Short Attention Span Review: Nightmare City (1980)

Short Attention Span Review: Nightmare City (1980)

Nightmare City is a rather glorious piece of shit.  There's a part of me (and it's not a small part) that wants to leave it at that.  That single statement would serve as a perfect review for this movie, yet I can't stifle the need to elaborate.  Nightmare City isn't just bad, it's very, very bad.  Okay, it's fucking horrible.  It is a perfect example of a cheap Italian horror movie, complete with an absurd script, weak acting, Z grade special effects, copious amounts of shoddy gore and pointless T&A, and characters who are largely defined by their need to make terrible decisions in moments of crisis.  The only thing missing is a laugh track.  But the whole thing is engineered (poorly) with such indisputable passion and vigor that it somehow rises above these shortcomings.  There are even a few areas where Nightmare City actually shines.  Umberto Lenzi directs this trash as well as trash can be directed, for one, and I do mean that as a compliment.  The score is both bonkers and sheer perfection; there could be no better score for this particular serving of cinematic garbage.  Finally, there's Hugo Stiglitz in the lead role.  Yes, dude is wooden as hell.  Yes, the script does him no favors.  Yes, he is legendary.  He seems like a mild-mannered reporter at first, but then the shit hits the fan, and our boy becomes a tough-talking, ass-kicking, and hard-drinking warrior of the apocalypse.  He kicks the shit out of zombies* (literally, his kick may not be all that impressive, but it sends several zombies flying), he throws axes, and he is comfortable mowing down undead ghouls with machine guns or hurling grenades at them.  He drinks whiskey and encourages his woman to stay strong and keep walking after he has firebombed their station wagon with a Molotov Cocktail*.  That's the kind of shit that happens in Nightmare City, peeps, and that's why we love movies like this.

*Okay, they're not actually zombies.  They're irradiated bloodsuckers who can run and wield weapons.

**This happens after the pair stop at a gas station and become surrounded while engaging in a philosophical debate about the pitfalls of modern society and the potential benefits of survival in a radioactive wasteland.  Yes, they should have fueled up and peeled out, but one of the writers went into message mode, so our boy Hugo just had to blow that fucking station wagon to bits and start stepping toward certain death.

Final Grade: B

It's not a special effects extravaganza, it's a straight up bullshit extravaganza.  And I loved it.  

Powerful Pages: Maynard's House by Herman Raucher (1980)

Powerful Pages: Maynard's House by Herman Raucher (1980)

This book had quite an impact on me in my youth, but it had faded into the fog of memory.  With that in mind, I was eager to revisit it this year during the spooky season, but I did so with some trepidation.  All too often, art that wowed us in our formative years wilts under mature inspection.  I shouldn't have worried.  Herman Raucher's thoroughly unique haunted house tale seems even more significant upon deeper reflection, and I somehow doubt this impression will dwindle going forward.  The author has a gift for detail that shows up everywhere, painting a lovely picture of a foreboding setting, deftly fleshing out the characters, and thoroughly ensnaring the reader in a nuanced plot.  The story centers on a plucky Vietnam vet with a quick tongue and an impulsive need to leap headlong into challenging situations.  He has inherited a fallen comrade's meager home in the harshest recesses of New England.  There, this adrift fellow who desires nothing more than some sense of purpose finds himself in the midst of another war.  In fact, he finds himself fighting several battles on treacherous fronts, with a loss in any of these conflicts spelling certain doom for our stubborn hero.  Beyond the isolation of his new home, Austin Fletcher must contend with a serious case of PTSD*, a harrowing winter, and a desperate search for identity in a world where he can never find sanctuary.  Oh yeah, and the house is haunted by a vengeful witch, and there may or may not be a ferocious bear on the prowl.  Given the protagonist's weakening grasp on reality, much of the novel leaves the reader to determine whether or not the perils at hand are real or imagined.  Lest that sounds too quaint for my fellow horror fans, fear not, for the sense of dread is powerful, and in one of the most riveting passages I have ever encountered, Raucher plunges the reader into a nightmarish depiction of absolute evil guaranteed to unnerve even the hardiest of the hardy.  The ending is perhaps the strongest portion of an impressive work and a delightful read.  Some may find it too mercurial to rank among the best excursions into the macabre that literature has to offer us, but I'm obliged to give Maynard's House my highest recommendation.

*The author conveys the combat veteran's condition with alarming precision and incredible empathy, and this novel was written long before analysis had graduated from a simple understanding of so-called "shell shock" to the more detailed study and acceptance of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder we see today.

Final Grade: A+

Short Attention Span Review: Flash Gordon (1980)

Short Attention Span Review: Flash Gordon (1980)

I don't think I can be objective here, but maybe I don't need to be.  I don't really know, to be completely honest with you  You see, I'm not sure that there is a greater paradox in the realm of the motion picture than Flash Gordon. It is entirely possible that this is a "so bad it's good" sort of movie.  There are definitely a few bits at the very least that would have wound up on the cutting room floor if the powers that be were looking to create a genuine classic with this brazen affair.  However, there is also a sense of majesty paired with some splendid entertainment value that elevates this colorful and quixotic gem.  In terms of sheer enjoyment, it is hard to top, and despite some clunky performances and a few goofy moments courtesy of the FX or the plotting, it does many things amazingly well.  The color palette is a true splendor, and the score is a genuine masterpiece courtesy of Queen, bolstered by a main theme that is nothing short of sheer perfection.  The excitement is non-stop, and the stakes are incredibly high.  The heroes are lovable and the villains are despicable, and anyone who doesn't smile while they partake of this feast for the senses is dead inside.  And yet there are those wooden performances and those moments where you can't quite tell if the filmmakers are going for camp or simply missing the mark by a mile. It is cheeky.  It is downright silly.  And somewhere, deep down inside, your inner critic is bound to feel that the material is beneath you.  But then it soars and despite your misgivings, you find yourself being blown away by all the energy and grandeur, and somehow the sappy plot gets under your skin.  Then you're actually moved by this barrage of sight and sound that is a lot like a puppy: awkward, a little smelly, and 100% lovable.  It's Flash Gordon.  It could be terrible.  It could be the greatest sci-fi adventure of all time.  You're free to make your own call, but as for me, . . . well, it's the first movie I really remember seeing, at a drive-in no less.  I have loved it for as long as I have loved the movies.  Yes, it's true--I like Flash as much as Mark Wahlberg and Ted do.  Maybe more.

Final Grade: A

It may be of the "so bad it's good" variety.  It may be totally legendary.  I'm honestly not sure which is the right answer, but  given our history I'm going to give Flash Gordon the benefit of the doubt here.