What is the 'Cheese? How do you define the 'Cheese?

What the heck is the Midnight Cheese all about? It's a poignant question for anyone to bring up and it might surprise you to learn that even I am sometimes at a loss to provide a satisfying answer. Simple in scope, the Midnight Cheese is my attempt to spotlight the kinds of films many people haven't heard of or perhaps haven't paid attention to. More than that it's a prismatic sphere, taking into itself all of the different media I've digested over the years (including the manner of ingestion) and projects out a rudimentary recalling of the experience. The point, dear reader, is a catfish hiding in muddy waters. With the 'Cheese's recent reanimation, I thought it might be interesting to brainstorm out exactly what the Midnight Cheese is supposed to be. Ride shotgun with me and let's see where this leads.

The Midnight Cheese is USA Up All Night; Gilbert Gottfried and a bowl of popcorn. The lights are out and I'm half hidden under a blanket. Anyone who could run to my aid in the case that the budget horrors depicted on the small screen came alive was fast asleep. I could never quite stay up all night, fading to slumber somewhere along the seven hours which this programming would keep night owls close company. My viewership began before I could even comprehend their edited safe for TV sexploitation films and ran well into my high school years. The films didn't matter. In point of fact this is likely the largest contributing factor to my future love affair with what norms consider "bad movies". I owe USA Up All Night more than one hug could ever convey to an unsuspecting Gilbert Gottfried.

The Midnight Cheese is seeing a 35mm film among a crowd. It's the imperfections inherent in watching a 35 year old 35mm print; The snaps; the crackles; the pops. Knowing that as I behold light blasted across celluloid at 24 frames per second that it's source is forever changed, however minusculely. There's an exchange taking places as it looses some of it's once illustrious luster to effect me and as part of our viewing leaves it's mark in return on the reel. To be shipped across country with nefarious plans it will impact even more malleable minds during it's lifespan. The communal laughter. The quiet agreement during the most terrible moments, that we've all steeled ourselves against, but are still secretly horrified of is all part of the enjoy and the spectacle.

The Midnight Cheese is The Sunday mornings with only the post cartoon-block shenanigans of The Three Stooges to usher us into an afternoon of Godzilla and Rodan. These two and more were our first cultural ambassadors, fascinating us with our own shame reflected back in movie form and enjoyed by those far too young to realize such a thing was amiss. Later, pulp of the silver screen would manifest itself in new clothing as Hercules the Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess and The Adventures of Brisco County Jr. The campy and corny and exactly what I'd expect out of a rainy Sunday morning.

The Midnight Cheese is staying up well past bed time. In youth it was to catch a glimpse of that which was forbidden. At present it's to put off the responsibilities of adultdom just another hour- to take in one more movie. It's seeing the latest horror release at midnight on a Thursday, with work to contend with at the crack of dawn.

The Midnight Cheese is Exhumed Films' Horrorthon, willing the mind to stay awake, refusing to submit to the slowness of 4:30am. It's the communal joy of First Friday Fright Nights at the Colonial theatre, resplendent in it's 108 year old dressings. It's the ridiculousness of tiger man. It's the fun of Cult Cinema shows. It's laughing at The rediculousness of Black Angles, it's groaning in horror at Teenage Mother.

It's enjoyment of the simple. It's giving a pass to the flaws. It's laughter with friends.

It's corny and it's cheesy and it's me laid bare. Certainly, we've got something in common.

Welcome to midnight.

 

eX-Fest II: The Revenge in Retrospect

I'm awake.
I'm have a knock knock Neo, down the rabbit hole kind of morning, where coffee offers little solace and small gains toward awakening. I've survived eX-Fest II but not without first having my brain scooped out to marinate in a jar of the tastiest cast off juices that 70's revenge celluloid has to offer. Being the flavor of the day, vengeance belonged to whomever had the biggest balls and baddest ass, regardless of gender. Let's talk a walk , you and I, down my sequence of yesterday's events while I regale you with what whimsies struck me and wreak vengance upon the lesser members of the accompanying audience.

The No Mercy Man

• 1973. AKA: Fire in the Wind, Trained to Kill, Vietnam Soldier.
• Genre fave Sig Haig looks really good and is absolute slimy bad ass here as Pill Box, the leader of a biker gang.
• Society's condemnation of interracial relationships among carney folk leads to breaking and enter, theft, murder and a bad ass biker on soldier gun battle sequence.
• Hardened Vietnam veterans of the highest training often high five in 80's action broseph style after RPG'ing a truck rather than taking cover to avoid submachinegun ventilation.
• If your son comes back as a highly decorated veteran with PDST, the best way to help him is smug disregard, urging him to fist fight you and making him live in the shed. No harm can come of this.
• All it takes to snap a commando out of PDST is the brutal beating into unconsciousness of his father. And the near crucifixion of his mother. And the rape of his sister. Oh, and the rape of his other sister. Make it that far and it's game on for the no mercy man.

