Showing posts with label Lurid Literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lurid Literature. Show all posts

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Neil Gaiman's Coraline



As is often the case, the book was far superior to the movie. While brilliantly animated (and presented in 3-D), Director Henry Selick's 2009 release of Coraline failed to capture the essence of the masterfully-crafted story by Neil Gaiman. In spite of the valiant efforts of powerkid Dakota Fanning, and the "Desperate" Teri Hatcher, the film fell flat for me, even before I had something to compare it to.


While Selick's screenplay left me feeling as though adults had toiled feverishly in order to appeal to a child-like perspective, Gaiman's original work effortlessly transported me to a sacred place of wonder and amazement, often only inhabited by the very young and imaginative. In my humble opinion, there is almost nothing worse than grown-ups who bend over backward in order to appear "cool" to the younger generation. Either you're cool or you aren't -- and if you aren't, no amount of research on playground lingo can help you. Fortunately for all the readers out there, young and not-so-young, Neil Gaiman is incredibly cool.



Neil Gaiman
is also incredibly English. Although he now lives in the United States, much of his work is full of delicious British colloquialisms, and overall, bears a decidedly English flavour. When I read his work, I imagine everyone speaking like Oliver Twist, even before I've been instructed by the author to do so. Unfortunately, none of this flavour comes through in the motion picture, as the production was highly Americanized in order to appeal to wallets of the west. Teri Hatcher couldn't have produced a believable British accent if her parents were Winston Churchill and Margaret Thatcher!



Interspersed throughout the book's 162 pages is a collection of illustrations by Dave McKean. The drawings are not what one would normally expect to find within a children's book, which is much of what makes them so incredible. Rendered in a ragged, sketchy style, many of the images are downright frightening -- perfect accompaniments to Gaiman's enchanting tale of secret doors, lost children, and a fearsomely-wicked woman. One thousand heartfelt thank-you's to Karswell for gifting me with this delightfully-quirky book!



"We are small but we are many
We are many we are small

We were here before you rose

We will be here when you fall..."


Tuesday, January 20, 2009

The Black Cat [1963]



Killer Kittens From Beyond The Grave is getting into The Horrors of it All's week-long celebration of Edgar Allan Poe's 200th birthday (January 19, 1809) with both paws!

Courtesy of The Karswell Longboxes, feast your hungry eyes upon THE BLACK CAT, lovingly lifted from TALES OF TERROR, Dell's 1963 comic book adaptation of TALES OF TERROR, Roger Corman's 1962 film adaptation (starring the irreplaceable Vincent Price) of Poe's original works. There's a whole lotta love (and linkage) up in here alla-a-sudden!

This story perfectly illustrates merely one of the many reasons why it's just not a good idea to mess with a cat person. Enjoy!


Monday, December 1, 2008

In Drear-Nighted December



For those of us in the north, the dead season is most certainly upon us! Although Winter won't officially begin until December 21, I thought I would brace for the grueling months to come with some moon mythology, followed up promptly with a Keats Toddy!

Full Cold Moon: On Friday, December 12, the Full Cold Moon will bathe us in its luminous glory. "The winter cold fastens its grip, and nights are at their longest and darkest. It is also sometimes called the Moon before Yule. The term Long Night Moon is a doubly appropriate name because the midwinter night is indeed long, and because the Moon is above the horizon for a long time. The midwinter full Moon has a high trajectory across the sky because it is opposite a low Sun." -- Farmers' Almanac


In Drear-Nighted December


In drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne'er remember
Their green felicity:
The north cannot undo them
With a sleety whistle through them;
Nor frozen thawings glue them
From budding at the prime.

In drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look;
But with a sweet forgetting,
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting
About the frozen time.

Ah! would 'twere so with many
A gentle girl and boy!
But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?
The feel of not to feel it,
When there is none to heal it
Nor numbed sense to steel it,
Was never said in rhyme.

John Keats (1795 - 1821)

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Brainstorm (1991)




So, we all know that Karswell over at The Horrors of it All is famed for posting the best in frightening horror comics. What some may not know is that he's starred in a few of them, himself! Pssst -- he's the one in the leather jacket!

