Human Monsters: A look into George Romero’s Martin

In honor of one of my favorite actor's birthday, the inimitable John Amplas, I am re-posting an article I wrote about George Romero's best film, MARTIN. Originally published in issue #22 of Screem magazine, it was a real joy getting to share it with the man himself a couple of years ago. (With much thanks to my friend & fellow film writer Greg Goodsell for encouraging me to do so!) Anyways, enjoy!

                                                                                +

 

Some people believe that monsters are born, not made-that there are those who are literally a “bad seed” that grows up to be a rapist, dictator, or murderer. Of course, if life was that black and white, then there would be no need for the horror genre. The reasons we’re attracted to horror are multifaceted, but the basic reason is that it is a safe way for us to explore our fears and the darker side of human nature. When it comes down to it, monsters are most certainly made, not born. Mary Shelley knew that when she wrote Frankenstein and George Romero knew that when he made his underrated masterpiece, Martin.

Martin is that rare film where each star in the sky aligned around 1977 and everyone involved brought their A-game. Intelligent, emotional, and haunting, there has never been a movie like Martin. The movie centers around a young man named Martin (John Amplas), whose boyish appearance may or may not mask an age-old vampire. Whether or not his vampirism is supernatural or an aspect of a deeper pathology is really not the main point, though it is one I will get to here in a bit. The real disease is the familial sins that Martin is ultimately the martyr for, along with all of his victims. While it is a vastly different film, Martin’s theme of the innocent paying for family dysfunction brings to mind is Walerian Borowczyk’s La Bete (1975), where the main family’s son literally dies from his ancestor’s cursed deeds. The innocent always pays for the guilty’s sins.

Horror cinema up to that point had not seen anything quite the likes of Martin. The closest heir is would have to be Hitchcock’s groundbreaking film, Psycho (1960). Both feature boyish leads who are powerless to their darker urges, often fueled by psycho-sexual impulses and unhealthy rearing. Norman Bates kills due to his potentially incestuous upbringing from his mother and Martin kills because he was raised to think he carries the family “curse” of vampirism. Norman and Martin are two characters that are captivating and at times, even sympathetic, putting the audience in the uncomfortable position of having to identify with a killer.

Both films also feature some amazing and emotionally impactive musical scores. The Bernard Herrmann score for Psycho is now legendary, but the Donald Rubinstein soundtrack for Martin is just as good. The sign of a perfect film score is when you cannot envision the film without it and this is most definitely the case with these two films.

Martin was even supposed to be entirely in black & white in its original 3-hour form. (Sadly that print has become lost to the ether.) Certainly, neither film would be half as powerful without possessing actors as innately talented and physically striking as Anthony Perkins and John Amplas.

But what Psycho hinted at, Martin bravely delves right in and simmers. Vampire or no, Martin is our protagonist and is an amazingly complex, sympathetic, and ultimately sad character. We’re never really told about his parentage, but he ends up with his batty and uber-cantankerous uncle Tata Cuda, played to the hilt by the memorable Lincoln Maazel. Cuda is immediately accusing Martin of being a “nosferatu” and reacting extremely hostile to him, to the extent of rigging up a crude alarm on Martin’s bedroom door to keep tabs on his comings and goings. He even hires a priest to perform an old school Catholic exorcism on the boy, which will hit too close to home for anyone who has to grow up with religious fundamentalism.

Part of Romero’s genius is how he approaches Martin’s “vampirism.” While there has been a debate for years over whether or not Martin is a true supernatural vampire or a victim of mental illness, most of the signs point to the latter. Romero himself said as much in the featurette on the Lion’s Gate DVD, Making Martin: A Recounting. A good chunk of the confusion is fueled by the black & white flashbacks/visions that Martin has, especially when stalking his victims. If anything, these scenes serve a dual purpose.

The first purpose being to put us into the head space of Martin and how he is romanticizing his life and his deeds. He is never shown to be truly cruel and is often surprisingly gentle with his prey (Well, as gentle as one can be when murdering and drinking blood). The real world is ugly and full of people that are often rude and ignorant. Being placed in the industrial and rotting landscape of urban Pennsylvania doesn’t help matters. One could say that he is flashing back to his past life. But more than likely, it’s a coping mechanism for the intense unhappiness in his life. Even when religious folks and angry villagers are terrorizing him, it all plays out like a classic, 1930’s horror film.

