1974's GHOST GALLEON, perhaps better known as HORROR OF THE ZOMBIES, is Amando de Ossorio's third installment of his classic BLIND DEAD series (I'd considered reviewing them in order, but what the hell, it's my blog--and besides, I get the feeling there was never any sense of continuity intended beyond the first two films, as though de Ossorio made them because he knew they'd sell). While not as successful as the original TOMBS OF THE BLIND DEAD, GALLEON still has plenty of charms, even if they're not readily apparent.
A small group of fashionistas (including genre faves Maria Perschy and Jack Taylor) set sail on the Atlantic in search of a pair of models who were lost at sea as part of some publicity stunt. We the audience already know what happened to them, since we got to see a decrepit ghost ship emerging from the fog (a great image, even if it is a tank-bound miniature), loaded with the coffins of the Knights Templar below deck. It isn't long before Perschy and co. find themselves fending off these skeletal members of the undead.
That pretty much sums up the film's events. De Ossorio seems more concerned with atmosphere and mood than action, judging by the almost complete lack of the latter. Those that can appreciate the deliberate pacing will no doubt enjoy the scenes of the Knights creeping ever so slowly among the ship, stalking their prey to the aural accompaniment of spookhouse-worthy groans and clanging chains. The initial appearance of the Knights is always the highlight of the BLIND DEAD films, and this one is no exception, a wonderfully drawn-out sequence as the zombies pull themselves from their caskets to shamble into the camera. (My only beef is that the script--probably bashed out in a single sitting once funding was secured--never explores the sightless Knights' motif of hunting their victims by sound. With all the creaking and moaning on board the ship, you'd think there'd be a lot to work with.)
I will warn you, though, if you're sitting patiently for the blood to flow, you'll be disappointed with this one. While previous installments of the series worked in a few gory bits, GALLEON is relatively grueless, save for a messy decapitation towards the end.
I can easily picture many of you fast-forwarding through most of this picture, if not ejecting it outright, and I'd totally understand. No, not much happens here, but it's the almost dream-like way that little bit happens is what makes it such a re-watchable film for me.
(There's quite a few public domain copies of HORROR OF THE ZOMBIES out there that are easily to track down, but special thanks are due to Donna Williams for hooking me up with Blue Underground's superior widescreen print.)
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
DAY 156--I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE
Arguably the best pre-Romero film involving the living dead, 1943's I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE will no doubt surprise (and possibly disappoint) viewers more acquainted with the visceral approach of flesh-eating ghouls. Based on a reportedly true article with Inez Wallace, producer Val Lewton shifted its focus to a JANE EYRE-styled drama (with notable influence by both Henry James's TURN OF THE SCREW and Daphne du Maurier's REBECCA). And while it might not please those looking for a gut-munching good time, director Jacques Tourneur crafted a film with beautifully Gothic atmosphere that still holds up today.
The premise, about a nurse (Frances Dee) who travels to a sugar plantation in the West Indies to care for the owner's fever-stricken wife, doesn't sound promising for a horror film; in fact, the overt supernatural elements, or even the mention of zombies themselves, don't show up until the mid-point. Yet you can feel them in the very fabric of the film right from the deceptively-tranquil opening, thanks to Curt Siodmak and Ardel Wray's tightly-wound screenplay. Also setting WALKED apart from other horror movies is the altruism that fuels the story; as Dee falls in love with Conway, she resorts to voodoo to find a cure for his wife (which, unbeknownst to her, is the cause of the condition in the first place), a fascinating mirror of the jealousy motivating such films as WHITE ZOMBIE.
Perhaps most surprising is WALKED's treatment of the minorities in its cast, eschewing the racist undertones or insensitive humor found in movies like KING OF THE ZOMBIES, etc. Here, whites and blacks speak to each other as equals, despite the latter's subservient position; Tourneur never overemphasizes it, but it's a refreshing change nonetheless.