The moment I laid eyes on BRAINSTORM, inked by Guy Burwell, I knew that I wanted it to appear among the piled corpses here at Killer Kittens From Beyond The Grave. The murders are so violent, so random, so precisely the way in which the slasher hero would commit them, if he weren't such a fine, upstanding citizen...

Put on your reading goggles, friends, and prepare to become more acquainted with Karswell, and his blood-spattered alter ego, The Comic Book Killer!!! Also, it looks like Jessie from HARD ROCK ZOMBIES has made a special cameo appearance as the Permed Dude on page 2... Enjoy!!!




************

... and when he wasn't spilling the blood of innocent passersby,
he could most often be found fondling his RAM.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

The Midnight Meat Train (2008)

Caution: Mild Spoiler Alert


Leon Kauffman's girlfriend, Maya, is, like, totally awesome. She got him a meeting with Susan Hoff, one of the city's most renowned art snobs, in the hopes that he could leave crime scene photography behind, and get back to taking pictures of the things he loves. Clearly, Maya is, like, totally hinting that he should be taking more pictures of her.

Leon's real passion is the city. He wants to be the first person to capture it the way it really is (whatever that means). Susan Hoff (played by the iconic Brooke Shields) is unmoved by his portfolio. Her mannish features fixed on him, she urges Leon to come back and see her when he's shot something a little more "brave." So, Leon sets out on a late-night fact-finding mission, far beneath the streets of the city.

He encounters a group of subway thugs hassling a beautiful, young Asian woman (played by Japanese pop starlet Nora) on her way down to the trains. So desperate is he to gain recognition in the art world, that Leon does something crazy: he intervenes. He is able to frighten away the thugs, but not before snapping a career-defining photo of the malevolent tableau. The young woman thanks him (with tongue!) for his bravery, and gets on a waiting subway car. Leon probably should have let those dudes rape her, as a far worse fate awaits her on THE MIDNIGHT MEAT TRAIN.



When Leon learns of her "disappearance" the next day, he is understandably shaken, having been one of the last to see her alive. But, at least he got those fabulous photos of her for the art snob before she went missing...

Susan Hoff is something like The Wizard of Oz. No matter what Leon brings back to her, she is always wanting something more. She promises him a spot in her next art showing if he can capture two more images as arresting as the one he had taken of the subterranean near-rape. Leon is not only up to the challenge, but seems overly confident in his abilities after a night of celebratory binge-drinking with Maya and his Art World Gateway Pal, Jurgis.

In place of any recurrent sexual harassment action, Leon encounters a strange, silent hulk of a man coming up from the subway trains in the wee hours of the morning. He is drawn to the man for some reason, and begins regularly following his nocturnal activities after he recognizes the man's ring in the photograph he took of the Asian woman getting onto the train. Leon's shutter-buggy senses are all a-tingle. The man was connected to her disappearance, somehow, and Leon was determined to illuminate the truth.



So, what does Leon learn about the guy? Well, he is very meticulous about his personal grooming habits and appearance. He never leaves home without the big, leather medical bag with his name, "Mahogany," printed on one side. Oh, and he works at a meat packing plant. All signs are definitely beginning to point to serial killer. But, what does he do with the bodies? Those he butchers only turn up missing in the media, not murdered. And, how does he clean up all the bloody fucking mess before anybody at the transit authority knows it's there?



Unbeknownst to poor Leon, he is about to uncover a plot that is older, deeper, and more diabolical than anything he could ever have imagined. Moreover, Susan Hoff would probably eat her own excrement for access to this hidden world for her next big show. But none of that seems to matter to Leon anymore. He can't even bring himself to take pictures of his hot, blonde pre-fiance while she's taking off her bra! Not to mention the fact that his tofu-tamed taste buds are starting to crave meat ~ red meat ~ and lots of it! His interest in solving the subterranean mystery becomes an obsession, as the young photog is sucked into the cold, steel allure of THE MIDNIGHT MEAT TRAIN.