All of this ties into the second purpose of the flashbacks. They are a brilliant device to play on what the viewer is expecting with a “vampire” film, all the while giving them the hard reality that the closest, proven thing we have to the creatures of the night have more in common with someone like Ted Bundy than they do with Dr. Alucard. After all, vampires are the mythical world’s serial killers.

Heavily dysfunctional families usually have patterns of unhealthy behavior that can cycle back a couple of generations. So it’s no surprise that a lot of real life killers had extremely unhealthy upbringings. Martin was brought up with the notion that he was this bloodthirsty supernatural killer while never being treated like an actual human being.

On the flip side, his cousin Christina (Christine Forrest), one of the very few people who are actually kind to Martin, grew up in the same family and turned out healthy. Which is very true to life. Plenty of us grow up with dysfunction and yet manage to turn out to be fine. Yet, if someone is especially sensitive, naturally prone to mental instability, and abused enough, you’ll get your vampire. Just don’t necessarily expect him or her to be some romantic, poet shirt-wearing hipster.

One of the things that makes Martin such a frightening killer is the intelligence and agility he displays while going after his victims. The garage scene is especially hard to forget. There is nothing scarier than a smart killer and he is definitely no exception. Alternately, it does make his situation all the more sad, because if he had been nurtured by a sane family, who knows what potential may have been reached.

Finding any horror film, now or then, that is intelligent enough to incorporate the shades of gray instead of the typical black/white moral pantheon, can be a rare thing. But this film would not be half as powerful without the lynchpin performance of John Amplas. He is to this film what Kinski was to Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972). Romero could not have found a more perfect actor than Amplas, who is able to convey a myriad of emotions with his face alone.

Physically, he is Martin. At times he looks amazingly boyish, complete with awkward gait and downcast eyes. Yet he is able to simultaneously project a world-weariness that lends itself well to someone who either thinks he is a vampire or actually is a vampire. His combination of striking looks and subtle emoting results in making Martin one of the best roles in film. In a just world, guys like Amplas, Romero, Rubinstein, and Tom Savini, who did the effects along with playing Christina’s mook boyfriend, would be winning Oscars left and right. Which is just further proof of the country club mentality that is Hollywood.

It should also be noted that this is a good-looking film, courtesy of cinematographer Michael Gornick. The framing, the choice of camera angles, all of it is tight and plays up everything that needs to be played up. Tension is created during the stalk and kill scenes, though some of the most haunting scenes are the ones of Martin walking around the city at night. The sense of loneliness is damn near tangible, making the movie all the more effective and powerful.

Martin is one of the greatest horror films ever made. Not because of the blood, but because it shows the damage that can be done when one’s family, biology, and mental state fails them. This movie is a masterpiece of nuance, emotion, and the deep fissures in the human condition.

Weekly Mondo Round-Up: Lessons From the Living

Happy Solstice and Summertime Blues everyone. I've always had a like/hate thing with hot weather. I prefer it to cold, but still find it to be on the steamy side of assy. That said, there is a certain atmosphere, a certain weird gravitas to Summer days that I do enjoy. In other words, it's great for creativity and bad for the ole electric bill. The humidity will thrill you as much as it will clobber you. 

 This week has been long, but not bad. I finished the first part of my contribution to the upcoming William Castle blog-a-thon and am about to dip again into the waters of formerly-lost-films, as well as underrated dramas. Like the Magic 8 Ball says, more will be revealed. 

Music wise, I've been revisiting my Lee Hazlewood kick, with “Sand,” “Jackson” and “Some Velvet Morning” becoming the biggest repeat offenders. There's such a lush weariness to Lee's voice and music that gets me every time I listen. There are some artists that you have to be in a specific mood to listen to and then there are those like Hazlewood, that just hit the sweet spot every single time. 

Last night, the hubby and I went to a growing outdoors art event, which was fun. There were fabulous crepes to be had and there was one artist in particular, Robert Shinn, whose work really stood out. He had this one piece, involving an old nutcracker, that I became intensely smitten with. Naturally, it was way the heck out of my budget, but worth it if you've got it. While we were looking around and entered a small gallery, I was quickly annoyed by one of those classic, pretentious art conversations. You know, the talkers in question have a little glass of white wine (rarely red, for some reason, which is fine since that leaves more for me!) and a white-bred/upper-middle class sense of self-importance. I hate this kind of thing so much, especially since I think there is way you can have an intelligent and even fun conversation about art without it devolving into yuppie-styled wankery. Being an artist does not make you a better person than anyone, only being an honest, aware and a conscious person does. 

