Fear Itself: "Skin & Bones" -- reviewed by Craig J. Clark and Joe Blevins

I have a confession to make. This is very difficult for me because I'm a very private person by nature, but my sponsor tells me that the best thing for someone in my position to do is to come clean, so here goes:

My name is Craig, and I am a werewolfoholic.

It has been 28 days since my last werewolf fix. (That would be the Stephen King novella Cycle of the Werewolf, which I found for $2 in a used bookstore and greedily devoured in a matter of hours, much like a werewolf eviscerating its prey.) It's been a bit longer since my last werewolf movie - 1996's laughable Bad Moon - but that came at the tail end of a binge that included The Howling, An American Werewolf in London, The Company of Wolves and Wolfen. I've been (relatively) dry ever since, but that doesn't mean I haven't had urges.

For example, after I finished reading Cycle I considered renting Silver Bullet, the 1985 film based on it, but quickly came to my senses. I also passed on the Sci Fi Original Movie Never Cry Werewolf because a) it's a Sci Fi Original Movie and those are almost never any good, and b) I already saw it 20 years ago when it was about vampires and it was called Fright Night. If there's anything worse than a bad werewolf movie, it's a derivative werewolf movie.

Anyway, as regular readers of the feature are doubtless aware, ever since Fear Itself started airing I've been chomping at the bit for them to roll out the werewolf story that I just know they have to have waiting in the wings. I even watched John Landis's Masters of Horror episode "Deer Woman" during an off week in the hope that it would slake my thirst for shape shifters, but alas, it did not. (At least I can report that it was a marked improvement on his Fear Itself episode, the abysmal "In Sickness and in Health," a.k.a. "The Hour of My Life I Really Wish I Had Spent Doing Something Else.") And I knew going in that this week's offering, "Skin & Bones," wasn't going to fit the bill, either, so that doesn't explain the rampage that I went on after it was over.

There was certainly nothing in the episode itself to set me off. Competently directed by Larry Fessenden (maker of offbeat horror fare like Wendigo and The Last Winter) from a disappointingly pedestrian script by Masters of Horror vets Drew McWeeny & Scott Swan (who penned such deathless lines as "You... taste good" and "He'll... eat... you all"), the story concerns a man who returns to his cattle ranch a shell of his former self after having been lost in the mountains for ten days. He's frostbitten, malnourished and barely capable of moving or speaking. Oh, yes. And he's also become a cannibal since being possessed by a Wendigo (hmm, I wonder why they called in Fessenden to direct this one). Thankfully, the ranch has a resident wise old Indian named Eddie Bear who explains what a Wendigo is and fills the slot reserved for minority characters who are always the monster's first victims in stories like this.

Other characters include the rancher's wife, his screw-up brother, and their two sons (one of whom could grow up to be Lemmon from "The Sacrifice" based on all the references to his limited mental capacity). There's a certain amount of family tension owing to the presence of the brother (who - SPOILER ALERT - turns out to be the actual father of both boys), but it was subsumed by a final act that largely consisted of people running from the possessed rancher, pointing a gun at him and breaking down when they find they can't fire upon their brother/husband/person passing themselves off as their father. Ho hum.

Having made it to the end of the show by sheer dint of will, I eagerly waited through the credits for the preview of next week's Fear Itself in the vain hope that it would be the long-awaited (by me, at least) werewolf episode, but was disappointed when they was none. Nearly beside myself, I went online to check next week's schedule and found that Fear Itself has been preempted by the season finale of Last Comic Standing. It was at that point that I lost my proverbial shit - and my memory of what happened.

I am told I did a great deal of property damage and injured several people, but I don't remember that at all. What I do remember is coming to in a holding cell in tattered clothes and with a splitting headache. Thankfully Thursday nights are slow in my municipality, so I didn't have to share the cell with too many miscreants. I did get a visit from a strange man (who asked me not to identify or describe him for what he deemed "personal reasons") who offered to post my bail as long as I agreed to attend a few meetings of his outreach organization. They call themselves Lycanthropes Anonymous. I think they may be able to help me.

* * *

A support group may indeed help you, Mr. Clark, but I certainly cannot. I have problems of my own, you see.

I woke up this morning in my apartment, totally unaware of how I'd gotten there or with any concrete memories of the last two months. All my furniture was gone apart from the television set and a VCR. Stuck to the VCR was a Post-It note reading, "PRESS PLAY."

So I did.

