"The night has its price," mysterious blonde Jenny Wright tells Adrian Pasdar's hapless Oklahoma farm boy before giving him a love bite and dragging him off on the road with her Mansonesque 'family' of white-trash serial-killer vampires—headed by a fantastic, dead-eyed Lance Henriksen. Kathryn Bigelow's genre-bending mix of horror, western and Southern gothic drags blood sucking into the modern world. One of the best horror movies of the last 20 years.
This legendary album, the centrepiece of the so-called "Doom Trilogy", has waited nearly 30 years to be issued on CD, such has been its author's reputed disenchantment with it. Over that time, On The Beach has become a sort of Holy Grail to Neil Young CD buyers, its continuing unavailability adding to a notoriety which began with the first round of reviews the album received in summer 1974. Early reaction to On The Beach was almost entirely negative and it was only after a certain amount of hindsight had set in that it was accorded any respect, let alone admiration.
Abel Ferrara made these almost simultaneously in '95, and they're especially intense even for him. The more successfully operatic first (Chris Walken, Chris Penn, Vincent Gallo) follows a family of '30s gangsters on a revenge mission; the second's a gory monochrome vampire flick starring Lili Taylor (and Walken again). Nietzschean, neurotic.
Blaxploitation movies were suddenly so hot in 1972 that it was deemed a smart idea to bash out—as the title may have tipped you off—a black vampire chiller. It wasn't. It was horrible, in unintended ways. But Gene Page came up with a very appetising soundtrack, which you could happily stick on between Isaac Hayes' Shaft and Marvin Gaye's Trouble Man without anyone noticing too drastic a drop in class.
Commendably lurid directorial debut from Asia Argento—international soft-porn horror princess and Vin Diesel's way-cool goth-vamp co-star in xXx. Dario's daughter not only writes and directs but also stars as a thinlyveiled version of herself, shagging and fighting her way through a sinister, male-dominated, sex-driven film business. Demented, narcissistic, monstrously self-indulgent—all the qualities, in fact, of the very best cult cinema.
Paul Verhoeven's last pre-Hollywood film (from 1983) is a minor classic. Depressed alcoholic writer Gerard Reve (a tremendous, dishevelled Jeroen Krabbé) finds succour in the arms of a vampish beautician (Renée Soutendijk) only to discover, thanks to a series of gory flashbacks, he's due for much more than a makeover. Funny and fever-ish by turns, it's Basic Instinct for surrealists.
