.

Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992): Francis Ford Coppola made the most faithful adaptation of the Gothic classic, then bungles the ending. I never got that Mina was in love with the Count from the novel. At any rate, the direction and on-camera effects are superb. Gary Oldman is truly great as the Count. There are lots of great scenes and some good casting. An imperfect, almost-masterpiece.

Cemetary Man (1993): This is a fine, mystifying movie. CM traces the story Victor Dellamorte (Rupert Everett), a cemetery caretaker who patiently and methodically slaughters the undead that rise from his graveyard seven days after they’re buried. Why? Who knows? The first half of the film rejoices in Everett’s Bruce Campbell-esque crusade. Then suddenly, almost as if Sam Raimi tags in David Lynch to direct the flick, everything takes that sharp left turn as Victor’s mind begins to fragment and we aren’t sure if he’s going mad or actually making sense. I still don’t understand the ending, but the ride there is a breathtaker.

Dead Alive (1992): Zombie sex. A zombie infant. A zombie-dispatching lawnmower. A zombie-making Sumatran rat monkey. A zombie-bashing kung-fu fighting clergyman who kicks ass for the Lord. A zombie movie from New Zealand. I’m not kidding. Dead Alive treads the line between screamingly scary and screamingly funny. Peter Jackson crosses the line from horror to humor so many times he does everything but rope cattle with it. A total triumph.

Dream Lover (1993): Nicholas Kazan wrote and directed this sorely overlooked psychological head-game. James Spader falls in love with the devastatingly hot Madchen Amick, marries her, then begins to realize that things aren’t what they seem. Twist and turns collapse upon reversals in the story and much of it remains unclear until the just-deserts ending. What a truly great, artful working of suspense.

Ed Wood (1994): Based on the true and hilarious life of one of the worst directors ever, Tim Burton’s Ed Wood shows a genuine love for the horror genre that Wood worked in. Johnny Depp is great as Wood, and Martin Landau is uncanny as Bela Lugosi (his “Pull the string!” and “Come on, Eddie! Let’s shoot this fucker!” have been officially inducted in the movie-quoting hall of fame). The rest of the cast is rounded out by consistently good work from Sarah Jessica Parker, Patricia Arquette, George “The Animal” Steele (as Tor Johnson), Lisa Marie (Burton’s girlfriend as Vampira) and Bill Murray. Burton should keep making movies that deal with the underside and the disenfranchised like this, instead of screwing Kevin Smith out of writing Superman. Anyway, good flick.

From Dusk Till Dawn (1995): Very few movies actually generated as much discussion as this one. The vast majority of the audience who saw it in the theaters left saying, “It was like two movies!” Exactly. The you-got-your-chocolate-in-my-peanut-butter maniacism of the whole thing is what makes it so enjoyable. A lot of movies employ what I call the “sharp left turn” strategy (Malice, Lost Highway, even Love Story) where the plot appears to be building in one direction and then completely reinvents itself at the midpoint. Maybe what was so jarring to people was that Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez give no sign at all that the Aztec vampires are going to appear. And when they do, that first surprise fight scene is still spectacular to watch. Another great thing is that George Clooney is so good as the unrepentedly bad Seth Gecko who becomes the focal point that the viewer cheers for. It just makes me want to watch it again.

In the Mouth of Madness (1994): Directed by that John Carpenter fellow I mentioned earlier, ITMOM owes more than a little to Lovecraft. The movie follows an insurance investigator (Sam Neill) as he searches for missing horror writer Sutter Kane (Jurgen Prochnow). Many critics wrongly tied Kane directly to Stephen King because of the initials, but Kane is H.P. all the way. The rural New England setting was Lovecraft’s before King was even born, and the unnamable horrors lurking in the darkness are right out of the Cthulu mythos. Although it easy to consider this straight horror, the flick is awesome satire as well, poking fun at our consumer and entertainment cultures. Many people who saw this missed the point, but if you found your way here, I’m sure you won’t.

Jacob’s Ladder (1990): An Adrian Lyne film that demands strict attention from the viewer, Jacob’s Ladder is steeped in allegory and driven by a wonderful Tim Robbins performance. Amidst flashbacks and conflicting views of reality, we watch a mystery unravel either around Jacob, or within Jacob. Are you sure? Am I? Alternately chilling and touching, this film from a Bruce Joel Rubin script is one of the best films of any kind from the 1990s.

