retro semi-review: The Monster Club

I love movies, so when I start watching one, even one that's admittedly not so great, it takes a lot for me to lose so much faith in the film that I stop watching it partway through. That's what brings me to The Monster Club, an old anthology horror film so awful I had to stop watching about one third of the way through, and I'm surprised I lasted that long. Here are some things that made me say to myself "why am I still watching this?!?" As you read the following description, it's important to note that none of the below was played for laughs. You're supposed to take it seriously.

1. In the opening scene, a vampire played by Vincent Price attacks an old man played by John Carradine. The only thing that saves the old man's life: In the middle of the attack, the vampire suddenly realizes who he's attacking: "Say, aren't you R. Chetwynd-Hayes, the famous writer? Why, you're the greatest horror writer who ever lived !" The old man responds "why yes, I AM R. Chetwynd-Hayes, the greatest horror writer who ever lived !" He doesn't say this with arrogance, it's more like he's just stating an accepted fact.

It should be noted at this time that one of the writers of this movie is named R. Chetwynd-Hayes.

2. The vampire, Eramus, is a fan of Chetwynd-Hayes, and wants to hang out. The old man is reluctant to do so. The old man's reluctance turns out to have absolutely nothing to do with the fact that his invitee is a deadly creature who just attacked him, it's just that, as the old man explains, he's tired of such invitations from fans. Again, this old man who doesn't want to hang out with his fans is apparently a representation of one of the screenwriters.

3. Eramus convinces Chetwynd-Hayes to join him for a drink by pointing out he has led a very, VERY long life, has seen much in his time, and therefore has plenty of potential material for Chetwynd-Hayes's next book. They agree to catch a couple of drinks at Eramus's favorite spot, known as "the Monster Club." Now, because of their style of clothing and the old-fashioned shops that surround them, you might expect these characters to be living in Edwardian England, and the Monster Club to be someplace with a roaring fireplace, plenty of books, and maybe a butler serving brandy. Nope. In the filmmakers' desperate attempt to be relevant, the Monster Club is a tacky, monster-themed disco. The waiter is a vampire with clearly plastic, store-bought teeth, hinting at the film's budget. An even bigger hint at the lazy craftsmanship and low budget: The disco is filled with monsters, communicated to the viewer by the fact that all of the dancers are wearing rubber monster masks that the wardrobe guy clearly just bought at the local costume store and didn't bother to adjust at all.

4. Chetwynd-Hayes and Eramus have a seat at a table to have some drinks and trade some stories. The table is shaped like a coffin, because "the Monster Club," get it? Okay, I guess that explains why the table is shaped like a coffin, it fits a theme, but why is it glowing green? Oh yeah, because it's a disco. At this point, we're only a few seconds into the introduction of the Monster Club, and you can tell the filmmakers are already really struggling to mesh the disco and Monster Club concepts.

5. Eramus tries to give Chetwynd-Hayes a quick run-down on the different types of monsters that exist. The three basic types are ghouls, vampires, and werewolves, but you get variety when these monsters of different types mate with each other or their offspring. Eramus goes over the various types of monsters that can result, and this lecture goes on for like five solid minutes. By the time Eramus was trying to explain the different monster genealogies of a maddy, a raddy, and a shaddy, I realized that Vincent Price was basically making up nonsense words and expecting the film viewers to take it seriously.

6. When Chetwynd-Hayes seems confused by Eramus's lecture, Eramus pulls a helpful diagram chart out of the wall. An educational chart that just happened to be there. At a disco.

7. As all of this is happening, a live band at the Monster Club is giving full, loud performances of rock songs with monster-themed lyrics as the rubber-masked "monsters" dance around with glee. The music, apparently by a real rock musician I've never heard of, B.A. Robertson, is absolutely terrible. How terrible? When the movie studio released the soundtrack for this film, some of the Robertson songs were replaced by random UB40 songs that had nothing to do with the movie. Even the studio couldn't bring itself to associate the film with its own music, that's how terrible Robertson's music is.

7. We then get to the first of the anthology segments, "The Shadmock." Sharp-eared viewers might recognize the term "shadmock" from Eramus's lecture on monster genealogies, as a cross between a shaddy and a mockery. They're both related to vampires somehow, but by the point Eramus was explaining the relationship, I had tuned out from the scholarly lecture a while ago.

