Suspiria (1977) Creepiness Never Looked So Good

I've always found that each country that contributes a substantial amount of horror films to the waiting community has its own identity. It's not always easy to identify it, but Japanese horror films are different from French horror films, which are different from Spanish horror films. As far as I'm concerned, diversity is an enormous strength. There's a little for everyone. Italian horror films have long been entrenched in the upper echelon of filmmaking. Often referred to as giallo, Italian horror films combine elements of - among other genres - horror, mystery, and visual artistry. Arguably, the reigning king of giallo has to be Dario Argento.

Argento's been making movies for a long time, and when he isn't making his own, he helps with others. He's often credited as playing a huge part in the making and European distribution of the original Dawn of the Dead, even helping add the distinctive music with the band Goblin. He's made some of the most influential films in the horror and mystery world, and continues to inspire directors, actors, and filmgoers.

Suspiria is considered Argento's greatest film (although many will have their own preference) and is a bizarre, twisty, gorgeous mystery with healthy doses of occult shenanigans and beautiful shots that lend to an ethereal experience. It's not full of savvy teens cracking wise and throwing out ironic quips. Instead, it's more of a dream-like walk through an old building lit up with primary colors. Oh, yeah, and with unsettling, wildly creepy music blaring at you from all sides.

It goes a little like this:

Young American dancer Suzy (Jessica Harper) lands in Austria one rainy, windy night, arriving at a prestigious dance school just in time to see a frantic student named Pat argue with someone, then run away through the woods. Suzy heads to town when she isn't allowed in, and Pat heads to her apartment where she is stalked and brutally murdered - emphasis on "brutally" - by an unseen attacker who seems to be able to operate at great heights. Maybe even fly. All Pat ever really sees are the eyes.

Suzy returns and meets the staff, plus the makeshift roommate she'll have until her room is ready at the school. After staying with her new friend Olga, Suzy tells the staff she'd rather stay with her, but they insist she move into the dorm. Suzy has a weird moment with the school's cook, causing her to pass out. When she awakens, all her stuff has been moved into her new room whether she likes it or not. Regardless, Suzy becomes fast friends with the girl in the room next door, Sarah.

In a strange turn, maggots begin to rain from the ceiling, thanks to some rotting food in the attic. Forced to sleep in the gym (shades of Revenge of the Nerds), Sarah is put off by the strange snore of the school's director, who isn't supposed to be present. All we see is a silhouette behind one of the shades, presented in stark red light.

Sarah is convinced that the staff slips away to some secret room when they claim to leave every night. Suzy is perpetually confused by the weirdness of the school, but is probably the only one who would listen to Sarah.

Oddly, the next morning, the blind piano player for the dance classes is abruptly fired when it's claimed his seeing-eye dog attacked Madame Blanc's (Joan Bennett) young, weirdo nephew. For you comic book fans, the nephew Albert (Jacopo Mariani) reminded me of DC Comics' boy-witch Klarion:



I don't know. He could've been the same kid. Crazy little witch boys. The pianist threatens to expose the school for what it is and leaves to have a beer at some Oktoberfest-ish bar. Crossing an empty plaza at night, he is spooked by strange sounds before having his throat ripped out by his trusty dog.

Turns out Sarah and Pat were friends and they took notes on the strange behavior of the school's stafff. Suzy recalls Pat saying the words "secret" and "iris" that first night, but has no idea what they mean. Sarah can't find her notes, but Suzy, still feeling out of sorts since that fainting spell, passes out in her bed. An intruder enters the room, and then gives chase to Sarah, who ends up in a room full of razor wire before having her throat slit by the attacker. That room - coils of razor wire everywhere - has always stuck in my memory.

Suzy meets up with Sarah's psychologist, Dr. Mandel (the ever-present Udo Kier, looking really young here), to get some clues as to where Sarah may have gone. Mandel and his friend Professor Milius reveal that the school may have ties to a very old witch, who apparently founded it.

Counting the footsteps she and Sarah would hear every night, Suzy finds herself in the headmaster's office, a strikingly painted room that sported flowers everywhere. Including painted irises.

Suzy finds a secret area of the school, and discovers that the entire staff is there, plotting as a coven to have her murdered since she's finding out too much. She also meets the original woman who founded the school, and I think it's safe to say she's rather...supernaturally based. She appears only as an outline of a person sitting on a bed and threatening Suzy. The woman, Helena Markos, even reanimates Sarah's corpse, who comes charging in for a reunion with Suzy.

