Quint

Wackier and more humorous than the previous films in Carpenter's loose apocalyptic trilogy (The Thing and Prince of Darkness), but more nihilistic, cynical and pessimistic. In the Mouth of Madness is an homage to H.P. Lovecraft and his tales of cosmic horror. Lovecraft often relied on a banned book as a source of unspeakable evil, and here, reading the books of a horror writer so popular that his fans profess their own "religion" induces a murderous frenzy in readers, and with it a Lovecraftian invasion of monsters. Carpenter, however, conceived this film as a meta-horror, revealing the mechanisms behind the creative process and the fan devotion that can dangerously consume you. Fiction and reality intertwine, and evil grows as people lose the ability to tell the difference between reality and fantasy. The creator of the artwork eventually takes over the world. In doing so, Carpenter subtly mocks conservative debates that reading books or watching movies can lead to violent behavior. Indeed, the entire story is deliberately absurd and ambivalent (told from the perspective of a mental patient). Sam Neill is said to have approached his role of an extremely cynical and contemptuous anti-hero as a comedic one. On the other hand, this is one of the few films that manages to bring the Lovecraftian cosmic horror of something beyond us to the screen, even if it is not an adaptation of any of Lovecraft's works. In the Mouth of Madness is one of Carpenter's most underrated, visually striking and narratively complex films, and along with the similarly self-reflexive Wes Craven's New Nightmare from the same year, it preceded the later wave of postmodern horror films kick-started by Scream.

Prince of Darkness is essentially John Carpenter's Lovecraftian variation on his second film, Assault on Precinct 13. This time the characters are besieged by an ambient threat in a church instead of a police station. And while Assault was a modern version of Howard Hawks's western Rio Bravo, Prince of Darkness pays homage not only to Lovecraft but also to screenwriter Nigel Kneale, particularly his film Quatermass and the Pit. In both films, scientists discover an alien object underground that has a psychic effect on humans. Here, a group of scientists investigate an ancient canister containing a liquid alien life form discovered in the basement of a church. The film combines elements of science fiction and horror with religious themes and theories of quantum physics (which Carpenter was fascinated with at the time) in a novel way, blurring the lines between science and spirituality. One of the main characters declares: "while order DOES exist in the universe, it is not at all what we had in mind!" Good and evil are linked here with the concept of matter and antimatter, and Satan is described by the local science team as an "antigod", a cosmic force of extraterrestrial origin, a rather unusual idea. The whole film is a masterclass in building atmosphere and anticipation of impending doom, but unfortunately fails to hold the viewer's attention throughout. It tries to scare us largely intellectually and create a sense of existential dread, but after a while it gets a little boring with lengthy monotonous scenes in which a group of bland characters just stare at computer monitors and brood over what's going on. Every time something dramatic happens, the film manages to dazzle with cheesy but imaginative effects that defy the laws of Newtonian physics, but then reverts back to dry dialogue. For me, the weakest part of Carpenter's apocalyptic trilogy, but a must for fans of the director.

It's probably no surprise that in a film called The Severed Arm, at least one severed arm will play a role. And the opening scene in the morgue, where someone cuts off a dead man's arm, and the telling title “The Severed Arm" appears, proves that the film will live up to its name. The Severed Arm is an unfairly overlooked B-movie proto-slasher that isn't quite as silly as it might seem on the surface. The beginning, where a group of friends get trapped in a cave, is surprisingly chilling and reminiscent of raw survivalist films like Alive (the film was made shortly after the events in the Andes that Alive is about). What's most remarkable about the film, however, the number of elements we know from later slasher films, considered the founders of the subgenre, that it features. There's the "caller calling from your house" scene (as in Black Christmas), the point of view of the stalking assailant (as in Halloween), and the killing spree, as in any proper slasher film, is triggered by trauma from the past. On the other hand, the film differs from conventional slashers in several ways. The central villain's goal is not to kill, but to chop off his victims' hands. The victims are not teenagers, but middle-aged men. And there is virtually no good guy among them (all the victims more or less deserve to be targeted for revenge). The direction is unimaginative on the whole, but narratively this is a fairly inventive film with a delightfully decadent atmosphere and a great morbid ending.