But the film's greatest strength is easily its luminous black-and-white photography, which makes even the most mundane scenes wrought with tension (no surprise that Tourneur would go on to direct some of the most accomplished film noirs, such as OUT OF THE PAST). The climax, as Dee infiltrates the voodoo rituals of the locals, is the culmination of the movie's sustained anticipation, a sequence of subtle yet powerful imagery. Who could forget the haunting visuals of the dead goat hanging from a tree, or the zombified Darby Jones standing vigil in the sugar cane?
A classic, not to be missed.
The premise, about a nurse (Frances Dee) who travels to a sugar plantation in the West Indies to care for the owner's fever-stricken wife, doesn't sound promising for a horror film; in fact, the overt supernatural elements, or even the mention of zombies themselves, don't show up until the mid-point. Yet you can feel them in the very fabric of the film right from the deceptively-tranquil opening, thanks to Curt Siodmak and Ardel Wray's tightly-wound screenplay. Also setting WALKED apart from other horror movies is the altruism that fuels the story; as Dee falls in love with Conway, she resorts to voodoo to find a cure for his wife (which, unbeknownst to her, is the cause of the condition in the first place), a fascinating mirror of the jealousy motivating such films as WHITE ZOMBIE.
Perhaps most surprising is WALKED's treatment of the minorities in its cast, eschewing the racist undertones or insensitive humor found in movies like KING OF THE ZOMBIES, etc. Here, whites and blacks speak to each other as equals, despite the latter's subservient position; Tourneur never overemphasizes it, but it's a refreshing change nonetheless.
But the film's greatest strength is easily its luminous black-and-white photography, which makes even the most mundane scenes wrought with tension (no surprise that Tourneur would go on to direct some of the most accomplished film noirs, such as OUT OF THE PAST). The climax, as Dee infiltrates the voodoo rituals of the locals, is the culmination of the movie's sustained anticipation, a sequence of subtle yet powerful imagery. Who could forget the haunting visuals of the dead goat hanging from a tree, or the zombified Darby Jones standing vigil in the sugar cane?
A classic, not to be missed.
Monday, April 7, 2008
DAY 155--THE ROOST
To paraphrase Kevin Smith's CLERKS, this movie'd be great if it weren't for the fuckin' people.
A 2005 film by writer/director Ti West, produced under the auspices of Larry Fessenden's Glass Eye Pix, THE ROOST begins with an intriguing conceit: that the film is the presentation of a late-night horror show a la Chilly Billy Cardille or Ghoulardi. Bookending the film in grainy black-and-white and featuring MANHUNTER's Tom Noonan as the sinister emcee, this nostalgic touch quickly wears thin by running way too long. Noonan's also much too sedate to be an adequate host, talking in a soft monotone that made me more drowsy than frightened and lacking the cornball gallows humor that made those old shows so endearing.
When the film proper finally gets underway, I was immediately struck by West's stylistic prowess. His color scheme suggests many viewings of SUSPIRIA at an impressionable age, and his use of shadow and natural light during his nighttime exteriors are impressive for a young director. I especially liked how West employed ambient sound and background noise (particularly an ongoing radio show that's never directly acknowledged) to create a plausibly chilling atmosphere. Unfortunately, this technical skill is wasted on the blandest, most personality-barren cast this side of the CW and a story that never gathers quite enough steam.
The set-up--a group of Gen-Y'ers en route to a wedding get waylaid in a car accident and seek refuge at a secluded farmhouse, only to find a horde of bloodthirsty bats roosting in the barn--sounds like fast-paced, pulpy fun. Well, it's certainly not fast-paced (West keeps the pace deliberate, a forgivable offense when generating suspense, but too often it borders on tedium) and his characters take their trite, heard-it-a-million times dialogue much too seriously (most of the conversations sound like acting-class exercises recorded for posterity), taking the lowbrow fun out of its meager CGI effects. Actually, these people take the fun out of the entire film, with their petty backstories and barely-audible confrontations, a group of cyphers so semi-dimensional they're immediately forgotten after the shitty ending.
