In this scene from the classic Ed Wood film, Plan 9 From Outer Space, Eros the Alien (Dudley Manlove) explains that he and his comrades had no choice but to invade Earth and raise the dead because mankind’s scientists have created …. SOLARMITE!
What is Solarmite?
Don’t worry, Eros will explain it to us and it will all make total sense….
4 Shots From 4 Films is just what it says it is, 4 shots from 4 of our favorite films. As opposed to the reviews and recaps that we usually post, 4 Shots From 4 Films lets the visuals do the talking!
Today, on what would have been his 102nd birthday, we take time to honor Edward D. Wood, Jr.
4 Shots From From 4 Ed Wood Films
Bride of The Monster (1955, dir by Edward D. Wood, Jr., DP: Ted Allan and William Thompson)
Plan 9 From Outer Space (1957, dir by Edward D. Wood, Jr., DP: William C. Thompson)
The Sinister Urge (1960, dir by Edward D. Wood, Jr., DP: William C. Thompson)
Necromania (1971, dir by Edward D. Wood, Jr.)
Since today would have been the 102nd birthday of director Edward D. Wood, Jr., it seems appropriate to dedicate this week’s edition of Lisa Marie’s Favorite Grindhouse Trailers to him!
Below …. can you handle six trailers for six Ed Wood films!?
Watch, if you dare!
2. Jail Bait (1954)
3. Bride of the Monster (1955)
4. Plan 9 From Outer Space (1957)
5. Night of the Ghouls (1958)
6. The Sinister Urge (1960)
Though the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences claim that the Oscars honor the best of the year, we all know that there are always worthy films and performances that end up getting overlooked. Sometimes, it’s because the competition too fierce. Sometimes, it’s because the film itself was too controversial. Often, it’s just a case of a film’s quality not being fully recognized until years after its initial released. This series of reviews takes a look at the films and performances that should have been nominated but were, for whatever reason, overlooked. These are the Unnominated.
Why am I talking about 1979’s The Warriors in October?
No, it’s not a traditional horror movie, even though the film does have some creepy moments and it features David Patrick Kelly playing one of the most memorable psychos in film history. At heart, it’s a film about a group of youngish gang members trying to survive the night and reach safety. (The characters are all meant to be teenagers, though that can be hard to remember when two of the film’s main characters are played by Michael Beck and James Remar, both of whom were close to 30 when the film was made.) The other gangs that the Warriors mostly either battle or escape from often feel as if they’ve stepped out of a nightmare. Everyone remembers the Baseball Furies because, as a gang, they were both intimidating and ludicrous at the same time. Myself, I was freaked out by the skinheads who drove around New York in a bus. The gang led by the guy on roller skates was pretty frightening as well. One thing about the rival gang members is that, with the exception of Luther, few of them speak. Instead, they simply show up and attack.
The Warriors (1979, directed by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
The Warriors is a surreal film, which is not surprising when you consider that it was written by Walter Hill. The film takes place almost entirely at night and the streets of New York are eerily empty. Watching the film, I was reminded of the dying Paris from Jean Rollin’s Night of the Hunted and Dario Argento’s claim that Tenebrae was meant to take place in a future where there were far fewer people on the planet. At the same time, there are hints of the real world littered throughout the film. Four teenagers who are obviously heading home from prom find themselves on a train, sitting across from a bruised Swan (Michael Beck) and Mercy (Deborah Van Valkenburgh). Occasionally, we see people in bars or just trying to get back to their own homes. The subway stations are crawling with cops, one of whom throws Fox (Thomas G. Waites) in front of a moving train. Throughout the film, the members of the Warriors keep count of who is still with them on their journey to Coney Island, but no one mentions Fox after his sudden death. One could argue that they don’t want to think about how easily things could go wrong for them. They’re in a fantasy world where there are no consequences. Of course, a more likely reason is because Fox’s death was a last-minute development that was a result of actor Waites proving to be difficult to work with.
