Music Box Massacre 2 Diary
Outside of breathing and other biological imperatives, 24 straight hours of any activity is probably a bad idea. Still, the Music Box Massacre 2 – a round-the-clock horror movie marathon held at Chicago’s venerable Music Box Theatre last weekend – drew hundreds of fright film fanatics eager to test their endurance for walking cadavers, alien invaders, freaky fish and more. Assuming nothing went terribly awry after my departure around 2:30 AM of the noon-to-noon affair (sleepiness and remnants of sanity finally pulled me away), I think most attendees would label the event a smashing success.
Last year’s inaugural Music Box Massacre was just a tantalizing tease for the pre-teen horror fanatic inside this 38-year-old body, as work commitments prevented me from attending. With no schedule conflicts this year, I was absolutely not going to miss the second edition, especially with an even stronger line-up of films and director Joe Dante (The Howling, Gremlins, Matinee) as a special guest. Better yet, the festival almost seemed frontloaded for my tastes. With all due respect to gorehounds and slasher fans, missing out on the Italian splatter fave Zombie at 4 AM or Friday the 13th, Part II at the crack of dawn did not fill me with regret. Not that the final hours would have been totally unrewarding, as Dario Argento’s stylish and bloody Deep Red and John Landis’ highly entertaining An American Werewolf in London both played after sunrise.
But, for me, most of the schedule’s highlights came during the first 14 hours or so, beginning with a screening of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919), the German Expressionist classic about somnambulism, murder and madness. More than 86 years after its initial release, this historic feature remains bold, bizarre, and a complete original. I had not seen Caligari since I was a teenager, so I had fresh appreciation for its ingenious production design (the sets depicting buildings and streets with extreme, disorienting and ever-changing angles), especially as this was my first time seeing a print with the original color tinting restored. The film was presented with live organ accompaniment that, along with the elegant interior of the 77-year-old theater, provided an ideal environment for watching a movie of this vintage.
Next up was the crown jewel of the classic Universal horror cycle, The Bride of Frankenstein (1935). Is there anything to say about this legendary picture that hasn’t been said before? Probably not, but after countless viewings it still never fails to delight me. Una O’Connor’s shrieking, gossipy, disparaging housekeeper is still a hoot. Ernest Thesiger’s flaming Dr. Pretorius, all wicked sneers and joyful blasphemy, still steals every scene from terminally suffering Colin Clive’s Henry Frankenstein. Elsa Lanchester still does more in just a few minutes of screen time than seems possible, both with her coquettish Mary Shelley in the introduction and, of course, as the title character with the unforgettable hairdo and that fabulous final hiss before the monster pulls that lever for the ultimate curtain closer. And what about Boris Karloff? It’s no overstatement to say he gives one of the great physical performances in movie history, so imposing and yet so tragic. The power of that performance was clear when a good portion of the crowd let out an audible “awwww” when the monster sheds a tear at the blind hermit’s shack. And while our unfortunate age of irony and sarcasm insisted much of the audience burst into laughter after that sincere expression of empathy, it didn’t matter – everyone knew that moment still worked like a charm. And anyway, with all the genuine humor in James Whale’s triumphant comic horror film (for all its laughs, it certainly can’t be called a spoof or parody), a bit of extraneous laughter certainly didn’t ruin the mood.
There was a bit more unwarranted laughter during It Came From Outer Space (1953), though some of the socially dated elements and dialogue in the film made it a little more forgivable. Still, with its suspenseful story by a young Ray Bradbury and the solid direction of Jack Arnold (Creature from the Black Lagoon, The Incredible Shrinking Man), this taut tale of secretive alien visitors is definitely not “so bad it’s good” material. OK, the aliens themselves may look a little goofy, but the body snatching sequences have a real menace to them. It was shown at the Massacre in 3-D, and though the old dual-strip process (requiring the annoying plastic red and blue eyewear) has been deservedly put out to pasture, the effect still worked pretty well in scenes like the rockslide or when Richard Carlson’s amusingly phallic telescope was turned toward the audience.