A bloody, eyeless, knife-y reuinon.

Suzy reacts by stabbing the outline of Helena with the glass feather of a piece of peacock artwork present in the room in a bit of a reference to an earlier Argento film, The Bird With Crystal Plumage. Helena dies loudly, causing tremors to rumble through the school and the rest of the coven to writhe in pain as Suzy escapes into the night.

Suspiria ends there, but the story continues as Argento laid it all out as a trilogy, with the films Inferno and Mother of Tears following in 1980 and 2007, respectively.

While the dubbing is sometimes...interesting, and some may find the pacing to drag some, Suspiria is a beautiful film. I mentioned those primary colors. You see stark renditions of red and blue, from the blood to the lighting that are both sharp and dream-like. After some reading around, I found out that Argento used "imbibition Technicolor prints," which was a technique used in films like The Wizard of Oz and Gone With The Wind that causes the primary colors to appear more striking than usual. This, combined with the angles that Argento used, created something like artwork. Argento used space like a stage, with the actors sent perfectly across each scene as if they were part of a painting.

Now, the soundtrack is crazy. Goblin, who first captured my heart in Dawn of the Dead, performs a stranger bit of music here. Yet, it seemed as though the copy of the movie I got had problems with the audio channels as I kept having to fuss with the volume to either soften the music or turn up the dialogue. Don't let that stop you from seeing this. Suspiria is considered one of horror's classics, and while everyone has different tastes, one should see it at least for the experience.

Well, that's all for now, fellow survivors. Until next time, be careful out there, and be wary of weird dance academies.

The Sentinel (1977) Apartment For Rent, Cheap, Creepy Priest Included

Apartment hunting is never easy. You want just the right amenities, the right utility plans, perfect space, tolerable neighbors...it gets complicated, to say the least. If the apartment you choose just happens to sit over the mouth of Hell, then you might a few more problems than just a few cockroaches or neighbors who loudly air out their problems at four in the morning. That sulfur smell is only the beginning of your grievances.

1977's The Sentinel is a film about New York apartment living, gates of Hell, oddball neighbors, pencil-thin mustaches, and unwavering fate. Directed by Michael Winner (Death Wish), The Sentinel sports an all-star cast featuring Chris Sarandon, Burgess Meredith, Martin Balsam, John Carradine, Ava Gardner, Jose Ferrer, Sylvia Miles, and Eli Wallach. There are even small (some non-speaking) parts for future stars such as Christopher Walken, Jeff Goldblum, Jerry Orbach, Beverly D'Angelo, and Tom Berenger. Quite the cast, really.

Alison (Christina Raines) is a very successful model with more than a few problems on the emotional spectrum. As a flashback tells us, as a teenager, she once barged in on her depraved father having a cake-filled tryst with two women of ill repute. She had tried to commit suicide then, and had more problems later in life. She wants a place of her own so she can have her own down time, even away from loyal lawyer boyfriend, Michael (Sarandon). A meeting with a realtor (Gardner) uncovers a nice old apartment in Brooklyn with an insanely cheap rent, fully furnished rooms, and a creepy old priest, Father Halloran (Carradine), who spends his days staring out of the window.

Father Halloran's simple hobby notwithstanding, Alison simply can't pass up the opportunity, especially when the realtor lowers the rent even more. It's like Alison was meant to rent the apartment. She moves in and before long, starts to feel at home in the huge apartment. I mean, this thing is cavernous.

While her boyfriend uses his less-than-reputable resources to find out more about the place she's rented, and about this mysterious Father Halloran, Alison begins to meet her new neighbors. Charming old codger Charles Chazen (Meredith) introduces himself and his pet kitty and birdy, even bringing her a picture of himself to spruce up the apartment. He seems like a decent guy, maybe a little on the goofy side, and Alison enjoys his visit.

Michael finds out more about the place, and about Father Halloran, and it doesn't bode well for Alison. It's no spoiler to say that Father Halloran isn't the first person a mysterious church brotherhood has tapped to be a "sentinel," and he won't be the last. Alison's suicide attempts have pushed her to the top of the candidate list. We also find out that Michael's a bit of a slippery character himself, but he denies any wrongdoing. Admittedly, he does seem to want the best for Alison, so maybe he's a victim of finger-pointing for an accident that happened years before (as constantly brought up by Wallach and Walken's police characters).

