Bleeding Hart: An Evening With the Most Controversial Man in Horror

I am sitting on one of the most comfortable leather couches I've ever felt in a room that doubles as the set for the upcoming television show “American Horrors”, three feet away from a man who has had protest marches on his house, legions of death threats, book burnings, and blacklistings. Of course, to look at him you begin to suspect that there is something very different about this man than anyone else; there is a fierce intelligence in his blue eyes, a sort of rabid passion when he speaks, and the tattoos bleeding down his forearms begin to hint at a past that can be somewhat pieced together by extensive Googling. However, no search engine is going to give you the down-low on this man; in fact, a lot of sites have actively blocked him from being discussed, including Wikipedia. No, the way you're going to pin him is asking other people.




“I'm sure you've heard a few Hart Fisher stories,” he invites me with a laugh on one of our phone calls. “Come on, tell me a good one. I like to hear what people are saying.”



The funny thing is, he's not lying. It's easy to play six degrees of separation with Hart D. Fisher; he knows everyone in the business because he's been in it from every possible aspect for nearly twenty years. He's worked in comics (both on his own line, Boneyard Press, as well as for Glenn Danzig's Verotik label), literature, movies, and now television. He's been on talk shows to promote the genre, including Jerry Springer, Sally Jesse Raphael, and Larry King Live. Hart is a writer, a painter, a photographer, an art director, an actor, an editor, and an investigative journalist. He is also a loving husband; he works his wife Waka, a survivor of ovarian and cervical cancer, into the conversation every chance he can and he speaks with nothing but glowing affection when discussing their nine-year- marriage.



Part of Hart's danger is his charm; he is a serpent in the grass, one with beautiful stripes. He's fascinating to watch, but when he speaks it's lightning in a bottle. He can hold a discourse on anything from his favorite horror movies to his sordid past without batting a lash or sliding a segue between the topics, yet no matter the subject his delivery is what seals the stories for his audience.



It's exactly this talent that is going to make “American Horrors” literally explode like a cherry bomb in the unsuspecting curious faces of the horror genre executives.



“I'm going to take over the industry,” he tells me cheerfully over dinner at the hole-in-the-wall restaurant a few blocks from his Los Angeles home. “The thing is, they're primed for a revolution. For too long the genre has been screwing the fans, the indie filmmakers... everyone who makes it what it is. I want to put the power back where it belongs. I want to bring it back to where it needs to be and make it fun again, make it good. Everyone's ready to tell you that horror is dead, they can't wait to tell you that horror's dead. Well I'm here to prove that it's not--- or if it is, it's undead. It'll just keep coming back over and over and over again, it's relentless. It's gonna come out of the grave no matter how many times you bury it.”



It is a call to arms being issued by perhaps the perfect man for the revolution; Hart has been lampooned, attacked, torn to pieces by critics, and raked over the coals for nearly two decades. His infamous “Marvel Can Suck My Cock” shirts resulted in him being banned or harassed at several conventions and trade shows, and he was often asked to take offensive comic titles off his table to prevent him from scandalizing the patrons of any given convention. He shows no fear when dealing with opposition; if anything he meets it with teeth bared and shoulders squared, fists at the ready. And if anyone knows how to hit and make it count, it's Hart--- he's proficient in many areas of martial arts, and he trains with Gene LeBell, the man who taught Bruce Lee his moves. In short, he's not a man you want on your bad side. And yet he seems to have a lot of enemies in the field, or at least people opposed to his idea of change.



“I used to have a lot of parasites on me, especially when my wife got sick. People who I thought were my closest, best friends, my confidants, turned on me the first chance they could. People change when a life-threatening illness is involved, and in my case as soon as I was busy taking care of Waka, that's when the knives came out,” Hart says reflexively, and though he is speaking in past-tense it's clear these wounds are still fresh. “People I'd known for years and trusted were suddenly sabotaging me, destroying my business, taking money from me while my back was turned. I realized what a bunch of vipers I was surrounded by and I cut them loose. I'm so much happier now than I've been in my life before; I'm where I'm supposed to be.”