"Before you were born,
or the birth of any other human thing,
that's how long. Or longer.
Now, you've found us,
as only a few before you have;
the intimate circle that keeps the secret.
We protect and nurture them,
and order is thereby preserved...
Now serve, as we all do,
without question."


Nobody brings monstrosity living amid our world to life like Clive Barker! The undisputed master of modern-day horror holds top writing credits for his short story, THE MIDNIGHT MEAT TRAIN, published in Books of Blood Volume One. Jeff Buhler wrote the film's screenplay.



While THE MIDNIGHT MEAT TRAIN sported a number of gaps and holes, I thoroughly enjoyed watching the film, in spite of those few moments of groan. For instance: the character development leaves truckloads to be desired. The male leads (Bradley Cooper in the role of Leon, and ex-English Football Leaguer Vinne Jones as the brooding Mahogany) delivered sound, stable performances, while the remainder of the cast seemed to just sort of hang there. Leslie Bibb reminded me too much of Jessica Lange, and all of her shrill, irritating qualities, while Robert Bart's character, Jurgis, could easily have been written out of the plot entirely. The non-essential friend does, however, make a handy, human pin-cushion during the climactic final subway showdown.



Sometimes, an unknown cast of skilled actors can be refreshing. In the case of THE MIDNIGHT MEAT TRAIN, I simply couldn't bring myself to care whether certain characters lived or died. The film had, at times, a prime-time blockbuster feel to it, which I guess isn't all that surprising, considering the fact that the cast was comprised almost entirely of small screen veterans. It is clearly evident that Director Ryûhei Kitamura concentrated far more intently on the elaborate gore and special effects than on ensuring that the character dynamics made sense. As a result, the hack-and-slash scenes are taut, fast-paced, and gratifyingly gory, while the interplay between the characters is dull, even painful at times.

Heavy use of CGI usually aggravates me, and tends to look to me like a rather obvious flip between a movie and a high-end video game. Remarkably, I wasn't the least bit put off by Kitamura's artfully-digified version of the classic slasher film. Those victim's-eye view sequences were pretty darned cool!







4/5 Kitty Skulls = Video Cocaine!

Friday, August 1, 2008

"A higher heaven, a deeper hell."




The contents of this dirty, little book seem to get hotter with every re-reading. That's why they call him The Great Beast. Lie back, unzip your pants, and close your eyes... It's gonna be a long night.

Reprinted without permission. Sue me, sack me, and send me to Hell.


ALL NIGHT

All night no change, no whisper. Scarce a breath
But lips closed hard upon the cup of death
To drain its sweetest poison. Scarce a sigh
Beats the dead hours out; scarce a melody
Of measured pulses quickened with the blood
Of that desire which pours its deadly flood
Through soul and shaken body; scarce a thought
But sense through spirit most divinely wrought
To perfect feeling; only through the lips
Electric ardour kindles, flashes, slips
Through all the circle to her lips again
And thence, unwavering, flies to mine, to drain
All pleasure in one draught. No whispered sigh,
No change of breast, love's posture perfectly
Once gained, we change no more. The fever grows
Hotter or cooler, as the night wind blows
Fresh gusts of passion on the outer gate.
But we, in waves of frenzy, concentrate
Our thirsty mouths on that hot drinking cup
Whence we may never suck the nectar up
Too often or too hard; fresh fire invades
Our furious veins, and the unquiet shades
Of night make noises in the darkened room. [45]

