Review #1,395: 'Monkey Shines' (1988)

Only the very best directors can take a flimsy story and make the most out of it, and this is precisely the case with Monkey Shines, adapted by George A. Romero from the novel by Michael Stewart. Of course, Romero is best known for Night of the Living Dead and it's spectacularly gory follow-up Dawn of the Dead, but Monkey Shines actually takes a surprisingly careful, reserved approach to this tale of a killer monkey, and takes the time to slowly develop the relationship between the central character and his simian helper. The film begins with Allan, played by Jason Beghe, a former track champion who clearly takes his workout routines incredibly seriously, packing his back pack with rocks and leaving the house for a morning jog with the sun barely risen. His active lifestyle is quickly cut short when he is hit by a bus, and wakes up days later as a quadriplegic.

When he returns home assisted by a mouth-operated wheelchair, his friends and family have all gathered to welcome him but nothing will ever be the same again. His shallow girlfriend Linda (Janine Turner), who fears her life will now be dominated by looking after her partner, has shacked up with Allan's unbearably smug surgeon Dr. Wiseman (Stanley Tucci with a head of hair), and his scientist best friend Geoffrey Fisher (John Pankow) is a junkie who shows up late for the welcome party. But Fisher, who has been experimenting on Capuchins by injecting them with human brain tissue, may have the solution to Allan's problems. After consulting with Melanie Parker (Kate McNeil) - an expert in assigning quadriplegics with monkey helpers - Fisher supplies Allan with his star pupil, 'Ella' (who is actually voiced by Frank Welker). The two hit it off immediately, and the bond between them becomes so strong that Ella can seemingly predict Allan's needs before he even asks (or points his laser pen).

Ella doesn't solve all of Allan's problems however, and Allan still vents his frustration at his uncaring nurse and her annoying bird, as well as his overbearing mother (Joyce Van Patten), who insists on sticking her nose in where it's not wanted. What follows would sound preposterous on paper, but Romero keeps the story engrossing and oddly believable by refusing to give into excess. The delightful exploding heads and exposed innards of his zombie movies simply wouldn't work here, although the film does offer a violent and shocking ending. This is on a similar low key to Romero's vampire masterpiece Martin, and the director's keen eye for character building leaves us fully invested in the man-and-monkey relationship, despite the bloody trail left in their wake. There's a truly great 90 minute film here, but Monkey Shines runs at just shy of two hours, occasionally losing focus to shift the action to Fisher's strained relationship with his boss (Stephen Root) or Allan's mother's insistence on moving in, both sub-plots that don't really lead anywhere and stretch the film out longer than it needs to be. But with Romero's passing just last year, Monkey Shines is a great reminder that the horror icon didn't only deliver in the zombie genre.


Directed by: George A. Romero
Starring: Jason Beghe, John Pankow, Kate McNeil, Joyce Van Patten, Christine Forrest, Stephen Root, Stanley Tucci, Janine Turner
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #507: 'Night of the Living Dead' (1968)

It's difficult to imagine a pre-zombie world nowadays, given that film, TV and computer games are now littered with the walking dead. The term 'zombie' had been coined many times before, possibly earlier than 1932's White Zombie, but was a label given to creatures and humans under voodoo spells in many different incarnations. In 1968, writers John Russo and George A. Romero took the term and applied it to the walking dead - brainless creatures who existed for nothing other than human flesh; a shuffling army that would stop only if their brain was destroyed, or their head removed from their body. The film was Night of the Living Dead, and although it was ridiculously criticised for its gory content (which was very extreme for its day), changed the face of horror forever, and would influence movies right up to the modern day.

The now-familiar story begins with siblings Barbra (Judith O'Dea) and Johnny (Russell Streiner) visiting the grave of their father. With Johnny teasing Barbra about monsters and ghoulies, a man attacks Johnny, causing him to hit his head on a gravestone while Barbra flees to a nearby house. Traumatised by what she has just witnessed, Barbra is joined at the house by Ben (Duane Jones), who quickly starts boarding up the house to halt the encroaching zombies. They watch the news reports on the television about this strange attack, while married couple Harry (Karl Hardman) and Helen (Marilyn Eastman) emerge from the cellar, claiming their daughter has been attacked and is lying unconscious. With the outside fires set by Ben only delaying the zombie onslaught, they must hatch a plan to escape.

It was alarming watching this film again after a number of years, after devouring many horror films in the past ten years or so. Living Dead's basic concept and plot devices have been used time and time again throughout the decades, and is a massive testament to the legacy of the film. It plays out like a guidebook on how to make a zombie film - the retreat, the do-good male lead, the annoying guy with a shirt and tie, the make-or-break run for the escape vehicle, the overwhelming final attack - are now so familiar. Yet after seeing this basic plot played out hundreds of times, Night of the Living Dead still seems fresh and ground-breaking, never coming across as clichéd or a tired idea.