It's true that the Hart Fisher I see before me isn't the man I expected to meet after reading his books Poems for the Dead and Still Dead. These poetry collections are savagely dark and tormented, written in the aftermath of the murder of Hart's girlfriend Michelle and the ensuing trial to keep her killer behind bars. I read the poems when I was twelve, listening to the spoken-word CD that came with them; Hart's pain was vibrant and neon lancing through his twisted prose, turning every poem into an exercise in pain and purgatory. He says that the book has been a blessing, as people seek him out regularly to tell him what a difference it made in their lives, how it impacted them as they grew up.



The Hart of the past was controversial just for the sake of shaking things up; he has figured out how to channel that energy now into a productive, targeted attack plan and that is why people should be worried. He briefs me on the plans for the empire of “American Horrors”; an iPhone app is launching the week of Halloween, and soon other cell phone carriers will have access to exclusive content and marketing materials for subscribers. They are picking up independent horror films for distribution and collecting talent from far and wide; to hear Hart describe it is like watching someone assemble a crack team of highly-trained soldiers, each specialized in a particular brand of hurt. He is going to deliver one hell of a punch, with years of indignation, abuse and scandal behind it. He is rallying his troops, recruiting for an army of loyal, dedicated horror fans who can actually get the job done; names like John Skipp and Phil Nutman come up in the same breath as Glenn Danzig. Hart knows what he wants and he knows how to get it, and whether that involves honey or a battering ram, he means to have it.



Watching the reels of “American Horror” already filmed that have been cut for European audiences, it's impossible to see a reason why this show wouldn't get picked up by major networks. In truth, they should be chomping at the bit to get it; the show is well-produced and interesting, hosted by Hart as he and his crew pursue anything in the genre. It isn't dedicated to shots of celebrities walking the red carpet or pimping their latest project; he gives equal attention to things like investigating reports of paranormal activity in the Midwest (an episode reminiscent of “Ghost Hunters”) as he does a segment at the New York Horror Film Festival. He is an enthusiastic, charismatic interviewer who knows his stuff, his questions are insightful and amusing, and every so often he throws out a red herring just to shake up a bored talent who is giving him rote answers. My mother--- a more casual horror fan, and I are both laughing through the episode, delighted with the change of pace from the usual uninspired interview shows; “American Horrors” is a breath of fresh air in a putrid smogscape. The fans are ready--- this is what we've been asking for. Hart is not creating a film company or a record label or a comics house; he is creating an institution, a brand, and he is an expert at both marketing and getting people talking.



Hart is a phenomenal showman and this is his circus; the ringmaster is in the house. He has been through the fire and come out cleansed and purged of the negative energy that plagued him when he was younger; this is a sleeker, streamlined Hart, the dead weight shed like snakeskin and the glowing performer beneath unveiled at long last. “I'm finally in a place where I can let myself be happy and let myself be loved,” Hart says with a smile, relaxing with a glass of red wine as we watch a collection of grindhouse trailers. “I've got all the ammunition I need and I know where I want to aim it.”



I hope the industry's wearing Kevlar, because Hart Fisher is loaded for bear.



Follow Hart and join his revolution at www.americanhorrors.com. You can also read his amazing and controversial true accounts of his tumultuous past at his blog, http://incoldblogger.blogspot.com/.
 

"My Soul to Take": A Review (Spoilers)

As a lifelong horror fan, of course the name Wes Craven is enough to put the tinglies in me and make me wonder what's in store. Of course, my favorite films of his have been the Nightmare on Elm Street series, but the Scream franchise was also original and fun and I loved The Last House on the Left. However, the trailer for "My Soul to Take", out this week from Rogue Pictures, gave me pause; was it really something I wanted to invest my money into? Wes Craven doing a 3D film? Was it going to be any good?

Luckily that answer came in the form of a free screener pass, so I didn't actually have to concern myself with the price-gouging ticket for a 3D movie. The screening was held Thursday night at the AMC in Dallas, Texas, partially sponsored by Off the Bone Barbecue.

While I appreciate a free movie as much as everyone else, I didn't appreciate having a local business literally preach to their captive audience for an hour about why we should all eat at their rib joint. They had several bags of Rogue-issued swag to give out and decided to give it to people who could answer questions about soul food rather than anyone actually a fan of the horror genre. So that was great.

Once the movie began though, I couldn't care less about winning a t-shirt from the film; it wasn't a film I'd want a t-shirt of, for one thing.