Yet, did I raise my head, throughout the gloom
I might behold thine eyes as red as fire,
A tigress maddened with supreme desire.
White arms that clasp me, fervent breast that glides
An eager snake, about my breast and sides,
And white teeth keen to bite, red tongue that tires,
And lips ensanguine with unfed desires,
Hot breath and hands, dishevelled hair and head,
Thy fevered mouth like snakes' mouths crimson red,
A very beast of prey; and I like thee,
Fiery, unweary, as thou art of me.
But raise no head; I know thee, breast and thigh,
Lips, hair and eyes and mouth: I will not die
But thou come with me o'er the gate of death.
So, blood and body furious with breath
That pants through foaming kisses, let us stay
Gripped hard together to keep life away,
Mouths drowned in murder, never satiate,
Kissing away the hard decrees of Fate,
Kissing insatiable in mad desire
Kisses whose agony may never tire,
Kissing the gates of hell, the sword of God,
Each unto each a serpent or a rod,
A well of wine and fire, each unto each,
Whose lips are fain convulsively to reach
A higher heaven, a deeper hell. Ah! day [46]

So soon to dawn, delight to snatch away!
Damned day, whose sunlight finds us as with wine
Drunken, with lust made manifest divine
Devils of darkness, servants unto hell--
Yea, king and queen of Sheol, terrible
Above all fiends and furies, hating more
The high Jehovah, loving Baal Peor,
Our father and our lover and our god!
Yea, though he lift his adamantine rod
And pierce us through, how shall his anger tame
Fire that glows fiercer for the brand of shame
Thrust in it; so, we who are all of fire,
One dull red flare of devilish desire,
The God of Israel shall not quench with tears,
Nor blood of martyrs drawn from myriad spheres,
Nor watery blood of Christ; that blood shall boil
With all the fury of our hellish toil;
His veins shall dry with heat; his bones shall bleach
Cold and detested, picked of dogs, on each
Dry seperate dunghill of burnt Golgotha.
But we will wrest from heaven a little star,
The Star of Bethlehem, a lying light
Fit for our candle, and by devils' might
Fix in the vast concave of hell for us
To lume its ghastly shadows murderous,
That in the mirror of the lake of fire [47]

We may behold the image of Desire
Stretching broad wings upon us, and may leap
Each upon other, till our bodies weep
Thick sweet salt tears, and, clasping as of yore
Within dull limits of Earth's barren shore,
Fulfil immense desires of strange new shames,
Burn into one another as the flames
Of our hell fuse us into one wild soul:
Then, one immaculate divinest whole,
Plunge, fire, within all fire, dive far to death;
Till, like king Satan's sympathetic breath,
Burn on us as a voice from far above
Strange nameless elements of fire and love;
And we, one mouth to kiss, one soul to lure,
For ever, wedded, one, divine, endure
Far from sun, sea, and spring from love or light,
Imbedded in impenetrable night;
Deeper than ocean, higher than the sky,
Vaster than petty loves that dream and die,
Insatiate, angry, terrible for lust,
Who shrivel God to adamantine dust
By our fierce gaze upon him, who would strive
Under our wrath, to flee away, to dive
Into the deep recesses of his heaven.
But we, one joy, one love, one shame for leaven,
Quit hope and life, quit fear and death and love, [48]

Implacable as God, desired above
All loves of hell or heaven, supremely wed,
Knit in one soul in one delicious bed
More hot than hell, more wicked than all things,
Vast in our sin, whose unredeeming wings
Rise o'er the world, and flap for lust of death,
Eager as anyone that travaileth;
So in our lusts, the monstrous burden borne
Heavy within the womb, we wait the morn
Of its fulfilment. Thus eternity
Wheels vain wings round us, who may never die,
But cling as hard as serpent's wedlock is,
One writhing glory, an immortal kiss. [49]

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Haeckel's Tale (2006)


Caution: Spoilers Galore



Thanks to The Vicar of VHS from Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies for bringing this title to my attention, after reading this entry I posted about the short story by Clive Barker.


From the Masters of Horror television series comes this putrid tale of a woman's love and desire, which is so profound that it extends beyond the crypt! Crafted originally in the form of a short story by Clive Barker, Haeckel's Tale was adapted for the screen by writer Mick Garris (who also wrote an episode for HBO's Tales From the Crypt), and directed by John McNaughton (Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer), in close association with Zombie Grand Pappy George Romero.

