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Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Flashback to the early 90's. Underground film was healthy and a lot of really interesting things were coming out. Most of them were featured in the pages of Film Threat Video Guide, which was a cool and vital document of the movement. I ordered a lot of videotapes and while I certainly didn't like everything I saw, I truly believe that I got my money's worth most of the time.'
The thing that made these movies special is that they were made on film. Digital photography killed the underground, if you ask me. The ease of shooting in the new medium and the rising use of the home computer for editing and effects created a deluge of product. And most that I've seen isn't worth my time or money. I don't even like the look of digital photography, just as I didn't care for what most of the guys shooting on videotape were doing. There were and are exception, of course.
One of the coolest guys working was Mark Pirro, who was known at one time as The King of Super 8. A dubious distinction, some might say, but I think it was an honor and Pirro's Super 8 movies were fantastic. A Polish Vampire in Burbank, Curse of the Queerwolf and the film in question, Nudist Colony of the Dead.
Pirro's films follow the gag-a-second method used by The Wayans, The Zuckers and The Farrollys, but the major difference is that Mark Pirro's movies are actually funny.
The title pretty much gives most of the plot away. A nudist colony is shut down by religious zealots (a ruling decreed by Forrest J Ackerman playing a judge). The disgruntled nudists imbibe poisoned Kool-Aide, but vow to return to torment their oppressors. Meanwhile, a crooked preacher (is there any other kind?) arranges for a church group of troubled teens to go camping at the former nudist resort. I think you know what happens then.
Yes, it's another zombie comedy, complete with songs and dance. And as much as it pains me to report it, there is a Thriller parody. But Nudist Colony of the Dead was produced in 1991, so it's innocent.
Nudist Colony of the Dead is about as intellectual as a whoopie cushion, but despite it's intended idiocy, it is entertaining as hell. Only about half of the jokes work, but when you have two or three coming per minute, that's all you need. And the songs are pure brilliance. High points include an inspired rap by a security guard and a preposterous song by the campers called Inky Dinky Doo Dah Morning. You really need to see this.
I originally watched Nudist Colony of the Dead back when it came out. It was on videocassette, of course. The picture was pretty murky. The more recent DVD is billed as being 'digitally remastered', but I don't think it looks a whole lot better. Who cares? You want slick, go see a Michael Bay movie. You want down and dirty laughs in a spoof in which the low budget actually enhances the experience, get Nudist Colony of the Dead. It's a scream.
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Wednesday, September 23, 2009
 I haven't always been the bastion of tact that you see before you. No, I was a snob about a lot of things early on in my life. And horror books were among them. I read science fiction, thank you, and I certainly didn't need that trashy horror in my reading diet.
So it was with that obstinate mindset that I first encountered the name, Robert (R.) McCammon. I was hanging out at an apartment I shared with a few guys. And I had my science fiction books around. I was talking to some girl whose name is long forgotten. She had read some decent books and she made a recommendation to me. It was a big, thick horror novel called They Thirst, by some guy named McCammon. 
I'm afraid I was probably pretty rude. I didn't bother to accept it and I doubt that I was very gracious in my refusal to read it.
I was an asshole.
I had no indication that the writer of They Thirst, Robert McCammon, would later become not only one of my favorite writers, but the one I consider to be the very best writer that ever labored in my chosen favorite field of literature.
Fast forward a few years. I had kicked some sense into my own head and realized that I was and, whether I had known it or not, always had been a horror fan. Stephen King and Charles Grant brought me around and my passion for dark fiction was fortified by amazing writers like Peter Straub, Ramsey Campbell, Alan Ryan, T.M. Wright, James Herbert and many others.
I never forgot that cheesy cover to They Thirst, or the author's name. For a while I still dismissed him. Then I read a review of Swan Song in The Twilight Zone Magazine, which at the time was my bible of the genre. Edward Bryant is, to me, the finest reviewer in the genre's history and he gave Swan Song a glowing recommendation. That was enough for me. More than enough, in fact.
I guess you know by now that Swan Song blew me away. It covered some of the same ground as Stephen King's magnum opus, The Stand, but it was no mere imitation. McCammon had his own distinctive literary voice and there was so much heart in the story. From the day I began reading Swan Song, I was a Robert McCammon fan.
