Here’s a full-page advert from July 8, 1988–the very day Universal Pictures unleashed Don Coscarelli’s PHANTASM II to cinemas!
#fearflashbacks #phantasmII #doncoscarelli #tallman #silversphere #universalpictures
Here’s a full-page advert from July 8, 1988–the very day Universal Pictures unleashed Don Coscarelli’s PHANTASM II to cinemas!
#fearflashbacks #phantasmII #doncoscarelli #tallman #silversphere #universalpictures
I’m traipsing around the Carolinas the next two weeks helping my mother get ready to move. Rather than leave a blank space until I return, I’m going to offer up a few choice entries from UBHB’s first six months, some of which you newer readers may have missed. Enjoy, and I’ll be back at the end of the month with all-new tasty horror morsels!
Sure, it’s a mess, but when it comes to slasher satire, “Student Bodies” got there first.
In the fall of 1986, my one school chum held his stomach as he chuckled his way up to my locker. “Did you see STUDENT BODIES on TV last night?”
Unexpectedly, this ended up being a question I would ask many people in the following years. Plagued by production problems, bad box office returns, and tepid critical assessment, STUDENT BODIES nevertheless holds the distinction of being the first slasher film satire.
Long before the SCARY MOVIE franchise would finally hit financial paydirt with the same material, STUDENT BODIES shot onto the marketplace admirably fast in the wake of the horror boom brought on by HALLOWEEN (1978) and FRIDAY THE 13th (1980). That may have been one of its problems–it was already lampooning a trashy cinematic trend that hadn’t even worn itself out yet.
The Breather, a killer in rubber galoshes and Playtex kitchen gloves, is on the loose at Lamab High School. His body count, which is actually tallied on-screen during each kill, includes dispatching people via such unlikely weapons as Hefty bags and paper clips. Trapped in the middle of all this is Toby Badger, a sexually-repressed girl surrounded by a bunch of predictably quirky characters. Since the virginal Toby could never be the killer, any of the school’s denizens–from the soft-headed principal to the militaristic shop teacher or the double-jointed spaz of a janitor–could be the real murderer.
Nearly a half century on, the film’s intentions may seem flimsy and transparent to most, but the film emerges victorious for one reason: it’s unendingly quotable. You’ll never look at rubber chickens, horsehead bookends, or broken KFC drumsticks the same way again.
Both ahead of its time and wildly uneven, STUDENT BODIES reminds us there was once a time when the horror genre hadn’t yet been dismantled. It also teaches us that dead men tell no tales…but they fart!

#unclean&unseen #studentbodies #slashermovies #horrorcomedy #satire #halloween #fridaythe13th #scarymovie
I’m traipsing around the Carolinas the next two weeks helping my mother get ready to move. Rather than leave a blank space until I return, I’m going to offer up a few choice entries from UBHB’s first six months, some of which you newer readers may have missed. Enjoy, and I’ll be back at the end of the month with all-new tasty horror morsels!
A dreamy, demanding puzzle only for the most dedicated.
Before you decipher the nightmarish, time-jumping ENYS MEN, you’d have no idea why I have pangs of guilt calling it a historical horror film. To do so seems almost like a spoiler.
The world’s first Cornish folk horror film, ENYS MEN – meaning ‘stone island’ and pronounced “Ennis Main”– is shot in 16mm and stained with a fitting 1970s patina by director Mark Jenkin. It seems predictable at first glance, almost coma-inducing in its monotony. A middle-aged woman, known only as The Volunteer, slavishly chronicles a small clutch of flowers native to a remote island off the English coast. Days of solitude go by, the flowers remain the same, and she neatly logs the stupefying lack of details in her journal. Holy shit, if they keep this up, then I’m off for another Guinness and a piss!
But wait, don’t unzip just yet! One day, the flowers start to change. That’s when ENYS MEN, too, begins to bend and bloom into something much more chilling, lush, and complex. Who is The Volunteer? What the hell is the significance of the standing stone that looms on the hilltop? More characters than you would expect–some real, some specters–float in and out, barely tethered by time or circumstance. Jenkin makes us work for our answers, continually blurring reality while bringing perceived fantasies into sharp, alarming focus.
