Cult Movies

The long and storied history of film marketing and publicity can be summed up in images. On May 16, at the Black Museum's final lecture in its second semester, Andrea Butler discussed the evolution of movie posters in general and horror posters in particular. The purpose of the movie poster hasn't changed much over the years, but how the posters meet that purpose have.Movie posters evolved primarily from the carnival poster. Although "higher" forms of art and entertainment used posters for advertising, film wasn't regarded on the same level as the theatre therefore its marketing campaigns took after the spectacle associated with more plebeian diversions. The first posters merely advertised the fact that movies were being shown and focused on engaging the audience through spectatorship.Over time, as film became less of a novelty, the attention shifted away from the audience and toward film content. Early 20th century movie posters used scenes of violence to titillate and attract viewers--it didn't matter if the movie was violent or not, the lurid images displayed on the film poster brought people to the cinema. Eventually, the violence on display--and the fraudulent use of violent images--caused an uproar and poster art was standardized in 1915.Around this time, the star system was gaining momentum and that had a huge influence on poster art. Film had gained legitimacy and where before stars were disinclined to have their names and likenesses used for film advertising, there were now the focus of marketing and publicity campaigns. This gave birth to the "disembodied floating head" poster design, which is still used today.Throughout the 1930s, the decade in which horror really thrived and came into its own in America, horror movie stars became inextricably linked with their characters. Not the heroes, mind you. But the monsters. Here is where the image became the icon. Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff were recognized for their performance as the villains, and their names, faces, and characters were conflated for the purposes of selling the audience on the movies; the bigger the name and face on the poster, the bigger the star. This same decade also introduced the image of the woman in peril.Poster art changed again in the 1950s. This was the era of the B-movie, when science and technology featured heavily in the story as a force of evil. The star system was in decline and so posters began to shift away from recognizable faces. The monsters themselves became the the focus of poster art, as well as fear. Here, too, advertisers started calling out to the audience through image and text. The only real exception to this rule of monsters was Vincent Price. His face and name appeared on his movie posters, while other actors were simply billed in a cast list.The mid-century gimmick movies involved the audience directly as participants in the cinematic experience, and these movies' posters were equally engaging. Posters dared the audience to see the film and advertised the kind of experience they would have at the movie theatre.With the capture of Ed Gein at the end of the 1950s, serial murder entered the American consciousness and made its way onto the silver screen. Horror movies in the 1960s featured human killers and lots of gore, and their posters were similarly lurid. The Hayes code was still in effect for much of the 60s, so the violent images were relatively small, while most of the posters' real estate was held over for text. Playing opposite the gore films was a more emotional and cerebral horror, and their posters showed equal restraint. Appealing to the audience's imagination, these posters hinted at horror and violence instead of displaying it for all to see.With the 1970s came an end to restraint. Horror movie posters went whole hog with the violence and gore: eviscerated bodies, the insides on the outside, enormous monsters, and women in deadly peril. But the more human the monster became, the more complex his representation

In a nutshell: It's another entry in Cecil's more serious "Exploring" series, as he takes a deeper look into the Chernobyl disaster and how it influenced the horror film Chernobyl Diaries. Six young tourists take an "extreme tour" of Pripyat, Ukraine, the abandoned city near the Chernobyl reactor, and as you might expect, things don't end well for them.

After finally seeing KILMA, QUEEN OF THE JUNGLE (1975) I find myself in a Jungle Girl mood! I might have to seek out more examples of the sub-genre for Summertime viewing. Luckily there are a few I haven't seen although I don't think I'm going to be impressed with a high level of acting. Just sayin'.

Why doesn't anyone give this guy money for a film? Ego aside, he's fucking awesome and while La Danza de la Realidad is nowhere near as surreal as Holy Mountain or El Topo, it looks fantastic nonetheless. [Continued ...]

