Horror Archive

The pseudo-reality style film shows no sign of disappearing; Cloverfield gives the concept a Godzilla spin, while last year Diary of the Dead and Zombie Diaries brought a new meaning to that zombie movie staple, the head shot. Welcome to the Jungle doesn’t bring anything new to table; in fact the opposite is true, as the film harks back pre-Blair Witch to Cannibal Holocaust.

All these films (well I’ve not seen Cloverfield yet but I’d guess it holds true) have the same initial problem – why would anyone continue filming when faced with a life and death situation? Most attempt to surmount this dilemma in the same way - The Blair Witch Project, Zombie Diaries, The Last Broadcast, Cannibal Holocaust and Diary of the Dead all feature filmmakers as their central characters. We’re expected to accept they’d keep going, past the point where any sane person would have headed for the hills, because it’s their job, and, to varying degrees, this works. Works well enough for us to suspend belief and get carried along for the ride anyway.

It’s a hurdle which Welcome to the Jungle fails to get over. Eschewing the tried and tested filmmaker approach the film features four friends who decide to go looking for fame, fortune and Michael Rockefeller in New Guinea, taking along a couple of cameras to document the quest. Now this may sound like much the same idea, but these aren’t professional filmmakers, they’re actually a bunch of shallow, get-rich-quick, slackers. Infighting dogs their progress, two of the group can barely get out of bed in the morning, and yet we’re supposed to accept they would keep filming almost up to the point of their own death? It doesn’t wash.

This isn’t a horror film, it’s a ‘70s softcore porn flick. In the tits vs. scares contest the tits win by a landslide. The horror elements here are purely coincidental; the witch’s coven at the centre of the story is just a means to get people romping about with no clothes on.

Of the rompers Ann and Vicki Michelle are by far the most pleasing on the eye. The unwary viewer should be warned though that as the camera pans around the orgy scenes you’ll be exposed to some rather less aesthetically pleasing nakedness. The prerequisite for being a Satan worshiping extra in Virgin Witch it seems was a willingness to get your kit off, looking good while starkers was purely optional.

If you’ve got an interest in the softcore smut boom of the ‘70s you might get something out of this. For everyone else it’ll be far too tame to titillate and (apart from seeing a few naked old wrinklies) bereft of anything horrific.

Some things are just damn creepy and topping that list, just under clowns and mimes, are scarecrows. Given that fact, William Wesley was on to a winner with this low budget horror flick from the late eighties, a film that has plenty of gore along with a wickedly black sense of humour.

Rather than pit the straw filled ghouls against the usual array of airheaded teens the film features a group of criminals making their getaway after a big heist. When one of the gang attempts to make off with the loot alone, parachuting out of a plane at night into a seemingly deserted farm, the rest head after him. But the farm is far from deserted, as they soon learn to their cost.

From the moment our outlaw band set foot on the farm the film has a menacing atmosphere. As they hunt for their traitorous companion and the stolen moola through the fields they are stalked in turn by the scarecrows. The film doesn’t concern itself with why the scarecrows are up and about, instead providing a few hints and allowing the viewer to fill in the blanks. The why is never the important part of films like this and, by cutting out pointless exposition, Wesley gets down to the good stuff that much quicker.

This low budget shocker from Tigon stars those two titans of terror… Beryl Reid and Flora Robson? Yes, Reid, one of Britain’s most cherished comediennes, and Robson, who made her name with serious dramatic roles in Black Narcissus and the like, slum it in this torrid shocker.

The veteran actresses play a pair of spinster sisters with a dark secret in their cellar. When soldiers from the local army base start getting murdered, by what police at first think may be an animal, the old biddies realise that their long kept secret is not just out, but roaming the countryside killing people.

It’s a rather silly story, very similar to The Ghoul starring Peter Cushing that followed some years later. The actresses give decent performances, with Reid showing she was a capable dramatic actress; in fact it’s Reid who provides the films creepiest moment as she makes her confession to the police, bringing a childlike innocence to the character. The murders though feel like they’re from a different film, one bent on cheap shocks rather than atmospheric scares, unfortunately failing to even achieve that.

The Beast in the Cellar is only recommended for those with a strong interest in ‘60s/’70′s British horror, anyone else would be better off looking elsewhere for their scares.

Nothing new here – two friends driving the back roads on the way to a wedding piss of a local and spend the rest of the movie being terrorised by him and his monster truck. The opening scene may lead you to think you’re in for some “torture porn” as we witness a man’s head being crushed in a vice but what we have here is a horror comedy, with the emphasis on the comedy.

This is Road Trip meets Roadkill, with the humour on display being of the juvenile and gross out varieties. That’s not to say it isn’t funny, it is, just in a very lowbrow kind of way. Eric Jungmann gets the obligatory nerd role and manages not to be overly annoying while Justin Urich makes the most of the vulgar best friend part that would have suited Kevin Smith to a T had the film been made ten years earlier. Aimee Brooks provides some serious eye candy as a hitchhiker with a touch of mystery about her, and she gives a fair performance too.

The star of the film though is the monster truck, an excellent piece of design work that really does look menacing. It would have been interesting to see how a more serious minded horror film would have made use of it.

Director/writer Michael Davis was the brains behind this year’s Shoot ‘Em Up, a film that deserved to do far better than it did.  He’s got a gift for fun but vacuous entertainment and I hope Shoot ‘Em Up‘s failure won’t put an end to his career.