If you’re looking for mainstream thrills that offer simple solutions, a wise Englishman once said, “Get knotted, you rotter!” However, for fans of more cerebral genre offerings like CUBE or Alex Garland’s ANNIHILATION, there’s a small island with a big puzzle waiting for you.

#historicalhorror #enysmen #markjenkin #folkhorror #cornwall #england #cube #annihiliation #alexgarland
I’m traipsing around the Carolinas the next two weeks helping my mother get ready to move. Rather than leave a blank space until I return, I’m going to offer up a few choice entries from UBHB’s first six months, some of which you newer readers may have missed. Enjoy, and I’ll be back at the end of the month with all-new tasty horror morsels!
Leatherface saved my life…well, not really, but his words helped shine a light into my heart of darkness.
The summer of 2008 was possibly the worst time of my life. I was going through a terrible breakup and hadn’t yet figured out how to move on. When booze, sex, and an unending loop of “The Simpsons” didn’t help, I decided to delve into reading as a possible remedy for my heartache.
One of the things I came across was a treasured old issue of Fangoria that contained a Chas Balun interview with Gunnar Hansen, best known for portraying southern-fried maniac, Leatherface, in Tobe Hooper’s THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE (1974). Released 50 years ago today, it became one of the most influential films in the history of cinema. In the article, Hansen recounts the making of the horror classic, but also notes his efforts in the writing field, including a poetry collection entitled “Bear Dancing on the Hill”. I was fascinated by the notion that the bloke who played Leatherface had written a poetry book. Where was this book? Could it be found?
Yes. Simply put, I went to the source.
After a few back and forth correspondences from his home on the coast of Maine, Gunnar posted to me his long-long-long-out-of-print poetry collection, originally published in 1979. I was gently surprised by the results—it was a chapbook of precise verses, most of which twisted around themes of nature and the realization of solitude. Each quiet entry sported names like “Emily Dickinson” and “Evening Light, May 6”. I was pleased to find my longtime suspicions were correct: “Bear Dancing on the Hill” was proof positive that the man who played Leatherface had more creative aptitude than merely chasing hippies with a smoking chainsaw.
In the years following the release of Hooper’s grimy, mean-as-dirt classic, the Reykjavik-born Hansen focused on projects closer to his heart, branching out with his creative writing skills and even partaking in the field of documentary films.
The horror universe became a little darker when we lost Hansen, aged 68, to pancreatic cancer in November 2015. However, his light brightened my life a bit when I needed it most, and for that I’ll be forever grateful.
Gunnar Hansen—maniac, poet, documentarian, and all-around nice fellow. RIP

#horrorhonorroll #gunnarhansen #thetexaschainsawmassacre #leatherface #tobehooper #fangoria #chasbalun #beardancingonthehill #poetry #reykjavik #iceland #pancreaticcancer
I’m traipsing around the Carolinas the next two weeks helping my mother get ready to move. Rather than leave a blank space until I return, I’m going to offer up a few choice entries from UBHB’s first six months, some of which you newer readers may have missed. Enjoy, and I’ll be back at the end of the month with all-new tasty horror morsels!
A dark, icy evening in late 1983 was the perfect time for such a cold and calculating film.
Sure, JAWS was my first horror experience in the theater, but I was a toddler and fell asleep. (I did this two years later at STAR WARS, too!) By default, THE DEAD ZONE gets the honor for my first moviegoing experience to see a horror film.
There was little triplex cinema on the main drag in Johnstown, PA in the early 1980s. I remember it being wonderfully creepy and barren in the winter months after the adjacent department store had closed for the day. Even all those years ago, the place had already seemed forgotten, existing in the margins of reality just like most all the best movie memories.
My dad, who never seemed interested in horror films, was suddenly jazzed to see the latest adaptation of a Stephen King bestseller. The previous novel-to-screen offering from King, CUJO, had mauled its way to a modest $20 million payday a few months earlier, but THE DEAD ZONE was a whole other breed–an outlier in King’s oeuvre even back then, serving as a quiet accompaniment to the likes of the horror meister’s amped-up classics such as “The Shining” and “Carrie”.