Fear is the Key

• 1973.
• Barry Newman, John Vernon and Ben Kingsley - Oh my!
• This film is absolutely boss bad ass for the first thirty minutes while Barry Newman is beating up cops, escaping from court, enjoying hard liquor on Sundays and leading Lousiana state police on a really fucking sweet 20 minute car chase.
• After that half an hour, it takes a shovel to the noggin and begins to believe that it's a second rate James Bond flick.
• I never wanted a 1972 Ford Gran Torino before the first third of this film. If I'm not mistaken, Lousiana state police have an excellent car budget; affording a good number of Pontiac GTO's to wreck at will.

The Man From Hong Kong

• 1975. AKA- The Dragon Flies (get it? With the hang gliding and- nevermind)
• An honest to goodness Ozsploitation Kung-Fu film. Kick arse!
• Relations between Austria and China were not comfortable in 1975. Inspector Fang Sing Leng looks to change all that. With his dick. One Aussie babe at a time. He's a dick-lomat.
• George Lazenby should have played Ron Burgondy by way of Tom Selleck's mustache.
• Hugh Keays-Byrne plays the aptly named police detective Grosse. You might remember him as Toe Cutter, the main antagonist from the first Mad Max film. Lucky for him his role as a police detective didn't require a more conservative haircut, just a slightly smaller dangly earring.
• Watching fat guys in spandex shirts run up Australlian mountain sides should be a god damned Olympic sport.
• I never want to watch hang gliding again. Ever.

Death Weekend

• 1976. AKA- The House by the Lake
• Under the oily thin vaneer of a rape and revenge romp lies the true heart of this film: it's really Yuppiesploitation. I hated Doctor Black the perverted peeping tom womanizer; the elitist consumerist; the purchasing power braggot; on the same level that I hated the gang of alcoholic murderous thugs (bravo film makers!)
• If wanting to add brevity to any diabolical life or death situation, just show quick cuts of the hated dead yuppie's shutgunned face as it ackwardly gets in the way whilst our heroine attempts her mad dash escape.
• Helplessly alcoholic gas station attendants are hysterical. This is especially true when their crippling addiction prevents them from coming to the rescue even when they realize something is amiss through their inebriated haze.
• There was audience appluse during the revenge killings of three of the four gang members. Incredibly strangly the most elaborate comeuppance, involving a boat house, gasoline, a flare and a well hidden valkyrie of vengance, received little fan fare.

Wipeout!

• 1973. AKA- The Boss
• I fucking love Henry Silva! He only has one facial expression, but it's a classic: Wax museum Chevy Chase. He pimps the hell out of that look, no matter the circumstance. Killing dudes with a grenade launcher? Wax Chevy Chase. Banging a girl he loathes? Wax Chevy Chase. Taking a phone call? Wax Chevy Chase but with raised eyebrows! Genius.
• The theme in this film is a hard rockin' bit of guitar and vinegar piss. I felt 13% more awesome everytime it kicked in. (if you know where I can acquire a copy of it, please contact me)
• Nick Lanzetta hates skin flicks.
• Main heavy and over all dick Cocchi heavily resembles Bruce Campbell during the second half of The Man With the Screaming Brain (which was also screened by Exhumed Films).

Vice Squad

• 1982.
• A more fitting title would have been "Inept Police Squad". Seriously: a pimp named Ramrod in a bright blue satin cowboy shirt and on the run from the law manages to be a more effective dectective then all the members of Vice Squad combined.
• I might have mistook this for the early 90's. The only excuses I can bring to bear are exhustion and failing memory.
• The Johns manage to be a slimy collection of harsh truth ground into the patina of the Hollywood prostitute lifestyle (glamorous as it must certainly be).
• If a chauffer hires you on behalf of his master and goes to elaborate pains for the fantasy's illusion, bitch don't you that ruin shit by talking when you see the old man in the pine box waiting to bang you. You're a Hollywood hoe, how much stranger can this possibly be over your normal day to day?
• I really wanted the main cop as protrayed by Emilio Estavez, especially after his star rose at the last Exhumed Films marathon event: the annual 24 hour Horrorthon.

Ilsa: She Wolf of the SS

• 1975.
• While seriously jazzed as the preemptive red backed warning made it's how-do-you-do on screen, as the film proceeded my jubilation escaped me. The situation is simply to close to reality to be entertaining overall. The sequels are much more campy and fun. I'm missing the point though, as exploitation is not always supposed to be fun, infact it rarely can be considered as such.
• This is a nessisary experience on the exploitation spectrum (which is like a much slezier autism spectrum) and anyone who left early is now substantively less whole then they otherwise could have been.

And so the second eX-Fest drew to a close. Overall I would have to say that I had more fun with last year's selections. This is not to say that I didn't enjoy what I witnessed yesterday as it was much more in line with what I'd expect from an exploitation festival. It was sleazier and the price of admission included a small part of what remains of your soul. I'd prefer a healthy mix of the exaggerated sleaze and the over the top fun, but I would by no means complain about the film selections. They were all excellent and they all fit into a day of vengenace laden fun. Yet another bill of entertainment from the fine fellows over at Exhumed Films.

Before I close the book on twelve plus hours of my life, I would be remiss in avoiding some ugly truths.

