Editorials
Revisiting the Post-Nuclear Horrors of the ‘Fallout’ Franchise
Fallout was my first M-rated game. While I was way too young at the time to truly appreciate Interplay’s satirical odyssey through a dystopic wasteland, I still remember opening that jewel case in awe of a title that was clearly meant for a more mature audience. Unfortunately, I was also really bad at the game, which led to an overwhelming sense of dread whenever I decided to boot up this strange world where everything was out to murder my woefully under-leveled Vault Dweller. Even the loading screens and ambient music gave me the heebie-jeebies, but I soldiered on anyway, eventually becoming a massive fan of the franchise.
I may not have gotten very far during those initial playthroughs (I only managed to finish the original two titles during my last year of High-School), but Fallout certainly left a lasting impression as a spooky post-apocalyptic simulator. Of course, nowadays I’m aware that the franchise is mostly known for its dark humor and satirical writing, using the retro-futuristic setting as an excuse to explore the sociological consequences of a nuclear holocaust while also satirizing real-world issues. Nevertheless, I’m still convinced that the more unnerving elements of this setting are a crucial part of the series’ massive success.
These games have come a long way since 1997, starting out as isometric adventures and eventually evolving into the FPS/RPG hybrids that we know today, but the heart of the franchise is still based on the same unsettling philosophies. It may be the wacky post-apocalyptic escapades that keep players coming back for more, but it’s the little moments of genuine nuclear terror that make this such an effective and immersive world. That’s why I think it’s worth revisiting some of the horrific influences behind this weird and wonderful Wasteland.
Even with the tongue-in-cheek approach to the nuclear holocaust, it’s no surprise that a setting inspired by the terrors of radioactive warfare has spawned its fair share of nightmare fuel. While there are obvious examples of terrifying abominations roaming the Fallout wastes, the original games actually relied a lot more on atmosphere and body horror rather than traditional atomic monsters. From the social isolation enforced by Vault-Tec (which was later revealed to be using the Vaults for their own unethical experiments) to cannibalistic raiders, and even the mere existence of Ghouls (zombie-like humans cursed with immortality after being ravaged by radiation), these games featured all sorts of disturbing content that would oftentimes be overshadowed by humor.
It’s enough to make David Cronenberg blush.
That’s not to say that players won’t be facing off against all manners of monstrous mutations while exploring the Wasteland, as the original games featured a veritable smorgasbord of now-iconic enemies. From the demonic-looking Deathclaws (somehow descended from genetically-enhanced chameleons) to the disgusting Floaters (mutated flatworms with a penchant for human flesh), the early Fallout games actually did a great job of conveying terror despite the crude visuals. One could even make the argument that the lack of visual clarity actually made these creatures more terrifying, as these pixelized depictions of radioactive atrocities would force players to fill in the blanks with their own imagination.
Many of these horrific designs would actually be physically sculpted before being scanned into the game, with media like Fred M. Wilcox’s Forbidden Planet and Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend (plus its adaptations) being cited as the inspiration for some of the mutated denizens of the Wasteland. Of course, some of the most disturbing material was inspired by real-life accounts of radiation poisoning, leading to the Ghouls’ exposed flesh and the iconic two-headed Brahmin. This just goes to show that fiction can rarely compete with the horrors of the real world.
Nevertheless, these serious elements were also accompanied by an unexpectedly entertaining amount of primitive gore effects. While the exaggerated bloodshed would often be more humorous than disturbing (the developers even included an optional “Bloody Mess” character trait/perk for players with a thirst for more ultra-violence), this penchant for schlock would become a staple of the franchise even as it transitioned into the third dimension.
While the highly-detailed models of later titles weren’t quite as grungy or off-putting as the isometric sprites of earlier games, there were still quite a few frightful creatures that successfully made players soil their pants while exploring the three-dimensional ruins of Bethesda’s (and Obsidian’s) Fallout games. One might even argue that the added detail actually made some of the designs even creepier, as we were now able to take a closer look at decrepit Ghouls and even the revolting Centaurs.
I still have nightmares about these guys in New Vegas’ Quarry Junction…
The cinematic flourishes of these big-budget sequels also allowed for some more direct inspiration from the horror genre. Fallout 3 featured obvious references to H.P. Lovecraft’s The Dunwich Horror (with one quest-line even involving a mysterious tome named Krivbeknih, inspired by the Necronomicon), and New Vegas boasted an entire DLC add-on (Dead Money) that felt like a post-apocalyptic heist designed by Jigsaw. Hell, even the terrifying Lake-Lurkers look an awful lot like a certain lagoon-based Universal Monster.
Benefiting from the New England setting, Fallout 4 would continue referencing Lovecraft, with one side-quest even serving as a loose adaptation of Pickman’s Model. The game would also add some more appropriately fishy monsters and locations with the foggy terrors of the Far Harbor DLC, though the main storyline focused on more traditional sci-fi conflicts.
More recently, Fallout 76 has been making a big deal out of incorporating irradiated versions of North-American cryptids into the game, featuring everything from Mothman cults to ravenous Wendigos and even the Flatwoods Monster. The multiplayer elements may have distanced the game even further from the horror genre, but it’s nice to see that the franchise is still paying homage to its scary roots.
Ultimately, Fallout is at its best when balancing the genuinely horrific nature of a nuclear apocalypse with darkly humorous writing and addictive role-playing mechanics. While the experience gets progressively less spooky as your character turns into a radioactive badass, the Wasteland never stops being a terrifying place, which makes your eventual conquering of it all the more satisfying. These horror elements might not be the explicit focus of these games, but the series definitely wouldn’t be as popular as it is today without that eerie touch that makes us hesitate before looting a giant mole-rat.
That’s why I think any future Fallout projects (including that recently-announced Amazon Studios adaptation) should try and remember these scary influences when trying to immerse fans in a new version of this iconic setting. After all, what’s scarier than the end of the world?
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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