That's all well and good, you may be thinking, but what about the zombies? Well, the DVD sleeve mentioned them, and I think there are a few, as the bats' victims rise and briefly terrify the remaining survivors. For a second I thought they may have been infected with rabies and transformed into drooling maniacs, though the change is so sudden that it makes about as much sense as bat-bites making people zombies. And if they are in fact zombies, why would you make them such an insignificant part of the story? Why make them a part at all, since there really isn't room for them in a people vs. bats movie.
I'm sure there are answers, but given the film's hip independent pedigree, they're no doubt mired in the same navel-gazing self-absorption that bogged the movie down in the first place. I'm all for welcoming fresh talent into the genre fold, but at least bring something more to the table than a sharp DP.
A 2005 film by writer/director Ti West, produced under the auspices of Larry Fessenden's Glass Eye Pix, THE ROOST begins with an intriguing conceit: that the film is the presentation of a late-night horror show a la Chilly Billy Cardille or Ghoulardi. Bookending the film in grainy black-and-white and featuring MANHUNTER's Tom Noonan as the sinister emcee, this nostalgic touch quickly wears thin by running way too long. Noonan's also much too sedate to be an adequate host, talking in a soft monotone that made me more drowsy than frightened and lacking the cornball gallows humor that made those old shows so endearing.
When the film proper finally gets underway, I was immediately struck by West's stylistic prowess. His color scheme suggests many viewings of SUSPIRIA at an impressionable age, and his use of shadow and natural light during his nighttime exteriors are impressive for a young director. I especially liked how West employed ambient sound and background noise (particularly an ongoing radio show that's never directly acknowledged) to create a plausibly chilling atmosphere. Unfortunately, this technical skill is wasted on the blandest, most personality-barren cast this side of the CW and a story that never gathers quite enough steam.
The set-up--a group of Gen-Y'ers en route to a wedding get waylaid in a car accident and seek refuge at a secluded farmhouse, only to find a horde of bloodthirsty bats roosting in the barn--sounds like fast-paced, pulpy fun. Well, it's certainly not fast-paced (West keeps the pace deliberate, a forgivable offense when generating suspense, but too often it borders on tedium) and his characters take their trite, heard-it-a-million times dialogue much too seriously (most of the conversations sound like acting-class exercises recorded for posterity), taking the lowbrow fun out of its meager CGI effects. Actually, these people take the fun out of the entire film, with their petty backstories and barely-audible confrontations, a group of cyphers so semi-dimensional they're immediately forgotten after the shitty ending.
That's all well and good, you may be thinking, but what about the zombies? Well, the DVD sleeve mentioned them, and I think there are a few, as the bats' victims rise and briefly terrify the remaining survivors. For a second I thought they may have been infected with rabies and transformed into drooling maniacs, though the change is so sudden that it makes about as much sense as bat-bites making people zombies. And if they are in fact zombies, why would you make them such an insignificant part of the story? Why make them a part at all, since there really isn't room for them in a people vs. bats movie.
I'm sure there are answers, but given the film's hip independent pedigree, they're no doubt mired in the same navel-gazing self-absorption that bogged the movie down in the first place. I'm all for welcoming fresh talent into the genre fold, but at least bring something more to the table than a sharp DP.
DAY 154--PSYCHOMANIA
We've all been snookered by video box art or movie posters that delivered far less than they promised, especially when we were kids. I can remember being intrigued by the VHS sleeve for Don Sharp's 1973 film PSYCHOMANIA with its skull-faced biker gang and just knowing it would be awesome-scary, if I could just convince my dad to let me rent it. I couldn't (this being the time my "obsession" with horror films was considered unhealthy), thus I had to wait well over 20 years before I discovered that no, PSYCHOMANIA isn't awesome or scary at all. Thanks, Dad.