After a few seconds of static, an image appeared on the screen: a dark-haired man, 30ish, sitting in a nondescript room and looking directly into the camera. There were dark circles under his haunted eyes. His hair was wildly unkempt, filthy and matted, and he had a bushy growth of untamed facial hair. His clothing was ragged and torn. Just as I was asking myself who this awful man was, he began to speak.

"Hello, Joe," he solemnly intoned. "You may not recognize me, but I am you."

My heart began to beat wildly. The strange man continued.

"Yes, underneath all this hair, I am indeed Joseph Michael Blevins, born April 12, 1977 in Saginaw, Michigan to Hal and Maureen Blevins. I'm an only child. My mother's maiden name was Emerson. My childhood pet was a calico named Mr. Moonlight. Social Security number 401-82-9706. Blood type, B positive. Favorite Beatle, Ringo."

I was awed. If this man wasn't me, he had certainly done his homework.

"Listen to me," he said. "You have to watch a show called Fear Itself at 9:00 tonight on NBC. That's channel 5. Make sure you write that down. I'll wait a minute before I continue."

I looked around for pen and paper. There was no paper to be found, but there was a pen in my pocket. I decided to write the message on my hand. That's when I noticed that my hands and arms were already covered with writing. Pressing pause on the VCR, I ran to the bathroom to examine myself in the mirror.

Good god! I was covered with writing! Various words and phrases were scribbled all over my forehead, my body, my limbs - all backwards so they could be read in a mirror. These messages were cryptic non-sequiturs like "WIGFALL," "ERIC ROBERTS," "MARRAKESH," "ZUCKER," and "LAST COMIC STANDING." My hair and beard, meanwhile, were indeed like those of the man in the video. With all that hair and writing, I resembled a cross between the Wild Man of Borneo and a men's room stall. What was going on here?

I ran back to the VCR and unpaused the tape. The man on the video - me, I, Joe - continued.

"Listen, I can't go into the specifics now, but make sure you watch this show. It will contain at least six important clues you will need in order to survive. Got that? Six important clues! Whatever you do, WATCH THAT SHOW. Someone will contact you with more information at the proper time."

The message ended, and the tape reverted to static. I glanced at my watch and noticed that it was already 8:58! Frantically, I turned on the TV just in time for the opening scene of Fear Itself. I'd never watched the program before, but it seemed to be some kind of horror anthology like Tales From the Crypt, only without a host. This particular episode, "Skin & Bones" was a cannibal story, fairly well told and satisfyingly gory and depraved. But of course, I couldn't concentrate on the episode as an artistic work since I was so determined to figure out what those six clues were. Here's what I came up with:

(1) The oldest son kind of looks like Justin Timberlake.
(2) Eddie Bear is an Indian.
(3) That skinny guy is way evil. And ugly to boot!
(4) Oh my god! He's going to make his wife eat Rowdy!
(5) That's disgusting!
(6) My local news is next.

I certainly hope those are the six clues about which I warned myself. Also, if anyone sees my furniture, I'd really like it back. Thanks.

Posted by Craig at 5:38 PM Comments (4)

Fear Itself: “Community” -- reviewed by Joe Blevins and Craig J. Clark

“This is no longer a vacation. It’s a quest. It’s a quest for fun.” - CLARK GRISWOLD

Doc!

Doc, you gotta help me!

It’s this TV show, Doc, this Fear Itself. Yeah, that’s right, Doc, the NBC horror anthology airing Thursday nights at ten, nine central right after Last Comic Standing. Boy, you sure know your TV shows, Doc. I didn’t think anybody but me was watching... and judging from the ratings they ain’t. So you been watching it too?

Oh, just heard about it somewhere, huh? Still, I’m impressed.

Anyway, Doc, here’s my problem. I’ve been watching this turkey since day one. Day one, Doc, and I ain’t missed an episode yet. Loyal as Greyfriars Bobby, you might say. And what do I get in return, Doc? Zilch, that’s what. Zero. Nada. Nothing. El blank-oh.

What do I want from it? How about a genuine scare every once in a while! The title is Fear Itself but I haven’t experienced any actual fear itself. Boredom itself, yes. Disappointment itself, definitely. Confusion itself, frustration itself, curiosity about what’s on the other channels itself, you name it. Everything but fear itself. I want the fear, Doc. I crave it like the junkie craves his needle. You grok, Doc?

