Showing posts with label Amelia Kinkade. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Amelia Kinkade. Show all posts

Thursday, March 03, 2011

Night of the Demons 3

Apologies for the snarky captions.


Angela’s third outing sees Kevin Tenney back on board – not in the director’s chair this time (that honour goes to Jimmy Kaufman, someone I’d not heard of before and who, accordingly to IMDb, has worked mostly in television) – but as writer and editor. His editing is passable.

It is better that we do not speak of the script.

We must, however, waltz through a synopsis, so here goes: nice girl Abbie (Patricia Rodriguez) and her popular cheerleader gal pal Holly (Stephanie Bauder) are headed for the high school dance when their car breaks down. They are offered a lift by five loose cannon teens in a black van, four of whom are male, none of whom are take-home-to-meet-your-mother material and one of whom is perpetually spoiling for a fight. Notwithstanding the inadvisability of two young women, one dressed in a catsuit, the other wearing a dancing girl costume, clambering into a black van driven by anyone (and let’s face it, short of the van having a personalized licence plate reading RAP 15 T, their chances of safe passage couldn’t be any lower), they accept said lift and off our group of unlikeable teens go, their misadventures encompassing the first half hour of the film and leading them inevitably to Hull House.

Let’s quickly introduce the tossers protagonists in the van. We have the slightly dweeby Orson (Christian Tessler), the token black character Reggie (Joel Gordon) who basically fulfils a similar requirement to Rodger in the first film only that was made in the 80s and you’d think a more reconstructed approach to casting would have been prevalent when ‘NotD 3’ was made in 1997, the brooding tough guy Nick (Gregory Calpakis), the perpertually spoiling for a fight Vince (Kris Holdenreid) and Vince’s smart-mouthed trashy girlfriend Lois (Tara Stone), a thoroughly loveless individual who gives the impression of having been round the block so many times they named it after her.

A week ago, I reviewed ‘Frozen’ and renamed it ‘Three Douchebags on a Chairlift’. I take it back. Joe, Dan and Parker from ‘Frozen’ are the loveliest, cuddliest, most sympathetic characters in all of moviedom compared to Orson, Reggie, Nick, Vince and Lois. Anyway, ‘Night of the Demons 3: Five Douchebags in a Van’ continues with said individuals pulling into a Quicky Mart (I had visions of Apu from ‘The Simpsons’ warning them “Please do not be going to Hull House, Angela has such dark powers as to make the Buddha weep. Thank you, come again”), getting into an altercation with the clerk and the situation spiralling out of control as two cops wander in. An admittedly well choreographed bit of gunplay ensues, after which the Five Douchebags (sounds like a white trash can’t-count version of a barbershop quartet: “Ladies and gentlemen, the Five Douchebags”) go on the run, with Abbie and Holly forcibly taken along for the ride.

Unfortunately – or maybe fortunately, since by this point I was aching for Angela to supernaturally fuck their shit up big time – one of the cops gets off a shot that punctures the gas tank and the resulting loss of fuel deep-sixes Vince’s fast getaway plans. So they decide to hole up at Hull House. (Parenthetically, how come, in movies, a car can impact against a tree and go up in flames, yet a bullet – travelling at, say, 900mph assuming it was fired from a .357 – can puncture a gas tank without, you know, igniting it and blowing the van to fuck?)

Once at Hull House, Angela makes an immediate appearance (this is the only film in the series when the marvellous Amelia Kinkade gets top billing) and Vince, all macho posturing and a pump-action shotgun in his hands, makes the righteous mistake of ordering her about and calling her “bitch”. On the scale of stupid, this is a couple of rungs above telling Evander Holyfield he hits like a girl and inviting him to take his best shot. Or going hunting with Dick Cheney.

Angela happily turns the teens’ defining characteristics against them. The wimpy Orson, who tries to act the big man to impress Vince, learns his lesson about the consequences of trying to hold Angela at gunpoint …

… while Abbie, jealous at Holly’s looks and popularity and secretly attracted to bad-boy Vince, is turned into a man-eating vixen … with the minor side effect that she also becomes a demon. As for Lois, who spends the movie spitting out bitchy remarks and wearing a sock puppet made up to look like a snake, well … bad fashion choice, toots.