John Carpenter became a filmmaker to make westerns, but by the time he broke through, the genre was almost dead, and his work took a different direction, yet it is very much influenced by the western; Vampires (along with Ghosts of Mars) most of all. And not just with their western visuals of the arid landscape of the American Southwest (or in the case of Ghosts, the arid landscape of Mars). This film is basically a vampire version of Sam Peckinpah's The Wild Bunch. Instead of a bunch of outlaws, there's a bunch of ruthless vampires who also share a mutual respect and a code of their own. The protagonist, then, is a typical Carpenter cynical badass (a surprisingly well cast James Woods), whose angry toughness surpasses even Snake Plissken himself. While most of Carpenter's films were influenced by Howard Hawks, this one is primarily a tribute to Sam Peckinpah. The action scenes are much more frenetic and fast-cut than is usual for Carpenter, and instead of the "bloody ballet" of shot-up cowboys in The Wild Bunch, the film is bathed in a "fire ballet" of vampires exploding in the sun (the central gang literally hunts them like fish, pulling them out of the darkness and into the light, where they burst into flames). Understandably, there are also inspirations for one of Carpenter's favorite films, Hawks' Rio Bravo in the final prison clash, for example. Vampires is a formulaic, repetitive and predictable film. It is by no means scary vampire horror. Instead, you're in for a solid helping of violent, stylishly shot macho action with macho guy lines and a gritty sense of humor. I'll admit that when I saw it for the second time many years later, and I was already treating it like a western and not a horror film, I liked it much better.

Originally, this a student film by John Carpenter, it was released after a few tweaks and touch-ups to almost zero interest, but later gained cult status. Not many people know Dark Star, but it was pretty groundbreaking in its day, and was something of a counterpoint to the science fiction films of the time. The crew members of the titular spaceship were no adventurers exploring new worlds. They were bored and irresponsible slackers, getting on each other's nerves and doing tedious and monotonous work. The usual sterile spaceship interiors of earlier science fiction films were replaced by messy quarters and orchestral music was replaced by country music. It was also supposedly the first film to depict the hyperspace jump that we know so well from Star Wars, for example. There are many similarities with Alien, which similarly de-romanticised life in space and also involved screenwriter Dan O'Bannon, who was accused of ripping off It! The Terror from Beyond Space. The incompetent, dysfunctional crew of a spaceship and the humour coupled with philosophising were also major inspirations for the sci-fi sitcom Red Dwarf. The film doesn't deny its lo-fi setting (the alien here looks like an inflatable ball), but for the limited resources Carpenter and O'Bannon filmed it with (the ship's interiors were made from shoeboxes, the control panels from ice trays and the helmets from children's toys), the result feels quite realistic and you really do feel like you're in a spaceship. Dark Star can still entertain film buffs today with its psychedelic atmosphere, slapstick humour and witty dialogue, especially the memorable philosophical conversation with a talking smart bomb that a crew member tries to persuade not to detonate.

Terrifier 2, a 138-minute (!) slasher flick about a murderous clown, drew attention for the fact that viewers reportedly vomited and fainted at its screenings, while it scored a surprising 86% on Rotten Tomatoes and was even praised by Stephen King himself. The $250,000 independent film, financed through crowdfunding, made its way into the horror mainstream and grossed $6 million in its first three days. The Blair Witch Project and Paranormal Activity did something similar, but in this case it's an extremely brutal "video nasty" gorefest that has absolutely no inhibitions and still remains "unrated" in the US. You wouldn't want to describe in polite company the things that happen in this film. It stands primarily on imaginative perversity, first-rate practical effects, which the makers sent out at the request of the fans to fight for an Oscar, and a terrifyingly grotesque performance by David Howard Thornton as Art the Clown, basically a kind of silent, pantomime Freddy Krueger. A wild, outrageous and extremely disturbing old-school grindhouse for gore movie lovers only and for those who want to test the limits of their jadedness.

