Let us conjure memories of watching bizarre horror films on VHS, the rapturous enticement of strolling down the “Horror” section of the video store, and the awe of preteen terror derived from demonic animatronic faces oozing with gore.
In Dead of the Living Night, a show curated by Jonathan Cammisa and Jonah Birns for Philadelphia’s always-rad Space 1026, we’re given a unique opportunity to revisit those dark Hollywood dreams of yore. What they’ve created is an interactive experience of amplified pre-DVD unease, like a Disneyland simulation of the all too recent past. Waxing nostalgic about a generation raised on the fabric of VHS, Cammisa and Birns explain that the project began with “a like-minded fascination-turned-obsession with childhood fantasies and fears; the inability to look away when you now you should, combined with the desire to stay up all night fantasizing about the greatest adventures and abilities only imaginable.”
Original VHS tapes line the walls in the dark, cramped hallway, a single bulb hanging overhead. In the adjoining room an interactive “magic beast” ride allows people the fantasy of flying on the back of a giant, movable creature. You are taken through the clouds into space and then the beyond. Outside, an old television set sits atop a stack of life-sized monster corpses, playing a video where high-speed editing and tongue-in-cheek cuts splice together gore and terror, assaulting you to the point of absurdity.
If you find yourself in the tri-state area before the show closes on November 27th, don’t miss out on Dead of the Living Night. And for extra credit points in VHS Nostalgia 101, check out Fantagraphics‘ beautifully designed ode to video box aesthetics: Portable Grindhouse: The Lost Art of the VHS Box.
Where do you draw the line between what’s an appropriate horror film for children and what’s “too scary”? Blanket statements can’t be taken seriously– every kid is different, after all. Maybe Maurice Sendak hit it on the head in the titular laissez-faire sentiment of Spike and Lance’s documentary: “You can tell them anything you want.” People are free to raise their kids however they see fit– and sheltering children from the macabre, gory, violent side of cinema is certainly an acceptable interpretation of parental protection. But let’s be real: your kids will probably jump at a chance to revel in an R-rated scarefest at their next sleepover. Wouldn’t you?
There are at least a handful of great horror films specifically geared towards a more family-friendly audience. The interdimensional mind trip of Disney’s Watcher in the Woods remains a classic of the genre. Lady in White is a less famous though equally bizarre kiddie fright flick that attempts to emulate Spielbergian grandiosity, sporting stunning visuals and a meandering plot that centers around one boy’s traumatic night locked inside a coat closet. Paperhouse is an atmospheric, psychological tale of terror staged within the tortured dreams of a highly imaginative British girl.
Then there are more mature horror films about kid heroes battling a world of terrifying adults, like The People Under the Stairs, Pan’s Labyrinth and Phantasm. Though the young actors starring in these movies would be barred from seeing them by the MPAA, they still operate within a world of childlike wonder. Yes, somehow these are still children’s horror films. Which horror movies for or about kids do you love?
Paperhouse is a cinematic anomaly: neither purely horror nor child-oriented fantasy, it’s an unnervingly creepy late-80s British film about an artistic mono-afflicted schoolgirl whose imaginary world comes to life. Subtracting the obligatory elements of magical thinking, Paperhouse is simply a movie about a girl who draws a bunch and then falls asleep and has some weird dreams about her drawings. Which is awesome. We need more movies like that. But Paperhouse isn’t mere whimsical mindtrip—it’s an examination of complex childhood emotions, a subtle koan about the delicacy of relationships with parents, friends and figures of authority. Check out a segment from early on in the film, in which our heroine hangs out at an abandoned train station, discussing “snogging” with her classmate, and then unexpectedly enters the internal world that she’s created in her drawings:
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