The Warriors (1979, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
Ultimately, The Warriors is a film for Halloween because it’s a film about costumes. The members of each gang are defined by what they wear. Some of them dress up. Some of them dress like they’re doing some sort of Bruce Springsteen-style working-class cosplay. There’s even a group of mimes who wear top hats. I feel bad for any neighborhood that is weak enough to be taken over by mimes. The film’s first great set piece—the meeting in the park—is rightly remembered for Roger Hill’s charismatic performance as Cyrus. (“Can you dig it!?”) But it also deserves to be remembered for the hundreds of extras, all of whom are wearing their costumes and mixing together. That’s the respect that Cyrus commands. The mimes and the pimps and the skinheads and the roller skaters are all willing to come together for Cyrus. And when Luther assassinates Cyrus and then blames the Warriors, the gangs of the city are prepared to destroy the gang of Coney Island.
The Warriors (1979, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
It’s a great and exciting film that has stood the test of time. It’s not a surprise that it wasn’t Oscar-nominated. The film was controversial when it was released, with some claiming that it glorified gang life and that it promoted violence. Beyond that, the film is unapologetically pulpy. Walter Hill was and is a brilliant genre filmmaker and he’s never apologized for that fact. His films were never obvious award bait. That said, it does seem a shame that The Warriors didn’t even get a nomination for its propulsive score. The film’s cinematography turned a familiar city into an alien landscape and the editing kept viewers on the edge of their seats. It’s rare to see a film that captures the feeling of the world closing in on a group of people as well as The Warriors does. As far as the acting goes, the majority of the cast was inexperienced and there were more than a few times when that inexperience came through. It’s a film that’s more about visual style than deep performances. That said, Michael Beck was likable and had the right look to be a leader and Hill was very smart in how he framed him on screen. James Remar also did a good job as Ajax, playing him as being strong-willed and obnoxious and a bit too obsessed with proving his masculinity but also fiercely loyal to his gang. (As played by Remar, Ajax was the only Warrior who truly seemed like he could handle himself in a fight.) Deborah Van Valkenburgh was effective in an underwritten role. If anyone from the cast deserved a nomination, it was probably David Patrick Kelly. “Warriors, come out to play!” Kelly was a force of pure chaos. In the end, the big Oscar winner of 1979 was Kramer vs. Kramer, a film that might as well have taken place on a different planet from The Warriors.
If I may close on a personal note, I was feeling pretty sick last Thursday. I hadn’t gotten much sleep. I was stressed about getting my Horrorthon reviews written. I had given myself a headache. But then, I watched The Warriors and I got so sucked into its world (despite the fact that I had already watched the film more than a few times) that I forgot that I wasn’t feeling well. My headache went away. By the time the film ended, I was feeling a hundred times better.
Nominated or not, that’s the power of a good movie.
The Warriors (1979, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
Previous Entries In The Unnominated:
by John Newton Howitt
This frightening cover is from 1936.
To quote Alice Cooper himself:
“This is my tip-of-the-hat to early Rolling Stones. Like in 1964/65 when their songs were very Chuck Berry orientated. They just feel so good, in the pocket. This song was begging to be in the live show. We’ve done it in four different continents now and no one had ever heard it. By the second chorus, the whole audience is singing ‘I’ll Bite Your Face Off.’ It’s the perfect little 3 minute hit single.”
I’ll Bite Your Face Off was the first single to be released off Welcome 2 My Nightmare, Alice Cooper’s 26th studio album and a follow-up to Cooper’s 1975 album, Welcome To My Nightmare. Each song represents a different aspect of a bad dream. In I’ll Bite Your Face Off, Alice dreams about being introduced to the devil.
The video was filmed at several different live venues. One of these performances was at the 100 Club in London, where actor Johnny Depp joined the band on guitar.
Enjoy!
The Convent of Hell is the kind of guilty pleasure that makes you admire the artwork while hoping nobody walks in and asks what you’re reading. Written by Ricardo Barreiro and illustrated by Ignacio Noé, it feels like what would happen if European exploitation films of the 1970s collectively decided they weren’t being exploitative or extreme enough. Whatever restraint those movies occasionally exercised gets thrown out the convent window, leaving a delirious collision of religious imagery, explicit adult material, and grotesque supernatural horror. It is definitely not safe for work, and that warning covers considerably more than nudity. Still, beneath the shock tactics sits an impressive piece of visual storytelling, presented with more artistic conviction than its premise might suggest.
