Hey! Sorry for lack of SOTD action, we’ve been incredibly busy, but don’t worry, as we’re back with a bang (or bite??!) with Lalo Schifrin’s cult classic ‘Jaws’.

In 1976, Schifrin released the album Black Widow,  a smooth instrumental excursion that combined the musical dexterity of jazz with the dance-friendly rhythms of disco. Schifrin worked with session legends John Tropea, Anthony Newmark and Anthony Jackson. Also, the record was produced by Creed Taylor. With such a stellar jazz line-up, it was no wonder that it appalled jazz purists. Anyway, the track it self is a jarring, hypnotic, hard edged disco groover. The track is so funky and imaginative, it makes you forget the John Williams’ original and that bloody shark. Nice one Lalo! So, enjoy 6 and bit minutes of funky fishy fun.

Lalo Schifrin – Jaws

Lalo Schifrin – Jaws

“… It’s Halloween. It’s time for scares. It’s time for screams. It’s Halloween It’s Halloween. It’s Halloween” – So sang the best-worst band of all time, The Shaggs. And today, at least, they’re absolutely spot on.

And what better way could there possibly be to commemorate the scariest, spookiest, most frightening-est day of the year than dropping by Days Are Numbers and checking out part one of our list of the 13 greatest horror films of all time (according to me, anyway). “But why 13 horror films?” I can hear you scream, as if you were being assailed by a knife-wielding escapee from the local mental home. Well, 13 is a fittingly evil number is it not? The only other number that sprang to mind was 666, and 666 horror films might be a stretch (even for Days Are Numbers), so 13 it is! Part two will appear on Sunday, so you can enjoy even more chills under the dark cloud of a post-Halloween hangover… IF YOU’RE STILL ALIVE!!!

This isn’t an easy list for me to compile as horror has always been my favourite genre by far. Perversely, perhaps, a list of my favourite horror films is almost like an alternative favourite films list for me as I don’t really like to mix them up with my other favourite films. They’re not like the other films, those other horror films. I suppose I look for different things from horror films, namely to be at least a bit scared.

So, grab a pillow or a loved one for comfort and feast your increasingly dilated eyeballs (because of fear, not drugs, kids) on the diabolical (evil, not shit) offerings below… AAARRRGGGHHH!!! etc.

A Bucket of Blood (1959)

What better way to kick-off than with a Roger Corman classic? My only shame is that it’s taken so long for me to get one of the schlock overlord’s mini-masterpieces on here. Furthermore, what better way to begin than with a bit of horror-comedy? Lulling you into a false sense of security before the big scares begin. That’s not to say A Bucket of Blood isn’t deliciously dark, it just so happens that it’s shot through with a generous dose of Corman’s trademark mischievous humour.

The plot concerns “busboy” (still not sure what that means) Walter Paisley who is the source of much sarcasm and mockery among the ultra-cliched hipsters who frequent the cafe in which he works. Trying, and failing, to become a sculptor to impress this arty bunch, Walter’s social standing suddenly changes after he accidentally entombs a cat in his moulding clay. Presenting it to the beatniks the following day, he is unexpectedly championed, and it isn’t long before the desperate and increasingly unhinged Walter starts looking for other subjects to “cover”. Volunteers to be more “death” model than “life” model. What I’m trying to say is; he kills people, covers them with clay, and presents them to his adoring crowd as sculptures. But how long before his gruesome secret is discovered?

Only a small handful of Roger Corman’s many films ever came without at least a dollop of humour, and A Bucket of Blood is perhaps his funniest effort. I prefer it to the later, much more famous The Little Shop of Horrors. Dick Miller (AKA Gremlins’ Mr Futterman) is excellent as the bumptious and deranged Paisley, and Corman wrings plenty of laughs out of the beatnik supporting cast (sample dialogue: “Don’t ask me, man, I’m too faaarrr out”). The plot is a real cracker, and typical of the sort of snappy, inventive fare that Corman could famously reel off on a miniscule budget in his pomp. You could do worse this Halloween than PICK the Bucket.

Alice, Sweet Alice (1977)

Unfairly, barely known, this one. But, mark my words, this is absolutely one of the best of the American slasher films of the late 70s/early 80s (trailing behind only Halloween, which it predates). And it’s certainly one of the most bizarre.