On a happier note, the crepe was truly sterling.

For more, you can find me via Twitter, Tumblr, Pinterest & Google+.

Weekly Mondo Round-Up: Plan 9 From Las Vegas Edition

This has been one of the weeks where wanderlust has been striking me big time. (Note about myself, this happens every other week!) With the heat starting to creep up as the air grows denser, hitting the open road and going out West has never felt more appealing. Driving on the oil-stained highway, throwing on Department of Crooks' criminally underrated “Plan Nine from Las Vegas” and feeling the scorch of burned gas station coffee....it just sounds so perfect. The reality of such an excursion is not possible right now, but at least I have “Plan 9” and endless cups of strong Joe.

Dreams of pavement and open skies aside, I finished and posted a little article on Dangerous Minds about the formerly-lost, Canuxploitation film that combined flesh, fangs and very little filigree, entitled “Sexcula.” As a born and bred preservationist at heart, seeing anything that was originally written off as lost get found is a wonderful feeling. Plus, who doesn't love free loving vampires flashing the peace sign during coitus? It gives me some hope that a print of “Convention City” could still turn up. Dreaming is free.

The great thing, for me at least, about delving into titles like “Sexcula” is it gives me the chance to write and explore the types of cinema that a lot of film writers avoid like the plague. Which is really absurd. A lot of “serious” dramas that garner all sorts of awards are no less exploitative, in fact usually moreso, than most “skin flicks.” Manipulating audiences dramatically is too easy. Most people do not want to see sick children or their sad families, so both are easy elements to throw in. But to actually confront them with anything that truly takes them out of their comfort zone is both brilliant and extremely needed. The only kind of elitism I'll put up with usually involves one of two questions: a) Is the work good? b) Is it interesting?

Anything else usually borders on flat out snobbery and in some instances, cultural classism. Forget it. Who has time for that? 

Speaking of Department of Crooks, let me sing the joys of Marc Moreland. One of THE best guitarists you will ever hear and who will never get some cheesy cover or centerfold in any type of Guitar Monthly magazine. (Yet, if you're a metal guy that goes wheedly-wheedly-wee with your arpeggios, they will soil themselves to kingdom come.) For me the real sign of a genuinely great artist is their thumbprint and with everything that Moreland played on, you can instantly tell it is him. Blending such stellar influences like Ennio Morricone and Dick Dale into his own creative blender, there will never be another like the man. Best known for being in Wall of Voodoo, his side projects are also worth checking out, especially the aforementioned Department of Crooks and his final band, the Marc Moreland Mess.

And if all you know about Wall of Voodoo is “Mexican Radio,” then I beg you to please get your sweaty little mitts on a copy of “Seven Days in Sammystown.” The Andy Prieboy era of that band is brilliant and merits ample listening. 

Upcoming project wise, I'm about to work on a contribution for a special upcoming tribute to one of the greatest showmen in the history of film, as well as the usual one-two step review work. Stay tuned kittens.

You can also find me on Twitter, Tumblr, Google+ and Pinterest.

Weekly Mondo Round-Up: Dome of the Spheres Edition

Hello cats and kittens, welcome to a new feature for Mondo Heather. While I'm sure all of you love reading the same articles again for over a month, you deserve some fresh content on a more regular basis. So think of this as a weekly peek into the colorful and occasionally schizoid miasma that is both my life and brain. Sprinkle in some self-promotion for my non Mondo-writing and your ready to strap on your saddles shoes and go!

Something I like to do, especially whenever I'm working on any sizable projects, is throw on a film in the background and then some additional music. Basically, a multimedia melange a go-go. Last night, it was Fellini's classic 8 1/2 with my Ipod mix playing. (We're talking everything from Love & Rockets to The Residents here.) It was a great match and it lent itself well to getting art stuff done. The latter included a collage art book, fashioned from a formerly religiously-themed diary that I got for free back in my retail day job years. I started this back around 2004-5 and finally finished it earlier this week. Writing is always and forever my main love, but the visual arts are an eternal close second. It's tentatively titled “Dome of the Spheres,” inspired by the obscure and lyrically weird song of the same name. It has been one of those projects that I was not sure that I would ever actually finish, so it feels sweet to have the bloody thing done. Woo for productivity!

Speaking of which, the piece covering the “SoftRock” series, created by Actually Huizenga and her partner-in-crime Socrates Mitsios, is finished and live on DangerousMinds. I think Huizenga is one of the most interesting figures, not to mention ballsiest, in music and video out there right now. Most pop tartlets flirt with the whole sexy-girl thing, but Huizenga uses sexuality as a device to be both cheeky and explore some rather dark human territory. 