A handsome and wealthy man named Ralston (Steve Bacic) pays a sombre visit to an old woman, Miz Carnation (Micki Maunsell), who is said to have the power to raise the dead. Ralston's beloved wife, Samantha, has recently died and he is most desperate to pluck her from the tomb by any means necessary. The old woman, who sits in a chair by the fire gulping rum from a silver stein, scoffs at him. She tells Ralston that she is no longer in the business of necromancy, and that even if she was, she doubted the strength of his desire. Miz Carnation made a bargain with Ralston: if he still wanted his dead wife returned to him after having listened to her telling of Haeckel's tale, she would grant his unnatural request.




Ernst Haeckel (Derek Cecil) was a dashing, young medical student who seemed obsessed with breathing life into death. In the tradition of Dr. Victor Frankenstein, he seemed convinced that science and medicine would one day overcome the greatest obstacle placed before mankind: the reaper's scythe.

"Devoid of a soul," his bushy-haired professor (Gerard Plunkett) lectures, "all that is left is left is flesh; a machine without power, a mere husk, an empty vessel. Only God, in his infinite wisdom, may grant life and take it away."



A true man of science (and a fine example of Victorian Man Meat), young Haeckel shouts back at his professor. "What has God to do with man? Man and woman fornicate to create life. Accidents, disease, or old age take it away. Your God has nothing to do with it." He references the work of the German necrophile, Frankenstein, who has succeeded in removing God from the life/death conundrum. The older man mocks his students belief in the "re-animation of the human corpse."

Quick on the draw, Haeckel shoots back with a stinging remark about Zombie Jesus Day; touché. He promises to show his teacher, and the whole of his class, that he can, and will, bring life to the dead, using the notes of Dr. Frankenstein, the power of lightning, and the body of a young female victim of consumption. "This girl shall live again!"



Or, not. Okay, so she burned. Tommorrow is another day. "It appears divinity is still a long ways off for you, Mr. Haeckel... May God forgive you, sir."

Chester (Pablo Coffey), the grizzly commoner who brings "good beef" to the medical school, aids Haeckel in his quest to solve the mysteries of life and death. He implores him to seek out Montesquino the Necromancer (Jon Polito), who runs a carnival-like show in which he solicits money from peasants to perform the dark art of resurrecting the dead. He claims takes one year from his own life each time he undertakes the proceedings, and is therefore worth their hard-earned money. Even after witnessing Montesquino's performance (in which he re-animates a "quite dead" Golden Retriever), Haeckel discounts the man as a charlatain.


"To resurrect a simple beast is not nearly so taxing as
bringing back a human being; a man, with a soul."


Young Haeckel's continued studies are interrupted by a message indicating that his father is near death, and would like to see his son before he passes into the Great Beyond. The young student attempts to make the journey on foot, and along his journey, he meets an old man named Walter Wolfram (Tom McBeath), who advises him that it would be wise to steer clear of the nearby necropolis at such a late hour, and offers Haeckel lodging in his home nearby.



Wolfram's home is meagre, but his wife, Elise (Leela Savasta), is young and inviting. In the way he looks at Elise, it is clear that Haeckel is wondering how she can possibly be satisfied by an old man such as Wolfram, and undoubtedly he covets her for himself. The three of them dine together, and the conversation is pleasant enough, but something is not quite right. The old man plies him with wine, while Elise nervously looks out the window as though waiting for something, or someone.

That night, Haeckel is treated to some bizarre late-night viewing from the guest room. First, he sees Elsie at the window, fondling herself as she looks out in anticipation of something unknown. She turns to see him, but her eyes are glazed over as though she is in some sort of erotic trance. Later, he sees Wolfram hand a man at the door a sum of money before the stranger departs. Later still, he is awakened by a baby's hungry cry, and sees Elsie suckling an infant at her breast while her aged husband looks on.



Haeckel is baffled, for surely Old Man Limp Dick could not possibly have fathered a child. Elsie puts the child down anxiously, and rushes out the door. Her husband watches her through the window, but does not follow, and instead, sits down at the table and cries. The young student is unable to stand it any longer; he gets up out of bed to question the old man. He suspects that Wolfram has paid the man at the door to ball his sexed-up wife.

