THE CHILDREN (1980)
Directed by Max Kalmanowicz
Rhino VHS
THE FILM
I once commuted to work via train. On that commute, I met a girl named Karen. One day, Slaughterhouse Five fell out of her bag. I picked it up. We chatted. Although nothing came of my attempts to woo Karen, the few conversations we had were enjoyable. Also: she painted her fingernails black.
So, whenever The Children threw out a close-up of those black killer-kid fingernails, I thought of those conversations. That thought was pleasant. And that thought was in very good company.
The Children is entirely comprised of nice things. Simplistic, uncluttered, and careless in all the right places, this is the type of humble horror film that is often idealized, but rarely actualized. I know, because it's not Terror On Tour or Dracula's Last Rites or Ghostkeeper; all similarly-budgeted, early-80s obscurities that provide plenty of good-time thrills, but not as many good-time feelings. So when The Children comes along, arms open, offering up what we want and expect (strange visuals, strange violence, strange everything) and a bit of what we don't (a welcoming comfort zone), everything clicks. The film flows. The mind flows. The world feels centered. Care for a hug?
DON'T DO IT.
After two lazy power plant employees spurn proactivity for an evening of brewskis, the fit hits the shan. Nuclear ooze. A cloud of yellow smoke. One half-empty school bus. Thus, a handful of parasitic-zombie kids (with black fingernails) attempt to wipe out the entirety of a small rural town named Ravensback…with hugs. Radioactive, skin-melting hugs. A topless woman sunbathes while her husband lifts weights. Middle-aged twins make sex jokes. Our Sheriff is rather thin. Darkness falls. The Children force the survivors to seek shelter in a house. Good luck, Ravensback.
Like Frederick Friedel's Axe, The Children breezes along with a gentle, subdued angst. Parents, apparently, are all jerks. The film does its best to communicate that sentiment, while building tension between quiet spaces and quiet disturbances. But, where Friedel's vision was built on despondency, The Children heads straight to Fun Town. No effort is made to convey any sort of relatable emotion or experience, and there are no heavy intricacies to sort through. Therefore, all of the soothing, pseudo-creepy junk that we love so much is given carte blanche access to conquer our hearts. The alarmingly weird gore. The kids trying their best not to break into hysterics. Creative uses of forest-y locations. Henry Manfredini's awesomely self-pinched Friday The 13th score. And, a very curious method of dealing with the kids' affliction (it involves a samurai sword). Indifferent repetition crept in before the stellar climax hit, but that didn't matter -- I was too busy thinking of pleasant conversations with girls on trains.
And that just about says it all.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
Here's the thing. Troma released an extras-laden special edition DVD of The Children in 2005. It'll set you back eighteen smackers. By all accounts, this early 90s Rhino release utilized a similar master -- full frame, rough and indistinct, but always charming. The tape has terrific cover art. Plus, it costs much less than a meal. You know what I'm getting at.
EXTRAS
The dead dog made me sad, but you can't win 'em all.
FINAL THOUGHTS
The Children was born to be loved. It's too deficient to attract straitlacers, but not quite insane enough for total freaks. Hence, it's a modest, mid-fi wonder that holds an inherent power to please for open and appreciative folks. If that sounds like you (of course it does!), hug away.
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 10.14.10 |
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