1981. A banner year for horror movies. Evil Dead, Friday The 13th Part II, Ghost Story, The Howling, Possession, Scanners. Okay, okay, it was also the year of, well, Evilspeak, Galaxy Of Terror, Inseminoid, and Piranha II: The Spawing.
Alright, truth be told, I kinda love Galaxy Of Terror, but we’ll discuss that some other time.
Anyway, somewhere between the high-water mark of, say, An American Werewolf In London and the stagnant bog of Porno Holocaust sits Fear No Evil.
Possession/demons loosed from hell/human embodiment of Lucifer angles have never done a whole hell of a lot for me in general, but what sixteen-year-old nerd doesn’t relish a good tale of wreaking havoc on the student body?
Yes, I said “hell of a lot,” what of it?
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This post is part of The Great Villain Blogathon 2016 hosted by Speakeasy, Silver Screenings, and Shadows And Satin. Thanks to Kristina, Ruth, and Karen for having me!
There was a time during my misspent delusional early adolescence in the equally delusional early 80s when I wanted to play the organ.
It was because of Vincent Price. I’d seen The Abominable Dr. Phibes a few times throughout the 70s and 80s and had become a big Vincent Price fan long before that, but, man, was Dr. Anton Phibes ever it.
S.P.E.C.T.R.E. Hydra. T.H.R.U.S.H.– rank amateurs next to Anton Phibes. You have to go to Murphy and Sapir’s Destroyer series, also in the 70s, to find villains operating at this level of sinister creativity.
Phibes’s appeal, aside from Vincent Damn Price, stems from two characteristics. First is his motivation. Like some camped up cross between the Phantom Of The Opera and Dr. Orloff, everything Phibes does is for love.
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(Note: Since this post is been up for a while, and the trailers were making the page load slowly, I’ve taken them out and substituted links to them. Thank you, The Management)
Ah previews, I love you so.
Especially for horror movies.
In high school, I briefly dated a girl who was never on time for anything. The first time we went to the movies, we missed the previews. I was willing to overlook this, assuming it was an isolated incident.
The second time, I pointed out how I love previews. Surely she would get the hint. This was an unwise assumption.
The third time she was in the process of making us late, I got noticeably frustrated. On the way to the theater, she said, “You’re only missing the stupid previews.”
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