Swan Song was a milestone in McCammon's career at that point, but he wasn't about to rest on his laurels. Robert McCammon followed it up with Stinger, which is still one of the most entertaining books I've ever read.
The books continued to get better: The Wolf's Hour, Blue World, Mine. And then McCammon delivered a novel that made its way into more readers' top favorite book slot than any other I know of. It is, of course, Boy's Life. A miracle of imagination and depth, Boy's Life is a magnificent novel of youth and dreams. Though it brings to mind other stories like Something Wicked This Way Comes and Stand By Me/The Body, Boy's Life stands alone. I truly believe that I'll never love a book more than it.
After Boy's Life came Gone South, a book that is drastically different in tone than anything else McCammon had previously done. In fact it reminded me of another southern writer's work: Joe R. Lansdale.
Then, nothing. Robert McCammon became a mystery man in the genre. Where was he? I heard rumors. He had retired. He was writing historical romance. He was fed up with the publishing industry and no longer wanted any part of it.
Possibly there was truth to all of those, but I guess I'll never really know. The one thing I was sure of was this: The absence of Robert McCammon in the genre left a gap that no other writer could fill. For my money Robert McCammon was and is the very best that we have ever known.
Ten long years passed from Gone South to McCammon's next book. I of course never forgot him, but I had practically given up hope that he would return to publishing. So it was with great joy when I learned that a new book was coming at last. 2002 saw the publication of an all-new novel from the master. It was called Speaks the Nightbird and a small outfit called River City Publishing did the hardcover.
I was so excited that I did something that I rarely do: I purchased an Advance Reading Copy prior to the book's publication. I do not endorse the selling of ARCs by booksellers. Most especially when the book in question either hasn't come out or has recently been published. The author gets no royalty from such a sale and only an unscrupulous dealler will sell them. But man, I had to have it. And I definitely purchased a hardcover when they came out. What kind of a guy would I be if I didn't support one of my favorite writers?
 Speaks the Nightbird is a historical novel with mildly horrific overtones. Taking place in the late 16th Century, the novel deals with an earnest young legal clerk named Matthew Corbett who accompanies a magistrate to a town to determine whether an accused young woman is or isn't a witch. It's a rich work, that had to have been meticulously researched. It is also one of the best books I read in 2002. Or, to be accurate, my entire life.
If I still considered Boy's Life to be my favorite Robert McCammon book, then I felt that Speaks the Nightbird was probably his best novel.
The news that followed was good. McCammon would continue on with the education and adventures of Young Master Corbett in a series of novel. Good news? Heck, make that the best news the genre had heard in a long time.
The second book in the Corbett series is called The Queen of Bedlam and it is, if anything, even better than Speaks the Nightbird. In this one, McCammon focuses more on criminal behavior of the time, which is now early in the year 1703. He paints a portrait of a syndicate of criminals plotting the course of The New World. The Queen of Bedlam is a thrilling, sweeping saga that firmly established Matthew Corbett as one of the finest literary creations of our time. It ended on a nice, juicy cliffhanger too.
As joyous an occasion that the publication of The Queen of Bedlam was, there was a small dark side. Pocket Books, McCammon's longtime publisher, didn't seem to know how to market it. When they should have given it the major push it deserved, they allowed it to falter. And worse, the hardcover was a major disappointment. It was a cheaply-made volume that resembled one of those old Science Fiction Book Club things. Spit and toilet paper.
Now, with the publication of Mister Slaughter, Robert McCammon has found what I truly hope will a permanent, lucrative home. It's with Subterranean Press.
I've been a reader of Subterranean publications for a long time. They started out sort of like Cemetery Dance Jr., but now Subterranean has evolved into one of the most important publishers of Fantasy, Science Fiction and Horror. At what point can you no longer call a publisher a 'small press'? Subterranean is doing damned nice trade editions that are as inexpensive as most other mainstream hardcovers, but are much more beautiful and sturdy.
 Which at last brings me to Mister Slaughter. I was privileged to be able to read an early edition of it prior to publication. And it should be no surprise that it is a real winner.
