One Christmas long ago, I got Jeff Wayne’s Musical Version of the War of the Worlds. I was excited, of course, because I loved anything War of the Worlds. The cover was incredible, featuring a a Martian tripod melting the deck of an ironclad. As I flipped through the included book of artwork, my hopes steadily grew. It was full of paintings of tripods blasting old-timey looking British people. Now that was what I’d been wanting from a War of the Worlds adaptation!
From 2013 through 2017, I wrote an annual Halloween article for Alcohol Professor about haunted bars or adjacent drinking and carousing. I don’t have anything new this year — between finalizing Cocktails and Capers and day-to-day work, I just couldn’t think of a fresh angle — but in lieu of a freshly dug grave, I thought I’d resurrect the previous five year’s of articles to provide a haunted tour of some of the world’s most famous haunted bars, spooky spirits, and spine-chilling literary libations.
Ghost Stories of Wanderer at Honjo is a period piece ghost film, one of countless Japanese ghost movies in which a scheming, evil samurai runs afoul of a ghost. What makes Ghost Stories of Wanderer at Honjo different than, say Ghost of Yotsuya, is that the yokai make token appearances.
Under normal circumstances, The Cat and the Canary could have been a simple affair — a living room, a bedroom, shots of the spooky exterior of a mansion. Sprinkle some cobwebs and people looking side-eyed at one another, and there you go. In the hands of German Expressionist Paul Leni however, things were going to be different.
I often forget that, for a little while, I worked at Atlantic Records. It was such a bizarre position that every day I was there, I wasn’t sure I still worked there. Even today, some fifteen years later, I’m not sure I ever actually quit, like maybe I could just show up tomorrow and everyone would shrug and go on with their business.
If The Black Pirate isn’t the biggest, most lavish of pirate adventures from the silent era, it’s only because the technical aspects of making it were so demanding. Still, the film leaves plenty of room for Douglas Fairbanks to pose atop rigging, laugh a manly laugh while standing with arms akimbo, and pull off a parade of signature stunts and derring-do.
Best known for his gritty crime films and, for better or worse, cannibal movies, Italian director Umberto Lenzi spent his early career making fun swashbuckling adventures. Queen of the Seas was the first of them, and it’s a fun tale of high seas adventures and a sassy pirate queen.
Back in the day, I used to do a lot more and write a lot more about it. Well, I figured rather than collapse into a state of middle-age ennui about how my day-to-day life used to be more fun, I should just shake off the cobwebs and get my ass back in gear. Among other things, that means dusting off an element of the old ‘zine and Teleport City site that has been dormant: random, ridiculous, stream-of-conscious posts.
The greatest compliment you could pay an exploitation film is to say it looks like they designed the poster first and then recreated it on screen. This describes Inframan perfectly. Every scene could be bullet-pointed with the word “SEE!” SEE! Hong Kong engulfed in flames! SEE! The sorceress with an army of kung fu monsters!
Slaughter Hotel is a deeply, satisfyingly absurd film on almost level. Produced in the glory year of 1972, it reflects both the burgeoning popularity of the stylish giallo film and the relaxing of censorship laws across Europe and the United States. One of those two things was much more important to Slaughter Hotel than the other.
In the 1980s, Shaw Brothers was running out of gas. They responded by letting directors go totally insane. Amid the maelstrom are the delirious martial arts fantasies Bastard Swordsman and Return of the Bastard Swordsman
At the end of Beyond the Black Rainbow, directed by Panos Cosmatos, a period of quiet contemplation is required to begin unpacking everything one has seen during the preceding 110 minutes.
Twists are heaped upon perversions until the whole thing threatens to collapse into one giddily irredeemable pile of filth that happily violates any taboo of which it could think, and then finds a way to make it all weirder still.
Lucio Fulci’s filmography is littered with bodies gruesomely snuffed out. There is a deep vein of cynicism running through the center of Don’t Torture a Duckling.
Mudy wants to get her son Tony laid. She enlists Rosalba Neri and they, in turn, enlist Edwige Fenech to do the job for a nice payday. The rub is that Tony is very much an introvert, possibly a psychotic, and definitely a firebug.
As with his previous film, Miraglia takes the modern setting integral to the spirit of gialli and dresses it up in a bit of old-fashioned Gothic spookiness by, once again, setting a portion of it in a moody Gothic estate full of dark secret passages and dungeon chambers.
Sergio Sollima didn’t direct very many films. His career is split fairly evenly between theatrical and televised fare. Devil in the Brain is not what anyone would consider a technically outstanding movie, but it is solid in its craftsmanship.