Take last night’s show as a “for instance.” It was called “Community” and it starred that kid from the last Superman movie. Brandon something. Blandly handsome in that “Sears catalog model” kind of way and with acting chops that would almost pass muster in the Podunk High School production of You Can’t Take It With You. In this show, they got him paired with some dame I didn’t recognize. They’re young marrieds eager to buy their first home, and lo and behold, they find a honey of a place in an exclusive gated community. It all seems too good to be true, and Superman, Jr. smells a rat. But Wifey’s just gaga for the dump, so in they move.

Well, you can guess where it goes from there, Doc. Actually, you don’t have to guess. They all but tell you in the first five minutes. It starts with Kal-El making a mad dash on foot for the city limits, the prerequisite angry mob hot on his trail. Most of the rest of the episode is then told in flashbacks, telling you what led up to that chase scene. If your prediction is that the “community” turned out to be a bunch of creeps and whackjobs and that Supes soon regretted ever having moved there, then congratulations are in order, Nostradamus. You are correct, sir.

Fear Itself loves the twist ending, Doc, and I guess the twist here is that the show plays out pretty much like you think it will, except kind of low-key and deflated like somebody’d let all the air out of it. It just seemed kinda half-hearted and perfunctory. Like there’s one scene where the villagers publicly shame a woman by dressing her up in a pig mask and throwing apples at her. Funny, right? But nobody’s really into it. They’re just kind of going through the motions. They looked bored, Doc. Later, the kids in town do the same thing to one of their own, only with snowballs instead of apples. But they show one of the kids throwing a snowball, and she just kind of lobs it underhand. I’m not even sure if it made it to its intended target. The whole show was like that, Doc.

I actually felt sorry for the lummox, Brandon what’s-his-name, Captain Hairdo. I mean, as if the kid didn’t already have problems being unfavorably compared to Christopher Reeve, at one point in the episode they actually show him in a wheelchair! A wheelchair, Doc! I crap thee negatory. Maybe next they came have him star in a remake of Monsignor. You ever see Monsignor, Doc? Not bad at all, despite what you may’ve heard. Plus Genevieve Bujold gets ’em out in one scene. Not too shabby, Doc. Not too shabby.

It feels good to talk about this stuff, Doc. When I came in here, I was all upset because Fear Itself had stolen another hour of my life. But now that I’ve gotten all this off my chest, I feel great. Well, not great exactly but better at least. Ready to go write another blog post slagging Fear Itself. Thanks a million, Doc.

Say, this is some swell office you got here, Doc. I never really noticed it before. You must be awful excited about the Beijing Olympics. All those posters on your wall, I mean. “8-8-08.” I guess that’s when they start televising it, huh? Hey, is that a Heroes coffee mug on your desk? Hmm. I never noticed that lapel pin of yours, Doc. Colorful. Looks like a little bird. A peacock, huh? Cute. You know, Doc, I’ve never told you this before, but in this light, you look uncannily like Jeff Zucker, the President and Chief Executive Officer of NBC Universal. The glasses, the bald pate. You guys could be twins.

Say, Doc, why are you looking at me like that? I didn’t say anything to offend you, did I?

Doc...?

DOC, NO!!!!!!!!!

* * *

Well, folks, here we are in Week 7 of Fear Itself, the midway point of the series, commonly referred to in television circles as Make or Break It Week. Less commonly known as Hump Week (at least in this age of political correctness), Get Your Act Together Week or Where’s the Damned Werewolf Story Already Week. Let’s face it; they’ve already done vampires, ghosts, serial killers (two of them), voodoo, zombies and (this week) a whole Stepford Wives kind of deal. They’re going to do a werewolf story sooner or later. Why not make it sooner so I have a chance of seeing it before NBC pulls the plug? (And more and more I’m thinking they will one of these weeks, although I shudder to imagine what NBC would pull out of its vaults to replace an underperforming summer replacement show such as this.)

This week’s episode, as Joe has told you, was called “Community.” I like to call it “Count the Allusions, References and Outright Steals.” In addition to Ira Levin’s fictional town of Stepford, which has been depicted in no less than two feature films and three TV movies and was the obvious inspiration for the exclusive gated community The Commons, the episode also featured transitions stolen from Kubrick’s The Shining (“Two Days Later,” “Four Weeks Later” and so forth – I was waiting for one that just said “Wednesday”) and strong allusions to Rosemary’s Baby (another Ira Levin influence), Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Truman Show and even Shock Treatment, the less-than-successful follow-up to The Rocky Horror Picture Show. At least Shock Treatment had songs, a satirical point to make about American values a vision of life as a reality TV that series was amazingly prescient. “Community,” on the other hand, just chugged along, refusing to offer up any surprises or chills or, well, anything of interest, really.

