Editorials
‘The Curse of Kazuo Umezu’ Is a Small Taste of the Manga Author’s Twisted Mind [Horrors Elsewhere]
While Kazuo “Umezz” Umezu is not exactly a household name outside of Japan, his unique style of art is hard to forget. The mangaka started getting published in the 1960s, and several of his works have been turned into films and TV series. The majority of these adaptations have been live-action, but Umezu’s creations are well-suited for animation. Strangely enough, less than a handful of Umezu’s manga have been given the anime treatment.
Along with Umezu’s serialized manga is a mass of standalone stories, of which many first appeared in periodicals like Monthly Halloween. In 1986, said magazine’s publisher issued a compilation of several of these tales called The Curse of Kazuo Umezu (Umezu Kazuo no Noroi). The same omnibus eventually inspired two conjoined OVAs (original video animation) in 1990. Naoko Omi directed each vignette, and Shiira Shimazaki handled the screenplay. Umezu’s involvement was apparently minimal, but this obscure anthology still manages to capture the spirit of the artist’s oeuvre.
There is no significant attempt at connecting the two 20-minute segments other than having the host (Ikuya Sawaki) from the manga, a proxy for Umezu, introduce or wrap up each story. In fact, every episode has its own closing credits sequence. Whatever conformity can be found here, though, rests in the narratives and art. Animation director and character designer Junko Abe has a good sense of Umezu’s signature style; she communicates the more visible influences, including retro shōjo, ukiyo-e, and Tezuka Osamu.
First up in this creepy pairing is “What Will the Video Camera Reveal?” High-schooler Masami (Naoko Watanabe) is not herself when transfer student Rima (Shinobu Adachi) enrolls in her class. She is suddenly awash in emotions she neither recognizes nor understands. The male students are clearly entranced by Rima, whereas Masami fights her own fixation. This denial only leads to nightmares, lapses in memory, and a mysterious neck wound. Masami assumes Rima is the cause of her problems, yet video footage shows a different story.
The early days of manga horror emphasized visceral imagery. The utmost goal in this kind of manga, especially from the postwar eras which Umezu and other similar artists like Hideshi Hino launched their careers in, was to absolutely disturb the audience. Ghastly artwork achieved this effect more immediately than a subtle plot might. Of course this does not mean the stories themselves were lacking. They, much like the macabre output of EC Comics, were unassuming and frank, although also less moralistic. Uncanny events and spectral killers were often just that and nothing more, and bad things happened to innocent people simply because they could.
Even with the above sentiment applied to “What Will the Video Camera Reveal?”, there is a supplementary reading about Masami’s unmet desires toward Rima. The new student brings out an inner hunger Masami desperately tries (and fails) to quell. On top of that, the boys in the class are openly enamored with Rima, but Masami fights those exact same feelings until they manifest, then quite literally explode from her body. This form of coded sexuality in horror is equally timeless and dated.
The second and last offering, “The Haunted Mansion”, is less ambiguous. This one also has a familiar if not overused premise; teenagers let their curiosity get the best of them when they enter a local haunt. It all begins with two friends, Nanako and Miko (Ai Orikasa, Rei Sakuma), watching a couple of scary video rentals. Nanako, who is fearless to a fault, then suggests they go check out a ghost mansion before the city tears it down. Joined by two other friends with the same (bad) idea, the four finally step into the eerie and empty edifice, unaware of the horrors awaiting them.
“The Haunted Mansion” is the more conventional chapter of this anthology. The characters’ nocturnal tour of Abe Mansion plays out like a series of funhouse tricks. From creepy toys to moving shadows, this piece does everything in its power to make the four teens squirm. Even though the threat of harm is evident from the outset, the journey there is engrossing. Once Nanako and the others enter that house, the story makes certain there is no chance of them coming out. How that ultimate fate comes about is admittedly less creative than the everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach seen so far, but it does allow for some flashy dismemberment and gratuitous blood spray.
It is unclear if those in charge of The Curse of Kazuo Umezu intended to produce further installments beyond these two. There is obviously enough material in the mangaka’s ominous opus for a feature-length film. The final product surely looks more crude than all the glossier anime that have come out since then, but that unpolished quality makes for a truly uncomfortable watch. And when it comes to Umezu stories, feeling uneasy is what matters the most.
Horrors Elsewhere is a recurring column that spotlights a variety of movies from all around the globe, particularly those not from the United States. Fears may not be universal, but one thing is for sure — a scream is understood, always and everywhere.
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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