The setup is wonderfully suited to this kind of lurid entertainment. An isolated Spanish convent conceals a mysterious door in its basement, and investigating what lies behind it proves spectacularly unwise. Religious discipline already exists alongside cruelty, repression, and compromised authority before the supernatural threat fully emerges. That matters because the horror does not simply invade an otherwise innocent sanctuary. It finds an institution with weaknesses already built into its foundations. The Mother Superior’s fascination with the forbidden doorway turns curiosity into catastrophe, giving the story a clear dramatic engine even when its increasingly outrageous content threatens to take over completely. You know opening that door is a terrible idea, but watching the inevitable disaster unfold is part of the appeal.
Noé’s artwork is the biggest reason the book rises above being a disposable exercise in provocation. His painted imagery gives the convent a physical presence that makes its corruption feel unusually tangible. The building looks oppressive rather than comforting, with an atmosphere of isolation that establishes unease before the demonic spectacle arrives. There is a strong contrast between the solidity of the setting and the impossible things that eventually occupy it. Instead of treating the backgrounds as empty space between bodies, Noé uses the environment to sustain the mood. The result is a comic whose visual atmosphere remains compelling even when the narrative is operating at its most ridiculous. You can question the taste involved while still admiring the craftsmanship.
That craftsmanship also helps the horror retain some genuine ugliness. The demonic presence is not simply a glamorous fantasy figure with a few sinister accessories. Its animalistic design and exaggerated scale make it feel invasive, alien, and fundamentally wrong within the convent’s enclosed world. This is important because the book constantly moves between erotic spectacle and disgust, sometimes refusing to give the reader a comfortable distinction between them. Noé makes that collision visually forceful. The imagery can be excessive, but it rarely feels timid or accidentally awkward. Whether a particular page fascinates or repels you, there is usually little doubt that the artist knows exactly what kind of reaction he is trying to provoke.
Barreiro’s writing deserves some credit for giving the excess a framework. The discovery of the door, the growing mystery surrounding it, and the escalation into outright supernatural disaster create a recognizable progression rather than a completely shapeless collection of adult scenes. There is anticipation, a threshold being crossed, and a widening sense of consequences. The opening stretch gives the setting time to acquire some menace, which makes the later chaos feel like a release of pressure rather than an arbitrary change of subject. That does not mean the book becomes a deeply layered psychological drama. It simply means its exploitation elements benefit from actual pacing, and pacing makes a considerable difference when the premise is this aggressively overblown.
The characters are less convincing as complicated individuals than as participants in a nightmare about repression and corrupted power. The Mother Superior is the most important figure because her authority and transgression become inseparable, but the book is not especially interested in patiently exploring everyone’s interior life. Its religious imagery supplies an immediate vocabulary of purity, temptation, punishment, and desecration, then twists those ideas into spectacle. There is potential for a sharper critique of institutional hypocrisy here, yet the comic generally prefers another outrageous escalation to a sustained argument. That limitation is worth acknowledging. A reader looking for an insightful examination of faith or convent life will probably find the book much thinner than its elaborate artwork initially promises.
The biggest obstacle, however, is not the thin characterization. It is the sexual violence. Calling this a cheeky naughty-nuns comic would badly undersell how cruel and confrontational parts of it become. Its explicit content includes nonconsensual acts, so the guilty-pleasure label needs a serious qualification: the pleasure comes from the feverish horror, visual skill, and sheer audacity, not from pretending the disturbing material is harmless. For some readers, that combination will be an immediate dealbreaker, and understandably so. Even readers comfortable with extreme horror may find the balance between eroticism and brutality unpleasant rather than entertaining. This is a book whose content warnings are genuinely useful, not merely promotional shorthand for something mildly scandalous.
What ultimately makes The Convent of Hell memorable is the mismatch between its disreputable subject matter and its committed execution. It has the instincts of a midnight exploitation feature, but Noé gives those instincts a richly realized visual identity, while Barreiro supplies enough structure to keep the descent into chaos moving. It is excessive, uncomfortable, occasionally absurd, and unmistakably adults-only. As a guilty pleasure for readers who can tolerate its extreme content, it delivers a distinctive collision of supernatural horror and sacrilegious spectacle. As a recommendation for the average graphic-novel reader, it comes with enormous reservations. The artistry is real; so are the reasons to leave it on the shelf.
Previous Guilty Pleasures