The film's about the Living Dead motorcycle gang (whose members sport menacing names like Hatchet, Chopped Meat, and Bertram), tooling around the British countryside in search of kicks--which usually involves causing bodily harm to innocent motorists. Their leader Tom (Nicky Henson, looking more like Mick Jagger's love child than a badass biker dude) discovers his father's secret of defeating death in a locked room--a sequence that falls rather short of its intended nightmarishness--which just so happens to be unhesitant suicide. After a police chase featuring some daring motorcycle stunt work, Tom bites it by sailing off a bridge; the remaining gang members bury him astride his bike, in a grave that's not even deep enough to cover him (just what kind of funeral home provides such a service? And do you have to pay extra for it?), but it makes for a cool resurrection scene so it's okay. Of course, there's absolutely no consequences for returning from the dead, thus it takes little persuasion for the Living Dead to become just that, enabling them to be the exact same hooligans before their deaths.
Although it's got an interesting germ of an idea, PSYCHOMANIA fails to do little with it, devoting most of its scenes to the stilted melodrama of Tom's mother (Beryl Reid) and the butler-with-a-secret (George Saunders). Director Sharp sets a eerie, dream-like tone with a slo-mo credit sequence as the bikers encircle a Stonehenge-like structure, but otherwise his style is flat and uninspired, preferring to depict the majority of the film's violence offscreen. The worst offender is Tom himself; though competently played by Henson, the fact that he's a rich mama's boy blunts any edge his character may have.
While obviously inspired by the popularity of EASY RIDER and other counterculture films, the movie is less interested in siding with the anti-establishment than reinforcing the worst fears of an older generation, as the gang terrifies middle-aged "proper" adults almost exclusively. Sadly (for the film, at least), it's best enjoyed as unintended camp, especially the montage as the Living Dead commits suicide, or Reid's self-sacrificing methods of saving her son.
(Below you'll find Tom's burial scene, complete with ear-singeing music no self-respecting biker should be caught dead--sorry--around.)
The film's about the Living Dead motorcycle gang (whose members sport menacing names like Hatchet, Chopped Meat, and Bertram), tooling around the British countryside in search of kicks--which usually involves causing bodily harm to innocent motorists. Their leader Tom (Nicky Henson, looking more like Mick Jagger's love child than a badass biker dude) discovers his father's secret of defeating death in a locked room--a sequence that falls rather short of its intended nightmarishness--which just so happens to be unhesitant suicide. After a police chase featuring some daring motorcycle stunt work, Tom bites it by sailing off a bridge; the remaining gang members bury him astride his bike, in a grave that's not even deep enough to cover him (just what kind of funeral home provides such a service? And do you have to pay extra for it?), but it makes for a cool resurrection scene so it's okay. Of course, there's absolutely no consequences for returning from the dead, thus it takes little persuasion for the Living Dead to become just that, enabling them to be the exact same hooligans before their deaths.
Although it's got an interesting germ of an idea, PSYCHOMANIA fails to do little with it, devoting most of its scenes to the stilted melodrama of Tom's mother (Beryl Reid) and the butler-with-a-secret (George Saunders). Director Sharp sets a eerie, dream-like tone with a slo-mo credit sequence as the bikers encircle a Stonehenge-like structure, but otherwise his style is flat and uninspired, preferring to depict the majority of the film's violence offscreen. The worst offender is Tom himself; though competently played by Henson, the fact that he's a rich mama's boy blunts any edge his character may have.
While obviously inspired by the popularity of EASY RIDER and other counterculture films, the movie is less interested in siding with the anti-establishment than reinforcing the worst fears of an older generation, as the gang terrifies middle-aged "proper" adults almost exclusively. Sadly (for the film, at least), it's best enjoyed as unintended camp, especially the montage as the Living Dead commits suicide, or Reid's self-sacrificing methods of saving her son.
(Below you'll find Tom's burial scene, complete with ear-singeing music no self-respecting biker should be caught dead--sorry--around.)