The sad thing is it didn’t have to be this way. “Community” was directed by Mary Harron, who previously helmed the features I Shot Andy Warhol (which – SPOILER ALERT – is about some chick who shoots Andy Warhol), American Psycho (which can be found in the $5 DVD bin at your local Wal Mart), and The Notorious Bettie Page (which didn’t stick around in theaters long enough for me to see it) as well as a slew of television shows. Clearly if anybody could bridge the gap between the big and small screens and do so with a certain amount of élan, it was she. Sadly, Ms. Harron was sandbagged with a substandard script (which is, as far as I can tell, the standard modus operandi for this show) and some barely adequate thespians. Still, the one guy who jabbed a pair of scissors into the evil real estate agent’s neck was good. If there’s one thing this episode lacked, it was more scenes of people jabbing scissors into other people’s necks. Would have certainly relieved the tedium.

But getting back to the werewolves, is it really too much to ask for them to give me a decent werewolf story? I make no apologies; I really like the hairy beasts. And after Masters of Horror disappointed me by containing not one werewolf episode, I’m ready for Fear Itself to redress this egregious oversight. If they choose to include a transformation sequence, though, I hope they abstain from using CGI. There’s nothing worse than a crappy CGI transformation sequence. Hell, I’d take lap dissolves between progressively shaggy makeup effects over CGI (which has ruined more werewolf movies in the past decade and change than I frankly care to think about).

Unfortunately, I don’t think next week’s Fear Itself will deliver the werewolf story I’m waiting for. Of course, it’s hard to tell since the teaser was no more than a few seconds and didn’t give any indication of what the episode is about. If the IMDb is anything to go by, though, it will be “Skin & Bones,” directed by Larry Fessenden from a script by Drew McWeeny & Scott Swan, who wrote both of John Carpenter’s Masters of Horror episodes. That’s a reasonably good sign, but the plot description (“When a cattle herder returns home to his family after being lost in the woods for days, he just doesn't seem the same. Soon, a terrible mortal struggle ensues against the terrifying monster possessing him.”) doesn’t scream “werewolf” to me. Werewolves don’t possess you; they are you. Oh, how I wish that were so.

Anyway, we’ll be back next week with another installment. At least I know I will. I can’t say for sure whether Joe made it out of Jeff Zucker’s office alive. Television executives can be notoriously sensitive when it comes to unasked-for criticism.

Posted by Craig at 1:11 PM Comments (4)

Fear Itself: “New Year’s Day” -- reviewed by Craig J. Clark and Joe Blevins

I hate being lied to. Maybe I’m simply too trusting in general, but when I see something in a film or a television show I like to think that it happened the way it was depicted (unless, of course, the event takes place in an obvious dream or fantasy sequence, in which case I’m more than willing to give the filmmakers [or telefilmmakers, as the case may be] the benefit of the doubt). The one thing I can’t stand is when I’m led to believe one thing for 55 minutes (or 85 minutes or 235 minutes) only to have the rug pulled out from under me in the last five. (That being said, if somebody did make a four-hour film that relied on a twist ending, I would have to grudgingly admire him or her for having the balls [or ovaries, as the case may be] to try it even if I still ended up hating the film itself.)

This brings us to “New Year’s Day,” the latest installment (after a week off) of Fear Itself, which was directed by Darren Lynn Bousman, the auteur behind Saw II, Saw III and – what was the last one called? Ah, yes – and Saw IV. (For the life of me, I can’t imagine what audiences see in that series.) For the bulk of the episode’s running time, Bousman makes us think that hung-over reveler Helen (Briana Evigan) – who has been awoken at 4:32 a.m. by the sound of sirens – is one the survivors of a freak zombie outbreak when, in fact, it turns out she was a zombie all along. Happy New Year! What is there to say about a show that has so much contempt for its audience that it will deliberately mislead them in such a fashion? And to what end? So people across the nation can collectively fall out of their chairs and cry out, “With God and the Devil as my witnesses, I have been duped!”

I suppose that I should relay some of the details of the plot and its execution so that you, the reader, can decide for yourself whether Bousman and his writer, Steve Niles, were playing fair or not. For starters, Helen has a tragic backstory involving a recently deceased brother, a nerdy roommate with an unrequited crush on her, and a raucous New Year’s Eve party where she learns that the boyfriend she was staking her happiness on is seeing her best friend behind her back. The events of the party are intercut with Helen’s attempts to escape from the ghouls in her apartment building (including the requisite old lady, Mrs. Pribble, and her roommate Eddie, who does a creepy neck crack thing that will likely cause actor Niall Matter to seek out a chiropractor before long, especially if Bousman made him do multiple takes) and find safe haven.