Originally released as Communion (a title which much better suits it), Alice, Sweet Alice tells the tale of a series of mysterious and violent murders which engulf the lives of a dysfunctional Catholic family in the early 60s. Unloved and attention-seeking, Alice scares and taunts her younger sister Karen, who is about to take her first communion. Before she does, however, she is brutally murdered and her body burnt in the very church where the ceremony is due to take place. All clues seemingly lead to young, unhappy Alice being the culprit, but when the bodies begin to mount, the girl’s parents suspect a much greater force could be responsible…

To reveal more would mean to give too much away, but all you need to know is that Alice, Sweet Alice is both unspeakably macabre and utterly memorable. Perfectly balancing the brutal with the surreal, it’s just a shame that director Alfred Sole never turned in anything else of note. The final sequence alone is an unmissable masterclass in simple, ingenuous film directing. I guarantee it’ll have you leaping out of your seat. Alice, Sweet Alice also runs off with the prize for the eeriest, creepiest title sequence of all time. A young girl praying in her communion dress, clutching a crucifix. She slowly, threateningly raises said crucifix to reveal it is, in fact, a knife. It sets the tone perfectly for this shocking and intelligent masterpiece.

An American Werewolf in London (1981)

“I used to be a werewolf, but I’m alright NOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!!!!” I loved that joke when I was about, er, five. But what is it about werewolves and humour complimenting each other so well? Just think about how many werewolf-based horror-comedies there are; The Werewolf of Washington, Full Moon High, Teen Wolf, Teen Wolf Too, Wolf (the one with Jack Nicholson in, you know). Loads of ‘em. Perhaps it’s the irresistible appeal of the notion that a normal can become a hairy, slobbering maniac. Like Scottish people. An American Werewolf in London is by far the best of the lot, though. Even if it doesn’t feature a high-octane basketball sequence a la Teen Wolf.

Directed by jolly Hollywood big-shot John Landis (who, of course, later presided over another helping of werewolf-based tomfoolery for Michael Jackson, in his Thriller video), An American Werewolf in London concerns a pair of American students, backpacking across the winding, windy moors of Northern England. After one of them is attacked, and killed, by a strange, hairy beast, the other is taken to London to recover from the trauma. Following a visit from his dead friend (now a rapidly decomposing apparition) he learns that, having been bitten on the same night by what was actually a werewolf, he too will become a werewolf. An American werewolf. In London.

As witty as it is violent (which is very, the final scene is the most unrelenting display of carnage ever filmed in Picadilly Circus), An American Werewolf in London boasts one of the most celebrated, not to mention shocking, sequences in horror history. Anyone familiar with werewolf films of the classic Hollywood horror era will know that you never, ever see the victim transform into the werewolf onscreen. He normally just falls behind a sofa or something, and comes back up all hairy. Not here, he don’t. Landis unflinchingly presents the transformation for us in its gruesome entirety. The special effects on display are now over twenty-five years-old, but they’re still absolutely mesmerising, and a million times better than that CGI muck. And I still can’t listen to ‘Bad Moon Rising’ by Creedence Clearwater Revival without experiencing a shudder or too.

Blue Sunshine (1976)

Another tragically overlooked cracker, with perhaps the most offbeat premise on the list. Not to be recommended to anyone concerened about the effects that recreational drug use may have on their health in the future, Blue Sunshine is centred around a group of young professionals who gorged themselves silly on a particular strain of LSD, the Blue Sunshine of the title, back when they were college students in the swinging 60s. Ten years on and the acid has been lying dormant in their system, but is about to take effect again, only this time it’s going to turn them all into bald, irritable, homicidal maniacs!

If you’ve ever longed for a tongue-in-cheek, yet savage and unsettling, quasi-zombie romp set to an eerie, discordant soundtrack, but with some thumping red hot disco action thrown in, then Blue Sunshine is the film you’ve been waiting for. The greatest achievement of a director who I can confidently describe as a neglected horror genius, Jeff Lieberman’s other early horror efforts, Squirm and Just Before Dawn, are also worth checking out. But, for anyone who’s ever suffered from a nightmarish come down of one kind or another, Blue Sunshine might just be enough to have you freaking out and vowing to just say “NO” in future.

The Brood (1979)

My favourite David Cronenberg (or David Stella Artois, as I sometimes like to call him) film, and the scariest film on the list, I reckon. I remember when this got it’s UK TV premier on Channel 4 in the late 90s, and before they screened it, they put up one of those warning screen thingy’s. You know, the one’s that usually say something along the lines of “Viewer discretion is advised due to scenes of a violent nature” or “The following broadcast features some sexually explicit sequences”. That sort of thing. Except for The Brood it read “Warning is advised as the following film contains scenes of extreme horror”. Wow. “Extreme horror”. What higher recommendation could there be?

The Brood stars Oliver Reed (oh yes) as a crackpot psychotherapist who has developed a radical new technique of physical therapy in which he urges his patients to give there psychological torment physical form, as scars, bruises, cuts or growths, which can then be treated. However, the treatment goes awry when one of his patients begins to give birth to vicious little mutants who begin to attack and kill those who have wronged her in the past, and go after her estranged husband and their terrified daugter.

