The Blob (1988)

Review #0045

A scant year after A Nightmare on Elm Street 3, the Russell/Darabont writing team is back for this surpringly good remake of the 1958 drive-in classic that contains many twists on the dated premise. You know the story: a monstrous blob crashes on Earth inside a meteor and menaces to devour a small American community which an illustrious teenage hero must save. This time, both the blob and the teenage hero are back but their backgrounds are totally different. Unconvincingly enough, the glutonous man-eating monster is now a biological weapon created by American scientists to win the arms race with the U.S.S.R., which was in such a bad shape at the time that many of its satellite countries abandoned communism and Russia itself neared economic collapse. But although it's pretty unlikely that American R&D would require the sacrifice of an entire town to beat a kneeling enemy, such an apocalyptic meta-narrative taps into deep-rooted popular fears and offers some exciting action involving rocket launchers, assault rifles, unmarked trucks and flying motorcycles. Because that's what the hero rides: a motorcycle. You see, the Steve McQueen jock character actually dies early on (during an eye-popping embrace with the blob) and it's up to long-haired, cigarette-smoking greaser Kevin Dillon to save the day. And he's even got the though cheerleader with him (who is played by 18 year-old Shawnee Smith who's positively prettier and more wholesome here than as the repentant drug-addict/serial-killer from the Saw films). Finally, relevant updates in a remake! And what about those mildly rebel kids who sneak in to see Garden Tool Massacre, the generic slasher now featured during the classic movie theater blob attack? It's perfect! And perfectly campy too! The basic story may be standard 1950s fare, but the film definitely feels 1980s with its nasty, imaginative gore, elaborate special effects and action scenes, as well as its shameless (but tame) onscreen killing of a ten-year old boy! The Blob is a fun film that revels in artifice. But it also benefits from a savvy, funny script featuring engaging characters and situations.

It could be anybody agonizing under there, but it's actually Steve McQueen's character!

This Blob features everything you could possibly want from a grade-B monster movie. It's got an elaborate setting that's homely and full of nicely-fleshed characters, most enticing of all being the two underdog heroes (Smith's cheerleader is particularly strong for such a "prize" female character). It's got plenty of stunts and action involving motorcycles, bombs, guys jumping from moving trucks, blown-up government property, monster pursuits, government agents unloading entire clips of ammo on teenage civilians, and a blasting grand finale set in city streets filled with screaming onlookers. It's got effective humor to boot, but most of all: it's got inventive, gory, and tension-filled "kill" scenes. The blob being what it is, it's got endless possibilities for mayhem. It clings to skin, to walls and ceilings, it squeezes through pipes and drains and grows to envelop structures and people, extending prehensible tentacles all the while. Thankfully, all of those possibilities are exploited to their fullest by using tension instead of cheap surprises. You always know where the blob is in relation to the characters, you just don't know when it is going to strike and what exact damage it's going to do. Expectation makes the film exhilarating, while the superior (but sometimes slightly unconvincing) special effects make the monster more "life-like" than it's ever been. If the opening credits designed à la Terminator are any indication, movie-magic has come to small town, USA to disrupt, but also to amaze its peaceful inhabitants.

But here's an example of what makes this film so irresistible. An early scene in which two jock friends are getting ready for their dates by purchasing condoms at the pharmacy. Scott, the horny jock borrows money from Paul, the candid jock, by digging into his wallet, then charges toward the counter, shouting to the uptight pharmacist: "Uh, look, pal, gimme a pack of Trojans and a Binaca spray". In the same motion (and the same tracking shot), he nears the sunglasses stand and grabs a pair. While he tries them on, the town reverend appears right behind him and warmly congratulates him on his "game". A very unconfortable exchange of platitudes ensues, which is brutally interrupted just when the reverend confesses his disapointment with Scott for not attending Sunday services. The pharmacist appears smack in the middle of a three shot holding two boxes of condoms inbetween his thumbs and indexes. "You want the ribbed or the regular" he asks the jock who nervously glimpses at the reverend and makes this awkward reply: "Ribbed..., he says in a shattering voice, I guess. They're not for me you know. They're for my friend!". Grabbing the opportunity with both hands, he points toward Paul who holds a magazine, and makes impatient gestures toward him. "There's this sort of naive girl that he's planning on... well, you know, he confides to the reverend. And I... I insisted he takes precautions". "Why doesn't he pay for them?" candidly asks the cashier, ignorant of the fact that he actually is. "I had to drag him down here as it is, says Scott in an exasperated tone. The guy is totally irresponsable". As if to purposefully grant credibility to his friend's lies, Paul exclaims: "What's the hold-up, Scott? I can't keep this girl waiting!" The cashier then looks at him in dismay and sternly mutters: "Boy doesn't need condoms. He needs a muzzle" while making angry noises with a paper bag. Smooth-talking Scott has done it: he has dishonestly saved his honor by dragging his friend in the mud. And obviously, the story doesn't end there. Because the law of scenaristic probabilities make it necessary for the father of Paul's date to be the uptight pharmacist. So, before they head out together, Meg asks Paul to meet his father, which he immediately accepts to do. They trek through the house toward the living room, where the father is sitting in an armchair, his face hidden by a newspaper. When Meg introduces Paul, he puts down his newspaper and offers the young man a warm smile. But the instant he recognizes the "irresponsible" young man from earlier, his traits tighten and he just says, in the most affected voice possible: "Ribbed." Cut. I don't think there could've been a better way to end this scene, than with this simple word that says it all and actually makes you imagine a way crunchier follow-up than anything anybody could have ever filmed. It's teenage awkwardness materialized, which is an overlooked necessity for such horror films. Bravo!

