Editor’s Note: This was originally published for FANGORIA on July 16, 2007, and we’re proud to share it as part of The Gingold Files.
When they came up with the phrase “embarrassment of riches,” they probably had no idea they’d one day be describing Montreal’s Fantasia festival, which has become an annual ritual for myself and many other Canadian and U.S. genre fans. This year’s event, running through Monday, July 23, packs in so many movies that the organizers have spread it out the three auditoriums—the Concordia Hall, the J.A. De Seve and new venue the D.B. Clarke—to fit ’em all. This makes it all the more difficult to pick and choose and sort out my viewing schedule during the week and change I’m spending here; it helps that I’ve seen a few of the features previously (like Shusuke Kaneko’s Death Note duo and The Signal, all highly recommended). Sadly, my traveling companion Paige Kay Davis (of POPcinema) and I run into a bit of Friday the 13th bad luck, in the form of bad traffic, on the way to Canada and can’t make it to the Hall in time to catch longtime friend Maurice Devereaux’s End of the Line. Fortunately, we learn, the show sold out and the crowd warmly received Maurice’s saga of subway travelers terrorized by cult fanatics.
After some quick hellos with Fantasia programmer Mitch Davis, Fango scribes Norman England (accompanying Kaneko for the weekend’s Death Note screenings), Marc Walkow and Kier-la Janisse, Synapse Films’ Don May Jr. (here to present the company’s future release Home Sick) and too many other friends and fellow fans to mention, I head downstairs to the D.B. Clarke to catch part of the Troma Show organized by another pal, local actress Isabelle Stephen. Despite its moniker and the introductory presence of Lloyd Kaufman, this is a showcase not for the maverick New York ministudio’s product but a grab bag of short films, live sketches and Indian-cinema-style dance performances by Isabelle, whose years of training in the Bollywood technique have really paid off. Sadly, I can’t stay for the entire show (which I’m later told runs for four hours!), ’cause I have to run back upstairs to the Hall for my first and only feature of the night…
Robert Kurtzman’s The Rage has been given a midnight slot, and the movie and time couldn’t be better suited for one another. A nonstop showcase for the physical and digital FX work of Kurtzman’s Precinct 13 outfit, The Rage (scripted by John Bisson, who attends the screening with Bob and lead actress Erin Brown) throws the mad-doctor, teens-in-peril-in-the-woods and nature-amok subgenres in a blender and sets it on High for 86 minutes. Andrew Divoff, reuniting with Kurtzman from Wishmaster, gets to rant and rave in Russian as a deranged scientist holed up in a ramshackle lab in the middle of a forest, where he conducts rage-virus experiments on helpless human captives. One of his deformed subjects gets loose, only to die and serve as food for the local vulture population. The big birds quickly mutate and make a diet change from carrion to live humans, specifically an RV containing Brown and her friends.
The result is an orgy of splatter and screaming; this may be one of the loudest horror films I’ve seen recently, and the crowd responds in kind with cheers and applause for many of the grisly highlights. With the exception of an overlong flashback explaining the evil medico’s beef with the human race, Kurtzman keeps the film hurtling along at a fast clip, letting all his love for over-the-top ’80s gore fare hang out. Introducing the film, he cites The Evil Dead as a prime inspiration, but the tone and subject matter seem more influenced by Re-Animator; there’s even a cameo by Reggie Bannister, occasioning a gratuitous Phantasm reference as well.
From there, our gang retires to a nearby bar for a late night of carousing that has me returning to the hotel at 4 a.m. I could easily sleep in till noon the next day, but instead I drag myself out of bed to head for a nearby theater’s first show of Captivity. With no critics’ screenings held in New York, and no one else willing to take on the task of reviewing it for this site, I watch the flick, run back to the hotel to post my reaction (see it here, if you’re curious) and grab some lunch before hitting the D.B. Clarke to see Don introduce Home Sick.
