It took me a long, long time to get round to watching Death Proof, and to be honest with you, that was probably largely down to the fact that I haven’t been overly impressed with the general output of Quentin Tarantino in this century…

Don’t get me wrong, both Kill Bills 1 and 2 and Inglourious Basterds have their moments; it’s just that overall they’re a bit, well silly, and I rather assumed that Death Proof would be similarly flawed. It also didn’t help that its release was so truncated, what with the whole “It’s going to be released as a Grindhouse-style double-bill with Robert Rodriguez’s Planet Terror… Oh no wait, it isn’t.” It just felt like it was going to be little more than an interesting stopgap, and even then only interesting if you have a passion for 70s exploitation cinema – which I sort-of do, but that’s beside the point.

But how wrong I was! Not only is Death Proof the best film Quentin Tarantino has made since Jackie Brown, but it is also the most intelligent and joltingly original horror film I’ve seen in a long, long time. Kurt Russell is on super-sinister, almost Snake Plissken-like form as “Stuntman” Mike, a man whose occupation may be no mystery, but whose motivations – at least initially – very much are. Following a playful, slithering build-up, during which we are introduced to a notably feisty quartet of potential victims, we eventually learn that Mike likes to smash into young ladies in his vocationally appropriate ”death proof” car, leaving them for dead and making it all look like an accident… And that he’s got our four new friends in his sights.

I really don’t want to say anymore about how the action unfolds, but Tarantino engrossingly spools out his story in a way that manages to critique the codes and conventions of the slasher genre, while simultaneously revamping it. “Stuntman” Mike is an extraordinarily original horror/exploitation bogeyman in that he is in turns aggrandised, demystified, fetishised and humiliated; and Kurt Russell has the time of his life the whole way through, with a special nod due to each and every female member of cast, as well. And also, don’t overestimate the whole “authentic Grindhouse vibe” that Death Proof was sold on (ie fake scratches on the film, deliberate sound glitches etc.), it’s really only used as an enigmatic stylistic tool here - remember how little Jackie Brown actually resembled a blaxploitation film? Well, that’s how little Death Proof actually resembles an exploitation film – and in equally the same way, it’s simply better than almost every film that it’s an apparent homage to.

Never mind all those fake trailers that were supposed to go in between Death Proof and Planet Terror in the cinema (Edgar Wright seems to be the only one who really “got” the idea, anyway), let’s instead enjoy the actual trailer for the whole sorry Grindhouse experiment itself… Happy Halloween everybody!

Vampires, eh? Those guys will never go out of fashion, it seems. Surely the man on the street’s bogeyman of choice, even if they are more likely to be found sulking in their bedrooms a la the Twilight kids or getting their heads kicked in by Wesley Snipes these days…

While Dracula is undoubtedly the most famous bloodsucker of them all, and a true screen icon from Nosferatu to Christopher Lee, many of my favourite vampire films are based upon a tale which actually predates Bram Stoker’s seminal story; Sheridan Le Fanu’s novella ‘Carmilla’, in which the chief creature of the night is female. Lady vampires were a very big deal in the 60s and 70s, and with Gogol’s similarly pre-Dracula short story ‘Viy’ also providing inspiration, these seductive tales full of sensual danger were a perfect fit for practitioners of classy Euro-horror. Roger Vadim gave us Blood and Roses, Mario Bava chipped in with Black Sunday, France’s Jean Rollin and Spain’s Jess Franco were very interested in inter-vampire lady love indeed, and even the Soviet Union produced its first ever horror film in the form of an adaptation of the aforementioned Viy.

Daughters of Darkness is perhaps the best femme vampyr film of them all, however, and represents everything that’s brilliantly atmospheric, sly and provocative about this beguiling subgenre. Kumel’s film introduces us to Stefan and Valerie, newlyweds stopping off at an isolated Belgian hotel, en route to visiting the groom’s family in England. There they rather spookily remain the only guests until the arrival of the glamorous and mysterious Countess Bathory, who manages to not only enthral and unsettle our honeymooners in equal measure, but who also may just be responsible – along with her similarly shady sidekick, Ilona - for a recent spate of bizarrely vampiric murders in the surrounding area.