An intelligent and, as previously acknowledged, incredibly terrifying horror film, The Brood features several scenes of brain-jolting intensity. The stand-out for me being when a litter of the malformed, malevolent munchkins invade a kindergarten to abduct Ollie’s patient’s human daughter, which is really not for the faint-hearted. Better even than Scanners and Shivers, The Brood is easily David Cronenberg’s finest hour (and one of horror’s, in general), and the moment he most brilliantly, vividly and violently encapsulated his pioneering concept of ”the body horror”. He would continue to plough this field for a further ten years, with mixed results (Dead Ringers = good, Videodrome = bad), before becoming a sort of Guardian-class Guy Ritchie (A History of Violence, Eastern Promises). But for The Brood, alone, let’s raise a Kronenburg to David.

Halloween (1978)

But, of course! How could I leave this one out? Not only is it the second most commercially successful film on the list (the first is coming up), and one of the most famous horror films of all time, but it’s also called Halloween, for goodness sake!

Often imitated, never, ever bettered, Halloween is the Citizen Kane of slasher films. It’s amazing to think that, until John Carpenter came along, it hadn’t occured to anyone to set a horror film on Halloween. Bob Clark came close with his 1974 slasher (that’s right, four years before Halloween, and possibly the first bona fide slasher) Black Christmas, but Christmas isn’t as scary as Halloween, is it? Part of the genius of Halloween is it’s almost morbid simplicity. The film is centred around Michael Myers who, having stabbed his teenage sister to death on Halloween night, 1963, escapes from an asylum over a decade later, to set about murdering even more teenagers who, this time, aren’t necessarily related to him (I went to school with a lad called Michael Myers. He was very nice, though). John Carpenter said recently that he regrets licensing the Halloween sequels (eight, count them), since they diminish the simple power of the original. The idea that one night a killer breaks lose and kills loads of people. And that’s it. I think old John might be being a bit hard on himself there, as most people choose to ignore the rubbish sequels, anyway. However, his nutshell synopsis is a tribute and a testament to the dark, spellbinding power of Halloween the film, and it remains perfect viewing for Halloween the day.

Jaws (1975)

Der-der… Der-der… Der-der… etc. Looming as large as the great white shark of the title (I’m not the only one who calls it “Jaws” am I? As in, “I love that bit where Jaws bites that man’s leg off”) in all of our imaginations, and a truly terrifying experience the first time you see it, what can I possibly say about Jaws that hasn’t been said already?

Well, what I can tell you is that I lived by the sea when I was little and Jaws proper shit me up the first time I saw it. I wouldn’t put a toe in the ocean for months after, and would experience a massive panic attack every time even a piece of seaweed floated towards me when I eventually got my balls back. Despite all this acquatic anxeity, Jaws has always been one of my favourite films. I love it, it’s fucking ace. Imagine my terrified delight, then, when word got around that a stupendously unique and imaginitive screening of Jaws was touring the North Antrim coast in the early 1990s.

Check this out; the idea, thought up by a diabolical genius of an entrepreuner and showman, no doubt, was that he would project Jaws on the back of a boat docked in a harbour. The screening would take place at midnight and the plucky patrons would watch the film (fucking Jaws, mind) floating around the harbour in rubber rings, their petrified, naked legs floating helplessly in the dark, dangerous waters beneath. Isn’t that the best thing you’ve ever heard of?!? My heart was pumping with excitement at the time, and I made plans with my bravest friends to attend, even though I knew I’d be too crapping myself to enjoy it one bit. Unfortunately, as I was a mere twelve-years-old at the time, my bloody mother forbid me to go. Damn you, mummy, I’ll never forgive you. I’ve never heard of such a screening subsequently, but as I am now back by the sea (in sunny Brighton), I might yet mount one myself. Or write to Jim’ll Fix-It. Jaws’ll Fix-It. Ahem.

Anyway, despite being directed by sentimental hack and capitalist shit extraordinaire Steven Spielberg, Jaws is taut, nautical nastiness, and a brilliantly put together film, thanks in no small part to film editing genius Verna Fields. It also boasts John Williams legendary, astonishingly effective and evocative score.

Der-der… Der-der… Indeed.

Well, that’s yer lot for tonight, come back on Sunday to find out the rest of our 13 Greatest Horror Films of All Time (NOT hosted by Jimmy Car). For tonight, go and help yourself to some punch, get your costume on, and get the monkey nuts ready for the young hoodlums that are no doubt about to descend on your doorstep.

And please, don’t have nightmares…