I had just recently gotten interested in horror films, and so the name David Cronenberg had flashed before me a few times in magazines and such, mostly in conjunction with his earlier film, the prescient and criminally underrated VIDEODROME (1983). So, as my dad’s Fiat slid down the hill to the parking lot fronting that shadowy, unassuming theater, I didn’t really know much about what to expect.
Teacher Johnny Smith (played by Christopher Walken at his most Christopher Walken-like perfection) is the victim of a snowy car crash, awakening from a five-year coma only to have the blessing/curse of second sight. It’s not bad enough his girlfriend has moved on without him as he lay comatose in that hospital bed, but now, with the touch of his hand, he’s able to divinate a person’s future, and sometimes these visions are downright horrifying. The worst is when he shakes the hand of up-and-coming politician Greg Stillson (the always-intense Martin Sheen). Images of the future president Stillson ordering a nuclear strike shakes Smith to his core, until he decides the only way to avert this terrible fate is to assassinate him.
This is a thinking man’s terror, rife with moral dilemmas and political intrigues that are just as relevant now as when King first proposed them in 1979. I could say that THE DEAD ZONE is a horror film for people who don’t like horror films, but the same could be said for the film’s director, David Cronenberg. For a filmmaker who rose to fame by almost single-handedly establishing the ‘body horror’ subgenre that has enjoyed a resurgence in recent years, this is a curiously astute work for folks who would typically shy away from Cronenberg’s aggressively grotesque style.
Well…except for that scissors scene. Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.

#letsallgotothelobbytogetourselvessomemeat #thedeadzone #davidcronenberg #stephenking #christopherwalken #martinsheen #cujo #carrie #theshining #videodrome #johnstown #pennsylvania #jaws #starwars #bodyhorror
I’m traipsing around the Carolinas the next two weeks helping my mother get ready to move. Rather than leave a blank space until I return, I’m going to offer up a few choice entries from UBHB’s first six months, some of which you newer readers may have missed. Enjoy, and I’ll be back at the end of the month with all-new tasty horror morsels!
Meeting a genre pioneer ain’t easy, especially when you have no idea what he looks like.
With many of his films seeming to be a whacky crash-up of monster movies and black-comedy slapstick, it’s fitting the New Jersey-born Joe Dante started out with working for Roger Corman at New World Pictures. Even some of the director’s earliest works such as PIRANHA (1978) and THE HOWLING (1981) align perfectly with Corman’s zesty, low-budget take on drive-in perfection.
Turning some tidy profits by the early 1980s, Dante earned enough box office clout to garner notice from Warner Bros. First, he gave a ghastly new spin to “It’s A Good Life” for TWILIGHT ZONE: THE MOVIE (1983) before the studio offered him the plum chance to finally command a bigger budget. The result was GREMLINS (1984), an out-of-the-box summer blockbuster that made everyone (even yours truly) suddenly decide they needed a mogwai in their lives–and yes, I still have mine.
I know a lot of younger people won’t get this, but there was a time when we as moviegoers had no idea what directors looked like. You’d read articles in newspapers or magazines about an exciting new genre film but never once catch a glimpse of anyone outside the principal actors. Keeping that in mind, you can understand my surprise when I met Joe Dante by accident.
Let me explain.
In the late 80’s, I was a gawky teen attending my first horror convention. It was like Disneyland for disenfranchised nerds so, naturally, I was in my element and totally in awe of everything. One of the first stops I made was at a table that was reserved for Gary Brandner, author of “The Howling”. Having seen the film, I thought Brandner would be a neat person to meet. Soon after, a man sat down at the table and, with not a single other nerd in sight, I was able to easily stroll up and ask for an autograph. He was very kind and asked my name before jotting for me “To Dylan from Joe Dante” before drawing a quick and surprisingly accurate mogwai beside which he added, “ + Gizmo”. My mouth dropped open when I realized the switcheroo. Not only was this instead the director of THE HOWLING, but also the first time I had ever seen him.
And with that, Joe Dante inadvertently became the first movie director I ever met. Not a bad start, eh?