Usually I get swamped with short horror films, gore-fests and Troma wannabe’s and most recently, Asian erotic thrillers (don’t get me wrong, these are good things and I love stuff like that). Then out of nowhere, I received something a little different: A martial arts film that wasn’t a Godfrey Ho cut and paste movie or a Bruce-sploitation flick. So I got curious and checked out the trailer for a little short indy flick called Sins of the Dragon and let me tell you something… I was not expecting to see the awesomeness that I saw. (Editor’s note: I’m totally surprised to see that awesomeness is a word. That squiggly red line didn’t appear under it when I typed it) Sins of the Dragon isn’t your straight forward martial arts flick. It’s also a fantasy film, so it doesn’t take place at any specific time in history or in the future. Hell, maybe not even this world. But where and when never come into question. Right from the get-go, they explain what you need to know: There are four separate territories and each is ruled by a dragon. Well, the dragon is actually a martial arts master that possesses superhuman abilities. So what do you think if, for example, someone decides they are going to kill the other dragons and gain their powers? They would rule the world, duh! And it just so happens that someone is doing exactly that. He goes by the name Caligo and wears like this half Jason mask on the bottom half of his face. This is where the movie opens up at actually. We see Caligo fighting Master Sozen, who looks kinda like Raiden from Mortal Kombat (well, actually he is wearing the same hat, but to be honest, I forgot what those were called, so I knew you would be able to follow along if I made that reference). Caligo informs the Master Sozen, and the audience, that he has already killed two of the dragons and is about to make it three. Sins of the Dragon does actually build up their characters and makes sympathetic. Cunri lives with an almost uncontrollable rage, due to his village being slaughtered by Caligo during his quest to kill the other dragons. Thus, it orphaned Cunri, but as fate would have it, he is trained by Master Shaw and met Kaia. See, not all bad, right? Lose your family, gain awesome martial arts skills. Even Steven? All of this boils down to the final showdown between Cunri and Caligo, after he and Kaia are attacked and exhausted by a group of ninjas. Cunri must use all of his skill to defeat the now almost invincible Caligo. But what of Kaia? What about her fate? Everything rests on this battle! You’ve probably been seeing the phrase ‘martial arts’ a bit in this review and you must be wondering, “Is there actually any martial arts and is it any good?” To answer it simply: Yes. Oh lord, yes. Sins of the Dragon has more impressive fight choreography than any other big budget movie in the past few years. It’s actually very impressive. The plot itself is also quite impressive. The characters have an anime vibe to them; Cunri being the brooding protagonist with his smart-arse she-sidekick as they encounter a group of buffoonish thieves; one who is the ‘brain’, one who gets lost in his own metaphors and the third is the silent type all on a quest to stop an evil villain. Sins of the Dragon definitely sets up a fantasy world and invites you in without overwhelming you with complicated mythos or an overabundance of unnecessary back story. It also has its share of special effects that are pretty decent considering the budget and type of film it is, but it’s not what it’s about and you won’t be paying any attention to it once they start roundhouse kicking everyone. It’s an easy film to sit down, watch and enjoy some major butt kicking! Running in at just under half an hour, everything is well developed and fleshed out, you’ll feel like you watched an episode of some new anime and you want to see what happens next to these characters and you want to see where they go. In a short amount of time, you do feel attached to these ch

In a nutshell: Solkir reviews the dumb (yet fascinating) Steel, starring Shaquille O'Neal as a weapons designer who grows a conscience and designs a powerful suit of armor so he can be a superhero. In the comics, Steel's origin was tied up in the '90s Death of Superman saga, but there's no sign of Superman here. Instead, we get Judd Nelson, the Not-Oracle, and a brand new dialect created by future sex tape star Ray J.

I'm no junkie, but I don't think it's safe to inject heroin directly into your eye. Hell, I don't think it's safe to inject heroin into half the places it's shot into in Hanna D. - The Girl from Vondel Park (Hanna D. - La Ragazza del Vondel Park), the grittiest film about drug-addled teen prostitutes to ever find its way onto the polluted, dingy as fuck shoreline that is my perverted mind. Even though needles filled with heroin are inexplicably crammed into every orifice imaginable, I'm not going to be one of those non-Italians assholes who sits on their throne of smugness picking apart Italian cinema like it were some sort of ill-conceived game. My aura, much like this film's protagonist, needs sleaze to survive. And, I must say, the film, written and directed by Rino Di Silvestro (Werewolf Woman) and edited by none other than Bruno Mattei (Hell of the Living Dead), delivers so much sleaze, that needed to stop the film every so often to catch my breath. Based the novel...um, I don't think this movie is based on a novel. All right, how 'bout this: A loose collection of thoughts and ideas that were floating around inside the heads of Rino Di Silvestro and Hervé Piccini, the downward spiral the titular character takes will shake you to your very core. Yet, at the same time, it will also cause your genitals to become engorged with blood. And depending on the genital model you received when you were born, you might feel as if someone has shoved a small stick, or a large branch (I don't want to discriminate), down your pants. What you do with the frightfully hard appendage languishing in your trousers as a direct result of watching this awe-inspiring slab of cinema is completely up to you (it's one of the few freedoms we have left in this increasingly fascist society). But the fact that you're able to contemplate such a decision with any semblance of poise or dignity is the biggest complement you can give an Italian made, Amsterdam set exploitation film. Most films, depending on their fetishistic girth, will induce you to plunge one, or both (I don't want to discriminate), of your hands down your pants almost immediately (no plunging necessary for all you sweatpants enthusiasts out there out in Slackistan - that's funny. no, not the "Slackistan" bit -- that was stupid -- you rarely ever see the words "sweatpants" and "enthusiast" used in the same sentence). In fact, most, films, that is, are designed to promote hand plunging during the actual film (no waiting required, plunge at will). But not this film, it drags you through so much muck, that you'll want to take a shower (a sort of upright bath) before you think about plunging your hand(s) down anything. Quick question: Shouldn't it be "Sweatpantsistan"? Sweat what? I don't think so. But they're not wearing slacks, they're wearing sweatpants. Hence, Sweatpantsistan. Oh, I see. No, it's called "Slackistan" because they're slackers. I don't get it. You see, people who wear sweatpants in a non-athletic environment are often seen as lazy. And slacker is just another word for lazy. And "Slackistan" sort of sounds like Pakistan, and therein lies the humour. Whatever. It's still stupid. You would think, from the way I'm describing it, that there wouldn't be much leeway in this film when it comes to plunging hands into arenas that once boasted slumbering genitals. Oh, really, I say sheepishly to myself, knowing full well that my memory bank contains many images that contradict the crux of the writer's opening salvo. Wait a second, I need a hit of oxygen. I have fifteen words for you: Prostitutes fighting one another in naturally inclement weather while wearing heels, stockings and fur coats. Are you sure that's fifteen words? Who gives a flying fuck? Did you see the words I just typed? Look them over carefully. Study them. Read them aloud if you have to. It's what awesome looks it. Just the mere fact that the weather was naturally inclement was enough to make me