My only disappointment in Mister Slaughter is that it is not as long as its predecessors. It clocks in at 'only' 440 pages, but Mister Slaughter packs a mean punch. This is the most brutal of the Corbett books so far. For Mister Slaughter himself is what would later be termed a serial killer. Or perhaps a mass murderer. He's intelligent and with cultured manners when he wishes, but Mister Slaughter is meaner and more cold-blooded than Hannibal Lector. And Matthew Corbett is saddled with the job of transporting him from an asylum in Pennsylvania to New York, where he is to be deported to England for a trial.
Corbett continues to mature, but he proves to be all-too-human and is tempted by the wormtongued Slaughter. Corbett and his associate, Hudson Greathouse, alter the course of their journey to New York based on a promise from the killer, which brings on great disaster. Facing the greatest shame of his young life, Matthew Corbett must risk everything dear to him in order to complete his task and deliver Mister Slaughter to justice.
But there's more. Far more. McCammon provides numerous subplots and the criminal conspiracy Corbett encountered in The Queen of Bedlam is still afoot. There's also a sinister bloody fingerprint on a playing card that still holds a dire portent for the young detective. Matthew's relationship with young Berry is further explored and numerous other colorful characters that readers became acquainted with in The Queen of Bedlam are featured in Mister Slaughter.
To sum up this long, rambling piece short, Robert McCammon is back with a new book, a new publisher and the future looks good for him. As well as his readers. Don't pass up Mister Slaughter and if you haven't read Speaks the Nightbird and The Queen of Bedlam, you'd better start reading. Fiction doesn't get any better than these books.
Oh, and one more thing. I eventually did read They Thirst and while I felt it was far from the best work from Mister McCammon, I had a blast with it. They Thirst is a huge, pulpy, rollicking good time.
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Monday, September 14, 2009
You hear the city  rats raving on about their grindhouse experiences. I'm sure it was nice, but compared to a drive-in theater? You gotta be kidding me!
At a drive-in you had the choice of sitting in the luxury of your own automobile or bringing along a lawn chair. Or you could sit on the hood of the car and keep warm on a cool night from the engine heat.
At a grindhouse you sat in some guy's sperm and piss.
At a drive-in, you could drink and smoke anything you wanted.
You could at a grindhouse too, I suppose, but you can bring in a LOT more beer in your trunk than in your raincoat pockets.
At a drive-in you were under the glorious stars.
At a grindhouse you were in an unhealthy building that probably should have been condemned a long time ago.
At a drive-in you could piss outside you car. If you were in the back row, anyway.
At a grindhouse you h ad to brave the old pervs that hung out in the men's room looking for a date or maybe a peek at your Johnson.
You could bring your date to a drive-in and at least have the option of having cramped uncomfortable sex.
At a grindhouse I don't think you would have wanted to try that. You might find yourself in an unwelcome Ménage à Trois. Or a gangbang.
At a grindhouse you were at least out of the weather.
Battling the elements was one of the fun things about a drive-in. Rain, wind, even snow and ice storms. I've been through 'em all at drive-ins and it was always a blast.
I admit that that the mosquitoes were often extremely annoying at a drive-in theater.
I'll take them over rats, cockroaches, fleas and lice any day.
The screen at a drive-in is as big as the heavens. The huge movie images against the backdrop of the night horizon is breathtaking. If there is such a thing as paradise on earth, that's it.
There's no way to prove this, but I'd BET that if Tarantino and Rodriguez called their movie, Drive-In, instead of Grindhouse, it wouldn't have been such a flop.
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Sunday, September 13, 2009
I've been an enthusiastic follower of the writing of Bentley Little ever since the publication of his first book. Like most prolific authors, Bentley Little has written some truly outstanding books as well as some that weren't quite as satisfying to me. Not that I've ever been completely disappointed with any of Little books, but I do have my favorites. I'm certain that other fans have their own lists that differ from mine, but here's my perspective of...
THE INDISPENSABLE BENTLEY LITTLE
The Revelation (1990)
This first novel from Bentley Little is on a list of other astonishingly good debuts in the genre like Dan Simmons' Song of Kali, Norman Partridge's Slippin' Into Darkness, Poppy Z. Brite's Lost Souls and Jack Ketchum's Off Season. This novel is based on Christian beliefs is shocking and deeply frightening. Aready Bentley Little was pushing the barriers of taboo with The Revelation. And if you care about such things, it won the Stoker for Best First Novel. Incidentally, although Bentley Little was nominated for a couple of others, this is the only Stoker he has won to date.