If you’re looking for a brainy, artfully erotic vampire film for your Halloween viewing next Monday, Daughters of Darkness has so much to recommend it that it’s hard to know where to begin. It is beautifully shot and designed (in particular the icily grand hotel interiors), and the cast are uniformly superb, with Nouvelle Vague icon Delphine Seyrig absolutely spellbinding as the eerily charming Countess. Kumel, who co-wrote the screenplay with a few nods to ‘Carmilla’, keeps us guessing throughout, and the film has more than a few juicy ambiguities to roll our way, including several enigmatic question marks lingering over the Countess and even a few over supposedly trusty Stefan himself – all resulting in a sophisticated bloody vintage that gets better with age.

You can see a bit of what I’m banging on about if you check out the trailer from Blue Underground (who put out a terrific DVD release) below.

Yes, Morrissey fans this is where he got it from… Although quite what the Salford warbler’s feelings are about director William Castle, have sadly never been put on record.

As for me, I happen to think that Herr Schloss (to use his original, German birth name) is the quintessential “Halloween” filmmaker because, if you think about it, October 31st stands first and foremost for getting a bit spooked and having a lot of fun, and William Castle pretty much devoted his entire career to that cause. After all, Castle is the man who became - an admittedly rather low-rent - Hollywood legend for the imaginative and utterly OTT ways he would promote his low-budget horror films in the 50s and early 60s. There were the free life insurance policies for Macabre… The inflatable, glow-in-the-dark skeleton that swung out across the auditorium during House on Haunted Hill… And, my personal favourite, the full refund offered to patrons who found Homicidal just too scary (of course, many cinemagoers just took this as an easy chance to get their money back, something which irked Castle no end!).

Let’s Kill Uncle was made just a little bit after the schlockmeister extraordinaire was in his gimmicky pomp, but while it’s cinema release was sadly lacking a hokey, harebrained selling point, it is just as much spooky, kooky fun as anything else William Castle ever put his name to. The disarmingly bizarre plot sees the orphaned heir to a multi-million dollar fortune forced to relocate to a tropical island to live with his ex-British serviceman uncle (the brilliant Nigel Green), who unexpectedly intends to murder his grieving nephew in order to get his hands on the cash. Luckily enough for the plucky lad, uncle is a good sport and decides to tell him all about his dastardly plan first, and thus begins a deadly game of cat and mouse.

William Castle is one of my all-time favourite horror film directors, even without his trademark gimmick-ery (and anyone intrigued by this would do well to check out Joe Dante’s 1993 film Matinee – essentially a biopic of Castle). His films always seem to exude an uneasy but highly effective mixture of American schmaltz and authentic, threatening horror, and Let’s Kill Uncle is a case in point. One moment it pads along like an episode of The Brady Bunch, and the next it veers into something infinitely more sinister and less wholesome – even if this film does play out like a deliciously burlesque proto-Home Alone, it is a certainty that it is too creepy and near-the-knuckle to be made today… Although it’s none the worse off for that, of course!

Please check out Saturday Night Fever director John Badham reminiscing about Let’s Kill Uncle (on which he served as a casting director) in the clip - from the superb Trailers From Hell website – below.

One of the segments I enjoyed most during Mark Gatiss’ recent History of Horror series was when the erstwhile League of Gentlemen man set about championing a peculiar subgenre often referred to as Folk Horror.

Films that belong to this stable are notable for incorporating spooky British folklore into the horror mileu, often played out to a surprisingly unsettling pastoral backdrop, and include the likes of Witchfinder General, Blood on Satan’s Claw and The Wicker Man… And I think we can also add Tam-Lin (also released as The Devil’s Widow, as you can see from the poster above) to that list. The reason why this equally folksy curio is not nearly as well-known as any of its potential peers is because it’s not currently available for purchase on any format* - but just because it’s been exiled into obscurity, doesn’t mean it can’t boast a considerable amount of star quality. Perhaps the most notable thing about Tam-Lin at first glance is that it’s the sole directorial credit of legendary character actor Roddy McDowall, and a quick look over the cast list reveals a whole host of further household names, including Ava Gardner, Ian McShane, Stephanie Beacham, Joanna Lumley, Withnail & I creator Bruce Robinson and two Cusacks: Cyril and Sinead.