No technical gimmicks were needed for Roger Corman’s superb Masque of the Red Death (1964), though the dazzling color scheme of cinematographer Nicolas Roeg (who later directed Performance, Don’t Look Now, and several other memorable movies) qualifies as a special effect unto itself. So does Vincent Price’s lead performance – theatrical, but not hammy – magnificently conveying Prince Prospero’s satanic cruelty as he hosts a decadent ball while a plague rages outside. The script by Charles Beaumont and R. Wright Campbell skillfully fuses the title story with another Edgar Allan Poe tale, Hop-Frog, and some reliable old melodramatic narrative filler. Some prefer The House of Usher or The Pit and the Pendulum from Corman’s Price/Poe cycle, but Masque of the Red Death remains my favorite. (During his Q&A session, special guest Joe Dante suggested Tomb of Ligeia might be the best of the series, though he apparently picked Red Death when asked to make a selection for the marathon.)
I’m sure the most dedicated Massacre-ees won’t forgive my taking an extended intermission, but for the sake of not subsisting entirely on concession snacks (though pizza, slithering with grease, was later made available) and to avoid premature ass numbing, I exited the Music Box after the Red Death had permanently soured Prospero’s party. A meal of the reliably tasty “hot salad” (if you like peppers, you’ll love it) at nearby D’Agostinos and a brief walk afterwards meant missing most of the two Joe Dante movies featured. That might seem like sacrilege, considering my admiration for Dante, but there was a method in my madness. For one thing, I had just seen his Homecoming (a 60-minute feature made last year for Showtime’s Masters of Horror series) a couple of weeks earlier.
Which is not to suggest that this hilarious, no-holds-barred, satirical attack on Bush’s Iraq war isn’t worth more than one viewing. Of course, neo-cons will not be pleased with the proudly partisan and gory account of dead soldiers rising from their graves in order to go to the polls and vote out the man in the White House. Some might find it a tad presumptuous and more than a little tacky to assume all the fallen soldiers would turn against their Commander in Chief. But as Dante noted during his Q&A, “If you really want to justify what’s going on and you don’t want to say anybody died in vain, then obviously you’re going to say ‘This is in terrible taste.’ And by the way, it is. The movie is in very bad taste and we knew that going in. But, you know, it’s about something that’s in even worse taste, so it just seemed like that comes with the territory.”
His anger, shared by so many despairing Americans these days, comes out unapologetically full throttle in this B-movie gone amok. And if you’re not one of the GOP faithful, I can’t see how Thea Gill’s performance as an Ann Coulter-styled pundit of punishment or Robert Picardo’s Rove-esque political guru won’t make you chuckle.
My brief escape from the darkness also meant missing most of Dante’s highly entertaining Jaws rip-off, Piranha (1978), made for Roger Corman’s beloved B-movie empire. Though I’d seen the film more than once, catching the action-packed closing scenes, where Dante balances the required fish-feeding bloodiness with the tongue-in-cheek aspects of John Sayles’ script, made me wish I’d gotten back a little earlier. But I adhered to my itinerary and was back at the Box in time for Dante’s appearance (more on that later).
The only film on my personal Massacre schedule that I had not seen before was John Hancock’s Let’s Scare Jessica to Death (1971) and it was a discovery well worth making. Despite some dated, hippie era elements and a few lapses in logic, this is one spooky little movie. It concerns a woman recently released from a mental institution who, along with her husband and a friend, leaves the stress of the big city behind for life in a quiet farmhouse. But all is not well in the new residence…or is it in all in Jessica’s troubled mind? The film gives an art house ambiguity to its popcorn premise, but any conflict in that agenda is offset by the movie’s quiet creepiness and the unforgettably chilling image of a deathly pale figure in bridal clothes rising from the water. Ghost? Vampire? Figment of Jessica’s imagination? You decide, but I’ll wager that scene plays in your mind for quite a while.
After a brief Q&A with director Hancock, the Massacre’s other special guest, my personal marathon reached the finish line with John Carpenter’s incredible remake (how many times do those two words go together?) of the Christian Nyby/Howard Hawks classic, The Thing. When it came out in 1982, this frozen freak-out of a movie was treated like an unwelcome guest by critics and audiences alike. But time has been kind to Carpenter’s version, which tips its hat to the original in brief moments, but is otherwise an entirely different animal. Speaking of animals, is there any contemporary CGI effect that can compete for pure astonishment with that early scene of the Thing emerging from that poor little doggie, or the spider legs popping out of Charles Hallahan’s severed head? Not for all tastes to be sure, but the make-up and special effects in this movie are as weird and shocking today as they were 24 years ago.