The Mailman (1991)
Bentley Little's sophomore novel is just as well-written as The Revelation, but I thought it was much more original. He is, of course, a writer and writers have an intimate relationship with the mail. Especially in those pre-Internet days, his livlihood depended upon it. I bet most Cemetery Dance readers are more than a little bit obsessed with the mail too. Every horror fiction fan I know orders a lot of stuff.
Little's story of a sinister mailman may come across as a silly concept by reading a brief description of the plot, but his nerve-rattling prose makes it an icily compelling read. A new mailman in a small town is terrorizing its residents. He has unhealthy pale skin and bright red hair. Think Courtney Gains from the Children of the Corn movie. The mail begins coming at extremely odd hours and the local post office becomes the town's haunted house.
Death Instinct (1992)
Death Instinct was originally published in '92, but few American readers got a chance to read it until 2006. It was originally published as Evil Deeds in the UK.
Death Instinct is a rare non-supernatural novel from Little. It's distinctly unlike anything else he has written. It's also one of my very favorites of his books. It's a straightforward suspense thriller in many ways, but Little uses extreme audacity in the use of his antagonist. It's absolutely horrifying and despite its outrageous premise, is absolutely plausible. One of the creepiest things I've ever read.
The Summoning (1993)
This is Bentley Little's take on the classic vampire tale, but like anything else by the man, it is nothing like anything by any other writer. The Summoning is inspired by Chinese folklore. The blood-drinker is no slick, romantic pretty boy. No, it is a gruesome, horrifying monster. The Summoning has plenty of the jaw-dropping scenes that Little is rightly famous for. One in particular, that takes place in a roadside rest stop, completely freaked me out. And I have a high grossout threshold. This is the vampire novel for those hate vampire novels. Particularly the Twilight and Interviewing kinds.
Dominion (1996)
Perhaps Little's most extreme book. The over-the-top scenes of graphic sex and violence rival extreme horror master Edward Lee's works. Dominion deals with two students that meet and fall in love, only to learn that their relationship is no coincidence and that their love could bring about a new dark age on the Earth. Bentley Little draws from ancient Greek mythology for this one.
The Store (1996)
The Store is a thinly veiled satire about WalMart taking over individually owned supermarkets and how shopping has become a plastic, dehumanized experience. How corporations are succeeding in stripping away our souls. In Bentley Little's vision, The Store is operated by evil forces, especially with the shrouded Night Managers. Death and horror await the employees that do not conform to The Store's increasingly bizarre demands and it begins to control local politics. It doesn't sound a whole lot different than reality, does it?
Bentley Little explored similar themes of society's assimilation into corporate horror in the equally compelling novels, The Association and The Policy.
The Ignored (1997)
Some say that there are no new ideas and that writers liberally borrow from the works of others they have read. There is undoubtedly more than a small amount of truth to that, I think, but Bentley Little created something unique with The Ignored. It's easily one of the finest books he has written to date.
Bob Jones is an average guy. Even his name is banal. In his nondescript job he is looked over and gradually everyone begins to ignore him. He becomes a nonentity as he loses his place in his own world and in society. It's another all-too-imaginable fear in a world in which cities are ant colonies where it is hard to be noticed than ever before. This is a perfect place to start off for the Bentley Little virgin.
The Town (2000)
Maybe I'm biased because I read The Town while camping on my honeymoon, but this is a real favorite of mine.This one is Little's bizarre version of a modern western ghost town, but it's far removed from any other book of its type ever published. The Town has some of the most outrageous scenes of any book he has published, my favorite being a woman that gives birth to a baby cactus with human features! That's just one of the wild things that occur in The Town.
The Collection (2002)
Bentley Little is justly famous (or perhaps notorious is a better word) for his short fiction. I first encountered his writing in David B. Silva's The Horror Show Magazine and he also had a short story in the very first issue of Cemetery Dance. He has appeared in the pages of this magazine numerous times since then. But I really noticed him from the Borderlands anthologies, of which the first four volumes all feature Little's work. That's something of a record. The Potato, from Borderlands 2, is one of the most unforgettable pieces I've ever read.