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
DAY 153--I'LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS
The 2003 film I'LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS is better than most zombie shorts I've seen, due in large part to director Miguel Angel Vivas's keen visual sense. This 18-minute Portuguese production, infused with an obvious love of Italian horror (to both its benefit and detriment), makes up for its one-dimensional storyline with an impressive use of lighting and composition.
The story centers on a young man named Lucio (sigh) and his relationship with his wife, who he let become turned into a zombie after catching her with another man. when Lucio brings home a woman after rescuing her from a pub-crawling brute (named Dario--sigh again), it sets up the perfect scenario for his wife to exact her revenge.
Well, perfect may not be the best word. When Lucio's wife breaks free from her cage it smacks of plot contrivance more than anything--why did she wait until now? And who was her boxing coach, since she possesses quite a mean uppercut (I think I hate zombies who fist-fight as much as I hate zombies who talk or play for laughs). Still, Vivas manages to keep it interesting, even during a second half that's really just an excuse to show off its cool zombie makeup and gore effects, not to mention featuring zombie POVs that somehow move faster than the zombies themselves. Lucio, played by Adelino Tavares, makes for an adequate protagonist; I can understand what he did to his wife in a passionate moment, but the cold-hearted move he pulls near the end was downright shocking--and not in the appropriate way. Most troubling though is the telegraphed ending (Note: when a character says, "If I ever turn into one of those things . . . " you can bet the farm it's gonna happen), capped with an unsatisfying twist. I only hope that this short was a means to display Vivas's directorial skills, and that he employs a better screenwriter when he makes that first feature.
I also have no idea what the title's supposed to mean.
The story centers on a young man named Lucio (sigh) and his relationship with his wife, who he let become turned into a zombie after catching her with another man. when Lucio brings home a woman after rescuing her from a pub-crawling brute (named Dario--sigh again), it sets up the perfect scenario for his wife to exact her revenge.
Well, perfect may not be the best word. When Lucio's wife breaks free from her cage it smacks of plot contrivance more than anything--why did she wait until now? And who was her boxing coach, since she possesses quite a mean uppercut (I think I hate zombies who fist-fight as much as I hate zombies who talk or play for laughs). Still, Vivas manages to keep it interesting, even during a second half that's really just an excuse to show off its cool zombie makeup and gore effects, not to mention featuring zombie POVs that somehow move faster than the zombies themselves. Lucio, played by Adelino Tavares, makes for an adequate protagonist; I can understand what he did to his wife in a passionate moment, but the cold-hearted move he pulls near the end was downright shocking--and not in the appropriate way. Most troubling though is the telegraphed ending (Note: when a character says, "If I ever turn into one of those things . . . " you can bet the farm it's gonna happen), capped with an unsatisfying twist. I only hope that this short was a means to display Vivas's directorial skills, and that he employs a better screenwriter when he makes that first feature.
I also have no idea what the title's supposed to mean.
DAY 152--BOWERY AT MIDNIGHT
Of the myriad Poverty Row horror cheapies, 1942's BOWERY AT MIDNIGHT remains one of the most accomplished (a dubious compliment to be sure), thanks to an incredibly busy storyline--which crams an awful lot into 61 minutes--and the always-welcome presence of Bela Lugosi. While it's somewhat of a disappointment for the purposes of this blog, it's still an enjoyable relic from a bygone era.
This convoluted crime melodrama features Lugosi as a professor who uses a soup kitchen as a front for his organized gang of crooks (maybe it's the indelible impression he made as Dracula, but Lugosi's menacing even when ladling out soup for the homeless); Lugosi also has a memorable calling card, offing an accomplice during each heist to leave at the scene--a rather novel conceit, but one that's got to affect employee turnaround. Various subplots abound--from the student in Lugosi's class (KING OF THE ZOMBIES's John Archer) who just so happens to date the soup kitchen's nurse to the rather non-urgent police investigation (led by Dave O'Brien of THE DEVIL BAT)--including one about a doctor lackey of Lugosi's (Lew Kelly) who hoards the corpses of the murdered hoods in the kitchen's basement and has somehow brought them back to life, easily the most interesting plot thread and thus given the least amount of screen time, disclosed in the last quarter of the picture.