#horrorhonorrole #joedante #garybrandner #gremlins #thehowling #piranha #rogercorman #newjersey #newworldpictures #warnerbros
I’m traipsing around the Carolinas the next two weeks helping my mother get ready to move. Rather than leave a blank space until I return, I’m going to offer up a few choice entries from UBHB’s first six months, some of which you newer readers may have missed. Enjoy, and I’ll be back at the end of the month with all-new tasty horror morsels!
It’s derivative as hell, but the needle on my Creepy Sleaze-o-Meter just broke off!
After my parents got divorced, my family moved into government housing. I’ve seen it in recent years, and the area has become a snakepit–grassless playgrounds, weedy shrubbery, and a palpable sense of danger and crime now surrounds the area. However, way back in the early 1980s, it was new, clean, and, most importantly, hopeful for those living under the poverty line.
One of the greatest things about living there was that we had HBO for the first year or so. Our previous apartment had sported a slightly-illegal Showtime hook-up (bonus!), but this was the first time we’d partaken in the American ritual that was Home Box Office.
I was a new horror hound at the time, and even back then it was tough to scare me. However, a fateful late night in the autumn of 1983 offered up one of the first showings of AMITYVILLE II: THE POSSESSION, and it’s arguably the most scared I’ve ever been watching a horror film.
Backpedaling from the original, director Damiano Damiani instead opts for the ‘prequel’ route. Using Hans Holzer’s 1979 book “Murder in Amityville” as a template, the sequel attempts to show us why the house got so jacked up to begin with, and let me tell ya, it’s a doozy of a story. In a nutshell, a combative Italian-American family (is that redundant?) moves into the ominous Long Island house with the quarter-moon windows, only to see its oldest son slowly succumb to demonic possession. He screws his sister and then cusses her out for good measure, hears murderous commands from the devil on his Sony Walkman, and starts a series of physical metamorphoses that really, really look like they got lifted directly from earlier films like THE BEAST WITHIN and…hmm, THE EXORCIST (surprise!). All that ain’t nothin’, though, as the film climaxes with the kid mowing down his father, mother, and three younger siblings at close range with a rifle. Fucking hell!!!
One wonders what co-writer Tommy Lee Wallace was trying to say here. Sure, the frequent John Carpenter collaborator and director of such hotly-debated horror entries as HALLOWEEN III: SEASON OF THE WITCH and the 1990 television adaptation of Stephen King’s IT is no stranger to horror craziness. Having said that, AMITYVILLE II: THE POSSESSION, with its depictions of spousal and child abuse, blasphemy, incest, and graphic violence, was totally off the hook for an early 1980s offering from a major studio. The even more amazing thing? The original cut of the film was supposed to include a more explicit incest scene, as well as a separate anal rape sequence that was eliminated only after test audiences reportedly flipped out. *blink, blink* All y’all motherfuckers need Jesus!
Ultimately, a spate of tepid reviews, competing genre titles, and reigning box office juggernauts from the summer of 1982 staved off any chances for the movie to make a serious dent in the marketplace. Much like John Carpenter’s THE THING, which was released and immediately floundered just three months earlier, AMITYVILLE II was probably just too much for audiences back in the day.
In the end, though, I couldn’t care less about Leonard Maltin’s “BOMB” rating. I love this chaotic sleazefest as much now as I did when I was traumatized by it at age nine. It will forever stand tall as the most entertaining–and most daring!–Amityville film of them all.

#unclean&unseen #amityvilleIIthepossession #damianodamiani #tommyleewallace #halloweeniiiseasonofthewitch #it #johncarpenter #thething #thebeastwithin #theexorcist #incest #hansholzer #murderinamityville #leonardmaltin
I’m traipsing around the Carolinas the next two weeks helping my mother get ready to move. Rather than leave a blank space until I return, I’m going to offer up a few choice entries from UBHB’s first six months, some of which you newer readers may have missed. Enjoy, and I’ll be back at the end of the month with all-new tasty horror morsels!
Quite simply, the pinnacle of syndicated scares in the 1980s.