The film centers around a man called the Riverton Ripper, a schizophrenic man who believes that multiple souls are in his body fighting for dominance. He slaughters his very-pregnant wife and several other townspeople before a police officer shoots him; his wife has an emergency c-section and gives birth to a little boy named Adam. His older daughter Leia survives, and the two are adopted. A nurse at the hospital remarks that seven babies have all been born that night, one of them blind, and how strange it is.

The film opens sixteen years later, when the seven children born that night (who call themselves the Riverton Seven) are gathered on their birthday to commemorate the slain Ripper. They hold a candlelight vigil and pray for another year of their safety. We meet the seven; Jerome is the blind boy, Penelope a beautiful Christian zealot, Brittany a shallow blonde, Brandon the stereotypical violent over-steroided asshole jock, Jay the sassy Asian, and Alex the nerdy picked-on geek. The seventh is Adam, who now goes as 'Bug' and who is a strangely naive boy who is very shy and quiet and insecure and has schizophrenic tendencies and several unsettling interests and habits.

The movie follows Bug and Alex primarily as they go through high school life; we learn that Leia has grown up to be an absolutely gorgeous high schooler who goes by the name of 'Fang' and runs a sort of mob operation out of the school, selling test cheat sheets and beating up kids who cross her path. Bug has a crush on Brittany, who thinks he's cute but could never date him because of the social heirarchy. Alex has an abusive drunken stepfather and a shitty home life in general. Penelope spouts a lot of absolutely cliche religious lines--- did she really just say "when things get too hot, turn on the prayer conditioning"?

On his walk home, Jay is attacked by the Ripper; the man is dressed in a costume somewhat similar to the Pig-headed figure from the Saw films with a flowing black cloak, ratty long hair, and a mostly-hidden white face. The Ripper slays him and throws him off the edge of the bridge, which of course Bug sees in a dream but doesn't take seriously. Throughout the day, each kid is slaughtered by the Ripper in a series of completely uninspired and utterly unscary sequences; everything is a flat-rate stabbing, with very little gore actually shown and the suspense laughable. The set-up for each kill consists in a ton of quick cut-away shots and flash shots of the Ripper, who despite his appearance inspires nothing beyond thoughts of Freddy Krueger; his voice is so snarly and low that you genuinely believe Craven has paid Englund to do ADR work off the books--- how else do you explain the character uttering lines like "Now where'd I leave your bitch?" to the dying jock while using a gutteral sarcastic voice? There's even a scene where Penelope is in the school pool, then hears weird metallic sounds in the filter room; she walks in to find it's transformed into a hellish red-lit boiler room where a hand wraps around the pipe and scrapes, making a metal rasp. HMMMM, we've never seen Craven use that gimmick before, particularly not the boiler room bit. Or how the character says a sardonic little one-liner when he kills her. Nope.

The film feels much longer than it is, simply because it feels like there's very little point to it. The audience is supposed to be confused; is the Ripper real, or is it one of the kids in disguise? Is Bug actually a killer, or just schizophrenic? Are the seven interlinked because of the poignancy of when they were born, or are they just reading too much into the town's superstitions? However, you don't actually care about the answers to any of these questions by midway through the film; you just sort of want it to be over. And when it reaches its unsurprising, completely trite ending, complete with a neat little voiceover monologue at the end to wrap everything, you just feel cheated and bummed that Craven dropped the ball on what could've been a promising movie.

Worst of all is the '3D' aspect. There are NO 3D effects in this film. Even the kill scenes are done with extremely minimal 3D utilization, and since the film wasn't available in a 2D format, I believe this was done entirely to garner more money in ticket sales. The average 3D movie ticket in Dallas costs $13.50; trust me, if I had paid that for this film I'd be livid. The 3D does nothing to enhance the film whatsoever, it just makes everything dark and blurry. At one point I took my glasses off to watch part of the film and aside from a slight blurriness, I could see no difference except for the film looking much brighter and more colorful.

In short, if you're a die-hard Craven fan, see this as a rental with the 3D glasses. If not, skip it altogether; you won't be sorry.

Hatchet 2 Review: If You Want Blood, You Got It! (Spoilers)

The first time I heard of Adam Green was at the Fangoria Weekend of Horrors in 2007, when a young man in a beanie and facial scruff was engaged in a passionate conversation with a man next to me about the nature of horror films these days. The man was so heated in his opinion that I couldn't help eavesdropping, and moved away with a smile on my face; it was nice to know that someone else believed that the horror genre was becoming a self-parody of sequels, remakes and franchises with little to no thought, effort or originality.