To the rectal pieces of human refuse who decided that your need to know the time, the hockey score, what your friends were up to or that anything else on your cell phone out weighed everyone else's right to not be sucked out of their movie going experience need to step into traffic. You're incosiderate to the extreme, likely irredeemably so and I respectfully request that you spend your time doing something other than burdoning the planet's population with your continued existance.

To those sitting in the middle section, most notably near the top, it is your responsibility when moving to and fro not to obstruct the projector's radiant beams. If that means you have to bend further forward while moving, by all means do so. I understand that as a sweaty neckbeard film nerd, this might classify as exertion beyond your normal means but by all means attempt to exert anyway. I can literally see you getting fatter as you obstruct the reason why everyone is tolerating being in your presence in the first place.

To the back row, center section folks (most of whom are guilty of the previous two cinematic war crimes) your taste in alcoholic beverages is fucking abismal. Everyone gets one go on this rotating rock around the sun and you're wasting yours drinking fucking Four Loko? I know that you don't know how to properly select what to pour into your mouth hole because despite numerous requests that you not do so from the fine folks of Exhumed Films, you entitled pricks left a bevy of garbage in your wake.

Which brings me to my last point: Hey you entitled nerdbodies who left your trash behind, go fuck yourselves. These guys put on a great show of rare goods to entertain you yet despite that you can't pick up your soda bottle as you exit? Your massive corinary can't arrive soon enough to remove you from our presences.

Horror and the Theatre Going Experience

In what manner would you say you consume the vast majority of your horror diet? Is it alone in your domicile? Strune across a well worn couch, shrouded in an assortment of blankets, do you watch Christopher Lee drain the blood of hapless villagers with one hand in a buttery bowl of popcorn and the other resting on or near your lady or man bits? (Do you sometimes forget which hand goes where, ending your night with a buttery gender batch?)

Hot stuff coming through!

The dynamics of how viewers of all genres watch films have dramatically shifted in the past decade and sadly look to be taking a horrific turn away from 35mm print in the very near future. While this is going to be happening across the whole of the cinema landscape, it's going to impact horror film aficionados most of all. But why is that? To answer myself, let's swing back around to the first paragraph and ask (in seriousness this time) how the majority of horror fans consume their preferred media.

Two answer we must first consider that there's two types of media consumption when it pertains to film: in home and theatre. They're both very important and our rituals around them have become culturally engrained milestones that we pass on to younger generations like the tribal stories of old. Let's look at them separately.

In Home Viewing
This is likely where the majority of folks' watch horror flicks. We've come a very long way in three decades from the macabre humor of aging late night horror hosts to the tape trading and dubbing of the pre-internet days - most horror titles are now directly streaming to the mercilessly commanding fingers of the nerds who covet them. It's not an enormous logical leap to assume that 70-80% of our horror film viewing is done in the home. As to how and when you watch them (your rituals) perhaps it's a sign post along the road to my "getting older" realization, but I typically watch later in the evening (I grew up on a USA Up All Night diet of Gilbert Gottfried and bad horror films). With your options ever exploding, it seems that this method of viewing is safe and sound, continuing to become easier to accomplish as time passes.

Theatre Viewing
A dark room full of strangers emitting ooos and aaaahs in time with the cinematic unravelings, it's likely a time traveller from the past would brand us all witches to be burned at the stake if he came upon this odd scene (which is fine because we've learned through countless 60's and 70's films that witches have the hottest orgies).

This film viewing experience proportionally makes for a smaller percentage among most horror fans but it is a vastly more important part of the monster scene. These films were meant to be viewed in a certain way, on a certain medium and with a certain crowd (one not consisting of your cats and boyfriend). However, the sad fact is that many a horror geek has shunned the theatre going experience and subsides wholly on in-home viewing fare. It's understandable given the state of the multiplex viewing experience- unwashed masses who can't be bothered to shut their gaping talky holes and aren't capable of fathoming a world where they don't check their text messages and Words with Friends notifications for 89 minutes.

You have a choice and it’s important to make before it’s too late. Tap into the internetz, with its tubes and lolcats, and FIND repertoire shows in your area. Where ever there are passionate fans, there you'll likely also find screenings. Don't JUST go to screenings of Evil Dead 2 or The Exorcist. Trust that these passionate show runners have your best horror interests at heart and are likely showing you something rare, unique and awesome.

The Colonial Theatre: a movie palace of cinematic delight!

Listen, I'll level with you: it's entirely possible that your chances to see horror flicks in 35mm are dwindling down to nill. The major studios are quickly forcing digital projection on all theatres and will thereafter not be renting out their archival film prints to classic movie houses. When it’s gone, an era will have passed and the only songs to be sung of it will be lamentations.

So what’s the answer? Why is this shift going to affect horror fans more than those of other genres? It has to do with the nature of the genre itself: Fear. The herd mentality as a survival mechanism is at the very root of our fight or flight mechanism- which is the very reason you should be watching horror films in a dark theatre with your peers. In a way, they cause you to become closer to those around you. The shared experiences build a community- as cheesy as it may sound. One of the things I look forward to in hosting horror shows is seeing the familiar faces. You’re watching a 35mm print- which is being changed just by the act of viewing it. Very fitting that you’re changing it since it’s very likely to effect a change in you too.