 One new kid on the film distribution block that is already knocking my socks off is the Vinegar Syndrome. They first came to my attention as the fine folks releasing “The Lost Films of Herschell Gordon Lewis,” which includes “Black Love” and “Linda & Abilene,” two films that I NEVER thought I would ever get lucky enough to see. Looking at their small but already growing library, they are one of those rare companies whose entire library is covet-worthy. I'm looking forward to writing about some of their titles in the near further, both here and abroad. Keep your peepers peeled. 

As a whole, this has been one weird week. Some of it stressful, other parts extremely wonderful. No matter what, art and life are what it's all about. 

You can also follow me on Twitter or Tumblr.

The Devil You Know: Frank De Felitta's DARK NIGHT OF THE SCARECROW

One man can make an effort but it takes a group to make real change. Unfortunately, if that group is dag stupid and hateful, that same power can blossom into some pretty heinous things. Mob rules often with the innocent suffering as a result. But the real question is what happens when the victimizers become the victims? This is the premise of the 1981 Made-for-TV classic Dark Night of the Scarecrow. Originally airing on CBS, this amazing cult film is finally making its first time appearance on DVD this year courtesy of VCI.

The film opens up with Bubba Ritter (Larry Drake) playing with Marylee Williams(Tonya Crow) in a field of flowers. Nothing unusual about these two young kids except that Bubba is physically 36 years old but mentally still very much a little boy. Their interactions are innocent and sweet with Marylee giving him a peck on the cheek after giving him a homemade lei. But there are predators among the prey, with postman and resident creep Otis (Charles Durning) watching them with binoculars. A chaste kiss sends him off the handles, acting less like a concerned adult and more like a jealous lover.

Things go from bad to worse though when Marylee sneaks into someone's backyard and gets attacked by their vicious doberman. When Bubba carries her bloody and bruised body to her parents, all hell breaks loose. Otis immediately rounds up a gang of equally dumb, hateful rednecks to take “justice” in their own hands and lynch poor innocent Bubba. Who needs the police? Despite the efforts of Bubba's goodhearted and strong mother (Jocelyn Brando), the gun-toting crew of Darwin's lost children end up finding the petrified man-child dressed up as a scarecrow, hiding. After pumping a mentally challenged, weeping man full of bullets, they soon find out that Marylee is alive. Not only that, but if it hadn't been for Bubba jumping in at the last minute, she would have been dead.

Despite the efforts of earnest D.A. Sam Willock (Tom Taylor), the whole gang get away with murder literally due to the old chestnut of “lack of evidence.” Momma Ritter flips out and invokes what is the film's tag line, “There is other justice in this world besides the Law.” That particular fruit ripens fast, as soon the boys starting seeing the figure of a bloody scarecrow at their homes and workplaces. It's only a matter of time before Bubba's revenge is put into action.

Dark Night of the Scarecrow is a brilliant film that manages to tie that fine line between subtle and ballsy in one fell swoop. Since this was made-for-TV, there is a natural lack of any R-rated action but what you do not see in grue is more than made up for with tone. The ominous figure of the Scarecrow cannot hold a candle to the fatal ignorance of the mob, especially Otis. In fact the way the latter is handled is pitch-perfect, thanks to a combination of great writing, even better direction and a fine performance from veteran character actor Charles Durning. One of the spookiest shots in the whole film is Otis peering through a paper skull window cling, looking in on a group of children bobbing for apples and running off. It happens for all of a split second but it is an unforgettable image. It's made all the more creepy given that it immediately follows a scene between him and Momma Ritter where she makes the comment, “You stay away from that little girl. I've seen the way you look at her.” What we have here is this toxic soul who is projecting his demons and desires onto the hulking innocent figure of Bubba.

The rest of the cast is uniformly terrific, with Drake being especially memorable with the handful of minutes he is onscreen. It definitely set a precedent for the role he became famous for years later as mentally challenged Benny on the popular TV drama L.A. LAW. Everything about this film is tight with an exceptional directing job from noted author (AUDREY ROSE) Frank de Felitta and stellar writing courtesy of J.D. Feigelson. Given how TV movies were regarded back when this aired as being second to third tier compared to their big theatrically distributed brothers, it's pretty awe inspiring how damn good this film really is.