We’re kicking off this new television-based segment right. I’ve been looking forward to writing this entry for days now, simply because it’s my choice for the best episode from my favorite show of all time, TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE.
After George A. Romero had a minor mainstream hit with CREEPSHOW in late 1982, the idea of adapting it for television suddenly became quite a lucrative possibility. Upon a slight retooling of the concept, a pilot aired in 1983 before the series was picked up by LBS Communications for syndication the following autumn. It stuck with the familiar anthology style of many genre series before it, most notably Rod Serling’s two network success stories, THE TWILIGHT ZONE and NIGHT GALLERY.
The series was filmed on the cheap by a non-union crew at alternating makeshift soundstages–one in an abandoned mattress factory in East L.A. and the other 3,000 miles away in Long Island City, which had formerly served as a rehearsal haunt for Pink Floyd. Leveraging this rather unorthodox method, the po’ ass producers could stretch their paltry, $124,000-per-episode budget by prepping one facility while filming at the other.
TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE achieved a handful of classic episodes in its first two seasons to include “Distant Signals”, in which an intergalactic audience demands the continuation of a long-canceled television show, as well as “Inside the Closet”, the monstrously auspicious directorial debut of FX guru Tom Savini. For my money, though, the pinnacle of the series happened right before Halloween, 1986.
Little Audrey is gifted a dollhouse by her friendly Uncle Richard. Audrey’s parents, Sam and Edith, are at first too busy trading their usual feckless mix of pleasantries and insults to notice that there’s something…really weird about the dolls, which Audrey has dubbed “The Geezenstacks” and that quaintly resemble each of the story’s four main players.
Enchanted by her offbeat new gift, Audrey’s imagination is quick to whip up tons of new adventures for her dolls. Mrs. Geezenstack indulges in the purchase of a new coat…and then Edith comes home moments later with the exact same thing. When Mr. Geezenstack comes down with a cold, Sam is soon laid up in bed and stuffed full of chicken soup. What is dismissed as pure coincidence by Edith and Richard becomes Sam’s very unhealthy obsession. Where did the dolls come from? Why do they resemble his family? And, most importantly, what will happen to them next?
“The Geezenstacks” is one of the premier examples of TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE thriving in the shadows of its low budget. Director Bill Travis’s spare lighting and odd, inspired blocking help make the episode’s string-based score all the more sinister and atmospheric. Bonus points go to star Craig Wasson, who would soon go on to tangle with Freddy Krueger in A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 3: DREAM WARRIORS. Here, he admirably walks the crooked line between goofy and tortured as a father slowly losing his marbles to playthings that seem all at once evil and harmless.
Ultimately, one of the best things about the episode is something you can’t fully appreciate until you read its source material, a 1943 short story of the same name by Fredric Brown. Whereas Brown opted to give his readers a chaotic, somewhat confusing shock ending, the adapted teleplay by Nancy Doyne layers on a positively chilling and well-rounded conclusion that insinuates the dollhouse’s story is far from over.
With their porcelain skin, mute smiles, and jet-black eyes that just might be able to see the future, “The Geezenstacks” will give fans of old-school horror and fantasy some of the biggest goosebumps they’ll have all year.

#smallscreenscreams #talesfromthedarkside #thegeezenstacks #fredricbrown #nancydoyne #craigwasson #georgeromero #tomsavini #pinkfloyd #creepshow #lbscommunications #rodserling #twilightzone #nightgallery
I’m traipsing around the Carolinas the next two weeks helping my mother get ready to move. Rather than leave a blank space until I return, I’m going to offer up a few choice entries from UBHB’s first six months, some of which you newer readers may have missed. Enjoy, and I’ll be back at the end of the month with all-new tasty horror morsels!
When there’s no more room in hell, the rip-offs will walk the earth.
Also known as: Night of the Zombies, Virus, Cannibal Virus, Zombies A-Poppin’, Zombie 2, Zombie Inferno, Zombie Disco Inferno: Electric Boogaloo, Zombie Creeping Flesh, Undead Combo Meal with Large Fries, Zombies of the Savanna, The Artists Formerly Known as Zombies, and many, many others.