The plot is a loose and very modern reinterpretation of the Robert Burns standard The Ballad of Tam-Lin, which essentially tells the tale of a young man rescued from the spell of the fairy queen (stop laughing at the back!) by his true love. In this retelling that young man is Ian McShane, a jaded little hipster who is currently the favourite hanger-on in the court of manipulative millionaire Ava Gardner. Leaving Swinging London for a bit of a break, Ava and Co. take a trip across the border to Bonnie Scotland where the future Lovejoy falls for an innocent local lass (Beacham!), thus provoking a strange and startling act of revenge from his pissed off mistress.

The film Tam-Lin is most often compared to is The Wicker Man, and it’s not hard to see why – both share a Scottish location, a foreboding folk-rock soundtrack (in Tam-Lin’s case by Pentangle) and a raw, earthy sensuality. However, while The Wicker Man plays a commendably straight-hand and has aged all the better for it, McDowall’s film is rather more wilfully of its time, and a couple of cracking little psychedelic scenes notwithstanding, proceedings are still somewhat marred by a few silly, typically early-70s bumnotes (sample dialogue: “I’ll swallow anything, so long as it’s illegal!”). This probably leaves it feeling a little more like something from Hammer’s slightly seamy, boldly cheesy mid-to-late period (think The Satanic Rites of Dracula or Tigon’s Curse of the Crimson Altar – that studio also being responsible for Blood on Satan’s Claw), but while Tam-Lin may not match up to it’s more famous, similarly Caledonian Folk Horror cousin, it is still well worth seeking out… Something which may prove difficult until it finds its way on to DVD.

You can at least enjoy the terrific trailer below – lovingly put together by Days Are Numbers’ chums Filmbar 70!

*I hadn’t heard of Tam-Lin myself until Days Are Numbers number one fan (I think?!) Paul “Too Hot to Handle” Sandell told me about it. But now I’ve seen it and he hasn’t! LOL.

“In your head… In your head… Zombie… Zombie.” – Cranberries’ Woman, 1994.

And she was right, too. Zombies are in your head! And my head! In fact, zombies are in all of our heads! These heaving, crumbling, flesh-eating corpses are right up there with vampires, werewolves, and any other mankind-bothering monster you care to mention, at horror’s top-table and have loomed large in the imagination ever since they first stumbled onto the silver screen.

Indeed, just last week London’s very fine Roxy bar and film venue hosted a zombie film all-nighter, which serves as proof if it were needed that our gut-munching friends are as big a draw as ever. I wasn’t in attendance, I’m ashamed to say (and it wasn’t because I was too scared!!!), but comrade Aneet was and she says it was fantastic.

So while there’s still a zombie-buzz in the air, allow me to present to you Days Are Numbers list of The Top 10 Greatest Zombie Films of All-Time!!!

They’re coming to get you, erm, Barbara!

10. I Walked with a Zombie (Jacques Tourneur, 1943)

It’s debatable as to what the first actual zombie film was (there’s even a strong case for James Whale’s classic adaptation of Frankenstein), but almost certainly I Walked with a Zombie is commonly regarded as early Hollywood’s finest foray into the genre. It’s not hard to see why, as this tale of the bizarre voodoo practises taking place on a tropical island, and the effect they have on a colonial family, remains moody, atmospheric and strangely alluring even when viewed today. Director Jacques Tourneur has two other trail-blazing horror classics to his name (Cat People and Night of the Demon), as well as Robert Mitchum’s finest moment, Out of the Past.

9. Tombs of the Blind Dead (Amando de Ossorio, 1971)

Spain’s answer to George Romero’s ”Living Dead” series, this minor Euro-horror classic would spawn three sequels. The first instalment establishes the tale of a band of Satan-worshipping knights (they’re blind because crows pecked out their eyes after some angry serfs had them hung) who rise from the dead in modern-day Portugal to gobble all who get in their way. de Ossorio sets up some fine set-pieces riffing on the fact that the Blind Dead can’t actually see their prey, and gives us a number of pleasingly fantastical visual flourishes along the way, before a memorably mean-spirited finale shows us that Spanish horror could be just as nasty as it’s more notorious Italian cousin.