Meanwhile, the two cops have survived the shoot-out and reported in. Lieutenant Dewhurst (Vlasta Vrana – the Rip Torn of B-movies) gets on the case. Dewhurst has two hours left on the force but would rather see them out on duty than at his retirement party. Anyone want to put money on his chances of getting to the end credits alive … anyone? Anyone?

On the one hand, ‘NotD 3’ provides the nudity- and gore-filled guilty pleasures that are requisite for this kind of movie, and at 85 minutes it’s a brisk watch. On the other hand, though, there’s none of the gleeful bad-taste joie de vivre that informs part two – specifically, there’s nothing as cheesily entertaining as the Sister Gloria/Angela smackdown that ends Trenchard-Smith’s film on such a bat-shit crazy high note. Also, it’s obvious that a different location has been used for Hull House and it’s nowhere near as run-down, shadowy and gothic as the original.

In the final analysis, you get more Angela for your money – and, damn, Kinkade still looks hella good in a black dress – but, as with the first film, she’s the only element that makes it worthwhile.

Wednesday, March 02, 2011

Night of the Demons 2

Ah, this is more like it. From the pre-credits sequence where two impossibly clean cut Jehovah’s Witness types turn up at Hull House to spread the truth, the word and the light only to find Angela (Amelia Kinkade) home and in a decidedly anti-theological frame of mind, it’s clear that writers Joe Augustyn and James Penzi and director Brian Trenchard-Smith are playing the sequel for laughs as much as gore. They also give it some semblance of a plot, as well. These are good decisions.

Moreover, the script – albeit a work that was never going to give David Mamet cause to lose sleep – gives the characters dialogue that almost sounds like the way teenagers actually talk (unlike the first film, where the dialogue put me in mind of Harrison Ford’s verdict on George Lucas’s script for ‘Star Wars’: “you can type this shit, but you can’t speak it”).

Nor is the action confined solely to Hull House. Things get underway at a convent school where Angela’s traumatized sister Melissa (Merle Kennedy) – unaffectionately known as Mouse to the rest of the student body – is sheltered by nice girl Bibi (Cristi Harris), gently teased by not-quite-so-nice-girl Terri (Christine Taylor – yes, she of ‘Brady Bunch Movie’ fame) and out-and-out bullied by dyed-in-the-wool bad girl Shirley (Zoe Trilling). And if Shirley sounds too prosaic a name for a bad girl, believe me this lass has an attitude as prominent as her cleavage.

Elsewhere in this fine establishment we have Rick (Rick Peters) and Kurt (Ladd York) whose studies involve spying on the girls’ dorm (in the fine tradition of shlocky horror movies, the girls wander around the dorm topless and in the kind of lacy white panties that are less a garment than the effect of a silkworm sneezing) and nerdy type Perry (Bobby Jacoby) who is less interested in naked girls than demonology (well, whatever floats your boat, I guess) and is royally pissing off Father Bob (Rod McCary) because of said interest.

Meanwhile, wielding a mean ruler and determined to stop any outbreaks of hormonal activity (“save a little room for the Holy Ghost,” she cautions when her charges get too close), Sister Gloria (Jennifer Rhodes) strides the corridors putting the fear of God into everyone and practices fencing moves in her room.

Come the night of the Halloween dance, Shirley decides she wants more fun than is offered by Sister Gloria’s strictly regimented and alcohol-free “party” and hooks up with bad boys Johnny (Johnny Moran) and Z-Boy (Darin Heames) for a night out at Hull House. She strings Kurt and Rick along, as well as inviting Bibi and Terri as a pretext to getting them to bring Melissa along. Shirley has a nasty little prank lined up at Melissa’s expense.

