Hammer Horror?

A tale with some eerie similarities to its real-life character, filmmaker Carl Theodor Dreyer set out to make a motion picture on the legendary Joan of Arc. Upon its completion in 1928 (The Passion of Joan of Arc), he was hounded by French nationalists, French government censors and the Archbishop of Paris, first complaining that a Dane (who is not Catholic) could not do justice to the greatest of French stories, then taking aim at the film itself – whitewashing the narrative (the French premiere eliminated the nastiness of the Judge and religious theologians and priests, as well as any other edgy visuals), thus leaving it in a truncated form that truly disgusted the screenwriter/director (a semblance of being tried by jury). Then, a truly disastrous event occurred – the original film negative burned in a fire at the UFA Studios in Berlin (a truly bizarre coincidence). . . the filmmaker distraught, was forced to piece the entire film back together by way of all of his discarded footage and alternate takes (a perfect example of the director’s extensive attention to detail, the movie was reconstructed to a very similar state that very few would be able to differentiate – though obviously Dreyer was less than pleased). Fate once again reared its ugly head when a lab fire burned this copy, leaving just a few extremely damaged prints (based upon both the original first and second cut) that had been circulated across Europe. Edited and changed by future hands, it was long believed that no one would ever see the man’s original vision again (the prints that survived were often missing twenty plus minutes, were chopped up and were changed to suit the meddling hands of re-releasers – some had added narration, others injected Baroque scores and changed the intertitles).

They first appeared late one night, which then led to the dawn of a new, more frightening day. . . now, they own said day – the third in George A. Romero’s anthology zombie franchise, 1985's Day of the Dead finds a small group of desolate individuals attempting to survive the ever growing and encroaching human eating hordes, a task that is easier said than done. Featuring a three pronged attack, Romero (who writes and directs) utilizes touches of German Expressionism, 60s psychological horror (think Roman Polanski’s Repulsion) and brutal gore to keep his audience on its toes. Our survivors are cloistered away in an underground military camp – a ragtag team pieced together in the final days of organized chaos to search for some sort of cure for the growing number of undead. They do, from time to time, head out in their helicopter, searching for survivors – the famed Edison theatre in Fort Myers, Florida, can be seen in the opening sequence.

One of the great horror directors of the 1930s, James Whale shot Frankenstein, The Old Dark House, The Invisible Man, and The Bride of Frankenstein in just four short years, an impressive feat that also somewhat overshadows a few of his lesser known, non-spook related features – specifically, 1931's Waterloo Bridge. . . which, interestingly enough, earned Whale so much favour with the head of Universal Pictures’ production department, that Carl Laemmle, Jr. (due to a combination of his quality work and coming in under budget), gave the director the choice of anything the studio had in early planning stages – the filmmaker chose Frankenstein, a smart decision. His Waterloo Bridge is based upon Robert E. Sherwood’s 1930 Broadway play of the same name (the playwright based it upon many of his own experiences), where we are transported to London, England, circa World War I. Stuck in the metropolis is Myra (Mae Clarke), a chorus girl who has fallen on hard times.

Will Buster Keaton ever catch a break?. . . well, let’s be honest, by the end of the film, things usually work out alright. But, as The Great Stoneface hops, skips and jumps his way through a bevy of ever complicated (and might I add, intricately plotted) obstacles – no matter what movie, luck never seems to come his way. Case in point, 1921's two reel short, The Goat – which has nothing to do with an animal. Opening with a clever gag in which Keaton, (playing a famished, unlucky man monikered The Goat), is seen heading to the back of a bread line. . . misfortune reveals that the last three men in the procession are not actually men at all – they are mannequins showing off clothing for a store, hence, the never moving lineup.