Editorials
‘Husk’ – Digging Up a Scarecrow Horror Hidden Gem
The road to turning Husk into a longer feature was not without its bumps. While Brett Simmons‘ 2005 short film was met with favorable responses at Sundance, there were several upsets before After Dark Films finally entered the picture. The one positive about the years of delays was Simmons then having time to rewrite the screenplay. Now more to the filmmaker’s liking, the revision delved into those intentionally unexplored parts of the short.
The featurette satisfies as a standalone experience, but it also serves as the proper base product for a more complex narrative. After all, there are enough unanswered questions about Simmons’ compact chiller to warrant an extended visit. The impulse to decry overexplaining in the genre would be in vain here, considering that the fuller Husk still maintains a modest sense of mystery once everything is said and done.
With 2011’s Husk barely breaking the eighty-minute mark, it skips the formal introductions and delivers the inciting incident during the cold open. This car crash out in Nowheresville, USA is the work of a few now-dead and feathery omens, and as a result of that collision, the human survivors are sentenced to a fate worse than death. Launching the story in broad daylight seems to be the opposite of scary, yet as the camera reveals the characters’ immediate surroundings, there is a rising sense of unease to the view. There is not another living soul in sight, and wherever you look, you only see more cornfield.
Pictured: Tammin Sursok meets “Smiley” the Scarecrow in Husk.
This is one of those cases where the characters start off empty, then gradually — and just slightly — get filled in as their situation worsens. Upon first glance though, there is detectable tension in the group, on account of one member’s girlfriend tagging along for what used to sound like a guys-only trip. The short film lacked a female presence, however, as it turns out, Tammin Sursok’s addition here is misleading. By instead keeping Husk focused on its male characters, Simmons is already subverting one big expectation of horror, a genre that frequently protagonizes women.
Mind you, Sursok’s Natalie is not completely wiped from the story once her character meets a quick and surprising end out in the nearby cornfield; even in death, Natalie continues to drive a wedge between Chris (C. J. Thomason) and best friend Brian (Wes Chatham). It is worth noting that Husk winds up being more about an endless haunting than a bid for survival against living and wicked scarecrows. And that is partly because the victims, who are the next in line as opposed to the last, are replaceable components of a ghostly cycle.
With Sursok no longer viable as the hoped-for Final Girl, Husk appoints Devon Graye as the next best thing: a bespectacled observer. The receptive Scott is granted clairvoyant access to the haunted history of this place, namely the past sibling rivalry foreshadowed by a Biblical reference — Genesis 4:11 — from earlier. It is through Scott that we the audience get a better understanding of what happened at this farm and why visitors can never leave.
Simmons’ sinister scarecrows have soaked up their environment, and like in real life, they need humans in order to exist. The expounding of their creation — the supernatural outcome of two brothers (Joshua Skipworth, Nick Toussaint) at odds with one another, hence the Cain and Abel mention — is not required, at least as far as your enjoyment goes. Yet, for the inquisitive types who prefer knowing the origin of evil, fictional or otherwise, Husk quenches their curiosity. The film dishes out details without also being too divulging.
Pictured: Devon Graye’s character watches as Wes Chatham and C. J. Thomason’s characters argue in Husk.
The killer-scarecrow subgenre is neither barren nor oversaturated, and there are a handful of highs to compensate for the many lows. As for Husk, it falls somewhere on the positive end of the spectrum, but much like 1988’s Scarecrows, a benchmark in this unfrequented alcove of horror, it is not just about murderous men of straw aimlessly slashing away and working toward a sizable body-count. As any legitimate scarecrow horror film should, Husk portrays the uncanny relationship between these effigial creatures and the lands they watch over.
The scarecrow has long been a universal source of discomfort, seeing as their natural state stirs thoughts of death. And despite their distinguishing inertness, they appear to know everything about the world around them. This concept of scarecrows possessing omnipresence is unnerving without even adding a malevolent element. Bringing them to life, as one would do in any offering of overt scarecrow horror, is the obvious next step, however, a cold and long glance from one of these dead things is as alarming as witnessing their new-found mobility, if not more so. Husk alternates between both types of scare techniques, although, ultimately, the film favors the dynamic method. There is no need to pretend its monsters are not alive and their would-be prey are unaware. So, vagueness is resolutely thrown out the window early on, but the film still manages to maintain a semblance of fright, due to its creator’s fascination with the scarecrows and their machinations.
Husk, even with its shortage of thematic depth and a cast of static characters, yields a furious ghost story. One that reminds us of the scarecrow’s most important task: to terrify.
Horror contemplates in great detail how young people handle inordinate situations and all of life’s unexpected challenges. While the genre forces characters of every age to face their fears, it is especially interested in how youths might fare in life-or-death scenarios.
The column Young Blood is dedicated to horror stories for and about teenagers, as well as other young folks on the brink of terror.
Pictured: C. J. Thomason is trapped in Husk.
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.
You must be logged in to post a comment.