I talk about horror a lot, but I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself a huge horror movie buff. My brand of horror is the kind that follows you around—into the shower, around every corner, in dark rooms, under the bed—not the formal film festival sort of experience like we have in Sitges every October.
Here are versions of the poster emblazoned all over town for the last two months—and note the official mascot of the Festival, and Sitges generally, Rei Kong:
Not limited to horror, but “fantastic” of all stripes—science fiction, fantasy, film noir, etc.—the Sitges Festival Internacional de Cinema Fantàstic de Catalunya just celebrated its 56th year—it should come as no surprise to anyone that the premier horror film festival in the world was conceived in the same year as me.
But as I said, not being a particular horror film fanatic, I had no idea it even existed until we moved to Sitges in 2020, when the Festival bravely bullied through Covid and masking for its 53rd edition.
It just so happened our first apartment here in town was across the street from the Meliá Hotel (on Carrer de Joan Salvat Papasseit—what was I just saying about the crazy long street names?) where they screen many of the films in two auditoriums. I got super excited and decided to do it up proper, went through the whole program and bought a bunch of tickets for us, including the final film of the Festival, a screening of Flash Gordon (1980) with Max Von Sydow as Ming the Merciless, Timothy Dalton in a moustache and green tights, and original soundtrack by Queen.
It’s outrageously campy, utterly ridiculous, and we still trot out a line or two now and then, remembered from our childhoods.
“Go, Flash, Go!” has a cheerleading gesture which is useful in more situations than you might expect. (And how the hell am I only now seeing the gold jockstraps?! And are they saying ‘Hail Ming’ or ‘Heil’…? Good grief.)
“No! Not the boreworms!” we’ll often cry out at the prospect of something especially distasteful…
This year featured 369 films, 13 world premiers, and “22 carpets redder than the lobby of the Overlook Hotel.” An extended version of The Shining (1980) was shown on October 12th with special commentary by Pixar-guy Lee Unkrich, as well as three screenings of this year’s winner of the Venice Int’l Film Festival’s Golden Lion, Poor Things (2023) the new team-up between The Favourite alumni Emma Stone and director Yorgos Lanthimos, scheduled for its U.S. theatrical release December 8th. (Note to self: Must read the novel by Alisdair Gray.)
To set the mood for the season, I’m offering a short survey of movies that moved me, that somehow shaped the maniac you’ve all come to know and scratch your heads over. (*Some very slight spoilers ahead, just in case.)
The Mummy's Revenge (1975)
A movie seen once on TV when I was perhaps six years old and never forgotten.
I can’t imagine what my parents were thinking, allowing me to watch this potboiler set in Victorian London, but there you go. It was an afternoon creature feature, and I recall some rather sexy parts with scantily clad captives in Egyptian garb, bloodletting, and not much else.
What I do remember clearly is that night had fallen as I was watching it, and when my parents told me to go upstairs and put on my pajamas, I could see, actually SEE, a mummy lurking at the top of the stairs in the dark waiting for me—I can see it now in my mind’s eye!
I screamed bloody murder, scared my parents half to death, and honestly I don’t think I’ve every really recovered from the fright. And this was not the only instance of my childhood imaginings of monstrous visitations, or fits of shrieking. You’ve heard some of these stories: Martian death, Bloody Mary, a skeleton in my bed, disembodied voices at various points, all leading to episodes of acute hysteria.
In retrospect, I really put my parents through it.
The Shining (1980)
Apparently Angelica Huston told Jack Nicholson that Shelley Duvall *MADE* this movie, and while some people think she was terrible, I’m with Angelica on this one: that sweet, goofy, bug-eyed weirdo was the perfect victim—The Shining might not even be on my list without Shelley Duvall. The scene on the staircase was freaky-deaky—I mean, you could kinda see where Jack was coming from, she was incredibly annoying, but also you were relieved she finally started flailing wildly with the bat because he really was gonna bash her brains in. And then the ax through the door. And the blood elevator. Not to mention the blowjob ghosts…
Stephen King may have hated Kubrick’s movie, but it is a certifiable horror masterpiece.
Rosemary's Baby (1968)
I am Rosemary’s baby.
Conceived on Halloween1 - Check. “Adopted” - Check. The same red-gold hair and transparent luminescence as Mia Farrow - Check. Odd - Check. It all makes sense. And Ruth Gordon as a devil worshipper? Cockamamie and fabulous.
“Monstrous!” Rosemary mutters. Yes. Hail, Daddy!
Jaws (1975)
To this day I can’t go into the ocean more than chest deep, and even then I’m constantly scanning for shadows and toothsome mouths looming toward me under the water. (Lakes and ponds are out of the question for entirely different but equally delusional reasons.) I also picture sharks in swimming pools.
This movie scarred me.
Alien (1979)
Veronica Cartwright (yes, again.) I mean, yes, Sigourney Weaver, yes the creature design, and the Nostromo and the facehugger and the eggs, yes, yes, Ridley Scott's cinematography and sound, the music, and Robot Old Bilbo, and Olivander—but Veronica! Looking all sweaty, always crying, and her reaction to the chestbursting and the horror of her final moments—just perfection. She was supposed to be Ripley, believe it or not, and didn’t know until she arrived on set that the lead had been given to Sigourney (the slap in the extended version was probably not faked.)
Friday the 13th (1980)
I badgered my father into taking me to see Friday the 13th after all the other kids, including my sister, couldn’t stop talking about it. We arrived to the movie theater quite late (in his defense he was very reluctant to take me) and just after we sat down, the guy* laying in bed feels the drip of blood from the top bunk on his forehead and the knife pops out of his throat.
My father and I both simultaneously clapped our hands over my eyes, I whimpered, “I don’t like this,” and we left. We were not in our seats for more than 30 seconds. Everyone laughed at us.
* The guy on the bunk bed: Kevin Bacon. FORTY YEARS I've been so traumatized by that scene I never watched it again, and my husband just told me: oh, yeah, that was Kevin Bacon.
If you count backwards 9 months exactly from my birthdate/time, you will be amazed to discover that it falls during the Witching Hour of Halloween night.
Ah! Tangential comment: We just got back from Barcelona & Valencia scoping them as potential future homes, and Sitges kept coming up. We were thinking of planning a trip there to check it out, though I keep reading about a significant uptick in crime there... More related comment: I love the Sitges poster - horror enough to entice but not too much to repel.
The Shining is sooooo good. I watched Rosemary's Baby for a class in college, and I remember having zero expectations prior to doing so, and then thinking just a few minutes in, "Whoa, the photography is incredible," and being glued for the remainder. It's been a while, but it left a mark.
It's only been a recent realization, but I'm a horror film fan. I'm terrible at keeping up with what's new. My wife can't do horror, and I have a three-year-old, so there's that haha, but yeah... I'm just not plugged in in that way. Sometimes after late night writing sessions I'll "reward" myself by staying up even later and watching some movie or show (we hardly have a TV on in the house these days, and when we do it's Sesame Street or Stillwater, so it really does feel like a treat haha), and recently I watched The Witch, as well as Jordan Peele's Us. I don't think I LOVED either, but I enjoyed the ride(s).
Also, the festival seems like great fun!