Häxan (1922)

Certain films feel more like a devilish fever dream than an actual movie made by human hands; the silent film Häxan is definitely one of those wholly unholy flicks.

Filled with the most satanic of imagery this side of heaven, this Swedish silent film — purported to be a historical study of witchcraft — opens with at least two full acts of drawings and woodcuts as the title cards tell the malicious tale of fiendish covens that gather in the middle of the darkest night to give Beelzebub a gentle kiss on his pert bottom, as well as other diabolically sexy goings-on.

And, as interesting as all of that is, Häxan earns its demonic name from the spooky reenactments that feature, of course, ol’ Nick Scratch and his dirty little pranks on poor humans, such as dumping gold coins all over an impoverished woman’s bed. What a dick!

But really, it’s the story of the Inquisition and the holy men who led it that is perhaps the most frightening part of this film. Like a malevolent game of telephone, the trail of witches and their accusers is as long as the Prince of Darkness’ curled tail; the various medieval torture techniques are also displayed here to cringeworthy effect, many looking far too real.

With the Dark Lord essayed by director Benjamin Christensen himself, he seems to have cast the most destitute and elderly of Sweden as the tortured fools of the tumultuous time, bleary-eyed, scab-covered and missing most of their teeth. It’s a haunting recitation of evil — or what they, at that moment, thought was evil, including the woefully disturbed and sadly handicapped.

If you are averse to silent films, however, in 1968 Häxan was re-released as Witchcraft Through the Ages, an edited version which manages to be even creepier, thanks to William S. Burroughs’ cronish narration and an absolutely unsettling score by Jean-Luc Ponty. Now you can’t tell me that the archfiend didn’t have a hand in that … —Louis Fowler

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The New Kids (1985)

With their parents perishing in a car wreck, military-base teens Loren (Shannon Presby, Trackdown: Finding the Goodbar Killer) and Abby MacWilliams (Lori Loughlin, Back to the Beach) move to Florida to live with their slovenly Uncle Charlie (Eddie Jones, Invasion U.S.A.). They earn their keep by helping get his decrepit, two-bit amusement park, Santa Funland, off the ground.

They earn something else, too: the ire of the local gang of high school hick thugs, led by the drug-dealing Dutra (James Spader, Avengers: Age of Ultron), all for one unreasonable reason: Abby won’t go out with them. Outraged at this affront to their rapey overtures, Dutra and his fellow detritus pledge to make the MacWilliams siblings pay — quite literally with their lives, after a couple rounds of garden-variety vandalism fail to convince Abby to put out. It all culminates as the viewer would hope: on the after-hours grounds of Santa Funland, with the villains using shotguns and our heroes using jerry-rigged carnival rides.

This late left turn into terror shouldn’t surprise anyone, seeing how The New Kids is directed by Sean S. Cunningham, he of the landmark slasher Friday the 13th. Now, James Spader is no Jason Voorhees, which is to say that while the former’s villainous turn failed to achieve the latter’s icon status, the actor is absolutely slimy to the point of serpentine — a petulant, entitled alpha male whose assholiness resonates even more today with a realism the supernatural slayer Jason can’t even hope to match (not that he would).

As intense as Spader is, treating the B movie as A material (as was his wont), Presby is nearly as magnetic – a surprise since The New Kids marks his film debut, and doubly a surprise since he never did another. In fact, his acting career — all four years of it — ended with the ’85 calendar. Slow-motion shots of his athleticism aside, presumably to showcase his package, Presby has more presence than his ultimately famous screen sister. Among the supporting cast in too-small parts are Eric Stoltz (Anaconda) as a super-dweeb and Tom Atkins (Halloween III: Season of the Witch) as the ill-fated MacWilliams patriarch.

Cunningham’s instincts have always been stronger as producer than director, so he seems mostly disinterested in Stephen Gyllenhaal’s script until the finale places him back within his comfort zone. Viewers will not only sense it, but may think likewise. —Rod Lott

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Rock ’n’ Roll High School (1979)

Cinema of the ’70s gave us a whole litany of cool characters to cheer for, from John Shaft to Han Solo; for me, however, one of the coolest characters has always been a smart-mouthed teen who not only blew up her high school in the name of rock and roll, but got the Ramones to play while doing it.

Yeah, it’s pretty hard to top Riff Randall in Rock ’n’ Roll High School

Riff Randall (P.J. Soles) is a punk-rocking teen — at least as punk rock as Roger Corman was probably willing to go in 1979 — who hates her school and loves the Ramones, regularly staging lunchtime rock riots as the jocks and the stoners and the nerds all groove together in a true rainbow coalition of high school unity, minus the freshmen, of course.

It’s a tenuous bond that only solidifies once totalitarian principal Ms. Togar (Mary Woronov) is put in charge of Vince Lombardi High, cracking down on any and all of the school’s mostly rebellious trouble-starters, including the music of Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee and Marky. This extends to the big Ramones concert where Riff publicly gives the “Hey-ho, let’s go!” to Togar’s fascistic rule of order.