Major kudos to VCI for releasing this cult classic, complete with director's and writer's commentary, plus the world premier promotional spot that aired on CBS. If you love Southern Gothic tales and great film making, then you can do no wrong with watching this movie.

No Rest for the Wicked: Music Ramblings & A Tribute to Helix

There are few types of art that fans get more clannish about than music. Fans can be downright dogmatic. The classic rock fans sneer at the heavy metal fans, then the heavy metal fans sneer at the country fans and rinse repeat. After awhile it can start to sound like one annoying SAT question. I was lucky enough to be raised in an environment where all sorts of music was played. My Mom listens to the Statler Brothers and AC/DC with everything in between, so sonic schizophrenia is something I come by quite righteously. The beauty of this is that the odds of missing out on some truly great music becomes significantly lowered. It also grants me the opportunity to horrify some of my less broadminded friends.

One of the best genres to do this with is rock & roll. Sure, most love The Beatles, but when it comes to hard rock, that's when it can get elitist. That's why artists like The Dictators still don't get the critical love that they deserve, and yet folks wet their collective pants over dinosaurs like Eric Clapton. Face it, Clapton was a born dinosaur, especially after the dissolution of Cream.

In the pantheon of underrated hard rock bands, one of the greatest examples is the Canadian group Helix. While they did receive some airplay with their anthem, “Rock You,” they ended up flying under the radar as inferior bands got bigger notice. In a era where Bon Jovi was huge, you can feel my dismay. One of the best things about Helix is that while they didn't exactly reinvent the wheel, they instead took the wheel and made it the best damn one that they could. Like alchemists of rock, they were even able to get away with one of the biggest cardinal sins of 1980's...the dreaded ballad! Yet, when Helix does a ballad, say something like “Make Me Do Anything You Want” or “Dream On,” it has texture and heart. So many bands were like a dead eyed stripper grinding dutifully for your money, whereas Helix is the one that will actually make eye contact, perform like they mean it because maybe,just maybe, they do actually mean it.

My first big exposure to Helix was landing a copy of the video compilation, “Red Hot Rock.” At the time, the main selling point for me was more based on The Tubes content than anything else. It may seem strange nowadays with the blessed advent of sites like YouTube and Vimeo, but accessing certain music videos back a few years ago was more the luck of the draw than anything else. Stranger still, there were a handful of videos made that were definitely not MTV friendly. While the PG versions of these clips would occasionally play, their more R-rated incarnations were left in the ether of the occasional showing on the then brand new Playboy channel, in nightclubs and the burgeoning frontier of VHS.

One of the bands that took advantage of this new format was Helix, who had not one but two music videos on “Red Hot Rock.” There's the wonderfully goony clip for “Rock You,” featuring the band on some kind of post-apocalyptic chain gang. They break free early on and are greeted with lots of fire, greased up topless warrior women and some of the worst background dancing in music video history. This is the kind of case where the biggest boobs in the video are the non-Helix dudes. 

The second saucy video is their cover of Crazy Elephant's 1969 hit “Gimme Gimme Good Lovin,” featuring the time worn plot device of a Miss Rock Fantasy beauty pageant. Like “Rock You” before it, there were two versions, including a PG one as well as an R-rated one. You can guess which one made it on “Red Hot Rock.” Hint: it's the one with the titties.

The video is a fleshy splendor of lovely girls, ¾ of which cannot dance to save their lives, echoing their brethren in “Rock You.” Some like to focus on the obvious aspects here, namely the jiggle factor, some of which included scream queen Brinke Stevens and Traci Lords, who gets to look smashing in an S/M style getup while destroying produce with a sledgehammer. Hey, it's still better than “Blade.” But forget all that, because the inner core of amazement belongs to the band, between the song, which is that rare cover that improves upon the original, and the fact that lead singer Brian Vollmer can out dance any of the girls. For proof, check out the PG rated version featuring one of the man's famous somersaults, which is slowed down for the most epic effect.

From then on, I ended up picking up a vinyl copy of their 1984 album, “Walkin' the Razor's Edge,” which featured “Gimme Gimme” and it was solid love after that. Each subsequent album bought just got better with nary a bum track. Given that we're talking about a band that continued to make solid rock & roll in the bloated waters that were the 1980's, this is an amazing fact. Hard rock and metal bands that once had some modicum of integrity sold their souls to Satan to create chart topping “power ballads.” (Ironic name for something that usually lacked power or any kind, unless you count the power to suck ass.)