Cut to thirty minutes later, when I was sitting in the auditorium watching a panel for a film I've never heard of called "Hatchet" and the same handsome young man walked out onstage to raucous cheers and applause. The man was Adam Green, the creator and director of the film, and he proceeded to share his vision with the audience and show us a two-minute clip of some of the most gruesome kill scenes I've ever witnessed in a slasher film.

"Hatchet" quickly rose in the ranks as among my top ten favorite slasher films of all time, and Green's next effort, "Frozen", was an equally phenomenal and original film. So when "Hatchet II" hit theaters in an unrated capacity, a landmark for the horror industry, I knew that I had to see it.

Surrounded by my friends who all love the first film, we embarked upon the AMC Theater in Mesquite, Texas to view this movie, arriving thirty minutes early expecting to find trouble getting a seat. Imagine our surprise when we walked into a completely empty theater which remained empty all the way through the film.

It speaks volumes to me about the ignorance of the American movie-goer when they will shell out money incessantly for films like 'Resident Evil: Afterlife' or 'Scary Movie 4' but will not support an independent horror film that is not only original and fun, but was released in an unrated version in theaters--- something that has not been done before now. Still, despite our disappointment and irritation that more people weren't there to appreciate the viewing party, we took the opportunity to cheer loudly at the kill scenes, laugh at the jokes, and clap appreciatively when something awesome happened.

"Hatchet 2" is fun. There's no deep meta-plot, no motivation, no moral to the story. Victor Crowley is a slasher of the same variety as Jason Voorhees and Madman Marz; they give him a backstory that's fairly run of the mill (in this case, a deformed mongoloid who was killed in a freak accident, and now seeks revenge on those who would cross his path), a set location (a haunted swamp that Victor cannot leave, much like Jason Voorhees with Camp Crystal Lake or Freddy Krueger with Springwood, Illinois), and a high body count. He has a signature 'look', his childhood home that he still occupies neé Michael Myers, and a whole arsenal of interesting weapons (do gas-powered belt sanders even exist?). The victims are fairly formulaic, although the casting choices are what make them great--- faces like Tony Todd (Candyman) and R. A. Mikhaioff (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3) hold supporting roles in this film, and the lead role of Marybeth is filled by scream queen extraordinaire Danielle Harris (Halloween 4 & 5, Rob Zombie's Halloween, Halloween II, Fear Clinic, Urban Legend, etc). Kane Hodder (Friday the 13th) plays the monster Victor Crowley with the same savagery as he showed in his turns as Jason Voorhees; he is truly the epitome of what a homicidal maniac slasher should be.

The film literally picks up the instant the first film wraps, making a seamless transition for a viewing party when it comes out on DVD; it is a brutal opener that sets the tone for the rest of the movie. 'Hatchet 2' is rife with tension, but as soon as things get too serious the audience is forced into laughter. Sure, it might be the shocked, horrified laughter of disbelief over a comically-long chainsaw or a particularly funny punchline to a kill (Adam Green finds a way to give 'axe wound' a whole new meaning when it comes to a certain female victim, for example), but either way, it is a welcome relief to the armrest-gripping gore of the rest of the film. The movie hinges on the idea that Tony Todd's eerie and underhanded Reverend Zombie character has figured out a way to beat Crowley once and for all--- if he gets his revenge on the people responsible for his death, then he will cease his reign of terror and Zombie can open up the swamp again for tourism and profits. Unfortunately, nothing ever goes according to a plan that simple, and Green throws plenty of buckets of blood in the way of the solution of the film. Danielle Harris is a strong, likable female lead; she carries the title of 'survivor chick' proudly.

More critical members of an audience might complain about the film--- the acting, for example, which I found quite tolerable but someone expecting an Oscar-worthy performance might not. In the same vein though, what are these nay-sayers doing seeing a film like 'Hatchet 2'? It is not only a low-brow gorefest, it revels in its own absurdity; the movie is completely aware of how unlikely it is, and yet it celebrates with buckets of gore, blackly comedic moments, gruesome kill scenes, and nakedness--- all of the elements for a successful horror film. Adam Green has woven these together in an intricate quilt that makes for one hell of a fun viewing for a horror fan--- if you want something thought-provoking, Victor Crowley just might have a belt-sander for your skull to show you the error of your ways.