There’s a couple of make-out sessions, some booze is chugged, and Shirley gets her queen bitch funk on. Then, predictably enough, Angela turns up and the whole thing goes to hell. MINOR SPOILER: Angela quickly infects Shirley by way of a lesbian kiss and a tube of lipstick from which issues a penile growth. (I’m not making this up, I am sober, and no proscribed substances have been ingested at chez Agitation. Tonight, anyway.)

So far so repetitive. Then, unlike the first film in which gates turn into walls just to keep the pathetic, jibbering so-called protagonist trapped in the grounds till the end, the teens escape Hull House and head back to Sister Gloria’s tame-by-comparison school dance. Only they’ve reckoned without two things: Perry’s misguided attempt to summon a demon (Angela, meet Perry; Perry, Angela) and the unintended transportation of an artefact from Hull House.

The evil escapes. Angela crashes the dance. Hell comes to a convent school. At which point Sister Gloria decides she’s had about enough of this shit, arms herself with crucifix, holy water and her trusty ruler, and sets out with the righteous intention of bitch slapping the forces of darkness. It’s Angie vs. Gloria, the gloves are off, and Melissa’s soul is in the balance. Seconds out!

Trenchard-Smith – his prolificity and directorial attention to detail marking him out as the Sidney Lumet of trash cinema – cuts loose as soon as Sister Gloria comes to the fore and has hella fun with it. The gore is monumentally over the top, the humour gutsy and of the darkest hue. I was left wondering how much of an inspiration this movie was on Rodriguez and Tarantino’s ‘From Dusk Till Dawn’ – the holy-water pistol is the most obvious touchstone, but the general aesthetic of the gloopy effects work and the broad irreverence with which the material is handled are also highly comparable.

The acting is better than the first movie – Trilling’s deliciously malicious turn as Shirley is a stand-out, while Kennedy conveys Melissa’s wounded innocence without ever overdoing it – and Kinkade reprises Angela like she was born to the role. The low-brow comedy suits the material and the film delivers good unclean fun, gratuitous nudity and OTT gore. I’m all for saying skip the first instalment and get your introduction to Angela right here.

Tuesday, March 01, 2011

Night of the Demons

Sometimes it’s just one letter that stands between a masterpiece and a piece of something else altogether. ‘Night of the Demon’ (singular) is an incredibly atmospheric 1957 film by Jacques Tourneur, loosely but effectively adapted from M.R. James’s wonderfully chilling short story “Casting the Runes”. ‘Night of the Demons’ (plural) is a shlocky low-budget 1988 film by Kevin Tenney (who ain’t no Tourneur) from a script by Joe Augustyn (who ain’t no M.R. James). Like I say, it’s just one letter –

(Sorry, what was that? ‘Night of the Demon’ is also an abject piece of shit 1980 flick by James C. Wasson, a staple of the video nasties list, principally remembered for a scene in which a biker stops to take a roadside piss only for a sasquatch to reach out of the bushes and yank his todger off? Oh. Yeah. Bollocks. Well, that completely deep sixes that opening paragraph!)

Ahem. Moving swiftly on.

Kevin Tenney’s ‘Night of the Demons’ is a shlocky low-budget horror movie that cheerful appropriates a melange of iconography from everything from John Carpenter’s ‘Halloween’ to Lamberto Bava’s ‘Demons’ by way of every campfire story ever told and glues them together with corn syrup and red dye and absolutely no consideration for characterization, narrative or coherence.

Okay; I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: back the fuck up, Fulwood. You made a case for a whole smorgasbord of stalk ‘n’ slash during the 13 for Halloween project – Christ, you even managed to wring some entertainment value out of ‘Slaughter High’ – so how come you’re getting so uppity over ‘Night of the Demons’?