Bentley Little's short fiction is often shocking, sometimes disgusting and it always manages to get a reaction from me. If you're a short story kind of person, you owe it to yourself to find The Collection.
The Resort (2004)
This one is about as close to a traditional horror novel as Bentley Little gets. It's a huge, grand novel of a sinister hotel that reads absolutely nothing like The Shining. For pure entertainment factors, The Resort is one of his best bets.
Dispatch (2005)
Here is another of Bentley Little works that is so bold and original that you wonder how the hell he dreams this stuff up.
We've all been disgruntled about things we face in our town to complain. Sometimes we even go so far as to write a letter to the appropriate parties. Usually they come to naught, or we might get a polite but insincere reply. And life goes on. Jason Hanford writes letters that ignite action. Every time he complains, He receives free movie passes, coupons for free food. Every time he writes, something good happens. So he begins to experiment with his 'gift'. And things spiral way out of control.
His Father's Son (2009)
Which brings me to the latest novel from Bentley Little. I've come to expect the unexpected from him, but His Father's Son took me completely off balance. I can usually detect Little's style right off, but this one is radically different from the rest of his work. In fact, it reminds me of a nior writer like Jim Thompson.
I couldn't be happier to report that I consider His Father's Son to be the finest novel that Bentley Little has published to date. He has never even come close to the kind of psychological depth that he has achieved here.
Steve Nye is a normal enough guy. He has an average job, some pals to hang with and a woman to love. But when his father has a stroke and attempts to kill his mother, his life gets derailed. His father is hospitalized and while they were never especially close, Steve feels obliged to visit with him on a regular basis. Suffering from dementia, the old man drifts in and out of lucidity. In his more coherent moments, he makes some disquieting comments to Steve, leading the young man to believe his father was some sort of monster. Steve sets out to find out the truth and he discovers he isn't that much different than dear old dad. Or is he?
I was literally engrossed on every page of His Father's Son. Little takes his readers on a dark ride with this one and I for one had no clue where it was all going to end up. It's arguable that His Father's Son could be described as a suspense novel or a horror story, but I think it's a little of both, I only hope that Bentley Little's readers are willing to follow him with departure from his usual type of book.
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Thursday, September 03, 2009
 I always come back to Heinlein and I always will.
Requiem is a posthumous collection/anthology honoring the great Robert A. Heinlein. It's full of rare stories, essays, speeches and tributes from other luminaries of SF. I never got around to reading it, but I picked up a copy at a library sale last weekend for a dollar. A nice, mint hardcover.
I always carry books in my car. Usually I have the one I'm currently reading, but I forgot to bring His Father's Son with me when I went to the movies yesterday afternoon. I had Requiem with me and I got to the movies about 40 minutes early. I have a pathological fear that I'll be late for things. Traffic, whatever.
I had read the lead story in Requiem before. It's called Requiem and it's such a lovely little tale. Requiem has the old sense of wonder in it, but unlike a lot of stuff that also does, it is mature and deeply moving.
I read Requiem before going into the theater and once again I was moved by it. The story is a sequel to Heinlein's classic novella, The Man Who Sold the Moon. In that one, a man is driven by his love for the stars and builds a business in rocketry. He is successful beyond his wildest dreams, but those dreams turn into nightmares when the stockholders bar him from any space travel of his own. They need their cash cow to keep the profits coming in.
In Requiem, the man, Delos David Harriman, is old, but he has never lost his passion, his desire to touch the stars. Or at least set foot on the moon. He bribes, breaks the law and finagles a way to get there. But the trip is not without its price. A price Harriman is all too happy to pay.
The title, Requiem, describes Harriman's journey and his destination. But it also serves as a testament for Heinlein's own legacy. The author loved the stars his entire life, but he sadly was never able to make the trip his heart craved for. But his dreams, his vision, were instrumental in man's courageous struggle into space.
Most reading at this site are not science fiction fans and I pity them. Pity them for missing out on all the marvelous work out there. But most of all I pity them for missing out on the magnificent career of Robert A. Heinlein, the greatest science fiction writer that ever lived. Admittedly some of RAH's later, post Stranger in a Strange Land, fiction doesn't work for me any more. But his classic writing from the 50's is unparalleled, not only in the field of science fiction, but in all of literature.
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