A huge part of my love for this band is also the feeling that these are guys that truly love what they do. When artists, whether it is poets, actors or musicians alike, are genuinely into what they are expressing, then they will never play you for cheap. Seeing some Madison Avenue friendly “rockers” like the aforementioned Bon Jovi, complete with perfect hair, white teeth and insipid music that plays it as safe as any boy band, is so depressing. Helix, even in the spandex and fringe era were defiantly unpretty, with Vollmer almost gleefully displaying his missing tooth in at least a few videos (“Rock You” immediately comes to mind.) That is way more sexy than the ole bait and switch of much of the fare that passed as rock back in the days of MTV.

Speaking of which, everyone needs to kill any nostalgia they may have for MTV. Sure they used to play music videos but keep in mind they would usually play the same five clips over and over again. While you would patiently wait, hoping to maybe catch a glance of something actually good, whether it was Siouxsie & the Banshees or Motorhead, you would have to endure 8 hours of the latest Whitney Houston video. Don't let the haze of age cloud your memory, folks. MTV sucks now but it kind of sucked back then too.

Something that definitely does not suck is the sheer tenacity of Helix, especially in the form of the man, Brian Vollmer. Despite line-up changes, losing a key member with the untimely passing of guitarist and song writer Paul Hackman in 1992, being mugged and, at one point, having his vocal chords heavily damaged only to get back to full singing capacity by learning the classical vocal technique of Bel Canto, the man has still kept the band alive and kicking.

Even better, while they may remain a cult band here in the States, Helix has had some resurgence in their native Canada thanks to the brilliant television show, “Trailer Park Boys.” If a show as great as “Trailer Park Boys” can show some love to Helix, so can you.

For more information on Helix, check out their official website: www.planethelix.com

I Was a Teenage Gamer

 In the world of fringe arts, perhaps no group gets the least respect than games. It's classic, really. Anything creative that is made for the purpose of engaging its audience with entertainment will almost always get overlooked. That's why comedy and horror eternally get the critical cold shoulder versus drama, even though one could successfully argue that most dramas are just as emotionally exploitative. But that's another article. Growing up in the 90's, there were key things that made the hormonal hell of adolescence and public school more tolerable. Movies/movie books and magazines were number one, with music, especially bands like The Cramps and Roxy Music, being a close second. But right behind was something that still gets, I think, critically bypassed as a legit means of expression; computer games. (Video games too, but since I was always more of a computer gamer, we're sticking to that for today.) 

 If you think about it, it takes an unbelievable amount of creativity and technological savvy to create a great computer game. Artists aren't typically thought of as having the Type A brains to utilize complex technology. (In fact, this Type B brain hurts just even thinking about what it took to create games back in the frontier days of coding and even DOS.) But yet, some amazing games emerged in the 80's and 90's that could not only satisfy both types and even better, fully engage your own imagination. In some cases, they can even engage your emotions. Yet, other than within the hardcore gaming community, you're rarely going to see a lot of these vintage games get the appreciation and coverage that they deserve. It's this sort of weird snobbery that I like to rally against, as if anything that provides someone happiness is instantly not respectable, which is absurd. Elitism has never brought anything but mal-informed misery, especially in the arts.

While I can't move mountains, just yet, I can give a little tribute to the games that inspired me during the 1990's, ranging from extremely well written adventures to strategy to first-person shooters. Without further ado....

-Doom (id Software, 1993) Doom, for a lot of people, was the granddaddy of first person shooters. It wasn't the first, but it took the groundwork laid out by games like Castle Wolfenstein 3D and turned it into something that a gun-happy cenobite could love. In fact, both games were developed by id and shared main programmers, John Romero and John Cormack. Wolfenstein was good but Doom was incredible, creating a tangibly creepy atmosphere, between the unforgettable shrieks and growls that emitted from the gnarly assortment of demons, to the often gruesome displays of humans that were less fortunate (and less armed) than yourself. Take a touch of dismemberment and a couple of splashes of Satanic imagery, some amazing gameplay and you had one fun as Hell ride. Any game that has levels with titles like "Knee Deep in the Dead" and "Shores of Hell" was destined to find a place in my horror kid heart. Who wouldn't love the chance to attack various infernal creatures with weapons ranging from a chainsaw (nice "Evil Dead" reference, btw) to the ultimate in carnage-havoc, the BFG9000. (You can probably guess what that acronym stands for.) 