Of course, the technical razzle-dazzle wouldn’t matter if Carpenter didn’t put it to use in such a gripping tale – much closer to John Campbell’s story “Who Goes There?” than the original film. While certainly not devoid of the humor the director usually injects into his movies (Kurt Russell’s hat is a great gag all by itself), The Thing is Carpenter’s harshest, most nihilistic film. It’s as cold as the arctic climate it’s set in and all the better for not trying to lighten the proceedings.
So I’ll forgive him his groaner of a stage name and extend kudos galore to the Massacre’s founder, chief organizer and master of ceremonies, Rusty Nails. Not only was his choice of films exemplary (even the ones not to my taste have their cult credentials), but with one exception the print quality of the features I saw ranged from good to great. The rich colors on the widescreen prints of Masque of the Red Death and The Thing were especially striking. Both looked as if they could have played at the multiplex last week. The exception was Let’s Scare Jessica to Death, which I’m guessing was a tough print to track down. Dark and murky, it almost appeared to be a third-generation copy. Still, just for exposing me to this overlooked chiller, I again applaud Nails’ efforts.
He also gets a badge of honor for addressing the crowd early about watching the films respectfully. Sure, with the majority of the theatre’s 800 seats occupied, there were pockets of chatter and in the party environs that an event like this will foster, there were a few shouted comments at the screen (some funny, most not). But thanks in no small part to Nails’ obvious concern for the true film lovers in the crowd, the Music Box Massacre never became the increasingly annoying convention of smart alecs that is B-Fest, the Chicago area’s other recurring 24-hour movie marathon. Drawing sell-out crowds for years on the campus of Northwestern University in Evanston, B-Fest’s focus is on the lesser, campier movies, but their unintentional comic value would better stand alone than with a few dozen Mystery Science Theatre wannabes adding their contributions. I’ve ventured out to B-Fest on occasion and enjoyed myself in spite of the frequently failed comic ambitions of the crowd, but I couldn’t imagine staying for more than three films. The Massacre crowd was certainly in party mode, but first and foremost they were there to watch movies. Amen.
And while the films were the satisfying meat, Nails also added some tasty garnishes. Some horror-centric vendors (selling DVDs, posters, t-shirts and memorabilia) and the crowd mixing in the lobby made it a very social event, while a costume contest and a couple of brief musical performances by two local acts added some flavor. There was even room for some charity with an auction of autographed DVDs and other items benefiting a local AIDS organization.
Having heaped much deserved praise on Nails, I have one bit of criticism that he should really take to heart. Be the master of ceremonies by all means (it’s largely your event and you deserve a bow in the spotlight), but please, please, please, either get someone else to conduct the Q&A sessions or be better prepared. Having felt the pressure of organizing much smaller events, I’m sure he had to cover a million details throughout the loooooong day and night, bouncing between introducing the films, coordinating with the staff and performers, keeping things on schedule, and playing host to the special guests on top of all that. Still, one of the great moments of tension came not from any of the films shown, but at the start of the Joe Dante interview when the entire crowd waited for what seemed to be an eternity for Nails to come up with his opening question. It improved a little as it went along, thanks largely to Dante’s own skills as a speaker, but on the whole it was awkward at best. Even worse (far worse actually) was the painful exchange with John Hancock. Considering how clearly enamored Nails was with Let’s Scare Jessica to Death (citing it as one of the main reasons he wanted to put together another marathon), it was frustrating to watch him scramble for generic questions that dead-ended as soon as Hancock gave one of his brief responses. To be fair, it was kept much shorter than the Dante Q&A. Nails is a local filmmaker and organizer of the traveling Movieside Film Festival events, so he has a lot on his plate. Public interviewer is one item he should clear off it.
But that almost feels like nitpicking after enjoying Nails and company’s Music Box Massacre 2 so thoroughly. Before the start of The Thing, I was so full with horror geek revelry, that I briefly considered trying to make it through another movie or two…or three (after all, I’ve never seen Night of the Creeps). I began to think, as Kurt Russell says to Keith David at the end of Carpenter’s icy creature feature, “Why don't we just wait here for a little while... see what happens?” But I could feel sleep creeping up on me as surely as the Thing waited for the camp’s last survivors and I knew that I, like them, would not last much longer if I stayed.
