Shin Kamen Rider (2023)

The third of the Shin series, this one written and directed by Hideaki Anno solo, follows the general trends of the previous two by returning to the first incarnation of a massive tokusatsu institution and sussing out the meaning inherent within it. As in the Anno-written Shin Ultraman, the type of examination at heart of this update of Shotaro Ishinomori’s insect-themed, monster-battling superhero is entirely compatible with an equal amount of superfan-pleasing callbacks and repurposed imagery–even though I’m not as familiar with Kamen Rider as I am with Ultraman, I can see still see that this is all coming from a place of respect for the originators of the series, even if it’s not always as direct as the previous movie (less outright use of the original soundtrack, for example, although older tracks are remixed for key moments.)  Even more than in Shin Ultraman, I think Shin Kamen Rider’s delirious narrative momentum comes from its own visual and conceptual idiosyncrasies.

(A reminder: Shin Kamen Rider is not the follow-up to previous subject Shin Kamen Rider: Prologue. That two completely unrelated movies called Shin Kamen Rider could be released decades apart is one way to know just how long running and arcane this franchise is–another way you know is because Shin Kamen Rider isn’t even the first time Toei has put out a cinematic reboot of the 1971 Kamen Rider.)

Species (1995)

The recurring question I’ve been asking about these bigger budget nineties creature features has been “Is this a plot that could have worked in the fifties?” In the case of Species, the answer is a little yes, and a little no—this is clearly a riff on the old “sinister alien woman” cliche that popped up all over Sci-Fi back then, where the most terrifying thing these writers could come up with was the idea of a beautiful woman being assertive or domineering rather than frail and dependent, as God intended. It’s a cliche so musty that it was lightly parodied by our old pal Ship of Monsters back in 1960. Species takes that concept and ramps it to a 1995 degree, and not surprisingly given the time frame, emphasizes the aggressive sexual component that was once mostly subtext. It’s the nineties, subtext is for cowards! Taking advantage of the permissiveness of cinema of the time to be more explicit and grotesque, and gathering some important names in Monster Movies to help bring this vision to life, you’d hope there’d be something brewing underneath it all—but no, all the surface slickness only hides the pure exploitation energy fuelling this thing.

The Reptile (1966)

Here’s another film from 1966, and similar to The Vulture‘s adherence to fifties B-movie stylistic tics, this feels like something from another era, with Hammer’s horror aesthetic potentially being long in the tooth (that’s a Dracula joke, kids) at that point in time. While Hammer’s mainstays like Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing are not present in this one, the Victorian Gothic setting and narrative tropes remain intact, which was one of the ways you knew it was a Hammer film even when they went outside the Dracula/Frankenstein/Mummy milieus that made them famous. Even more removed from the concerns of the mid-sixties, The Reptile hearkens back to a time of vague supernatural mysteries imported from the Darkest Reaches of the Far East, a different variety of colonialist narrative where the problem is not in barging in on other cultures, but bringing something of those cultures back home. It’s dusty stuff, elevated by Hammer’s honed sense of atmosphere, as well as some periodic ventures into a more personal sense of familial tragedy and regret, a sense of a curse not being some abstract magical thing, but a reality one must live with.

The Vulture (1966)

From what I’ve seen, the western-produced monster movies from the second half of the sixties very rarely show any real evolution from what was being produced a decade earlier—a movie like The Vulture could have been in theatres at any point from mid-fifties to the early sixties and would have been exactly the same, and yet it was produced well into a decade of major societal change. You wouldn’t know it from watching it, as it simply doesn’t reflect then-modern culture at all, staying in its B-movie bubble and acting as if its rather puzzling tale of science gone wrong has any bearing on anything. Based on what I’ve seen, it took years for drive-in filler like this to really start getting with the times, both thematically and visually.

Which is not to say that there is nothing novel about The Vulture—although its novelty is more in its particular choice of nonsense than in the movie itself. It was the final project of Lawrence Huntington, a British workman director with over thirty movies to his name stretching back to the thirties, and the fact that he both wrote and directed it (getting financial backing from American and Canadian studios and also an English football club?) leads one to believe that this was something of a passion project. It’s difficult to discern from the film itself what that passion was, but maybe it was in the aforementioned choice of nonsense, which represents not so much a development of the nuclear and scientific themes of the fifties creature features as it as a weird, borderline incoherent offshoot of it.

The Return of Swamp Thing (1989)

As previously reported, there was much ado about Swamp Thing between the 1982 release of Wes Craven’s film adaptation and its belated 1989 sequel—on the back of that original movie, DC relaunched the comic series, and a year or two into that run, it was given to Alan Moore, John Totleben, Stephen Bissette, Rick Veitch, et. al., who reinvented the character through their journeys into “Sophisticated Suspense.” The opening credits for The Return of Swamp Thing features a montage of comics covers from the entire series run, showcasing striking images by Totleben, Bissette, Richard Corben, and character co-creator Bernie Wrightson, among others—playing over that montage is, of course, Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Born on the Bayou”, indicating that the tone of this movie is probably nothing like those comics. Nor is it anything like Wes Craven’s movie, which was sincere to a fault, while, for better or for worse, this doesn’t have a sincere bone in its swamp debris body.