Even though it's referenced in only two scenes, one being the closing minute of the film, and used really as a fitting punishment for Lugosi's misdeeds, the living dead element remains one of BOWERY's strongest points. The initial reveal as the doctor lifts a trapdoor (concealed in a burial mound, no less) for the zombified crooks to shuffle into view is understated yet undeniably eerie and it's a shame director Wallace Fox didn't use them more--though in a story this complicated I'm sure that would've muted their impact. And while I'm sure an upbeat ending was the order of the day during WWII-era cinema, the epilogue is particularly confounding, as the recently-reanimated Archer discusses his upcoming nuptials with his fiancee, seemingly no worse for wear.
Filmed in the same stagebound style as most Poverty Row pics, which to me's as comfortable as beat-up pair of sneakers, this should please fans of vintage horror, even if the dialogue lacks the usual rat-a-tat delivery common to the period (though a few minor zingers sneak in). A perfect companion piece to Lugosi's other penny-ante zombie classic WHITE ZOMBIE.
(Couldn't find a trailer for this one, but you can watch the film in its entirety on YouTube.)
This convoluted crime melodrama features Lugosi as a professor who uses a soup kitchen as a front for his organized gang of crooks (maybe it's the indelible impression he made as Dracula, but Lugosi's menacing even when ladling out soup for the homeless); Lugosi also has a memorable calling card, offing an accomplice during each heist to leave at the scene--a rather novel conceit, but one that's got to affect employee turnaround. Various subplots abound--from the student in Lugosi's class (KING OF THE ZOMBIES's John Archer) who just so happens to date the soup kitchen's nurse to the rather non-urgent police investigation (led by Dave O'Brien of THE DEVIL BAT)--including one about a doctor lackey of Lugosi's (Lew Kelly) who hoards the corpses of the murdered hoods in the kitchen's basement and has somehow brought them back to life, easily the most interesting plot thread and thus given the least amount of screen time, disclosed in the last quarter of the picture.
Even though it's referenced in only two scenes, one being the closing minute of the film, and used really as a fitting punishment for Lugosi's misdeeds, the living dead element remains one of BOWERY's strongest points. The initial reveal as the doctor lifts a trapdoor (concealed in a burial mound, no less) for the zombified crooks to shuffle into view is understated yet undeniably eerie and it's a shame director Wallace Fox didn't use them more--though in a story this complicated I'm sure that would've muted their impact. And while I'm sure an upbeat ending was the order of the day during WWII-era cinema, the epilogue is particularly confounding, as the recently-reanimated Archer discusses his upcoming nuptials with his fiancee, seemingly no worse for wear.
Filmed in the same stagebound style as most Poverty Row pics, which to me's as comfortable as beat-up pair of sneakers, this should please fans of vintage horror, even if the dialogue lacks the usual rat-a-tat delivery common to the period (though a few minor zingers sneak in). A perfect companion piece to Lugosi's other penny-ante zombie classic WHITE ZOMBIE.
(Couldn't find a trailer for this one, but you can watch the film in its entirety on YouTube.)
DAY 151--CITY OF THE LIVING DEAD
Following the worldwide success of ZOMBIE (or ZOMBI 2 or ZOMBIE FLESH EATERS or whatever you want to call it), Lucio Fulci embarked on what could be called his "gothic period," firing off a trilogy of films (CITY OF THE LIVING DEAD, THE BEYOND, and HOUSE BY THE CEMETERY) in rapid succession. A mixed lot, all of which are slated for eventual review here, they're often regarded as Fulci's best work. The 1980 film CITY OF THE LIVING DEAD--best known stateside under the alternate, and more accurate, title THE GATES OF HELL--usually falls in the middle of critical reception, better received than HOUSE yet it never gets THE BEYOND's superlatives; it's also my favorite Fulci.