While I never got to play any of the many user-altered levels, I still remember reading about them in PC Gamer, where they had a fantastic still shot of Barney the Dinosaur replacing one of the monsters in the game. That would have been fun! But still, Doom to this day is my favorite first person shooter and for anyone that still thinks that games like this are a seed of real-life violence, know that the person writing this article is a pacifist vegetarian. So munch on that.

-Jagged Alliance (SirTech Software, 1994) I've always had a soft spot for a good strategy game. While Jagged Alliance didn't initially get some of the acclaim that games like Syndicate (Bullfrog, 1993), Masters of Orion (Simtex, 1993) or Sid Meier's Civilization (Microprose, 1991) (all fantastic games, by the way) did, it built up a cult thanks to its smart gameplay and action-film ready storyline. Your job is to assemble a group of Mercenaries, who range wildly in nationalities, abilities and price range, and take back the Island of Metavira from Lucas Santino, a former scientist who wants sole control of the small nation. The reason? The island contains Fallow trees, which are indigenous solely to Metavira. These trees produce a sap that can be used to cure every disease. Jagged Alliance is the best of both worlds, allowing you to indulge in mercenary action but also employing your noggin at the same time. Plus, the fun and challenge of managing a diverse and occasionally motley crew of mercs is hard to beat.

Ivan, my favorite of the Mercs. 

 

-Lost in Time (Coktel Vision, 1993) & Virtual Murder 2-The Magic Death (Creative Multimedia, 1993) There is one big thing these games have in common. They both employed an early version of full motion video, which may seem like nothing in the high definition landscape of today, but back in the early 90's, it was a big deal. Of course the quality back when these games were released was barely above camcorder as far as video goes, but given that just a few short years ago computer games were text based and crude pixels, this was pretty amazing. 

Lost in Time featured an intriguing storyline where your character, Doralice, has inherited a coastal mansion, complete with a mysterious ship. She ends up traveling back in time, which tends to happen on weird inherited ships, only to discover the its slave trade origins, as well as some of her family's strange lineage. Created by the French company Coktel and released by gaming giants Sierra On-Line here in the States, Lost in Time's unique story, coupled with some lovely graphics and some odd puzzles made for a fun and memorable gaming experience. 

  The Magic Death, comparatively, was a little more simple, both in terms of graphics and gameplay. But what it may have lacked in visual panache, it more than made up for it with the premise, involving the murder of a promising grad student named Elspeth Haskard. Elspeth's specialty was Haitian Voodoo, making her the darling of the academic world. It also made her a target of jealousy. Mix a complicated love life and one sketchy brother into the mix and you get a fun murder-mystery cocktail. Featuring three different endings, The Magic Death is a game that has a warm place in my heart, partially because of the whole mixing of Voodoo and the tense world of upper academia. The woman behind this game, Shannon Gilligan, also created a couple of related games, as well as a number of Choose Your Own Adventure books back in the 80's. Which given the very nature of The Magic Death, makes total sense.

-Phantasmagoria (Sierra On-Line, 1995) It's not just a really terrific, underrated album by The Damned. (Seriously, it's a fantastic album. The Damned will never let you down.) It was also a breakthrough computer game. Along with Wing Commander 3 (Origin Systems, 1994) and The Beast Within: A Gabriel Knight Mystery (Sierra On-Line, 1995), this was one of the best uses of full motion video ever. It featured good computer graphics, sharp gameplay and a tight-wire thriller plotline. You play a writer named Adrienne, whom along with her husband Donald, moves into a gorgeous old mansion that was once inhabited by a deranged and murderous magician by the name of Carno. Turns out ole Carno was a fan of the dark arts, which is none too surprising coming from a magician with a name like Carno. It practically screams consorting with the Devil. Anyways, his dabbling released a demon that not only possessed him, but also drove him to murder his multiple wives. (The most grisly death involves him force feeding one highly unlucky spouse entrails until she chokes to death.) It is only a matter of time before the demonically sullied spirit of Carno takes a hold of Donald, leaving Adrienne to fight for both her life and that of her husband's.

Phantasmagoria has all the dark wonders, ghoulish delights and Grand Guignol charms of the 1700's form of lantern theater for which it got its name. The story is great, as well as the acting from the two leads, Victoria Morsell and David Homb. At the time, Phantasmagoria was shipped on a total of 7 discs, which was practically unheard of. But switching them out during gameplay was well worth the hothouse of thrills and overall spooky ambiance that the game provided. It was a highlight for the long respected work of Sierra On-Line and perhaps the biggest jewel in the crown of its creator and Sierra's co-founder, Roberta Williams.