8. The Plague of the Zombies (John Gilling, 1966)

Two years prior to Night of the Living Dead, and good old Hammer Studios pretty much mint everything we’ve come to expect from a modern zombie film, by giving us a groaning, moaning swarm of the undead that slowly enshroud their victims in a truly terror-inducing way. Not that they ever get much credit for it, mind, as The Plague of the Zombies remains criminally underseen. Not just one of the best British zombie movies, but one of Hammer’s best efforts as well.

7. The Living Dead at The Manchester Morgue (Jorge Grau, 1974)

Not quite another British zombie film, despite what its title may lead you to think (this was actually an Italian/Spanish production). Equally misleading is the fact that it takes place in the Lake District, as opposed to Manchester, but rest assured this is a truly exemplary, not to mention intelligent, gut-munching classic. Cult icon Ray Lovelock (whose dubbing makes him sound strangely like Russell Brand) stars as a hitherto carefree hippy who cottons on to the fact that a new way of killing insects by radiation might just be causing the dead to rise from their graves and chow down on the living.

6. Deathdream (Bob Clark, 1972)

Since Hammer and Romero raised the bar, it’s not often that a modern zombie film will keep its number of ghouls down to single figures, but Deathdream (AKA Dead of Night) does just that. In fact, there’s only one zombie in the whole film; Andy, a young soldier believed to have been killed in Vietnam, who unexpectedly returns home to his grieving parents. But of course, all is not as it seems in this politically-charged and creepy take on the genre, and very soon local townsfolk begin to disappear as Andy grows ever more violent and unhinged.

5. The Grapes of Death (Jean Rollin, 1978)

We’ve already had Spain and Italy, and while the French never quite developed a knack for genre cinema to match their continental kin, director Jean Rollin is a largely underrated horror master, with this as his finest zombie moment. Surely one of cinemas greatest ever puns; The Grapes of Death tells the oh-so Gallic tale of a pesticide that is turning rural wine-drinkers into murderous monsters. The atmosphere remains intense and edgily surreal throughout, and Rollin really delivers on the shocks and set-pieces, all executed with a strangely nonchalant existentialist feel that perhaps only a Frenchman could muster. Magnifique! *

4. Zombie Flesh Eaters (Lucio Fulci, 1979)

Perhaps the most infamous zombie film of all time, this typically gruesome effort may also represent the peak of Lucio Fulci’s entire career. Without surrendering completely to hyperbole, Fulci is one of cinema’s great “mood-setters” and the atmosphere throughout Zombie Flesh Eaters is bleak, nightmarish, unsettlingly grimy and as unremittingly malevolent as the titular people quaffers depicted therein. Boasts not one, but three of the most enduring images of 70s Italian horror: a plague of zombies staggering across the Brooklyn Bridge, an eyeball bursting on an unfortunately placed splinter, and best of all, an atypically aquatic zombie attacking and killing a fucking shark!

3. Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things (Bob Clark, 1972)

Forget about Shaun of the Dead, y’all; this is the funniest “zom-com” ever made, and it’s pretty darn scary to boot. Future Deathdream director Bob Clark provides the thrills and chills with ease in this tale of a pretentious Artaud-style theatre troupe, gathering for a fake seance on a spooky Florida island. Naturally, this seance proves a little more potent than they initially expected, and the group – headed by one of the most hilarious horror film characters of all time, my unbelievably obnoxious namesake Alan - soon find themselves holed up in an old shack with the undead closing in. Oh, that Alan!

2. Night of the Living Dead (George A. Romero, 1968)

Perhaps the most famous zombie film of all time, the great George A. Romero not only gave that particular genre a shot in the arm with this still-disturbing classic, but he also gave horror in general a much-needed boot up the bum, too. Long-gone were the hammy theatrics of the old-school “drawing room” style that had dominated horror since cinema began, as Romero tells his tale of a group of survivors fighting for their lives in the midst of an undead uprising with grit and unflinching realism. The unexpectedly shocking and sour ending still manages to raise some bold questions about the nature of western society even today.

1. Dawn of the Dead (George A. Romero, 1978)

We all knew this was going to be number one, didn’t we? But then, how could it not be?

