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‘The Mortuary Collection’ and the Enduring Appeal of Horror Anthologies

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The horror anthology is a lot older than most people realize. Even during the silent era, we had films like Richard Oswald‘s 1919 Unheimliche Geschichten, and even before then, it can be argued that writers and storytellers gathering to share dark tales with their peers was something of a precursor to the modern anthology. This compelling format may have been embraced by comics and television before it was firmly established as a popular subgenre in film, but nowadays I think it’s safe to say that these movies contain some of our most treasured scary stories.

That’s why I’d like to take a moment to explore what it is about these creepy collections that keep us coming back for more bite-sized scares.

Of course, not everyone loves these movies, as anthologies have been commonly criticized for being uneven experiences, which I think can be a valid complaint when dealing with loosely connected yarns stitched together into a larger framework. Making all these pieces fit together into a comprehensive picture is no easy task, and it’s even harder when so many of these movies appear to be just a cheap way of combining pre-existing short films into a haphazard feature-length production. I’m not knocking on any particular movie here, as there are several great anthologies which began as compilations of unrelated shorts, but I think most folks can agree that these flicks are usually better when planned from the get-go.

This is one of the reasons why I was pleasantly surprised by Ryan Spindell‘s The Mortuary Collection, a rare anthology that not only feels consistent, but also boasts wildly varied and entertaining stories. It may not be a perfect film, with some segments working better than others, but it reminded me of what makes anthologies so compelling in the first place, commenting on the moral and social implications of scary stories and the way we share them.

Sure, a huge part of the film’s success can be attributed to Clancy Brown and Caitlin Custer‘s highly entertaining back-and-forth as the mysterious Mortician and his potential protégé, but there’s a lot more to it than that. What really makes the film stand out is how it understands that anthologies are at their best when each segment builds to something greater, with the stories working together towards a common thematic goal while still offering bite-sized thrills.

Every corpse has a story, but together they make one hell of an entertaining movie!

In Spindell’s case, a definitive vision manages to keep things consistently entertaining as the movie’s stories become larger and more bizarre. The final act even incorporates the director’s previous short film, The Babysitter Murders, into the climax without missing a beat. While the short was produced way back in 2015, it blends naturally into a story that was tailor-made to accommodate it, making it feel like a natural part of the Collection.

Having a single director helm all of the segments may have helped with this consistency, but films like Holidays, Tales of Halloween and even Bloody-Disgusting’s own V/H/S franchise prove that a project can boast several uniquely creative visions and still work as a coherent film. What really matters is that these segmented frights are planned in advance, uniting different kinds of scary stories with a common goal.

Of course, there’s a lot more to a good anthology than just consistency, as movies can still be consistently bad. But even then, the episodic nature of these films can actually help flawed narratives by making them more easily digestible due to their bite-sized approach to storytelling. It’s easy to ignore a bad segment or two in favor of a generally fun experience, especially if there’s a satisfying wraparound uniting the tales.

It’s not exactly necessary, but I’d argue that the wraparound story is another important element that can make or break an anthology flick. If the connective tissue between these stories isn’t strong enough, the whole thing runs the risk of falling apart and feeling like an un-curated film festival lineup instead of a coherent experience. That’s why I think the best wraparounds work as a framing device to contextualize their collection (much like the titular Books of Blood setup in Clive Barker‘s infamous short stories and its adaptations) while also serving as one final tale for the road.

Still one of the best framing devices in fiction.

Again, this is something that The Mortuary Collection does beautifully, with its wraparound at the funerary home being just as entertaining as the stories told by Clancy Brown’s jaded mortician. Memorable recurring characters like John Carpenter’s maniacal Coroner in Body Bags or Brown’s Tall-Man-inspired Mr. Dark can also go a long way when trying to leave a lasting impression with these segments, as we all know that a scary story is only as good as the storyteller.

At the end of the day, there’s no guaranteed formula for success in any genre, and anthologies still follow the fundamental rules of filmmaking. However, looking back on classics like Trick ‘r Treat and Creepshow, certain patterns show up that suggest we enjoy these movies more when they feature wildly varied narratives tied together with consistent aesthetics and tones. This why I think The Mortuary Collection is one of the best anthologies we’ve seen in a while now, as the film is bursting with creativity but still feels like a singular entity.

Stephen King once likened short stories to a quick kiss in the dark from a stranger, as opposed to the complete romantic evening you might get from a novel. By that logic, horror anthologies are a flirtatious endeavor combining the allure of quick thrills with the familiar comforts of a larger story structure. While these tales can be enjoyed on their own, the recurring themes and imagery can make for a more gratifying experience when merged into something greater, and that may be one reason why we love these movies so much.

