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House of 1,000 Corpses
review by
KJ Doughton, 18 April 2003
Say what you will about
singer-cum-director Rob Zombie, but one thing is indisputable. This
hairy, dread-locked, cartoon-scribbling metalmeister, a favorite
with bikers, headbangers, and goths, definitely knows his horror
movies. For House of 1,000 Corpses, Zombie pays homage to
those beloved seventies drive-in shockers that peaked with Texas
Chainsaw Massacre before they were later recycled, lampooned,
and repackaged with slick marketing as Scream, Blair Witch
Project, and other pretenders to the throne of gut-bucket, low
brow horror.
A pet project that Zombie nurtured
like a paternal overseer until its production wrapped in 2001 (it
was then hurled between reluctant studios like a hot potato until
Lion’s Gate Films released it), House of 1,000 Corpses is
like one of the human skin-suits glimpsed in Silence of the Lambs.
Taking an eyeball from this film, and a severed arm from that one,
this all-too-familiar cinematic carcass is lovingly sewn from bits
and pieces of nearly every grade-B gore classic ever to splatter the
screen.
For instance, the movie opens as
bubbly friends Jerry, Denise, Bill, and Mary pull into a seedy gas
station helmed by Captain Spalding (Sid Haig). A grotesque, roadside
carny, he decorates his macabre filling stop with mounted animal
heads, freaks of nature (the fish-man, anyone?), and musty,
dust-coated skeletons. Decked out in garish pancake makeup and a
red, white, and blue vaudeville suit, Spalding looks like a
political campaigner gone frighteningly round the bend. Oh – and did
I mention that this clown-faced, pot-bellied Okie also markets a
special blend of fried chicken? Right away, images of Motel Hell,
Psycho, Rocky Horror Picture Show, and Funhouse come to mind.
Later, when the four doomed
travelers are abducted by a leering family of rotten-toothed,
white-trash scuzzballs, things veer into serious Texas Chainsaw…
territory. Or is this Deliverance? Or perhaps Mother’s
Day? Uh, Last House on the Left?
What comes next is a nonstop
smorgasbord of unpleasant torment and disturbing, decaying imagery.
Zombie’s film is in a different world from the humor-heavy,
effects-laden energies spurting from the minds of directors Stuart
Gordon (Re-Animator, From Beyond), Sam Raimi (Evil Dead-
and later, Spider Man) and Peter Jackson (whose pre-Lord
of the Rings horror classics included Dead Alive and
Bad Taste). House of 1,000 Corpses has its bloody scenes,
but the imagery is more doomy than graphic. In this sense, its
aesthetic is more in line with the early works of Wes Craven (Last
House on the Left) and Tobe Hooper, whose Texas Chainsaw…
set the standard. Looking back, Hooper’s milestone had very little
blood. Its power was conjured forth by quick-cuts to a clucking
chicken, a dilating pupil, or a demented old man trying to clutch a
sledgehammer.
Meanwhile, the …Corpses cast
is a casket-full of seventies icons. Karen Black, the busty,
cross-eyed star of Capricorn One and In Praise of Older
Women, appears as a slutty matriarch named Mother Firefly. In
need of some serious dental work, you can almost smell the halitosis
emanating from her vile mouth.
House of 1,000 Corpses is
one of those genre films that seem impervious to reviews. If you’re
into the particular types of dingy, dank depths that Zombie prefers
to inhabit, this unashamed genre flick will probably satiate such
cravings. If you’re of more delicate sensibilities – well, the title
alone will probably be enough to scare you off. |
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