The game was so popular that it spawned an unrelated sequel, Phantasmagoria 2: Puzzle of Flesh (Sierra On-Line, 1996), this time created by Lorelei Shannon, noted author and computer game designer. While Shannon had some good ambitions and ideas, the game fell way short, with having a nebbishly unlikable lead character being a good chunk of the problem. Going from such a strong heroine like Adrienne to some uncharismatic nerd named Curtis who still inexplicably gets laid was too big of a leap for many gamers. There are some good side characters, including Curtis's gay best friend and some intriguing ideas that, in the end, would have made for a better book than a game. That can be one of the most difficult things with incorporating good writing into gaming. Sometimes it can work without harming the gameplay and in the most ideal cases, even enhancing it. But others time, it can end up being an unhappy marriage.

There is one Mecha-Godzilla sized exception to this rule, which is....

  The Beast Within:A Gabriel Knight Mystery (Sierra On-Line, 1995). Out of all the games I have ever played, this is the one that has stayed in my consciousness all of these years. The second of the Gabriel Knight trilogy, The Beast Within was an instant standout for a number of reasons. For starters, its blend of the supernatural theme of werewolves, repressed sexuality, a lost opera from Richard Wagner and the mysterious death of King Ludwig II of Bavaria was nothing short of brilliant. The amount of research that creator Jane Jensen did, especially regarding Ludwig and Germany in general, was unparalleled in an non-education related game. Even better, was the deftness in how well the research is integrated into the story, as well as the game.

The gameplay is very smooth, featuring a smart questioning system, but also a number of challenging but halfway realistic puzzles. Meaning while being somewhat intuitive with puzzles is helpful, you don't need a degree from MIT to solve any of the them. (As opposed to say games like Myst (Cyan, 1993) or even some of the puzzles that would appear in The Beast Within's sequel, Gabriel Knight 3: Blood of the Sacred, Blood of the Damned (Sierra On-Line, 1999.) The game also makes stunning use of the German scenery, utilizing photos and enhancing them, portraying an accurate yet near-dream like view of such sites as Ludwig's most famous castle, Neuschwanstein, as well as Marienplatz, Munich's main square.

Then there's the full motion video, which surpasses even “Phantasmagoria” in terms of look, as well as consistent acting. Even the bit actors in The Beast Within are pitch perfect. For anyone who played the first Gabriel Knight game, Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers (Sierra On-Line, 1993) , there is no actor who could have fit the physicality of Gabriel better than Dean Erickson. The first game was pure graphics, with the CD-rom version featuring voice acting from Michael Dorn, a pre-fame Leah Remini, Efram Zimbalist Jr and Tim Curry as the titular character. While everyone and their mother should know the pure, undiluted awesomeness that is Tim Curry, the Gabriel of The Beast Within was, pun totally intended, a different animal. Erickson not only looks like Gabriel, but nails the character's mix of hero, cad and schattenjager (German for shadow hunter and the name for a long line of fighters against the evils of the supernatural). In addition to Erickson, there's also Joanne Takahashi as Gabriel's sidekick, the more sensible and knowledge driven Grace Nakimura. Takahashi's all brass balls with vulnerability as Grace. 

You can't have light without the dark, hence the group of characters that are all members of the Royal Bavarian Hunting Lodge, whom may or may not have connections to the strings of murders around the nearby countryside. The biggest standout is Peter J. Lucas as the lodge's charismatic leader, Baron Von Glower, who is less villain and more old world warmth with a past. One of my favorites is the delightfully hedonistic and potential BDSM enthusiast, Otto Preiss, played with refined yet sleazy relish by Clabe Hartley. For my fellow fringe film enthusiasts, keep an eye out for the late, great Nicholas Worth (“Don't Answer the Phone”) as the gruff police chief, Leber. 

Part of what makes The Beast Within so special is that in addition to being the best computer game I have ever played, it is also one of the best stories I have ever read. The plot is intricate and compelling, but even better, the characters are so well fleshed out and layered. Again, the detail, in all of its multifaceted glories, shines jewel-like in this game. There's never been a game that has matched or surpassed all of these elements together quite like The Beast Within.

There you have it! A peek into all the major games that made their individual imprints into my heart, consciousness and sub-consciousness. Whether it's cloven hoofed uber-demons, Russian mercenaries or German werewolves, I hope all of these games will continue to live on, as we maybe encounter a time where games are critically examined as creative works. Pop culture, after all, is still culture. 

Copyright 2013 Heather Drain