BY TIM GREAVES
It’s
been three years since ‘American Horror Project’ was unleashed. Comprising an
eclectic gathering of indie curios from the 1970s, the fact it was announced as
Volume 1 led to much anticipation as to what future collections might serve up.
Well,
Arrow Video has finally issued Volume 2. It’s been a long wait. Was it worth
it? For those whose passions run to the sort of weird, otherworldly slices of
70s small-town America represented by the first, the answer would be a
resounding yes. But, as before, for a more general audience it’s unlikely to harbour
much appeal. Regardless, whether you think they’re deserving of Blu-ray
resurrection or not, all power to Arrow – and ringmaster of this circus of the
bizarre, film historian Stephen Thrower – for rescuing these micro-budget
productions from the bowels of obscurity, giving them a wash and brush up and
setting them free back into a world that for better or worse had long forgotten
them. Someone somewhere is sure going to love them.
All
three titles in the set are brand new 2k restorations from the original film
elements, and some infrequent patches of heavy grain notwithstanding – really
only distracting in darker sequences – they look absolutely fantastic.
So
what exactly do we get this time? Opening with 1970s Dream No Evil, we move on
to 1976’s Dark August and conclude with 1977’s The Child. All three films are thematically
linked, however tenuously, in that in each it is a child who’s the catalyst for
the terrors that ensue. In the first they’re born of a little girl’s
desperately unhappy childhood, in the second the product of an accidental
death, and in the third it’s vengeful death wrought upon those around her by a
precocious teenager.
Dream
No Evil
A
former orphan, Grace (Brooke Mills), now assistant to a charlatan travelling
fire and brimstone preacher, Rev Bundy (wild-eyed Michael Pataki), is fixated
on locating her real father. Not only is Grace convinced she’ll find him but
that when she does he’ll welcome her back into his life with open arms. Her inadvisable
quest leads her down a path of self-destruction and she descends into madness.
Though
everything is subjective, writer-director John Hayes’ film isn’t so much horror
as it is bleak drama… exceedingly bleak. If the forlorn pre-titles sequence
doesn’t alert you to that, then Jaime Mendoza-Nava’s gently melancholic credits
music reinforces the notion. A couple of slasher movie tropes aside – and even
they are rendered mundane in their bloodlessness – the real draw here is former
Oscar-winner (for The Barefoot Contessa) Edmond O’Brien, overweight and
overacting on the fag end of a prodigious career; it’s a car crash performance from
which it’s impossible to avert your eyes. Still, it’s nice to see Marc “I
didn’t know there was a pool, down there†Lawrence, dressed almost exactly as
he appears in his two Bond roles (Diamonds Are Forever and The Man with the
Golden Gun), as a seedy mortician rather than a hoodlum.
With
some dispassionate narration thrown in, presumably to keep you up to speed if
you’ve zoned out during its leisurely pace, Dream No Evil’s key conceit has
been worked countless times; if you keep in mind that what you’re seeing is
what Grace is seeing, not necessarily what’s real, then there won’t be too many
surprises ahead.
Bonus
features on the disc are an appreciation and a look at the director’s prior
career by Thrower, an audio commentary from writers Kat Ellinger and Samm
Deighan, and a segment devoted to dear old O’Brien.
Dark
August
In
a small backwoods town a little girl is accidentally killed when she runs into
the road without looking, following which the driver of the vehicle (J J Barry)
has a death curse sworn upon him by the child’s grandfather.
Although
Planet of the Apes star Kim Hunter as a psychic medium is probably the main
draw here, what makes it worth sticking around for is J J Barry. A slow burn
drama helmed by former director of commercials Martin Goldman, Barry’s sincere,
committed performance lends the supernatural shrouding a bit of gravitas. The
irksome score at the outset (courtesy William S Fischer) does its darnedest to dissuade
the intolerant, but it’s worth hanging in there; it may be the least
interesting constituent of the set, but it does evolve into something rather
compelling.
Goldman
not only directed, but also co-wrote and co-produced, and much like bedmate Dream
No Evil it isn’t really a horror film. I’d label it chiller-lite with a couple
of wince-inducing moments tossed in, the most effective being when a character
slips and carves up his leg with a handsaw (even though the subsequent blood
spill is of the day-glo paint variety).
Shot
in Vermont, Richard E Brooks’ beautiful cinematography balances out the overall
oppressive mien, and if the finale is a tad anticlimactic it isn’t excessively
injurious.
Bonus
features are a couple of appreciation pieces (one by Thrower, the other from
writer and artist Stephen R Bissette), interviews with Goldman and his
co-producer Marianne Kanter, and a commentary from Goldman.
The
Child
Embittered
over the death of her mother, a teenage girl, Rosalie (Rosalie Cole), uses her psychic
powers to reanimate a battalion of corpses from a graveyard, willing them to
carry out her twisted campaign of vengeance upon those she deems responsible.
In
terms of exploitation terrors this tasty number from director Robert Voskanian
is where we hit pay dirt, it’s the diamond in the rough. Yes, the dialogue –
evidently post-dubbed, and badly at that – is stilted and the acting in general
is wooden enough to drill holes in, but it’s the only title in the collection
that engenders any real suspense and it boasts a supremely grungy vibe.
Taking
a little while to gain momentum, once it does it delivers the goods with several
suitably impressive set pieces and a bunch of effectively creepy zombies. Gory
when it needs to be – albeit all pretty unrealistic looking by today’s
standards – it builds up a decent head of steam for a climax in which the
survivors take refuge in an old barn, barricading themselves in to fend off a
full-on assault by the undead.
Also
known as Zombie Child and (this writer’s favourite) Kill and Go Hide, skewed
camera angles and a disorienting score – one moment melodic piano recital
material, the next a series of peculiar electronic bleeps and bloops – all add
to the sense that Voskanian was a fledgling talent with so much more to offer, making
it a crying shame to note that (for reasons outlined in the supplements on the
disc) this was to be his sole feature.
Said
supplements consist of an appreciation from Thrower, an interview with (and commentary
from) Voskanian and producer Robert Dadashian, plus an original theatrical
trailer. There are two viewing options on the feature itself, a 1.33:1
presentation and a 1.78:1; though not the most aesthetically pleasing choice,
the former opens up the frame significantly to reveal more picture both top and
bottom.
‘American
Horror Project’ Volume 2 comes with a limited edition 60-page collectors’
booklet, and each individually cased film has a reversible sleeve bearing
original and newly commissioned artwork.
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