Of course, most horror films lack the social bite or political commentary of Romero's zombie series. While its 'sequel' Dawn of the Dead (1978) used its shopping mall setting as an attack of America's consumerist obsession, Night uses its informative news reports as a damning indictment of the U.S.A.'s gun-ho attitude and ultra-violent tendencies towards infiltration, possibly a reaction to the country's ridiculous response to the emergence of communism. And although Romero's claims that Duane Jones was cast solely on his audition, rather than the fact that he was black, the now-legendary final scenes prove to be either a massive bit of luck, or a pre-meditated stroke of genius from the writer's as a metaphor for the racial tension that was so prevalent in 1960's America.

All that aside, this is simply great horror. Though (in my opinion) Romero's follow-up Dawn of the Dead is a better film, Night of the Living Dead is where it all began. It's grainy, hand-held, black-and-white cinematography not only adds a low-budget dirty quality to the film, but also proves what greatness can be done with an original idea, a lot of heart, and a heap of innovation, regardless of what your budget may be. Obviously, it's not scary anymore, and the gore levels are incredibly tame by today's standards, but the tension and claustrophobic atmosphere is still as effective as I would imagine it was back in 1968. And the final moments of pessimism that the film leaves you with does nothing but ensure the film is engraved into your memory. Romero may have lost in touch with his modern zombie films, but this is a staunch reminder of the horror auteur's genius.


Directed by: George A. Romero
Starring: Duane Jones, Judith O'Dea, Karl Hardman, Marilyn Eastman
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #506: 'Two Evil Eyes' (1990)

Originally conceived as a quartet of Edgar Allen Poe adaptations, by George A. Romero, Dario Argento, John Carpenter and Wes Craven, the previous due were to be the only contributors to the double bill film Two Evil Eyes. Modernising (and in Argento's case merging a variety of Poe's themes) two stories, 'The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar' and 'The Black Cat', Romero and Argento tackle similar themes about guilt and morality. In the first story, Romero's, Jessica (Adrienne Barbeau) is the wife of an older, rich, dying man, as she attempts to gain all of his wealth before his demise. Using her doctor/lover, Dr Hoffman (Ramy Zada), they hypnotise him, so they are able to embezzle the cash. However, when Valdemar dies, and they put him into a freezer, his disembodied voice can still be heard, a spirit trapped between two worlds.

In Argento's piece, Harvey Keitel plays a crime scene photographer, Rod Usher, who has also published a book of questionable ethics, involving (along with photos of mutilations of women from real-life crime scenes) some apparent shots of a black cat being tortured, a cat owned by his live-in girlfriend, Annabel (Madeleine Potter). After an argument, he kills her and conceals her body behind a dry wall fronted with a bookshelf. In dreams and in life, Rod is tortured by the presence of the black cat, who may possess spiritual powers. Fundamental to both of these narratives is that element of overwhelming guilt. Both characters are tormented, whether psychologically or supernaturally. This is a theme that permeates a lot of Poe's horror writing, for example in one of his most famous short stories, 'The Tell-tale Heart', the protagonist receives a visit from the police, and the trap door where a dead body is concealed, pulsates as the narrator's anguish and paranoia envelops him.

'The Black Cat' is the better of the two short films. Romero's feels at times like a macabre daytime soap opera. The Dallas iconography of dazzlingly bright-coloured decor, and immense shoulder pads, the garish face paint of the ruling classes. That said, as with many of Romero's films, he infuses the film with social commentary, coming out of the 1980's processing of our consumerist indulgence: The ethic of greed. Argento makes a more stylish attempt, which has heightened paranoia, one which is elevated largely due to a series of suspicious characters. Tom Savini's by now obligatory horror effects are also superior in the latter tale of terror. But, as with all horror films of the early 1990's, this (and they) loses something as they are consumed by television aesthetics, perhaps a project that would have benefited from being made ten years previously. The overall film experience is dampened by these production values, and the atmosphere is stilted, with little, or no sense of terror or impending horror. The definitive film adaptations of Edgar Allen Poe are still those beautiful Roger Corman productions of the early 1960's, and Two Evil Eyes is best suited to Poe/Romero/Argento purists.


Directed by: Dario Argento, George A. Romero
Starring: Adrienne Barbeau, E.G. Marshall, Harvey Keitel, Madeleine Potter
Country: Italy/USA

Rating: **

Marc Ivamy