Editorials
Rob Zombie: A Defense and Retrospective
Few figures in modern horror are as controversial as the infamous rocker-turned-director, Rob Zombie. Heralded by some as one of the few true “auteur” filmmakers working in the genre today, while simultaneously considered a talentless hack by others, there’s quite the disparity in opinions regarding Zombie within the horror community. While he still benefits from a loyal fan-base, his last few films have been extremely divisive, leaving many to wonder if his early cinematic success was merely a fluke.
As a matter of fact, the once celebrated director of neo-grindhouse classics like House of 1000 Corpses and The Devil’s Rejects has recently come under fire from even the most devoted of fans due to his latest endeavor, the crowd-funded slasher 31. Even as a long-time admirer of Zombie’s work, I can’t quite bring myself to defend 31 as a good movie in and of itself, but it’s obvious that the horror community’s treatment of Zombie after its release is, at the very least, extremely unfair.
To understand why Zombie is still relevant (and perhaps even necessary) in the modern horror scene, we need some perspective on his cinematic upbringing. From the very beginning, the effects of horror on Rob’s music were unmistakable, and it was obvious that this was something he was passionate about. Before turning his attention to film, Zombie had already developed skills as a director with his music videos and concerts, which were all heavily influenced by classic scary movies like Frankenstein and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. It was only a matter of time before he’d try his luck in a different artistic medium.
Originally filmed in 2000, Rob’s first film, House of 1000 Corpses, was released nearly 3 years later, as even then studios weren’t sure about how to deal with his brutal and unique vision. Although now it’s fondly remembered as the movie which introduced us to some of the only original and memorable horror villains of the 2000s, the film was a critical bomb at the time, only developing a cult following years later. Re-watching it nowadays and comparing it to Zombie’s most recent projects, the director’s inexperience is glaring, but the film still carries that messy, passionate charm that put Rob on the map in the first place. Also, Doctor Satan. You have to love Doctor Satan.
Run, rabbit, run!
Having found his footing in the 70s-inspired grindhouse aesthetic, Zombie soon moved on to what is largely considered his magnum opus, The Devil’s Rejects. While technically a sequel to House of 1000 Corpses, the film had its own unique visual and narrative identity and cemented the director as an influential force in the movie industry. This resulted in him being chosen to helm the notorious Halloween remake, which is arguably where most of the controversy surrounding the director began.
In all honesty, no matter who had been chosen to direct the remake, a great deal of moviegoers would still wind up hating the resulting movie. John Carpenter’s film is an undeniable classic, and no one could ever hope to replicate its success. This is precisely why I actually like Zombie’s take on the story, and especially the sequel. He knew that he could never truly duplicate or replace Carpenter’s talent or style, so he created an amalgamation of his own artistic sensibilities and Carpenter’s vision, producing a unique movie with some familiar elements.
These films may not be perfect, but I believe they succeed a lot more than they fail in their attempt to deconstruct the slasher genre by humanizing both Michael Myers and his victims. Strangely enough, the Halloween remake’s (and its sequel’s) biggest flaw might just be the eternal comparison to Carpenter’s original, as these movies, when viewed on their own, are actually quite fascinating. Halloween II is particularly ballsy in its artsy presentation of a deeply psychological story, even if it doesn’t always work or feel coherent. At the very least, Zombie dared to take a risk with the franchise, which is more than most remakes can say.
In between these films, Zombie also worked on the animated adaptation of his own comic-book, The Haunted World of El Superbeasto. While it’s certainly not on the Disney level of animated storytelling (or musical numbers, for that matter), it was an entertaining romp through a world of schlock and terror and gave us a glimpse of Zombie’s mindscape when making these movies. The film also featured some inexplicably smooth and stylish animation, almost incompatible with its low budget. While his films have always had darkly comedic undertones, this is his most humorous outing to date, and it makes me wonder what a Rob Zombie directed live-action horror comedy might look like.
Why even make a film if it’s not going to star Paul Giamatti as Doctor Satan?
In 2012, Zombie graced us with Lords of Salem, which is, to date, the biggest departure from his usual style. This one was also extremely divisive, with some fans calling it a Kubrick-esque masterpiece, while others deemed it an incoherent mess. Personally, I found it to be a thoroughly enjoyable picture, not to mention scary as hell, but the ending didn’t quite do it for me. Again, however, I feel that Zombie’s unorthodox approach to storytelling and creative execution make up for most of the movie’s flaws. Even so, I’m still not sure what the deal was with that freakish child-Satan thing.
Now, this brings us back to 31. At this point, no one can reasonably say that they expected this film to please everyone, especially when considering Zombie’s previous work, but this seems to be his most hated film to date. Naturally, in a definitive ranking of my favorite Rob Zombie movies I’d place this one last, but even then it’s not a completely awful experience. As is usually the case with Zombie’s flicks, there several creative elements that keep this from being just another bad slasher film (Do I even need to mention Richard Brake’s phenomenal performance?).
These recurring positive elements don’t always make up for the tangled scripts and overused psychotic hillbilly tropes, but they prove that even Zombie’s “failures” have some merit to them, and can still be worth a watch. Interesting flops, if made with passion, can sometimes be more rewarding than a formulaic success. Rob Zombie is one of the few horror filmmakers that managed to carve out his own path in the genre, and even when he stumbles, the result is always intriguing. In an age where audiences everywhere crave originality, what more could you ask for?
Ultimately, your opinion of Zombie’s body of work will depend on your definition of a good movie. More specifically, whether you think it’s more important for a film to take a risk and have its own identity, or to do its best at following a successful formula. At the end of the day, 31 is still a bad movie, but the horror community would do well to appreciate the fact that Rob Zombie is still willing to do his own thing in a world where most filmmakers are forced to either conform or give up. One bad movie doesn’t make him a bad director, and it sure as hell shouldn’t keep him from making more. For now, I’ll be here eagerly awaiting his next film.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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