Editorials
George A. Romero’s ‘Monkey Shines’ Deserves a Rewatch While You Wait for ‘The Monkey’
When I first read the news that one of my favorite modern directors, Osgood Perkins (Longlegs, The Blackcoat’s Daughter), would be directing The Monkey, the article was accompanied by a familiar image: a toy monkey with a cracked-out face, banging two cymbals together. My brain immediately went to George A. Romero’s underappreciated 1988 film, Monkey Shines.
I also immediately assumed Monkey Shines was based on a King story—a natural assumption. What hasn’t King written at this point, after all? In reality, of course, Perkins/King’s The Monkey has absolutely nothing to do with Romero’s Monkey Shines. But while the two properties aren’t officially connected apart from their similar imagery – oddly enough, Perkins had to redesign the toy monkey from King’s story due to a Disney copyright! – they do have a few things in common. Both Monkey Shines and The Monkey feature bat-shit crazy stories full of dark humor, both helmed by fearless directors. So, if The Monkey’s release in theaters this week gives you a reason to revisit Monkey Shines? It’s (Os)good a reason as any!
George A. Romero’s Monkey Shines began as a novel written not by King, but by novelist Michael Stewart. The rights eventually landed in the hands of Orion Pictures, who wisely hired Romero to direct, specifically because of the Dawn of the Dead director’s ability to seamlessly inject dark humor into tragic horror stories.
This is immediately apparent in Monkey Shines as we meet our hero, Allan (Jason Beghe), and experience the harsh dismantling of his life. He’s a handsome, happy guy with a beautiful woman in his bed, out for a run with a backpack full of bricks. The world seems beautiful—where the sun is shining and passerby cyclists toss out high-fives instead of blocking traffic when you’re late for work. That is, until the moment a dog jumps out and scares Allan face-first into a moving truck.
Allan then wakes up to the harsh reality that he is paralyzed from the neck down. His girlfriend leaves him for the “genius” doctor who’d supposedly fixed him (Stanley Tucci). His nurse often quotes the Bible but is only a set of wings away from being a spawn of Satan herself. His mother is an overbearing guilt machine with a smile, and his best friend, Geoffrey (John Pankow), is like a depressing ’90s “HBO Special” version of Re-Animator’s Herbert West. It’s a positive for the audience, because Geoffrey feels like he came directly from a Frank Henenlotter set. But it’s terrible for Allan, who even attempts to suffocate himself to death in some dry-leaning plastic.
And we haven’t even gotten to the monkey yet!
Allan’s maladjusted scientist friend decides that to truly reap the benefits of his “smart” injections, his prize test monkey, Ella, needs to get out of the lab. So, he employs Melanie (Kate McNeil), a gorgeous monkey specialist, to work with the animal as it becomes an aide for Allan. He also hopes it will help Allan kick his depression. It works all too well—Allan and Ella become best friends, filling a hole in his heart. But when he learns that his girlfriend-stealing doctor may be responsible for his paralysis, the lab injections somehow bond a telepathic relationship between him and his monkey. As a result, Ella begins using Allan’s buried resentment and anger along with its own jealousy to murder anything and everyone around him.
I’m always surprised that Monkey Shines isn’t considered alongside Romero’s most praised projects. Then again, I feel the same way about another tragic Romero tale in 2000’s Bruiser. Perhaps people were too attached to Romero’s penchant for zombie classics. Whatever the reason, Monkey Shines faltered badly at the box office and feels, unfortunately, forgotten—even in the horror world. It’s the kind of movie that you wonder, if released today, could it have gained traction with the right marketing department? Like The Monkey has with NEON? It’s also possible that many rented Monkey Shines on a VHS whim expecting a slasher flick with a monkey gimmick. When in reality, it’s far more akin to something like Brian De Palma’s Raising Cain.
While the telepathic storyline is admittedly pretty silly, Monkey Shines remains a story told earnestly. It’s a movie full of impressive filmmaking moments, shockingly great acting, and maybe one of the best animal performances ever put to screen. Ella (Boo in real life) had a nuanced character arc that Romero and company handled like a symphony. Alongside the help of Tom Savini’s puppets, clever camera work, and DP James A. Contner (Cruising), there are almost no shots of monkey action that feel unnatural or unbelievable—an unfathomable feat when you consider the script. Though there are some janky edits due to a 240-page script that ended up with 40% to 50% cut out post-filming, Monkey Shines is a mostly seamless experience. I don’t want to think about how much CGI would tarnish this kind of film today.
Likely tracing back to his DIY roots despite working with one of the biggest budgets of his career, Romero and crew masterfully scale surreal moments that could have easily been over the top back to their base fears: A scene where Ella simply slams a cutting apparatus repeatedly against a shelf as dumbass Geoffrey reaches his hand towards her creates the type of dread a real life dismemberment would conjure. Another, when sweet Melanie is knocked unconscious and Ella attempts to light her hair on fire with a match, builds tension until we’re relieved that her hair is too wet to catch fire. That tension is only followed by Ella attempting to puncture Melanie’s unconscious face with a deadly syringe.
All this suspense is heightened by the fact that we’re experiencing it through Allan, who is forced to watch all this, unable to move his body. Finally, he manages to get Ella close enough so that he can bite his neck. Allan is then forced to brutally kill the monkey as if he were a rabid dog, frantically ripping his head back and forth with the monkey’s neck in his mouth. It gets wild, but the entire film is impressively held together by Jason Beghe’s performance. He’s the kind of guy it’s extremely easy to root for—whether it’s to get the girl, or stop a monkey from murdering his entire life. It’s a tough performance both physically and emotionally, and he never falters.
Romero’s original ending for the film featured that son of a bitch, Dean Burbage (one of Stephen Root’s first-ever film roles), carrying on the darkness of Geoffrey’s work. It was a darker ending that Romero relinquished due to bad test audience reactions and studio pressure. He did not, however, approve of the part of the theatrical ending where a dream sequence provides an Alien-esque jump scare where the monkey pops out of a bloody torso. A perfect example of the dichotomy between the expectation and imagery of Monkey Shines and the story at its heart. All this would lead to Romero happily returning to independent film for a while.
On its eye-grabbing surface, Monkey Shines promises horror in its most base form. This scary object/animal is about to royally fuck things up… and it does. But within that construction, it’s also a story about overcoming grief, how we treat others in their worst moments, and the results of burying our anger towards those who’ve hurt us.
And yeah, a scary monkey that will cut your throat with a shaving knife.
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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