A few scenes (and a few gruesome deaths) later, we are happily reunited with Scott Jeske's antics as he desperately tries to make his arduous condoms purchase worthwhile in what can only be described as a bachelor pad on wheels. His hammered date is oblivious to his advances so he decides to mix her yet another one of his patented strawberry drinks from his impressive trunk/bar. While he's busy doing so, we can see the blob crawl underneath the car, readying a nasty surprise for the "immoral" couple. When Scott comes back into the driver's seat, he finds his date asleep (actually, she is now a deflated, blob-filled carcass). But this only entices the adventurous young man further. He closes in on "sleeping" beauty, whispering a conqueror's words in her ears and very much ogling her breasts, eventually giving them some air by unbuttoning the lady's shirt. Ah! So rare to see such a date-rapist character, and so refreshing! After all, that's another awkward thing about teenagehood: sex with sleeping girls. So why not use it to set-up an awesome kill? Because of the dubious morality of such a scene? Fuck morality! It's not a sermon we're watching here, but an horror film. At least, Russell and company understood that. So, thank you, guys!

The blob effects alone make the film worthwhile, but it's
the engaging characters that make a real hoot.

3/5 An impeccable B monster movie.

A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987)

Review #0043

This second sequel is much better than Part 2, but that's not saying much. For one thing, it's a more direct continuation of the original, with Heather Langenkamp reprising her role of Nancy Thompson. But although this guarantees a somewhat stronger premise, it doesn't prevent the film from slipping into self-parody, and eventually even resorting to dubious Christian lore to half-assedly propel the narrative and allow a (highly unwelcome) John Saxon cameo. As the "slasher sequel syndrome" dictates, the obligatory background updates on boogeyman Freddy Krueger provide only illusory depth to an increasingly goofy and flat character. If only by erosion of the "dream killer" premise, or because of his polished, almost "politically-correct" new look, the zombie child molester has almost none of the screen presence he once had. Which brings him closer and closer to Jason, the hulking n' sulking Camp Crystal ghoul who mindlessly swings the machete around. But instead of gorier and gorier kills, it's increasingly elaborate special effects which conceal Freddy's shallowness. Although this offers more "wows" to the casual viewer, it drags the series away from its horror roots and into the realm of fantasy. But frankly I must also say that Dream Warriors' confined new locale (an insane asylum) does very little to help poor Freddy out. Trapped by the tiled white corridors of the institution (which annoyingly is the only setting his teenage victims can dream off), he can no longer do what he does best, that is stalking and hunting the characters through the labyrinthine streets of suburbia (which is one of the most important staples of the series). Now, he can only assume new forms and quip new one-liners (such as the dubious: "Welcome to prime-time, bitch."). What is interesting however are the intriguing new narrative devices offered by the film, such as the "dream weapons" specific to each character's background and the sessions of group hypnosis during which Nancy and the kids can take on Freddy together. But these elements are far too underplayed to salvage the sinking ship. And as is the case with almost every element in the film, the 20-minute finale set in dreams is nowhere near as exciting as it promises to be.

No better weapon to beat Freddy than the heroine's virginal body

In this third installment, which thankfully skips the events of Part 2, all the remaining Elm street kids are in a mental institution under the care of orderly Max (Larry Fishburne, who it's always nice to see even in subdued roles) and super-lame psychiatrist Neil Gordon. Of course, the entire medical personel denies Freddy Krueger's existence altogether and wishes to rid the kids of moral ailments which they feel are responsible for their nightmares. Honestly, they all sound more like raving preachers than actual, analytical professionals. And although I know it is merely a plot device designed to isolate the characters, I found it infuriating to witness their lack of empathy, understanding and scientific rigor. Hell, the proof is there (the mounds of mangled teenage bodies left by Freddy up to that point) so why yack about morality and other such stuff which doesn't have ANYTHING to do with the scientific analysis of the situation? You'd think that once hot-shot grad student Nancy Thompson joins them, things will change, but they don't. Not right away. It takes two deaths (one of which features both an impossible feat and gross negligeance from the medical staff, two convenient plot devices used undiscriminately) before she convinces Gordon to prescribe the kids Hypnocil (an experimental, dream-suppressing drug that surprisingly reappears only in Freddy vs Jason). Considering the delay necessary to receive the drug, Gordon and Thompson try a temporary patchwork solution, group hypnosis, in order to accompany the kids in their dreams. It works and thus they are catapulted into Freddy's domain. But when the mute kid wanders away from the group, he is caught by the boogeyman who assumed the form of a hot nurse (hence providing a rare breast shot) for the occasion. Unlike the others, Joey is not killed, but rather dragged to Hell, where the climatic battle takes place after his friends bind together to get him back. The contrived subplot involves the ghost of Freddy's mother explaining how her son's bones must be buried in hallowed ground to erase the curse. But beware of Jason and the Argonauts type animated skeletons!