Nevertheless, I’d argue that there’s an even simpler explanation for our obsession with anthologies. At the end of the day, I believe we like the idea of a smorgasbord of several mini-horror movies offered up for the price of a single admission ticket. Even if you don’t enjoy everything, it’s likely that you’ll appreciate at least some of what was brought to the table, and that makes the whole thing worthwhile.

Born Brazilian, raised Canadian, Luiz is a writer and Film student that spends most of his time watching movies and subsequently complaining about them.

Editorials

What’s Wrong with My Baby!? Larry Cohen’s ‘It’s Alive’ at 50

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Netflix It's Alive

Soon after the New Hollywood generation took over the entertainment industry, they started having children. And more than any filmmakers that came before—they were terrified. Rosemary’s Baby (1968), The Exorcist (1973), The Omen (1976), Eraserhead (1977), The Brood (1979), The Shining (1980), Possession (1981), and many others all deal, at least in part, with the fears of becoming or being a parent. What if my child turns out to be a monster? is corrupted by some evil force? or turns out to be the fucking Antichrist? What if I screw them up somehow, or can’t help them, or even go insane and try to kill them? Horror has always been at its best when exploring relatable fears through extreme circumstances. A prime example of this is Larry Cohen’s 1974 monster-baby movie It’s Alive, which explores the not only the rollercoaster of emotions that any parent experiences when confronted with the difficulties of raising a child, but long-standing questions of who or what is at fault when something goes horribly wrong.

Cohen begins making his underlying points early in the film as Frank Davis (John P. Ryan) discusses the state of the world with a group of expectant fathers in a hospital waiting room. They discuss the “overabundance of lead” in foods and the environment, smog, and pesticides that only serve to produce roaches that are “bigger, stronger, and harder to kill.” Frank comments that this is “quite a world to bring a kid into.” This has long been a discussion point among people when trying to decide whether to have kids or not. I’ve had many conversations with friends who have said they feel it’s irresponsible to bring children into such a violent, broken, and dangerous world, and I certainly don’t begrudge them this. My wife and I did decide to have children but that doesn’t mean that it’s been easy.

Immediately following this scene comes It’s Alive’s most famous sequence in which Frank’s wife Lenore (Sharon Farrell) is the only person left alive in her delivery room, the doctors clawed and bitten to death by her mutant baby, which has escaped. “What does my baby look like!? What’s wrong with my baby!?” she screams as nurses wheel her frantically into a recovery room. The evening that had begun with such joy and excitement at the birth of their second child turned into a nightmare. This is tough for me to write, but on some level, I can relate to this whiplash of emotion. When my second child was born, they came about five weeks early. I’ll use the pronouns “they/them” for privacy reasons when referring to my kids. Our oldest was still very young and went to stay with my parents and we sped off to the hospital where my wife was taken into an operating room for an emergency c-section. I was able to carry our newborn into the NICU (natal intensive care unit) where I was assured that this was routine for all premature births. The nurses assured me there was nothing to worry about and the baby looked big and healthy. I headed to where my wife was taken to recover to grab a few winks assuming that everything was fine. Well, when I awoke, I headed back over to the NICU to find that my child was not where I left them. The nurse found me and told me that the baby’s lungs were underdeveloped, and they had to put them in a special room connected to oxygen tubes and wires to monitor their vitals.

It’s difficult to express the fear that overwhelmed me in those moments. Everything turned out okay, but it took a while and I’m convinced to this day that their anxiety struggles spring from these first weeks of life. As our children grew, we learned that two of the three were on the spectrum and that anxiety, depression, ADHD, and OCD were also playing a part in their lives. Parents, at least speaking for myself, can’t help but blame themselves for the struggles their children face. The “if only” questions creep in and easily overcome the voices that assure us that it really has nothing to do with us. In the film, Lenore says, “maybe it’s all the pills I’ve been taking that brought this on.” Frank muses aloud about how he used to think that Frankenstein was the monster, but when he got older realized he was the one that made the monster. The aptly named Frank is wondering if his baby’s mutation is his fault, if he created the monster that is terrorizing Los Angeles. I have made plenty of “if only” statements about myself over the years. “If only I hadn’t had to work so much, if only I had been around more when they were little.” Mothers may ask themselves, “did I have a drink, too much coffee, or a cigarette before I knew I was pregnant? Was I too stressed out during the pregnancy?” In other words, most parents can’t help but wonder if it’s all their fault.