Throughout, Bousman exploits the terror potential of flashing emergency lights, people banging on doors, car alarms in underground parking garages and unreliable cell phone service. Oh, yes. And I almost forgot the ADD editing style and herky-jerky camerawork that makes it look like he let one of the zombies operate the camera. But have no fear. This is but fanciful speculation on my part because I know they would never let a zombie into the union.

I’d have to say my biggest disappointment with this episode, though, was touched off by an inconsequential piece of set dressing in Helen’s bedroom. The character has posters for Z-grade horror films on her walls, one of which caught my attention because it looked like the title was Curse of the Werewolf (a nifty 1961 Hammer Studios film starring Oliver Reed as the tortured lycanthrope), but alas on closer inspection I saw that it was Curse of the Wend Witch, a completely made-up film with a nonsensical title that raised more questions than it answered. (For example, what the hell is a “wend witch”? Was the witch herself cursed or did she place a curse on a family and/or town, possibly in the distant past? And why am I trying to figure these things out during what is ostensibly an important exposition scene?) This is clearly an issue that would have never existed if they had simply gone with Curse of the Werewolf (a film that, in all honesty, I would have been much rather been watching).

At any rate, I’m sure you, the reader, are as anxious as I to find out what my colleague, Mr. Blevins, has to say about this episode (if, in fact, he actually got to watch it). You never can tell from week to week what wacky hi-jinks that irrepressible scamp will be up to. Take it away, Joe!

* * *

“ABC’s new Hopkins came out ahead in the 10:00 p.m. hour, scoring a 4.3/8. CBS’s Swingtown placed second with a 4.1/7, while NBC’s Fear Itself had much to fear as it drew a 2.0/4.” – Studio Briefing, 18 July 2008 10:25 AM, PDT

2.0. Two point oh.

Oh.

Oh....

Oh, Mr. Clark, the situation is more dire than even I had suspected. I have led us into the most barren and inhospitable of deserts without food, water, or supplies. In the bleak and hopeless landscape of Week Six, Project: Fear Itself has finally and unmistakably revealed itself as the reckless, pointless suicide mission it had been since the moment of its wretched conception. Why, I ask? Why have I led us to this dismal, unpopulated place where nothing lives and nothing grows? There is neither milk nor honey to be found here, only bile and ash. The American viewing public knew this all along, and they have wisely departed for the greener pastures of ABC and CBS. I praise you for your wisdom and foresight, American viewing public.

But here I remain at NBC – cursed, blighted NBC – with Fear Itself.

Precious reader, everything my colleague Mr. Clark has told you about “New Year’s Day” is true. True beyond true. An hour spent watching this program is an hour grossly misspent. Just think! While I was sitting glumly through this tired and hackneyed zombie tale, I could have been scaling Everest, reading to the lame, learning Sanskrit, or making love to a countess. Any one of these activities could have proven a satisfactory way to pass the time.

But no!

Fool that I was, I remained loyal to the Project. Oh, Project, my wanton mistress, my false-hearted lover! I come to you for succor; you give me pap. I come to you for sustenance; you offer me clichés. I come to you for stimulation; you give me...

You give me...

YOU GIVE ME THE STUPIDEST FUCKING ENDING IN THE HISTORY OF THE SHOW, AND THAT’S REALLY SAYING SOMETHING! I MEAN, JESUS CHRIST, THAT WASN’T EVEN SCARY! I MEAN SERIOUSLY, WTF? GOD, WHAT A LOAD OF HORSECRAP! I THOUGHT THAT THE SHOW COULDN’T GET ANY WORSE THAN THE JOHN LANDIS EPISODE, BUT APPARENTLY I WAS WRONG! I COULD EAT A BOWL OF ALPHA-BITS AND SHIT OUT A BETTER SCRIPT THAN THAT! AND YOU KNOW WHAT, NBC? THAT NEW SHOW WITH CHRISTIAN SLATER LOOKS FUCKING AWFUL! JUST FUCKING AWFUL! WHAT DIPSHIT GAVE THAT THING THE GREEN LIGHT?

Ahem.

Okay. Got that out of my system. Whew! Feeling much better now. That was cleansing. That was cathartic. I feel reinvigorated and ready to tackle seven more weeks of Fear Itself.

Yes, seven more glorious weeks! Count ’em. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Oh, God...

Posted by Craig at 3:16 PM Comments (4)