8. When Raven, the Shadmock, is introduced, the other main character, a woman who has been hired to serve as his personal secretary, screams in utter terror at the sight of his alleged hideousness. Mr. Raven turns out to be a nice guy, though. There is much, MUCH talk between these two characters about how Mr. Raven yearns to interact with the world, but he is just too visually terrifying to go out in public. At this point, you may be wondering what about his appearance is so frightening, so awful, that he can't venture into society without striking terror in the hearts of all who see him. The answer: He's pale. Like, not extraordinarily pale. Not supernaturally pale. Not even albino-level pale. He's the kind of pale where you might think "maybe that guy needs to go out in the sun a bit more" -- but you might not think that at all, because he's really not that pale. In fact, it took me a while to figure out that this is what's supposed to be so hideous about his appearance. He's just kind of a little pale. It's worth emphasizing that there is absolutely nothing else wrong with him. His slight paleness sends people screaming in terror.

9. Within a matter of only a few days, Mr. Raven falls in love with his new secretary, and proposes marriage. The tragedy is that the secretary lives with a boyfriend who is a con artist, and the boyfriend wants the secretary to find out the combination of Mr. Raven's safe and steal his valuables. When he catches her stealing from him red-handed, Mr. Raven asks, with complete seriousness, "so does this mean you don't love me?" Take a hint, dude.

10. It's been previously established that shadmocks apparently have one, and only one, supernatural characteristic (unless you count their perfectly ordinary paleness, as the writers of this film seem to): They have the ability to perform a "demonic whistle". The viewer finds out what happens when a shadmock uses its demonic whistle when the secretary returns home one day with her skin melting off her burned body. Mr. Raven whistled at her for punishment for breaking his heart. Seeing as she was burned to a crisp, it remains a mystery of how she managed to get in her car and drive home in time to jump-scare her boyfriend before dying.

When the above segment ended, and the film returned to John Carradine and Vincent Price at the disco, I thought, "that was pretty bad, but I've seen another film written by this writer, and that movie was pretty good, so maybe this one will get better?" Then B.A. Robertson started singing another song that was as awful as the first, and I was like, "nope, I'm done."

Belated Review: Bad Times at the El Royale

There's a scene in the latter half of Bad Times at the El Royale in which cult leader Billy Lee (Chris Hemsworth) appoints one of his followers as a representation of good, and another as a representation of evil, and then has them duke it out, ostensibly for the entertainment of the other cultists assembled, but really to make a point. He's not subtle about the blurring of this line, as he enthusiastically cries out, "let's have ourselves an allegory!" As Good and Evil beat the crap out of each other, Billy steals from their purses right in front of them, but they're too distracted by their struggle to notice. Billy's point: Stick to a chosen morality, and you'll be beaten down. Refuse to take sides, and you're free to do what you want.

Billy's argument is powerfully made, albeit clearly based on a blatant misunderstanding of morality; refusing to take a moral stand and instead focusing on hedonism are themselves moral choices. Still, one could interpret the entire storyline of Bad Times at the El Royale as an implicit examination of whether Billy has a valid point. Most of the "bad guys" in this film have hidden virtues, and most of the "good guys" have hidden vices. Indeed, despite his gleeful preaching against choosing either Good or Evil, Billy himself ironically seems to be the one person in the film who has clearly made a rock solid choice.

The El Royale is a motel on the exact border of California and Nevada, a quirk we're constantly reminded of due to the flashy red border line that helpfully points out the exact point of demarcation. The motel was once a highly successful retreat for the rich and famous ("Dean Martin once sang a song about it!" one character enthuses) but times have been tough and guests scarce since the motel lost its gambling license. For the first moment or so of the film, the motel has no guests at all, but the story is set in motion when four disparate strangers -- a friendly but befuddled Catholic priest (Jeff Bridges), a highly talented but struggling soul singer (Cynthia Erivo), a surly young woman (Dakota Johnson), and a garrulous traveling salesman (Jon Hamm) check into the motel all at once, to the clear surprise of the shocked and painfully shy desk clerk, Miles.

Yes, it's true, none of these people know each other, and indeed have no connection at all, but they each harbor secrets that will ultimately lead their immediate futures to become hopelessly entangled.

I can't possibly describe either the characters nor the plot in any more detail without giving away spoilers (the trailer infuriatingly gives away some of the biggest twists) but I will make a comment on style: This is the best damn Quentin Tarantino movie that Tarantino never directed. It's got every single theme and stylistic flourish ever associated with ol' QT: crime and violence, misunderstandings and secrets, miracles and redemption, hidden personality layers, colorful and quirky locations, and nonlinear storytelling, all to the rockin' tune of various catchy pop songs of previous decades, some instantly familiar, some forgotten but no less fun than when they were first released.

Now: Tarantino imitations have been a dime a dozen since the mid 90s. A look at director/ writer Drew Goddard's resume shows that Goddard is a highly original filmmaker who has absolutely no need to imitate Tarantino or anyone else. Bad Times at the El Royale may be Tarantino-esque in the extreme, but it is no cheap knock-off. It's a gleeful exercise in story, style, and presentation. It's alternately exciting, funny, suspenseful, and thought-provoking. This movie is a lot of fun.