Showing posts with label Jeff Daniel Phillips. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jeff Daniel Phillips. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 27, 2022

I saw Rob Zombie's Munsters...

I'm not jumping on the bandwagon of defaming writer/director Rob Zombie's The Munsters just because the snobby mob finds it cool to do so. I'm not ashamed to admit (or take heat for) getting this retelling's gist for all its colorful, cartooned shtick. Yeah, that's right. I frickin' dig the movie. 

Sure, it would have played real well in black and white, but in color it's a whole other kind of homage and as such holds its own with other Munsters revivals (including an X-rated installment that many of the know-it-alls don't know about at all). It even grazes such inspired knockoffs as The Groovie Goolies and The Hilarious House of Frightenstein. And if you don't recall those, you're sure as hell no fan of monster-homage comedy. 

As it stands, Zombie's Munsters could never hope to emulate all aspects of the 1960s classic series, since it has (like other revisions over the years) a different cast. Even so, that cast is still good in its own right and in various ways, the gang proves comparable to those who made the television series (and Munster, Go Home!/Munsters' Revenge) so favorable. 

For this "remake", which is in truth the prelude of how Herman was stitched together and more importantly, how Lily met Herman, along with how the Count, aka Grandpa, was opposed to having his daughter hitch up with such a big boob, we get Jeff Daniel Phillips as Herman; Sheri Moon Zombie as Lily; Daniel Roebuck as the Count (and does he ever do an uncanny job channeling Al Lewis!); Richard Brake as Dr. Henry August Wolfgang and the on-the-make Orlok; Jorge Garcia as Floop; Sylvester McCoy as the for-the-most-part non-batty Igor; Tomas Boykin as Brother Lester; Richard Hale as Zombo; Renata Kiss as Uncle Gilbert; Cassandra Peterson as Barbara Carr; Catherine Schell as Zoya Krupp; and in the cameoing, voiceover category, Butch Patrick, Pat Priest and Dee Wallace. (Oh, and almost forget, cuddly Spot plays himself in wee, Frenchie form.)  

(On a side note, for those who say Zombie reuses the same cast members to a fault, and one will surely recognize a few of them above, I can only indicate how Universal and Hammer recycled their ensembles in much the same way. As for Ms. Zombie, she's versatile enough to hold her own in any production [The Lords of Salem being her crowning achievement], not merely as a scream queen, but as a worthy, genre catalyst in the vein of Barbara Steele, Ingrid Pit, Jamie Lee Curtis and Eva Green. She's also a first-class looker, which contrary to what the hypocritical highbrows may say, counts for something, so stick that in your ear, you party-poopin' haters.) 

Storywise, Zombie allows his Munsters to perform as it should, layering on all the Strickfaden/Universal trimmings and family-friendly humor he can, each bit ignited by Zoran Popovic's excellent, Creepshow'ed hues. On a larger scale, Zombie's script preaches tolerance and not only when it comes to average humans accepting Transylvanian outcasts (or vice versa), but with the Count accepting a bumbling oaf as his pretty decent son-in-law. (Hey, we all deserve a chance to hold our own, no matter how goofy we may be.) 

Beyond its noble message, the new Munsters is great,  nostalgic fun. No matter how one shakes it (and even when it bleeds punkish psychedelia), it's the product we grew up with, which means I'm pleased as Punch that this flick surfaced. If anything, it's kicked off my Halloween season to a swell. screw-the-establishment start. Thank you, Mr. Zombie, for granting me the chance to champion your maligned-in-advance creation. God knows we need more counterculture movies of this sort to piss off those who (in vain) keep us rebels down. (Say, just to tick 'em off all the further, how 'bout releasing that reputed three-hour cut?!)

Tuesday, December 17, 2019

I saw 3 From Hell...


I'm sick and tired of the nicety-nice bull that's shoveled my way, whether it's fluff stuff like "The Polar Express" or dastardly drool like the tap-into-your-feminine-side "Maleficent: the Misunderstood". As a general rule of thumb, I prefer real-deal horror films. Sometimes I like 'em real rough and if the opportunity is there, on the big screen, which is why I'm miffed that writer/director Rob Zombie's latest, "3 From Hell" bypassed me on the theatrical route, not to mention that Neflix has yet to send me the DVD. I had to tap Amazon for an anxious view, but do appreciate the unrated opportunity, even if it did cost me a few dollars more. 


Now that I've seen the film, I'm fulfilled, not that it's necessarily the best chapter in Zombie's "devil's rejects" saga (to be honest, I don't know where I'd place it at this point), but at least it doesn't screw around trying to be something it's not. It's Tobe Hooper "Chainsaw"/Jack Hill "Spider Baby" nightmare sludge with weird-western trimmings, "Desperate Hours" allusions and characters I don't mind visitin' but wouldn't want to hang around for the long haul. These are scary individuals and the sort that any quality, new horror film should feature. Incidentally, this modern thriller commences in '78 and rolls no farther than the '80s, but its sick scenarios are every ounce as relevant today.


Even with that said, "3 From Hell" doesn't rely just on shock (like many lesser horror films do), though there's plenty of it to spare. The act of killing for the sake of killing takes a backseat to the twisted traits of Bill Moseley's Otis Driftwood, Sheri Moon Zombie's Baby Firefly and later down the line (replacing Sid Haig's Captain Spaulding), Richard Brake's Foxy Coltrane (the Midnight Wolfman). Through their wacky, docu-styled interludes (and among high-quality supporting thespians and their nuanced personas, led by Jeff Daniel Phillips' Warden Virgil Harper), they flaunt their insane, self-pitying agenda, trekking into skull-faced Mexico, after deterring death (the original trio having endured "twenty bullets a piece") and fleeing prison, as the jackass public cheers 'em on.  


Along the sojourn, Sheri Moon's Baby becomes the thrust: a Harley Quinn-ish vixen who gets to shake her crazy derriere even more than in the previous chapters, igniting a stream of steamy, sexual tension. Watch out! She's a veritable mantis, eager and proud to kill. What a wild, fetish-fueled angle!


Alas, Sid Haig presence in "3 From Hell" is brief. He was obviously sickly during filming, which I imagine may have sliced his screen time, but even a smidgen of Haig goes a long way. I savored Spaulding's gritty cameo for all it was worth and will do so whenever I revisit this decadent chapter.


You heard right. I'll re-watch this one and make no apologies to any snotnose who scoffs at the notion. This one wasn't made for those sorts, anyway. For all I care, they can skip on out and watch "National Socialist Beasts" a few more times and wear nice, frilly dresses while they're at it. That oughta suit 'em just fine.  I, on the other hand, will take huge pleasure holding "3 From Hell" close to my bruised heart, with my middle finger hoisted high for all to scorn.