Review of "I Spit On Your Grave" - The Day of the Woman is Back! (Spoilers, NSFW)

Ordinarily with a remake the purists in any genre, but particularly horror, tend to get up in arms about how sacrilegious it is and how the remake damages the credibility of the original. When 'I Spit On Your Grave' originally debuted, it was so scandalous and horrific that it was banned in the majority of countries it screened in; some of them have still not lifted that ban to allow it to be released on DVD, and most DVD versions available still offer renditions with a few minutes of film edited out.


In the midst of a controversial backstory like that, the filmmakers of the new Anchor Bay release must've been soiling themselves in nervousness trying to figure out how to top it. After all, we're in a jaded age now where kids grow up on movies like 'Saw' and 'Hostel'; mere gore doesn't shock anymore and rarely offends. People have become used to the formulaic structure of a horror film and simply go along for the ride; there's very little left that is considered taboo territory.

Until 'I Spit On Your Grave', that is.

I'm fairly sure that rape is still one of the more untouched subjects in contemporary horror film, and often if there is a scene of violent sex it is done in cutaway shots and implications more than actual panning camera work. While the original film was very blatantly an exploitation film that was honestly about 80% rape scene and 20% kills, the new one keeps that percentage a little more balanced but takes the rape scene to a whole new level.

The film was very well shot, with beautiful camera work and several effects (such as overexposure during the outdoor scenes) that paid tribute to the grainy film stock look of the first film. The premise was believable and kept very true to the first film; a beautiful young woman, Jennifer Hills (Sarah Butler) embarks on a remote cabin retreat alone to get some writing done on her new novel. On the drive up, she encounters a pack of local hoods at the gas station and has an altercation with their leader, Johnny (Jeff Branson) when she refuses to play into his come-ons. Jennifer excuses herself and continues on to her cabin, unable to predict the horrors waiting for her.

Several days pass with Jennifer drinking wine, working on her novel and sunbathing. She has no idea that one of the louts, Stanley (Daniel Franzese) is videotaping her most private moments from a vantage point in the surrounding woods, making homemade spank-bank films for himself and his buddies.

One night while indulging in some drinks, the boys get to ribbing Johnny about his strike-out with the girl. Stanley brings up an incident earlier that day that he caught on film--- their friend Matthew (Chad Lindberg), a mentally-handicapped young man, was sent out to Jennifer's cabin to repair the plumbing. When he was successful, she was so enthusiastic that she kissed his cheek in gratitude. It caused Matthew, a virgin and completely uncomfortable with pretty women, to run away, and the boys have a great laugh at his expense. It gets Johnny to thinking, however, and he decides that he should show Matthew exactly what "city whores" are for. The boys head over to Jennifer's cabin to cause some mayhem.

What follows may be one of the most uncomfortable scenes ever filmed, and I can't honestly imagine how the actors did it without feeling like they needed to scour their skin off with a Brillo pad between takes. Jennifer is tormented and humiliated, made to act like a 'show pony' and peel her lips back to show her teeth, fellating various objects for the boys, and made to dance as if she's enjoying herself. Andy (Rodney Eastman) throws lit matches into her hair to make her squeal, and Stanley videotapes everything. Jennifer manages to escape and runs into the woods, where she collides with the local sheriff (Andrew Howard) and his hunting partner Earl (Tracey Walter). She pleads the sheriff to come and arrest the boys, and when he returns to her cabin he finds the wine bottles and marijuana cigarette she was enjoying earlier and asks her if she's sure she wasn't inviting trouble.

Of course, the audience can see where this is going; the boys return and the sheriff joins in on the fun for a truly horrific rape scene in which Matthew is forced by his friends to lose his virginity to a screaming, struggling Jennifer. He is gibbering and completely out of his mind by then, the chaos too much for him, and he succumbs to the pressure of his friends' taunting and follows through with the rape. Afterward, Jennifer escapes into the woods and is pursued, where she is brutally gang-raped by the other boys and the sheriff. When it's done (an unbelievably long, graphic scene in which the audience was so silent you could have heard a pin drop), Jennifer staggers naked onto the bridge and falls into the water before the sheriff can shoot her. Her body doesn't come to the surface and the boys panic, assuming she may have escaped; they vow to search the river every day until she washes up.