Things get weirder for Alison. One visit to loopy couple Gerde (Miles) and Sandra (D'Angelo) makes Alison a little...shall we say, uncomfortable. Gerde is the very definition of an aged "cougar" and Sandra enjoys...I'll just mention that she's a big fan of her own body and leave it at that. Alison slips away from that scene, but gets to meet more of the tenants at a birthday party for Charles' cat. Alison ends up having a wonderful time (who wouldn't? - there's cake and a cat with a party hat) before being spooked by noises in the apartment above her, where no one should be. She tells Miss Logan, the realtor, about it and Miss Logan drops a bomb about the population of said apartment building. Now Alison, and those around her, start to doubt the brightness of her porch lights, if you catch my drift.

At one point, Alison sees an apparition of her dead, freaky father and attacks it for probably the goriest part of the movie. With unexplained pains in her head, a strange connection to a dead private eye (a friend of Michael's in a subplot I won't spoil), and an increasingly weird home life (seeing all of a book's English text in Latin), things aren't going well for the model. Michael takes it upon himself to investigate the building and get to the bottom of this Father Halloran/crazy neighbor/church conspiracy thingy.

Finding a blocked-off area on the wall in the lobby, Michael breaks it apart to reveal a warning that ends with the ominous, "Abandon hope, ye who enter here." Right about this time, Father Halloran makes an appearance, and tells Michael that the building sits on a portal to Hell. Michael still demands answers and follows Father Halloran back to his apartment, where he attacks the old man out of frustration before being bludgeoned by an unseen assailant.

The great John Carradine.

Alison arrives at the building just in time for Hell's welcoming party to arrive. Charles leads them all into enticing Alison to kill herself so that she doesn't become the next Sentinel. Hordes of demons appear - controversially played by extras with real-life disfigurements and amputations - and corner Alison in Halloran's room. Just as she is about to go through with it, Father Halloran and Monsignor Franchino (Arthur Kennedy), an "advance scout" of sorts sent to aid Alison's "transformation," arrive to rescue Alison. For me, the creepiest part of the entire movie was watching the hordes of Hell retreat slowly and vanish into the shadows. Really great editing here.

Alison then takes Halloran's place in the chair at the window and later, while Miss Logan presents a refurbished apartment to a new couple (one of which was played by Tom Berenger), we see that Alison has fully accepted the position of Sentinel, nun's outfit and milky eyes included.

The Sentinel is a great piece of 70's atmospheric spookiness. Not only is it a horror film, but it doubles as a mystery as the pieces are put together to form the hows and the whys. There is more to each character than you think, and by the end, you discover more about them. It was also quite fun to play "Which Star With A Bit Part Will Be An Even Bigger Star?" with all the appearances by those I mentioned earlier. The movie builds with an even tension, so audiences with short attention spans (the kind Hollywood loves now) might get bored after a while, but it's worth the wait. The climactic sequence is one of the most visually striking and disturbing scenes you may see, and not for gore or anything spectacular. The use of shadow and the lack of special effects is combined for a jarring effect. Burgess Meredith is as charming as ever - even when he's pure evil - but the one problem I had with the movie was Christina Raines as Alison. Her acting came off as wooden and forced in many scenes, although she looked the part of a successful 70's model.

Love this old VHS cover - reminds me of working in a video store during the 80's.

You can do a lot worse than watching The Sentinel on a dark, preferably stormy, night. It's good, old-school spooky with touches of drive-in depravity that are doled out in just the right doses to make you squirm.

Plus you get to see a cat in a birthday hat.

Death Bed: The Bed That Eats (1977-ish) Wait, What?

I almost didn't have any words for this movie. At first glance, it appears to be a knowing-wink kind of thing. You know, tongue-in-cheek and full of wry, subtle in-jokes. I mean, a film about a bed. An evil bed that eats people. Why didn't I think of that? Then, I experienced it. And I wished to all that is holy that the trusty crew of Mystery Science Theater 3000 had been there to hold my hand through the syrupy, surreal morsel of oddball that is Death Bed: The Bed That Eats.

At least we got one of those nifty title cards.