Sharing scripting duties with Dardano Sacchetti, Fulci drops the action into the sleepy hamlet of Dunwich, but don't expect the normal Lovecraftian hijinx here; in fact, there's very little of the man from Providence in this tale of a psychic (Catriona MacColl) and a detective (Christopher George) trying to close the recently opened doorway to Hell, an occurrence kick-started by the suicide of a priest. What powers CITY isn't its narrative but its evocative gothic atmosphere--utilizing soft, almost surreal photography and an ominous electronic score--and the strength of its individual shock set-pieces; that the two can work together is a testament to both Fucli's direction and Sergio Salvati's cinematography.
Not much about CITY makes any literal sense, yet the film operates under its own dream-like logic so that even the most idiotic plot twists seem natural (such as the living dead's ability to transport from one side of the room to another to claim their victim, a technique battered to death by later installments of the FRIDAY THE 13TH franchise that nonetheless retains a glint of effectiveness here). Often, the movie progresses like a series of stylishly-recreated nightmares, from the scene in which George "exhumes" a still-living MacColl from her grave to the gory highlights of the entrail-vomiting sequence and Giovanni Radice's drill-through-the-head (two moments that've given many a gorehound pause) before tying off its loose ends in a more conventional method. This dream-like feel helps save its open ending, which has sparked much debate about its true meaning--though it's really just a post-production trick to cover an editing goof.
For a movie that relies on the power of its imagery, it's a shame that Fucli felt it neccesary to crib from Dario Argento, most notably the rain of maggots that suggests the one in SUSPIRIA to the opening seance that recalls a similar scene from DEEP RED. The climax even borrows heavily from ZOMBIE's hospital stand-off, with both its zombies aflame and its mimicked score; whether this was to establish a thematic unity or to just redo what already worked is hard to say.
Still, this remains an all-time favorite. Maybe not as narratively coherent as ZOMBIE, but a lot more engaging than the oft-overrated THE BEYOND.
Sharing scripting duties with Dardano Sacchetti, Fulci drops the action into the sleepy hamlet of Dunwich, but don't expect the normal Lovecraftian hijinx here; in fact, there's very little of the man from Providence in this tale of a psychic (Catriona MacColl) and a detective (Christopher George) trying to close the recently opened doorway to Hell, an occurrence kick-started by the suicide of a priest. What powers CITY isn't its narrative but its evocative gothic atmosphere--utilizing soft, almost surreal photography and an ominous electronic score--and the strength of its individual shock set-pieces; that the two can work together is a testament to both Fucli's direction and Sergio Salvati's cinematography.
Not much about CITY makes any literal sense, yet the film operates under its own dream-like logic so that even the most idiotic plot twists seem natural (such as the living dead's ability to transport from one side of the room to another to claim their victim, a technique battered to death by later installments of the FRIDAY THE 13TH franchise that nonetheless retains a glint of effectiveness here). Often, the movie progresses like a series of stylishly-recreated nightmares, from the scene in which George "exhumes" a still-living MacColl from her grave to the gory highlights of the entrail-vomiting sequence and Giovanni Radice's drill-through-the-head (two moments that've given many a gorehound pause) before tying off its loose ends in a more conventional method. This dream-like feel helps save its open ending, which has sparked much debate about its true meaning--though it's really just a post-production trick to cover an editing goof.
For a movie that relies on the power of its imagery, it's a shame that Fucli felt it neccesary to crib from Dario Argento, most notably the rain of maggots that suggests the one in SUSPIRIA to the opening seance that recalls a similar scene from DEEP RED. The climax even borrows heavily from ZOMBIE's hospital stand-off, with both its zombies aflame and its mimicked score; whether this was to establish a thematic unity or to just redo what already worked is hard to say.
Still, this remains an all-time favorite. Maybe not as narratively coherent as ZOMBIE, but a lot more engaging than the oft-overrated THE BEYOND.
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