It may have taken Romero ten-years (via an ill-judged romantic comedy and some other very fine horror classics) to come up with a sequel to Night of the Living Dead, but golly, he had lost none of his verve, audacity or eye for cutting satire in the interim. Perhaps a few shades lighter in tone than it’s predeccessor, Dawn of the Dead depicts a world now fully overrun by the undead in which a group of survivors have fled the city, only to find themselves trapped in an out-of-town shopping mall. Romero uses this as the setting for a true horror classic which takes on themes of consumerism and cultural identity, just as readily as our plucky heroes take on those lumbering, stumbling, hungry and nasty, good-old zombies!

That’s all folks. But please allow me to eat… I mean “Pick” your brains and ask you all for your favourite zombie films of all time!

*Just quickly… The Grapes of Death is just one of several films that people often dispute is not a true zombie film. You see the “zombies” in it don’t actually die, but rather they simply drink wine that makes them go completely mental. Personally, I don’t think you necessarily have to be dead to qualify as a zombie – as long as you’re not of sound mind and you’re well up for attacking/eating people, you’re a zombie to me. See also some other notable entries into the genre: The Crazies (which I may well have included on this list where it not already so Romero-heavy), Nightmare City and 28 Days Later. Bizarrely, some people say the Blind Dead aren’t really zombies, but they’re the reanimated corpses of knights from donkeys’ years ago… How much more dead can you get? Peace.

Vincent Price is without doubt my absolute favourite of all the great horror actors. Lee, Cushing, even the earlier Lugosi and Karloff, none of the others can hold a spooky candle to him in my eyes.

It is now generally accepted, and quite rightfully, that Price gave his best ever dramatic performance in Michael Reeves’ classic folk horror shocker Witchfinder General, and no one can deny that it was under the direction of first William Castle and later Roger Corman that he truly became an icon. But as far as I’m concerned, Theatre of Blood is the definitive Vincent Price film. As accomplished an actor as he really was, there was always an element of sly, theatrical irony in the great man’s screen persona, and this 1973 classic really hones in on that and develops it into something that manages to be both oddly grandiose and truly menacing.

Theatre of Blood sees Price star as Edward Lionheart, an embittered Shakespearian actor who apparently commits suicide after a group of critics deny him a highly coveted award. However, as you may have already guessed, Lionheart survives and returns to exact gory revenge on his tormentors (who still believe he is dead) by murdering each one in a unique and elaborate fashion modelled on famous death scenes from a range of Shakespeare’s plays. Aided in this grisly endeavour by his own personal army of creepy, meths-swigging tramps, Lionheart seeks to destroy each of the critics who wronged him before the cops catch up and bring down the final curtain. 

As much as I absolutely love Theatre of Blood, I can never ignore the fact that it is a million times better than it really has any right to be. Not only is it as daft as a bag of snakes (especially the scene where Price dons the disguise of a flamboyant hairdresser and camps it up to the max) and as subtle as a sledgehammer (the trendy counter-culture actor that Lionheart loses out on the award to is called William WOODSTOCK and one of the doomed critics is called Hector SNIPE), but the entire film is also essentially just variations on the same scene played over and over again. However, it’s the wit and invention (Shakespeare fans will have a ball spotting the references) poured into each of these scenes that make Theatre of Blood such a treat, that and the fact that Price is clearly having the time of his life delivering knowingly unhinged horror acting with a side order of brilliantly performed bard.

Another fantastic thing about Theatre of Blood is the sheer number of first class British thesps it boasts in it’s cast; Jack “Bridge on the River Kwai” Hawkins, Ian “Get Carter” Hendry, Michael “Where Eagles Dare” Horden, Arthur “Captain Mainwaring” Lowe, Dennis “Kind Hearts and Coronets” Price, Diana “The Avengers” Rigg (who spends a good deal of the film disguised as Noel Edmonds),  Diana “British Marilyn Monroe” Dors, and best of all, Eric “Sykes” Sykes as a comically inept policeman. See how many you can spot in this ace trailer below!

The sophisticated gentlemen pictured above has nothing to do with this Frightenin’ 45 but I thought it was would be nice to have a picture of a skeleton going out on the town rather than some ‘orrible Halloween picture. Look! He’s got a top hat!

Anyway, here’s an oldie but a goodie from A Number Of Names that’s guaranteed to get your bones shakin’!