Creeping about the West End in search of film obscurities being something of a hobby of mine, your pal Scenester fair leapt out of his office at 5.30 one chilly Monday evening, throwing his coat on as he did, to make his way once more to BFI Stephen Street, for a screening of Deep End, a forgotten gem from 1970. I confess to not having heard of this film before, although I am at a loss to say why, in view of the gritty subject matter, year of production, authentic London locations and strong cast. The list of films dealing with society's changing sexual mores, young and older people and their contrasting attitudes to sex is a particularly lengthy one, but I can safely say that this one is a real oddity, even by the standards of the time. The story concerns Mike, (John Moulder-Brown) a young lad who has started work in his first job as a public baths attendant, in an age where the 'baths' were not simply for swimming, but were also to bathe in, there still being people who did not have the luxury of a bath in their own home. Mike is a pleasant sort, but very inept and shy with girls, and the fact that one of his co-workers is the sexy Susan, (Jane Asher) means his hormones are running crazy. Susan introduces Mike to the seedier side of bath house life, where attendants can earn a few tips doing 'favours' for their customers. Mike's complete lack of experience leads to many embarrassing moments, including one with a notable cameo role for Diana Dors as a buxom matron, who projects all manner of football-related fantasies onto Mike whilst she paws him into submission. The baths are frequented by a long succession of frustrated women, scruffy men and schoolchildren, the latter being of particular interest to a lecherous teacher (Karl-Michael Vogler) whose bottom-slapping and 'come hither' behaviour would earn him an appearance in court in these more protective times. Mike, of course, only has eyes for Susan, and has determined to disrupt her relationship with her soon-to-be fiance (Chris Sandford, a face no doubt familiar to almost everyone reading this article, such was his ubiquity in 60s and 70s films and TV). His farcical attempts to split the two lovers up only serve to make Mike more miserable and Susan more attached to her man. The lengthy scenes where Mike follows the couple around town, first to a cinema showing a truly hilarious excuse for an adult film (little more than some poor quality dominatrix spouting pseudo-scientific babble in an elegant house), and later on to the inevitably expensive nightclub, well beyond Mike's modest means, are spellbinding for their shots of the streets, cafes and people in their late 60s/early 70s finery. Mike ends up eating more hot dogs than could ever be healthy for a body, served by the ever-present Burt Kwouk, during his long waits around Soho to catch a glimpse of the seductive Susan, always accompanied by her fiance. ??If this is all beginning to sound like 'Here we go round the bike sheds' or 'Carry on up the S-Bend', I would stress that the scenes with Mike going through adolescent agony and frustration are handled with a great deal of sensitivity, even when Mike kidnaps a cardboard cut-out that looks like a scantily-clad Susan, from outside a strip joint. And is if to compound his misery, he is forced to hide out in a prostitute's 'workroom' to evade the strip-joint owner’s heavies. His awkwardness in front of the ageing pro, one of her legs in plaster, summons up pathos as well as hilarity in roughly equal measure. As our hero tries and fails over and over again to get something more than Susan's attention, the film starts to take a surreal turn, with Susan losing the stone from her engagement ring in the snow. Their eccentric method of retrieval staggers the viewer, as does the fate of our two leads. To tell you any more of the plot would be plain cruel. I will however mention that the shots of London just after the glad-tide of the 1960s had receded are a joy of dis

In a nutshell: Joshua recently saw the re-release of Jurassic Park, and was left with one question: Remember back when kids' movies had some of the scariest moments in film history? Whatever happened to that?

In a nutshell: Ami is taken prisoner by the Negaverse! Also, Usagi goes on a double date with Hikari, and it's very uncomfortable.