Flak Magazine: House of 1,000 Corpses, 04-29-03

Few horror lovers will deny there's been a recent drought of good scary movies. Scream and The Blair Witch Project were inventive, but overexposure and sequels have made them each kind of a joke. The Ring, The Sixth Sense and The Others were enjoyable but not wet-your-bed scary — a benchmark for fright that American cinema has arguably failed to achieve since the era book-ended by Rosemary's Baby and The Shining. But three years ago, mournful horror aficianados heard whispers of an unlikely savior: Rob Zombie.

In 2000, just when The Exorcist itself got a facelift, trailers for House of 1000 Corpses circulated. Shortly thereafter, word spread that Zombie's auteur debut was so disturbing that bankroller Universal dropped it. MGM then gave up on it, too (though accounts of why differ). Countless other distributors probably never even returned calls. Thus the movie sat in limbo. Horror fans and Zombie fans, many of them the same people, were forced to wait with bated breath and Hot Topic contact lenses for more than two years before they could see this thing, their hyped-up deliverance.

Sadly, House of 1000 Corpses doesn't deliver. The problem is that Zombie's film really is just a thing. Yeah, it's demented, with acid-burnt art direction and transgressions reminiscent of pre-Sept. 11, pre-Kevin Williamson horror. But it's no genre messiah. The ride can be brutally fun, but the movie really leaves you with little more than thoughts like, "Rob Zombie likes cowboy hats."

Zombie's script oozes with horror nostalgia: It's Oct. 30, 1977, and four obnoxious youngsters are driving cross-country. They stumble upon an out-of-the-way town and its local Ed Gein-like legend, Doctor Satan. A morbid interest in finding Doctor Satan's place of death leads the unsuspecting kids to a lunatic country family that includes, among others, a whorehouse madam matriarch, the palest redneck imaginable, a delicious ditz daughter and a deaf mute who resembles the Toxic Avenger. They are a clan for whom torture and murder are family values! They push the extremes and amputate the extremities! Shocking!

The similarities to genre favorites, namely The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Hills Have Eyes, show Zombie is bouncing off good springboards. But a good homage to midnight movie cheese quickly goes rotten — there's not enough terror to warrant William Castle life insurance, much less two years' worth of shelf dust. Instead, we get a forgettable rescue subplot and a final act that falls apart with nightmare illogic. The violence is indeed gruesome, but, like most of the movie's camp value, it feels workmanlike. The meatier methods of madness are just dressed up for Rob-Zombiephernalia — i.e., Western wear — and strung together with music video editing tricks and porn footage allegedly bought from the estate of Bob Crane. Make no bones about it: Spectacle is a good and fun and important element, and this movie has plenty of it. But no matter how many heads roll, memorable horror can't ride on spectacle alone.

This is not to say that House of 1000 Corpses needs Hamlet flaunting his inner turmoil all over the place — just a conflict outside of the blood and guts. Regardless of whether audiences will cop to caring about them, the stories in horror movies often accomplish more than merely filling in the gaps between gore scenes. The drive-in cult cheapies that Zombie loves, regardless of the trash-art stigma, even tell stories. In Night of the Living Dead, there is a power struggle over staying upstairs to fight off the zombies or hiding downstairs with no escape route — and it's racially tinged. Last House on the Left devolves into a wicked revenge plot with the parents — rarely a force for good in '70s movies — as its heroes. The Toxic Avenger, as gleeful as it is about viscera, tells the Stan Lee-like tale of a 90-pound geekling who uses his deformity to avenge the oppressed, however viciously. The closest 1000 Corpses gets to being about anything is that the psycho family takes pampered kids fascinated by death and dismemberment (Zombie's fans, perhaps?) and puts them through the wringer of the real thing. That's not bad, and it's even scary, but it's an idea relegated to some throwaway dialogue and one disarming scene in which a girl is confronted by a nutcase wearing the skin of her recently flayed father. It's a nice moment where outside world reality invades the nightmare, but ultimately the potential doesn't pay off.

And really, Doctor Satan? That's not even funny.

The ensemble cast of character actors is the best part if you bring the requisite geekiness to the table. If you do, then Karen Black's voluptuous horror needs no introduction. As the cuckoo matron, she is the most recognizable player, though not the most memorable. That distinction goes to the great Sid Haig, the film's second-most recognizable actor (at least, if you like Roger Corman and Pam Grier movies) who, sporting smudgy clown make-up and a John Wayne tattoo, proves perfect as proprietor of the local gas station/horror museum that is the movie's catalyst. Haig's time onscreen is limited, but every moment of it is captivating; it's no wonder his grin is all over the publicity materials. Then, depending on your movie geek quotient, there's a tie for the third-most recognizable actor: Bill Moseley, that pale redneck who almost relives his role from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, and Chris Hardwick, who you loved as the host of "Shipmates" and "Singled Out." Moseley is sadistically intense. Hardwick is good for a laugh. On the other hand, Sheri Moon, as the wacko coquette with a distracting plumber's crack, often ruins her scenes with a forced, nipple-piercing laugh.

It should be noted that Rob Zombie is still a talented guy who shows promise as a feature director. House of 1000 Corpses maintains a menacing vision and is at some points quite rocking. There is a virtuoso execution scene with an epic anticipatory silence that does not pander to the ADHD set. Furthermore, Zombie has Mario Bava's zooms down pat and, like Brian De Palma and the makers of "24," knows how to use a split screen. Music videos, a Universal Studios Halloween park design and a duet cover of "Brick House" with Lionel Richie are further testament to his warped and cool imagination. But, as typified by his so-lame closing title card "The End?" he just can't tell a story — yet.

— Tony Nigro (tony@superheronamedtony.com)