At least, the film starts off pretty well. The opening sequence cleverly sets up the mood and aspirations of the film as insomniac Kristen Parker (Patricia Arquette) feverishly glues together a popsicle sticks model of Nancy Thompson's old house, which we suspect is a recurring dream fantasy. When her mother irrupts into the room and asks why she isn't in bed, Kristen humors her, saying she was waiting for her return when actually she simply doesn't want to become finger food. Nonetheless, she eventually gets inbetween the sheets and wishes mommy good-night, after which she is catapulted on the porch of Nancy's house, where rope-jumping girls are singing that annoying nursery rhyme from the original film. Soon enough, Kristen encounters Freddy and he slashes her. Not much. Just enough for her mother to panic and seek psychiatric help. Thanks to this sequence, we can breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that the series has gone back to its roots (girls and guerrilla type dream attacks). However, it is also somewhat dishonest, not unlike Part 2's. What sucked about Part 2's opening sequence was that it misrepresented the protagonist as a lonesome object of laughter when he was actually a fairly self-confident and moody dude. What sucks about #3's opening sequence is that it introduces a character which becomes secondary the second Heather Langenkamp walks into the frame, that is a scant ten minutes later. In actuality, there is only one major reason for Arquette's screen time, but it's an overwhelming one. I'm talking of course about her incredible screaming voice. I mean, I've heard screams before, but hell! We're talking about a dead-raisingly piercing shriek here! Maybe it's a special talent she has, or a result of having such large, er... lungs, but Arquette has got it going on! Maybe not a scream "queen" (because of her limited horror films output), but certainly a scream princess!

Arquette in "that" dress. Luckily, the bodice didn't involve any
buttons, otherwise many eyeballs would've been endangered.

I must say that I was also thrilled to see Heather Langenkamp appear onscreen twelve minutes in. We're not talking about a meaningless cameo here (such as Kirsty's video-tape appearance in Hellraiser III) but a full-fledged role for her character Nancy. Actually, 'full-fledged' might not be the accurate word to describe it... because frankly, you start to curse her lack of depth five minutes later. Just like Freddy, Nancy's background (as the first Nightmare's survivor girl) provides illusory depth for it is otherwise, impossible to ascertain her status as trauma victim. Not only isn't she emotionally scarred or hellbent on helping the kids, but she doesn't provide any real insight into the Freddy phenomenon or the awesome researches she has done in college. Like most elements in this film, she is just a limp narrative link between other ill-assorted elements. It's only through her highly unconvincing romance with the repulsive Gordon that she ties the many narrative strands together, including the one with her drunken, cowardly father and Freddy's bones, but not through her own efforts. In the end, the film is made up of too many such examples of wasted potential to be worthwhile. Too much emphasis is put on the dubious Christian solution to Freddy's curse and not enough on the concrete and rewarding involvment of the kids themselves. The finale is set up as a team venture into the boogeyman's lair where teamwork and interpersonal skills should have been key. Instead, Freddy isolates and kills two right of the bat (in two obvious and dubiously comic set-ups), then wisecracks and chases the others to a very unsatisfying conclusion including too many dramatic poses and not enough dream powers. All of this is intercut with scenes of Lt. Thompson and Gordon trying to bury Freddy's bones and perform some very amateurish blessing ceremony. And there goes another valid opportunity to teach the teenage audience about the value of friendship and teamwork in time of needs. There's just so much of star Freddy that all meaningful characters and issues have been absorbed in his web of bad theatrics and offensive one-liners. And one other thing: where's the gore? Sure, the kills are now much more elaborate, and I must admit that some of them are quite innovative. But where's the incredible gore that launched the series? Where are the blood-soaked matresses and ceilings? They were banned by mainstream morality no doubt, along with almost every interesting concept in this film. Despite it all, this entry manages to earn its rightful place in the series, if only for being the basis to the following film and those other films lying beyond (such as the surprisingly good Freddy vs Jason).

Freddy kills a suicidal recovering drug-addict with seringue-fingers.
Comical, moralistic, or just tasteless?

2/5 Many intriguing ideas, but very disappointing execution.