While West's previous film X leaned on the atmosphere of 70s slasher and porn films, its prequel Pearl is a homage to classic Hollywood, combining the dark tale of the protagonist's descent into madness with the aesthetics of colourful Technicolor melodramas and live-action Disney films from the 50s. It features a boisterous orchestral score, overwrought musical numbers and artificially picturesque scenery, but it also gradually breaks down Hollywood glitz and subverts the conventions of the aforementioned films, like in the the way the main character treats the animals. The story can be seen as a wacky variation on The Wizard of Oz. Pearl is a lonely farmer girl who dances and talks to the animals on a fairy-tale farm and dreams of becoming a big Hollywood star instead of cleaning up cow poop. But circumstances force her to stay in a depressing reality (and have sex with a scarecrow in a field). Over time, her unfulfilled fairy-tale dreams of a world "over the rainbow" have terrifying consequences, and Pearl transforms from "Dorothy" to "the Wicked Witch." This is no gorefest full of scares, but an old-fashioned psychodrama with long takes and carefully crafted mise-en-scene. The film has even been praised by Martin Scorsese himself, who has said that the love of cinema can be felt in every frame. And it really is a treat for cinephiles. The main driving force is once again Mia Goth's performance. Her ability to play a seamless transition from a sweetly naive farm girl to a bloodthirsty murderous psychopath is unparalleled. The climactic final scene then builds to her long monologue, which is shot almost entirely in one unbroken take.

X brilliantly evokes the period feel of early slasher films with honest practical effects, while subverting their moral stereotypes and the idea of the immaculate "final girl". The killer this time is a sexually frustrated retiree who takes out her pent-up desires on the young, horny filmmakers and porn actors making a movie in a conservative rural area. But she kills them not to punish them for fornicating, but out of envy (her motivations are deepened by the excellent prequel Pearl). Ti West manages to harmoniously blend two often despised genres, porn and slasher, which share many common elements. The result is an unconventional mix of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Boogie Nights, and it is breath of fresh air among other recent slashers that only unsuccessfully attempt to emulate their illustrious predecessors. And Mia Goth is absolutely phenomenal in the central dual role.

When you're making a shark horror movie, you basically have three options. You can create the sharks digitally and have absolute control over their "acting". You can create an animatronic puppet that will do what is asked of it within its capabilities (unless it breaks down - then you have to use your imagination and figure out how to deal with it, like Spielberg in Jaws). Or you can take more risks and cast real sharks. Andrew Traucki opted for the third option (as in his previous crocodile horror Black Water). First he filmed real sharks in all sorts of positions and movements, then he filmed actors reacting to them, and finally he combined everything together. The downside of this approach is that the real sharks understandably don't follow the director's instructions. You have to match the actors' action to them and give the impression of continuity. But the result was surprisingly successful. The sharks feel authentic and unpredictable thanks to their unadaptability. Yet the most frightening moments are when the characters floating on the surface can't see them and don't know where they are. The performances are pleasantly civil, thanks to the need to improvise. The characters behave believably, you can very easily put yourself in their shoes and understand their every decision. The film lacks the usual genre clichés, like last-minute rescues, is frighteningly uncompromising and completely devoid of humour. It is shot mostly from the level of the characters on the choppy water, successfully evoking a sense of paranoia, uncertainty and disorientation on the open sea, across which the characters try to swim from the sinking ship to a remote island whose location they only suspect. The Reef is undoubtedly one of the rawest and most compelling shark horror films.

A minimalist survival horror film in which we spend most of the time staring tensely into the murky water, under the surface of which lurks a crocodile, stalking the main characters, who are stuck in a tree in the middle of a swamp. Andrew Traucki successfully builds his film on a constant sense of uncertainty about what lies beneath the surface, and whether the main characters can safely walk a few metres in the murky waters and turn the overturned boat around. The film is most remarkable, however, in that it features a real crocodile that has been co-opted into the footage with the actors. The moment when it first appears to the heroines is pleasantly shocking – instead of the expected CGI animation or animatronic puppet, a real crocodile jumps out of the water. The threat the heroines face feels very real and this makes Black Water perhaps the most authentic and satisfying crocodile horror film, though not the most entertaining (it would have been better suited to a medium-length film). A few years later, Traucki used a similar approach a little better in the shark horror The Reef.