Lost Highway (1996): No one typifies baffling the viewer like David Lynch, and no one does it in so beautiful and haunting a manner. I don’t know that I can even render a plot synopsis that makes sense, so I won’t try. Every part of the film oozes menace, from Robert Blake to the creepy as Hell score (Lou Reed’s version of This Magic Moment and Marilyn Manson’s cover of I Put A Spell On You both bother me). Ultimately both scary and sad, it’s only for people who want to think about what they’re watching.

The Reflecting Skin (1991): The Reflecting Skin is a gripping story that I first saw in a film class taught by Dr. Sharon Russell. Some people find it impenetrable; I find it deeply moving and terribly sad. Definitely a movie about loss of innocence, it follows a little boy who thinks that his next door neighbor is a vampire. Unfortunately, he soon grows to discover that the regular, everyday world can be much worse than anything you’ve seen in a book. Disturbing, depressing, but ultimately rewarding.

Scream (1996): I really debated about this one, because I’m angry with it. You see, Scream damaged the horror genre in my opinion, because it a) made people think that it’s okay to laugh at any horror film and b) spawned a legion of imitators who didn’t get that it was a satire. Sure, the Wes Craven film is fun, but when I think about the 12-year-old customers at the video store where I once worked begging their moms to let them see it, it irks me a little. My wish is that Craven would do a full-bore horror movie again, and NOT just another Freddy flick. However, recent films (Sixth Sense, Blair Witch, etc.) have proven that serious horror can come back. So, I guess this is how I feel: watch Scream because it’s fun, but remember that your new boyfriend or girlfriend could still turn out to be a maniac and knife you when you least expect it. There. I feel better.

Seven (1995): Spacey. Freeman. Pitt. Andrew Kevin Walker script. David Fincher directing. What’s that equal? One of the most ferocious thrillers of all-time with a one-hundred percent iron hammer to the gut of an ending. Wickedly inventive, Seven was one of those films that just left me gaping as I watched it. Pitt and Freeman are terrific as the young-and-old cops trailing one of the most vile killers in movie history: a man basing his sick, twisted crimes on the Seven Deadly Sins. I still can’t believe that an actual Hollywood studio let a film this unrelentingly dark get made. But I’m glad they did; it really is a fine piece of work.

The Silence of the Lambs (1991): If you listen to a lot of media-watchers now, they’ll tell you that this film is about sexual harassment. Well, maybe. But I happen to know that it’s about Anthony Hopkins as one of the craziest, scariest characters of all time: Hannibal Lecter. A heavily-awarded film (Best Picture, Best Adapted Screenplay, Hopkins got Best Actor, Jodie Foster got Best Actress, Jonathan Demme was Best Director) based on Thomas Harris’s novel, Lambs still has a resonant power, despite the fact that even people like Rosie O’Donnell quote Lecter now. My advice: watch this alone in a dark house. I’m sure you really like the last ten minutes that way.

The Sixth Sense (1999): I only saw The Sixth Sense recently, and my God was it good. Haley Joel Osment certainly deserves an Oscar. Bruce Willis is understated and extremely good in his uniquely demanding role. M. Night Shyamalan wrote and directed himself one heck of a picture. There are very few movies that are solid in every single category, from effective music and lighting to appropriate colors in the set design, but this is one of them. While I won’t cover the plot, it is worthy to note that this incredible supernatural picture was accomplished with very little language or violence and a heavy accent on thinking. This classic approach favors the mysterious appeal of the story and involves viewers rather than repelling them. I am confident that as years go by, it will be noted as a great film and a highlight of Willis’s career.

And there you have it. In my estimation, the best of the best. That’s not to say that there aren’t a landslide of other good horror films out there. Some are creepy. Some are funny. Some are so bad they’re hilarious. Consider this a guidepost. Hopefully you’ve seen something you’d like to try, or you’ve learned something new. At any rate, enjoy yourself. And remember: if you pull the blankets over your head, the monsters can’t get you.

Troy Brownfield is Editor-In-Chief of Shotgun Reviews. Remind him that the next time he wants to cover 80 years of a whole genre, he should start six months before he wants to actually post it.

Email him at psikotyk@aol.com.