Originally called Disco High — an idea that, truth be told, I would have loved to have seen as well — this Allan Arkush-directed production, while maybe not the best film of the time, it definitely is the coolest in a long time; the combo of Soles and the Ramones have a lot to do with that, but co-stars Woronov, Dey Young and, of course, Clint Howard, are the pepperoni on the pizza that makes it so damn tasty.

The soundtrack is tops as well, filled with plenty of blitzkrieging Ramones boppers — all the hits are here, kids — as well as tunes by artists as (somewhat) diverse as the Brownsville Station, Devo, Nick Lowe and Brian Eno, making appearances; Chuck Berry, the true king of rock and roll, is somewhere in their, too, as he really should be. Hail, hail, rock and roll!  —Louis Fowler

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Reading Material: Brute Force: Animal Horror Movies

If the Vanessa Morgan-edited (and highly recommended) When Animals Attack: The 70 Best Horror Movies with Killer Animals were your Intro 101 to the naughty-nature subgenre, consider Dominic Lennard’s Brute Force: Animal Horror Movies the subsequent AP class.

Part of SUNY Press’ Horizons of Cinema series (as was Lennard’s Bad Seeds and Holy Terrors: The Child Villains of Horror Film of 2015), Brute Force examines the be(a)st that Hollywood and off-Hollywood movies have to offer in depicting man’s battle against eight-, six-, four- and no-legged creatures. This type of terror resonates because, Lennard writes, it “hits us with a radical demotion” on the scale of superiority — not to mention the food chain.

He may discuss the sexual politics of 1976’s King Kong and the gender depiction of bears, but don’t mistake Brute Force as a force of boredom or wokeness; it’s a lively and spirited discussion of a particular and peculiar kind of flick. In other words, the contents contain a serious — and seriously engaging — mix of film criticism analysis that just so happens to include Sharknado — y’know, the Syfy shitnado in which, “as the film’s title promises, we see a great swirling tornado flinging sharks around its perimeter.”

Amid chapters on killer insects, snakes and dogs, Lennard takes a mid-book break to focus not on a member of the animal kingdom, but on the eyes — both for the subgenre’s use of shots from the predator’s POV (as in Michael Wadleigh’s Wolfen) and for those creatures’ propensity to pluck out our peepers (as in Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds).

Lennard’s writing style exhibits humor without snark (“Dark lord among diminutive of terrors is of course the spider”), often coming across as deadpan — a real plus. Other than Brute Force’s investment-style price, the only quibble I have with it is the author’s occasional misclassification of movies to fit the theme; never have I ever heard of The Edge or The Grey or The Ghost and the Darkness referred to as anything but adventure thrillers. Alas, I’m more than willing to throw him a bone. —Rod Lott

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Jojo Rabbit (2019)

Dubbed an “anti-hate satire,” Jojo Rabbit starts off strong enough, with our hero (?) Jojo (Roman Griffin Davis) on his way to a Hitler Youth camp, the strains of The Beatles’ Germanic variation of “I Want to Hold Your Hand” on the soundtrack. After that somewhat enthusiastic intro, however, the film starts its downhill slide into pointed mediocrity, one from which it never fully recovers.

I guess what I’m saying is that, fully based on Taika Waititi’s comedic output, I fully expected to love Jojo Rabbit, but ended up shrugging my shoulders in a very Teutonic “meh.”

Young Jojo wants to be a good Nazi, so much so that Hitler himself is his goose-stepping imaginary friend. Attending the camp — with a mildly surprising array of guest stars including Sam Rockwell and Rebel Wilson, acting their broadest — Jojo is ostracized harshly because he won’t defend German ideals by snapping the neck of a rabbit.

Despite this, he does his best to conform to der Führer’s rule of law, one that gets a slight bit harder to do when he discovers that his mother (Scarlett Johansson) has been hiding a young Jewish girl in his deceased sister’s room. Jojo does his best to serve the cause while maintaining a tenuous friendship with the girl, mostly succeeding.

While Waititi’s film is full of many comfortable laughs masquerading as uncomfortable jokes, the film eventually breaks with the dark-comedy aspect all together, oftentimes threatening to topple over on its own self-imposed self-importance.

While Davis is serviceable as young Jojo, Waititi is at his comical best as the faux Hitler, speaking with anachronistic beatnik phrasings, getting gentle guffaws out of his imposing terribleness. Perhaps, though, it’s the casting of chubby little Archie Yates as Jojo’s pal Yorki as the surprising comedic presence that gets the film’s continually funniest scenes.

That being said, Jojo Rabbit is still worth a viewing, granted that you know what a disjointed book-burning of a movie you’re going into; it’s not angry enough to be a dark comedy and too silly to be a truly moving experience. —Louis Fowler

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