As adults, we pride ourselves on wisdom. Getting through the highs and lows of life gives us insight we can use to offer needed advice to our loved ones and make intelligent decisions. Then, there are decisions like HELL OF THE LIVING DEAD, which we just know are going to be bad for us. That cigarette. That skanky one-night stand in Vegas. Those two packages of Girl Scout cookies that are just sitting there, taunting us. But we can’t resist.
I originally intended to see this shit carnival one night on cable in 1984 under its US-branded moniker, UNENDING NIGHT OF THE DEADLY FLESH NIBBLERS, but my mum came to her senses and sent me to bed. (Had it not been a school night, I bet I could have pulled it off.) It took me another decade to finally catch it on video, and boy howdy, was it worth the wait.
The movie almost seems like it was made by actual zombies. Its genius-by-accident mix of inexplicable nudity, bad dialogue, and non-stop, dollar-store gore inadvertently becomes the very definition of ‘guilty pleasure’. From the ripped off Goblin soundtrack to director Bruno Mattei being billed as “Vincent Dawn”, the producers of HELLISH DAY OF THE DISGRUNTLED WHATEVERS use every trick in the book to convince us this maybe, just possibly, could be the work of George A. Romero.
Needless to say, it’s a total failure, but once you feast your eyes on BURNING HOPPING ZOMBIES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH, you have to admit that these folks packed a lot of irresistible nonsense into 100 minutes of running time. In all honesty, I’ve probably seen this film at least six times, and I still don’t know what happens in it or what the point is! (Off the record: booze and drugs will help, so be sure to have a lot nearby before you press play.)
Just like that greasy chili burger you have after four oyster shooters, watching DAWNING SCREAMING ZOMBIES ON SAFARI is not going to be one of the best choices you’ll make in this lifetime. But sometimes, you just have to do it.

#unclean&unseen #hellofthelivingdead #nightofthezombies #vincentdawn #brunomattei #georgeromero #zombies
I’m traipsing around the Carolinas the next two weeks helping my mother get ready to move. Rather than leave a blank space until I return, I’m going to offer up a few choice entries from UBHB’s first six months, some of which you newer readers may have missed. Enjoy, and I’ll be back at the end of the month with all-new tasty horror morsels!
The story of how Mike Oldfield’s “Tubular Bells” taught me my very first lessons in horror, art, and outsmarting my parents.
Yeah, I know, I know. It seems like I’m being a totally predictable prick debuting my horror soundtracks section with THE EXORCIST, but it’s not really for the reason you’d think.
You see, when I was little, I was obsessed with a record my parents had indifferently inherited somehow. I played it so often that they actually tried to hide it from me. Unfortunately for them, I soon found the place where it was stashed–behind my sister’s standing wardrobe–and their torment continued.
This infamous single I cherished was the edit of Mike Oldfield’s 1973 masterpiece, “Tubular Bells”. It immediately rocketed to fame late that year when its opening suite was used as the theme to William Friedkin’s blood-and-thunder horror benchmark, THE EXORCIST. Oldfield’s expansive opus, which included everything from the titular percussion to synthesized, nightmarish mock-ups that sounded of feral animals, was only one of two reasons I loved the record.
The second was the label.
I had never seen anything like it before. The image–a pair of siamese twins seated before a gnarled tree and flanked by the tail of a horrific komodo dragon-type monster–provided me with some of my very first questions regarding the realms of horror and art. The tree, the komodo, the twins–why were they together, and what did it mean?
I never did find out. But I did learn years later that the drugs in the 70’s had been really, really good. I also discovered the artwork had been designed by Roger Dean, who’d gained international fame after creating the innovative landscapes adorning all those early album covers of the English prog-rock group Yes.
Oldfield was never able to step out of the very long shadow of “Tubular Bells”, and its dark, looping jingle will forever be spot-welded to the misadventures of Regan MacNeil. However, it provided him the springboard to an astonishing 50-year career that spanned popular music, gaming, and even the opening ceremonies of the Olympic Games in 2012.

#spookysoundtracks #mikeoldfield #tubularbells #williamfriedkin #theexorcist #rogerdean #virginrecords