Released in 1981, Sharevari is a seminal Detroit/electro/italo/disco-not-disco (delete where applicable) oddity. Its freaky robotic rhythms and spooky synths still send dancers into raptures, as this famous video will testify…

Still a classic!

A Number Of Names – Sharevari (instrumental)

Why, what do we have here; a horror anthology film directed by three of the most famous continental film directors of the 50s and 60s?

Well, yes… And as you might well expect, Spirits of the Dead is a rather classy affair. Released as Histoires extraordinaires (or “Extraordinary Stories”) in France and based on three different Edgar Allan Poe tales, canny old American International Pictures picked this up for the UK and US, drafting in Vincent Price to read a poem over the beginning and end credits in order to cash in on their own Roger Corman-directed Poe films. Of course, Corman is surely cinema’s greatest ever intrepreter of the legendary horror bard, but perhaps unsurprisingly messrs Vadim, Malle, and Fellini don’t do too bad a job either.

Roger Vadim’s up first with ‘Metzengerstein’, a tale he fills with his trademark raunch and which stars Jane Fonda as a debauched medieval countess who meets a strange fate after murdering her noble cousin (played by brother Peter). Louis Malle’s take on ‘William Wilson’ follows and finds Alain Delon on superbly sinister form as a brutal soldier haunted by his do-gooder doppelganger, who at one point stops him from administering a good whipping to none other than Brigitte Bardot! The absolute cherry on top, however, is Fellini’s bonkers and incredibly spooky ‘Toby Dammit’ (liberally adapted from the Poe story ‘Never Bet the Devil Your Head’) in which Terence Stamp gives a breathtakingly whacked-out performance as a doomed English actor, losing his marbles and stalked by the devil in a post-apocalyptic Rome.

While Vadim and Malle both weigh in with very fine contributions, it’s almost impossible to overstate just how much Fellini’s instalment really makes Spirits of the Dead worth seeking out. With his tremendous knack for visual flair and a well-honed eye for the bizarre and grotesque, the great Italian auteur always had it in him to make a great horror film and here it is, if only in miniature. The unforgettably creepy long-haired little girl/devil incarnate that drives Stamp to a sticky end at the film’s conclusion deserves special mention, not only as a fantastic visual motif, but also as proof that Spirits of the Dead, for all its lofty talent and sumptuous production values, still has the power to provide a good scare.

Here is the French trailer for Spirits of the Dead, and it’s one of my all-time faves! Keep your eyes peeled for that spooky little girl (and a very rude shot of Jane Fonda riding a horse at the beginning) and listen out for Nino Rota’s fab jazzy score.

Did you ever hear about that American Film Institute poll where they voted the Nazis the best movie villains in the history of film? Well, as ever-so-slightly dubious as that is, they’ve sort of got a point…

I wonder how many of you will feel a little burst of excitement when I tell you that the villain in The Flesh Eaters is a Nazi scientist working on a terrifying new biological weapon in his Long Island hideaway? Aneet, for one! It’s just one of the many kooky little details that make this ever growing in stature cult classic such a fascinating and colourful watch. Essentially, with its combination of playful B-movie theatrics and ahead-of-it’s-time gore The Flesh Eaters is Roger Corman-meets-Herschell Gordon Lewis, and just as good as that sounds!

It all kicks off when a prissy actress hires a beefcake pilot to fly her through a dangerous storm to an important acting gig. They’re forced to make an emergency landing, of course, and it just so happens to be on the very same island where our Nazi friend is beavering away, gearing up for world domination by producing a strain of aquatic parasite that nibble flesh clean off the bone. Together this mismatched couple conspire to thwart the dastardly doc, building up to a quite literally “shocking” climax.

The Flesh Eaters is notable for two things, really; one is the fact that it’s death sequences are so gruesome and bloody and the other is that it is so bloody good. For a film that was quite obviously made for peanuts it not only boasts special effects that are still remarkably eye-catching and effective, but it is also superbly directed (sadly Jack Curtis never made anything else) and tightly written. The acting plaudits are claimed by Martin Kolseck as the nasty Nazi, naturally enough, and the German-born actor enjoyed a long career portraying similar types, even appearing as Joseph Goebbels in five different films!

Below is a great trailer for The Flesh Eaters which Jack Curtis narrates himself, thoughtfully giving a ten second countdown for the squeamish!