Dagon (2001)

If we’re talking about Lovecraft adaptations, we’re eventually going to circle back to Stuart Gordon and Brian Yuzna, who were the first ones to really make effective cinematic use of ol’ Howard’s stories in Re-Animator and From Beyond, capturing the eldritch universe while infusing it with horror-comedy sensibilities and carnal undertones—they get the original work, and they also make it their own, what a novel concept! The two of them would periodically venture back into Lovecraftian territory in the nineties, and at the turn of the millennium produced an adaption of one the major works in the Cthulhu Mythos, 1931 novella The Shadow Over Innsmouth (while borrowing the name from the related short story “Dagon.”) As a story of unspeakable Elder Gods and the mutating effect they have on humans that come into contact with them, it contains many of the recurring motifs of the Mythos (including some of the Really Questionable ones that we’ll get into), and like the previous adaptations directed by Gordon and written by frequent collaborator Dennis Paoli, those themes are filtered their own parallel preoccupations.

Blood Freak (1972)

This is a movie about a man who becomes a mutant, blood-drinking man-turkey due to a combination of bad weed and unethical experimentation on poultry. Not to spoil too much too early, but it’s also a movie where the solution to the problem is embracing Christianity. Could this seemingly incompatible combination of ideas come together at any other time in history but 1972*? To be honest, they barely come together even then.

Hidden beneath Blood Freak‘s home video production values, sub-amateurish acting, and plot so ludicrous that you’d need to come up with some pretty strong arguments just to convince people that it’s not parody, are a number of fascinatingly contradictory messages that mark it as unique even among the lowest of the seventies exploitation schlock. It’s a movie built to be served to the bored young people who were going to see horror in the early seventies, but ungracefully tries to pull a bait-and-switch and pushes a Come to Jesus message even while pouring on the fake blood. It’s not even a case of it not being smart enough to be subtle—it tells you, straight to your face, what its message is. It tries its damndest to show the horrifying consequences of what it sees as an age of self-destructive debauchery, and does it in the form of something that only those partaking in said debauchery would ever think to watch: a violent monster movie that makes no sense. In some ways, this is kind of genius, although a genius that is readily disproved by the actual execution.

Prey (1977)

I swear I didn’t plan on reviewing so many British B-movies so close together. Even compared to The Mutations, from just three years earlier, Prey (sometimes titled Alien Prey) is pure seventies exploitation, and all the seediness that entails—but while Mutations still had a foot in the old days of ridiculous programmers, this one is much more, let’s say, “modern” in its concerns. Still, like many of the other British monster movies I’ve written about, its story is essentially an awkward mash-up of two different ones, except in this case I think they actually play off each other in sometimes clever ways. Uniquely, it benefits from feeling like a film made by space aliens, appropriate considering its subject matter—with its combination of slightly creative (if sometimes inexplicable) low-budget filmmaking and performances that are strange but fully committed, it has a surreal quality to it. Yes, even more surreal than a high concept pitch of “what if a lesbian thriller was interrupted by the appearance of an extraterrestrial cat-man?” would indicate on its own.

The Mutations/The Freakmaker (1974)

As I was saying before, British horror became increasingly salacious as the years wore on, as evidenced by The Mutations (known in some places as The Freakmaker)—by1974, a typical mad scientist yarn was given additional sensationalist subject matter and multiple gratuitous scenes of topless women. On top of that, it attempts to mash up a storyline swipe from a thriller classic with a barely compatible monster movie plot, just like It!/Curse of the Golem (and, hey, Jill Haworth is in this one, too!)—in this case, that would be Tod Browning’s 1932 cult favourite Freaks, with its cast of real sideshow performers providing authenticity to a bit of drama set at a travelling carnival. Some of the lifts are really quite blatant, too—but a little lack of originality was apparently worth it to make something that could capitalize on the spectacle, and seems to revel in the truly downbeat and icky feeling of seventies exploitation films, even while saddled with a Sci-Fi element pulled right out of the fifties.

Swamp Thing (1982)

1982 turned out to be one of the most influential years in genre filmmaking, hosting movies that reverberated whether they were an initial box office success or not. In a time when ET, Blade Runner, Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, and Poltergeist all premiered within weeks of each other, there was also John Carpenter’s The Thing, a critical and financial failure at the time that nonetheless ushered in a new wave of revisionist monster movies, taking the ideas from the classic creature features of the fifties and revitalizing them with dark humour and special effects that realized or exceeded people’s imaginations. Later that same year you also saw Q -The Winged Serpent, another movie in that vein, but the real kick-off for this trend was Wes Craven’s adaptation of Swamp Thing—and while just as indebted to the classic tropes of the old monster movies as The Thing (and was also a financial disappointment at release, leaving Craven in career doldrums until he started working on something called A Nightmare on Elm Street), it represents a very different sort of revisionist take. While The Thing took the paranoia and unknowable monstrosity of its fifties predecessor (and the short story it’s based on) to its utmost extreme, Swamp Thing is a movie about a tragic accident of science, as many of the classic monsters were, who then becomes a hero, playing into the sympathies of a whole generation who questioned why the Creature From the Black Lagoon and Frankenstein had to die before the movie ended.