In actuality, Wolfram has hired Montesquino to satisfy Elsie's "sickness." He explains to Haeckel that the child Elsie was nursing is not his, and that the father of the baby is dead. Elsie loves the man desperately still, and Wolfram has hired Montesquino to help her... erm, love him. She is heard crying out from the necropolis, and in spite of Wolfram's attempts to stop him, Haeckel rushes off to save her from the Necromancer's tricks. Haeckel still believes Montesquino's claims are hogwash, until he encounters the zombie Golden Retriever he had first seen a few days prior. He bashes the poor beast head in with a boulder, but still, it lives!

"It is already dead, Haeckel. You cannot kill it again."

The two men make their way into the necropolis, and encounter a most gruesome (and sexy) sight. There, in all her naked, glistening glory, is Elise, straddling a slimy corpse and riding it like a cowgirl, while a throng of other zombies stand around in wait for their turn to have a go at her.



When old Wolfram, unable to watch his wife humping the heck out of the undead, begs that she return home with him, he is gutted by zombies for his careless interruption. Haeckel is left as the sole defender of righteousness. He fires on that greedy, hellraisin' bastard Montesquino with Wolfram's musket. As the Necromancer takes his last few breaths, he tells Haeckel that there is no way to stop the undead orgy. Until the sun rises, the necrophornication will not cease.



The next morning, Haeckel steals back into the cabin, uncertain of what he will find there. To his surprise, he hears a beautiful woman's voice singing from within. He enters to find the lovely (and talented) Elise, looking particularly chipper, nursing her baby once again. Not upset in the least about Wolfram's death, she laments that "old men are the best husbands, as long as you don't want children." She stands and approaches Haeckel, with the child in her outstretched arms, beckoning him to hold the baby.


"He looks just like his beautiful Daddy."


Elsie's zombie baby eats Haeckel, or at least part of his neck. There is a silver lining, however: at last, Ernst Haeckel gets to do what he had been fantasizing about since he first set foot inside old Wolfram's house: he gets to nail Elise... as a zombie!!! Please, kids. Don't try this at home unless you have proper and adequate lubrication.



The fire rages back at Miz Carnation's house as she finishes with her story. Ralston does not believe the old woman's crazy yarn, calling it "an affront to God."

"There is no God in this simple home, sir." Miz Carnation replies. "No God at all." From out of the dark corners of the house come the zombified corpses of Wolfram, and Haeckel, and the Zombie Lover from the necropolis. Old Miz Carnation is revealed to be Elise, the young hot ass from the story she just shared with Ralston. Before he is invited to join the happy family, Ralston rushes out the door, leaving the necrofam to "play... together."



Given that Clive Barker's version of Haeckel's Tale was barely more than a few pages long, a number of elements were added to the film adaptation in order to give it more substance. I won't go into detail about the additions any further than to say that, aside from the family reunion-style ending (which is cheesy to the max), it all works. Quite well, actually!

The plot follows Barker's intention quite closely, and much of the dialogue is taken directly from the original story. I would have liked to have seen the movie end where Barker had chosen to end it, but alas, Kitty doesn't always get her wish. With the exception of the last few minutes (which were good for a lark, for sure), I found the film version of Haeckel's Tale to be very entertaining and easy to watch. The setting is refreshing, and was achieved quite well by the crew. The special makeup effects, particularly the zombies and gore scenes, were outstanding.

The players in this film, while relatively unknown, were surprisingly good, especially where the Victorian Man Meat is concerned. I found myself harbouring unclean desires each time Derek Cecil appeared on the screen, and even better still, his near-flawless portrayal of the cocky medical student impressed me greatly. I found his soulful eyes, and animated facial expressions equally capable of expressing emotion as was his brilliantly-delivered dialogue. On the other hand, while extremely beautiful, Leela Savasta failed to convey any particularly remarkable skills in the acting department. Her performance was satisfactory, though I will admit that she looked great riding zombie bareback.





3/5 Kitty Skulls = Wait for this movie to hit the Bargain Bin.