At one point in the film, Frank goes to the elementary school where his baby has been sighted and is escorted through the halls by police. He overhears someone comment about “screwed up genes,” which brings about age-old questions of nature vs. nurture. Despite the voices around him from doctors and detectives that say, “we know this isn’t your fault,” Frank can’t help but think it is, and that the people who try to tell him it isn’t really think it’s his fault too. There is no doubt that there is a hereditary element to the kinds of mental illness struggles that my children and I deal with. But, and it’s a bit but, good parenting goes a long way in helping children deal with these struggles. Kids need to know they’re not alone, a good parent can provide that, perhaps especially parents that can relate to the same kinds of struggles. The question of nature vs. nurture will likely never be entirely answered but I think there’s more than a good chance that “both/and” is the case. Around the midpoint of the film, Frank agrees to disown the child and sign it over for medical experimentation if caught or killed. Lenore and the older son Chris (Daniel Holzman) seek to nurture and teach the baby, feeling that it is not a monster, but a member of the family.

It’s Alive takes these ideas to an even greater degree in the fact that the Davis Baby really is a monster, a mutant with claws and fangs that murders and eats people. The late ’60s and early ’70s also saw the rise in mass murderers and serial killers which heightened the nature vs. nurture debate. Obviously, these people were not literal monsters but human beings that came from human parents, but something had gone horribly wrong. Often the upbringing of these killers clearly led in part to their antisocial behavior, but this isn’t always the case. It’s Alive asks “what if a ‘monster’ comes from a good home?” In this case is it society, environmental factors, or is it the lead, smog, and pesticides? It is almost impossible to know, but the ending of the film underscores an uncomfortable truth—even monsters have parents.

As the film enters its third act, Frank joins the hunt for his child through the Los Angeles sewers and into the L.A. River. He is armed with a rifle and ready to kill on sight, having divorced himself from any relationship to the child. Then Frank finds his baby crying in the sewers and his fatherly instincts take over. With tears in his eyes, he speaks words of comfort and wraps his son in his coat. He holds him close, pats and rocks him, and whispers that everything is going to be okay. People often wonder how the parents of those who perform heinous acts can sit in court, shed tears, and defend them. I think it’s a complex issue. I’m sure that these parents know that their child has done something evil, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are still their baby. Your child is a piece of yourself formed into a whole new human being. Disowning them would be like cutting off a limb, no matter what they may have done. It doesn’t erase an evil act, far from it, but I can understand the pain of a parent in that situation. I think It’s Alive does an exceptional job placing its audience in that situation.

Despite the serious issues and ideas being examined in the film, It’s Alive is far from a dour affair. At heart, it is still a monster movie and filled with a sense of fun and a great deal of pitch-black humor. In one of its more memorable moments, a milkman is sucked into the rear compartment of his truck as red blood mingles with the white milk from smashed bottles leaking out the back of the truck and streaming down the street. Just after Frank agrees to join the hunt for his baby, the film cuts to the back of an ice cream truck with the words “STOP CHILDREN” emblazoned on it. It’s a movie filled with great kills, a mutant baby—created by make-up effects master Rick Baker early in his career, and plenty of action—and all in a PG rated movie! I’m telling you, the ’70s were wild. It just also happens to have some thoughtful ideas behind it as well.

Which was Larry Cohen’s specialty. Cohen made all kinds of movies, but his most enduring have been his horror films and all of them tackle the social issues and fears of the time they were made. God Told Me To (1976), Q: The Winged Serpent (1982), and The Stuff (1985) are all great examples of his socially aware, low-budget, exploitation filmmaking with a brain and It’s Alive certainly fits right in with that group. Cohen would go on to write and direct two sequels, It Lives Again (aka It’s Alive 2) in 1978 and It’s Alive III: Island of the Alive in 1987 and is credited as a co-writer on the 2008 remake. All these films explore the ideas of parental responsibility in light of the various concerns of the times they were made including abortion rights and AIDS.

Fifty years after It’s Alive was initially released, it has only become more relevant in the ensuing years. Fears surrounding parenthood have been with us since the beginning of time but as the years pass the reasons for these fears only seem to become more and more profound. In today’s world the conversation of the fathers in the waiting room could be expanded to hormones and genetic modifications in food, terrorism, climate change, school and other mass shootings, and other threats that were unknown or at least less of a concern fifty years ago. Perhaps the fearmongering conspiracy theories about chemtrails and vaccines would be mentioned as well, though in a more satirical fashion, as fears some expectant parents encounter while endlessly doomscrolling Facebook or Twitter. Speaking for myself, despite the struggles, the fears, and the sadness that sometimes comes with having children, it’s been worth it. The joys ultimately outweigh all of that, but I understand the terror too. Becoming a parent is no easy choice, nor should it be. But as I look back, I can say that I’m glad we made the choice we did.

I wonder if Frank and Lenore can say the same thing.

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