A month passes and the boys begin receiving clues that someone knows about what they did; however none of them put together exactly who it is until it's far too late for them. Jennifer takes great pleasure in hunting each boy down and killing them in some of the most creative and horrible manners imaginable, culminating in a beautifully gory finale with the sheriff himself.

The reason that this film is so poignant rests entirely on the actors; Sarah Butler's turn as Jennifer is so unbelievably convincing that your heart goes out to her, and she invokes exactly the empathy that the director was going for. The audience is one hundred percent in Jennifer's corner; no one thinks she's a bitch who 'had it coming', no one thinks she goes too far in her plot for revenge. She is beautiful, witty, charming, and believable; she is any girl you've ever known, self-reliant and independent, who has her identity stripped from her brutally in a single act of grotesque selfishness.

While she carries the performance's lead on her capable shoulders, the supporting ensemble is equally phenomenal. Nightmare on Elm Street 3 & 4 alum Rodney Eastman is revolting and completely sells his role as a psychotic asshole; he is appropriately creepy and unsettling just in appearance alone, the intensity of his gaze enough to make you squirm and ask for an adult. Chad Lindberg, best known for his work on Supernatural, is absolutely terrific as Matthew. The role required him to reach a certain balance between sympathetic and revulsion; the audience has to hate him for going along with his friends, but they have to pity him too and pray that his death is a quick end. He is the only one genuinely remorseful about what they've done, and the guilt is already tearing him apart by the time Jennifer gets her revenge. Lindberg brings a depth to the role that is truly refreshing and beautiful, and it shows a real leap of acting talent on his behalf to play a handicapped person so convincingly without turning it into any sort of parody of the character's mental state. Daniel Franzese, who will be most recognizable for his turn as the catty gay high schooler Damien in Mean Girls, undergoes a drastic transformation from fey sidekick to completely repulsive voyeur in this film. He is potbellied and sports a shaved head, a heavy Southern accent and a mean, piggish look to him; he is out to hurt and to catch it all on film. This role is completely different than anything Franzese has done before, and it adds a new layer to his resume in a way that none of his fans would expect. Andrew Howard is not only unsettling and horrifying as the sheriff (because truly, what's worse than going to a law official for help only to find out that he's in on the fun himself?) but he lends a twist to the role that makes the character all the more upsetting for audience members. And Jeff Branson plays Johnny as such a cocky, condescending asshole, a complete chauvinist and unsympathetic in the least, that our audience gave a massive cheer when he met his end.

While we're on the topic of 'ends', I won't spoil them for you, but allow me to shed a little light - they are far more horrific in this film than in the original, and much more ingenius. While they are slightly contrived (as in, I find it hard to believe that Jennifer Hills, no matter how well-defined her abs were in this movie, could move Danny Franzese or Jeff Branson by herself while they were unconscious), they are truly unique from anything I've ever seen in a horror film before, and they were almost ingenius in their metaphorical relations to the roles the rapists played in her assault. Our audience was torn between cheering and utter silent horror; two grown men walked out of our theater, and after the lights came up at the end most people looked brutally violated themselves, pale and shaken by what they'd seen.

I would like to point out that I am not squeamish and it's hard to scare me; that said, I spent a good third of this movie with one hand over my face, alternately squealing in anticipation of something terrible or gasping as it happened. At one point during a poignant scene, I actually moaned "Oh, fuck my life" and covered my eyes (which, as happens, was the only sound in the theater at the time and made everyone around me crack up).

Would I recommend this movie to you? Absolutely. It's got great acting, good writing, and more gore than you can shake a stick at (hell, the makeup effects alone are a reason to hail this film as one of the best things horror has done in awhile). It sticks with you and is truly unsettling in a way that will make your skin crawl and your soul feel like it needs some Oxy-Clean. But beyond that? If you have ANY triggers about rape or humiliation, or you are even slightly squeamish about incredibly graphic gore, this is not the film for you--- and for all of you dickfaces that bring your toddlers to "Halloween" because you couldn't get a babysitter, I wouldn't suggest making that judgment error with this film.