A film that - like its narrator - sat in limbo for about 25 years before its official release in 2003, Death Bed is a strange neo-art-horror-camp-comedy-experimental piece written, produced, directed, and eventually forgotten by George Barry. It gained cult status through pirated videotapes and mentions by comedian Patton Oswalt, the "fame" seemingly a surprise to Barry himself. But, hey, I'd be pleasantly surprised, too, if a film I made then forgot about gained notoriety.

And oh, what a film.

Let me tell you a little something about how it all goes down. The epilogue, or "breakfast" (seriously, a graphic tells us just that), shows an amorous couple sneaking into the tomb-like room where the bed resides. Where the bed is sleeping...and snoring. The ghost of an emo artist is trapped behind one of his own drawings of the bed, and he conveniently narrates the procedures for us. The couple get busy on the bed, which sneaks a bite of their apple, drinks their wine, and...seriously...polishes off their bucket of fried chicken. Then, it moves on to the couple, pulling them into its oddly green pool of digestive juices. We know it's eating them because we hear eating noises. Funny how everything it eats sounds like it's made of apples.

The bed in question.

The narrator fills us in on his relationship with the bed while it dreams of eating people in a city, as told by the ol' spinning newspaper. Several years pass, and a trio of ladies arrive at the house to check it out for a lawyer friend of one of the women. I would say that one, Diane, is headstrong, that another, Sharon, is her good friend, and the last, Suzan, is mousy and insecure. I would say that, but character development and acting aren't around to make it easier. Suzan is left alone to get some rest, but falls victim to the bed. The others discover her missing, and the bed reacts harshly to the presence of Sharon. When the ladies leave to look for their friend, the bed pulls in Suzan's suitcase and yes...wait for it...drinks the Pepto-Bismol.

Yes. The bed that drinks Pepto-Bismol.

A lot of the bed's history is revealed, especially that it had multiple owners, including a gangster (whose gun sounds like it's firing, but looks like a toy), a "sexual therpist" whose orgy kept the bed full for a long time, and the artist himself, who had consumption, which he theorizes is why the bed "rejected" him. The bed's origin ties in with why it is so affected by Sharon. Seems a woman was seduced by a demon who created the bed, but died. In his strange grief, the demon cried blood and the tears possessed the bed. Sharon has eyes just like that woman, who lies in perfect shape in her grave on the property. Yep, you heard all that right.

One of the random objects the bed likes to snack upon.

When Sharon goes for help, Diane decides on a nap. After a bizarre dream, she tries to get up, but is pulled in by the bed. She is able to escape, but her bloody legs are useless. And thus begins one of the longest several minutes you will ever experience. Diane drags herself to the door, and we are there to witness every last second of it. A sloth on Robitussin would've lapped this scene twice before it ended. The bed pulls a "haha, psych" and pulls Diane back with a well-tossed bedsheet. Sharon returns just in time to see this happen, and her mind goes bye-bye.

Longest. Crawl. Ever.

Through this whole movie, 70's singer Leo Sayer Sharon's unnamed brother searches for and eventually finds Sharon curled up in the bed's room, afraid to leave and probably hearing calliope music in her mushy mind. The bed taunts them with strange sounds and random eyeballs, leading the brother to attempt stabbing the bed. In my favorite scene of this thing, the bed spits the knife out and consumes everything but the bones of the guy's hands. When he settles down to stare at his hands, his reaction is...well...underwhelming. Almost as if he were to say, "Huh. Skeleton hands."

"That's strange. Skeleton hands. Hm. Did I leave the stove on?"

That was the best. Well, moving on, the artist had said when the original demon sleeps every ten years, the bed will be vulnerable. He instructs Sharon to build a ritual circle to transport the bed to another circle, which will also awaken the bed's original "mother." Sharon must die for this to happen, though. The re-animated woman then "couples" with the handless brother to close the circle and the bed is destroyed.

What a ride. Like trying to race a Hoveround on its lowest setting through mud. The pacing of this movie only moved due the advancement of time, not any plot or acting. Every second of that slow time that passed, I could hear Crow T. Robot in my head, lampooning each scene. It was the only way I could maintain my sanity, and there's very little of that left. Still, the film has just enough charm to become something of a more recent Rocky Horror Picture Show. Somebody out there, please make that happen.

Until next time, folks, sleep comfortably on your beds tonight and have as much fried chicken, wine, and apples you want.