It’s a bit of a full-circle experience seeing the film here, having been at Fantasia two years ago with Don and writer/producer Evan Katz when they first forged the deal for Synapse to distribute Home Sick. It has undergone significant re-editing since then, and the result is a gorefest that does what so many recent low-budget shockers claim to do: It recaptures the off-kilter vibe of ’70s horror fare, but in an unforced manner that doesn’t feel self-conscious. The story is bookended by vivid acting turns from a pair of veterans: Bill Moseley appears early on as “Mr. Suitcase,” a weird faith-healer type who barges into a youthful party with a suitcase full of razor blades and insists everyone tell him who they hate the most; and Tom Towles turns up in the final reels as one of the kids’ uncle, to whom the group turns for help when the stated objects of their hatred start getting gorily bumped off. Too bad one of them recklessly cited everyone else in the room as the objects of his ire…
Though the pace slackens a bit in the midsection, Katz has thought up and director Adam Wingard has executed some pretty painful bloodletting setpieces, which have even a few of the diehard fright fans in the audience hiding their eyes. Jonathan Thornton’s extremely convincing makeup FX belie the movie’s low budget, which Wingard has marshalled to give Home Sick a veneer that’s gritty, down and dirty but doesn’t feel cheap. Exact release plans haven’t been determined yet, but keep your eyes here for an announcement; when Synapse’s disc comes out, it’s worth welcoming into your home.
Another blood-drenched indie follows at the D.B. Clarke: Deaden, a locally lensed revenge flick directed by Christian Viel (Evil Breed: The Legend of Samhain) and written/co-produced by and starring John Fallon of the Arrow in the Head website. Fittingly enough, his character, undercover cop Rane, also winds up with an arrow in the head courtesy of one of a criminal gang he’s infiltrated—but only after he’s forced to witness the thugs rape and murder his pregnant wife. Introducing Deaden, Viel and Fallon warn that this sequence inspired walkouts at previous screenings, and it’s not hard to see why, as it goes above and beyond even what’s required to motivate a cinematic hero to vengeful carnage.
Somehow, Rane survives his severe cranial damage and teams up with a gun-dealing pal to deliver graphic payback to the creeps. Plenty of assorted blastings and hackings ensue, but no doubt the most memorable scene for many viewers will be Rane’s extremely inappropriate and painful application of a pool cue. Beyond the extreme nature of its violence, there isn’t much to distinguish Deaden from countless other films of its ilk, but Viel and Fallon have accomplished a lot on its tiny budget, and hardcore gorehounds will appreciate the opportunity to guiltlessly cheer on the carnage enacted upon slimeballs who definitely deserve it.
Having previously seen Jim Mickle’s Mulberry Street (pictured above), which plays next at the Hall, at the Tribeca Film Festival, I head out for dinner—but I’m gonna take the opportunity anyway to give props to one of the best independent horror features in recent years. Suggesting what 28 Days Later would look like if directed by Frank Henenlotter, it answers the question: How do you give the zombie/infected-amok genre a fresh and distinctive New York vibe? Answer: Just add rats, as a rodent-borne plague turns bitten victims into slavering flesheaters that spread terror through Manhattan in general, and among the denizens of a rundown tenement building in particular.
These residents, led by ex-boxer Clutch (played by Mulberry co-scripter Nick Damici), are an extremely likable and colorful bunch who engender plenty of sympathy as they deal with the nightmare they’ve been plunged into. Mickle’s direction combines a palpable lived-in vibe through the use of genuine NYC locations (including Damici’s own apartment, which was redressed multiple times to represent all the characters’ dwellings!) with savage and energetic attacks by the “rat people,” who are a lot scarier than that description might suggest. There are jumps and jolts throughout, but what really puts Mulberry Street at the top of the heap is how real its characters and their lives feel before the critters attack. Sign Mickle is thinking: a cut between almost identical snapshot photos for a scene transition. Sign he’s really thinking: they’re almost, but not quite, identical; these aren’t the kind of people who can afford double prints. The movie was recently picked up for North American distribution, and while Mickle doesn’t want to name the company, Fantasia’s program guide reveals that it’s Lionsgate, which should be encouraged as strongly as possible to give this winner a theatrical release.
From rats to chickens, I return to the Hall to catch another midnight screening: Troma’s latest epic, Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead. Full disclosure: The lateness of the hour (the movie unspools after a long and typically raucous Kaufman introduction) and the long, long day I’ve had lead me to vacate the premises about halfway through, for reasons that have nothing to do with the film itself. Poultrygeist, in which a fast-food chicken joint built on ancient Native American burial grounds is beset by both fowl zombies and lesbian protestors, is the usual Troma combination of sporadically clever satire and unabashed tastelessness; the, er, highlight of the part I saw is the explosive fate of the company’s perennial big guy Joe Fleishaker after consuming a very bad egg. The fact that he’s first introduced as “Jared,” who has supposedly lost weight after eating a competing restaurant’s sandwiches, signals that Kaufman and co. are going for humor based on more than just the gross-outs, and I get a few big laughs out of the first half. I’m looking forward to finishing the meal at a future screening.
TO BE CONTINUED