Well, it’s little things like this: Tenney and Augustyn spend the first third of the movie setting up character dynamics – girl-next-door Judy (Cathy Podewell) agree to a Halloween party date with Ivy League type Jay (Lance Fenton) much to the chagrin of punkish former boyfriend Sal (Billy Gallo), who bullies Helen’s smartmouthed younger brother into giving up the location of said party; the party is thrown by goth outcast Angela (Amelia “Mimi” Kinkade) who inveigles her ditzy best pal Suzanne (Linnea Quigley) into helping out on the promise that she’s invited some “cute boys”; white trash oik Stooge (Hal Holvins) and his African-American best bud/whipping boy Rodger (Alvin Alexis) perpetually squabble, much to the frustration of Helen (Allison Barron), who may or may not have romantic attachments to one, both or neither of them; obnoxious jock Max (Philip Tanzini) and his Eurasian girlfriend Frannie (Jill Terashita) flip off Stooge and Rodger when a spare tyre strands them on the side of the road en route to the bash – only for none of the romantic/racial/rivalry-based conflicts to be explored once all of the protagonists are assembled in the same isolated locale, nor any explanation given as to why Angela invited these specific characters or why they accepted given Angela’s obvious status as a pariah.

Expectations of a pressure-cooker environment exacerbated by supernatural occurrences – or, better still, the horror developing internally from these social/prejudicial mores – are punctured when they just start boogie-ing to crap ’80s music, chugging beer and pairing off for the kind of twenty-second sexual encounters that are written in purely to tick the T&A box before the special effects team turn up to tick the blood ‘n’ gore box.

‘Night of the Demons’ is the kind of film that probably came into existence because the people behind it sat around at some point and had a conversation along these lines:

“Hey, you know what would be really cool? If a bunch of teens spent a night in an old house that used to be a funeral parlour.”

“Hey, man, let’s call it Hull House. Geddit? Geddit?!?!

“Cool. And they awaken a demon.”

“Cool. And they can’t get out because the gate they drove in through has suddenly turned into a brick wall.”

“Awesome! And there’s a séance and they break a mirror, because that’s, like, baaaad luck.”

“Dude, that’s deep. And you what? It’s a girl who gets turned into the first demon and she infects another girl by kissing her.”

“And there’s a couple who get naked and make out in a coffin.”

“Whoa, cool! And one of the girls who gets turned into a demon is a total goth chick and she does this sexy dance and then crouches in front of the fireplace and when she turns round her hands are on fire.”

“Awesome! And there’s this scene where one of the girls rips her blouse open and colours round her boobs with lipstick and then pushes the tube of lipstick into her nipple!

“Oh, man, this is going to be the coolest movie ever!!!”

And so they wrote these individual scenes, filmed them and decided that continuity was for pussies and the function of an editing machine was much the same as that of a meat grinder.

‘Night of the Demons’ is a delivery system for boobs, blood and rampant swathes of what-the-fuckery. The dialogue is fuck-awful (teenagers didn’t even talk like this in the 50s let alone the 80s); the acting makes it look like Stella Adler had a hand in your average Ed Wood production; and only the nastily effective framing device of the grumpy old man wishing revenge on Halloween revellers brings any degree of real imagination or originality to the table.

All things considered, ‘Night of the Demons’ ought to be a boilerplate, forgettable, unworthy-of-your-time-let-alone-an-800-word-review piece of work. Except for Amelia Kinkade. Single-handedly, she turns the demonically infested Angela into a horror movie icon as mordant, malicious and memorable as any of your Freddies, Jasons or Michaels. And she looks a hell of a lot better in a black party dress.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Women in horror: more deadly than the male

Celebrating Day of the Woman’s “Women in Horror Month” with half a dozen female horror icons whose pint you definitely wouldn’t spill.


Robin McLeavy as Lola in ‘The Loved Ones’


Linda Hayden as Angel in ‘Blood on Satan’s Claw’


Ingrid Pitt as Countess Elisabeth in ‘Countess Dracula’



Rie Ino’o as Sadako in ‘The Ring’



Katharine Isabelle as Ginger in ‘Ginger Snaps’



Amelia Kinkade as Angela in ‘Night of the Demon’






(Don’t forget to visit Day of the Woman for a month-long celebration of women in horror.)