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By Joshua Jabcuga

August 18, 2005

Seduction of the Innocent: Wherein Josh Jabcuga interviews Rob Zombie about film projects, and reviews the DVD releases of CONSTANTINE and TALES FROM THE CRYPT.

Josh Jabcuga/Squib Central @ Moviepoopshoot.com:

The artistic leap from HOUSE OF 1000 CORPSES to THE DEVIL’S REJECTS is pretty astounding. What really grabbed me was the command of pacing in certain scenes; there aren't any cheap shock tactics, but there are some masterful and even subtle strokes hidden in all the chaos. The film really made me squirm at times, and that's a compliment. You must have done some serious homework. What films, writers, and directors did you hunker down with since your first feature?

Rob Zombie, director of THE DEVIL’S REJECTS, HOUSE OF 1000 CORPSES:

Well, there are obvious films that influenced REJECTS such as movies like BONNIE AND CLYDE, TWO LANE BLACKTOP, ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST and so on. But the main thing that made the difference for me was just slowing myself down. By this I mean that I am a very hyper person and I think that vibe shows in 1000 CORPSES. This time I really made an effort to calm down and really try and dig in on any given scene. So, it wasn't any particular film but just a general state of mind. This was tricky on such a short shoot of 29 days but I somehow got it done.

Pictured Below: Tremor Christ in Satan's Bed - Two Charter Members of The Ramones Fan Club, Rob Zombie and Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder, meet up to discuss what they plan on doing the next time they run into former Creed lead singer Scott Stapp and any of his fans.

Josh Jabcuga:

The release date seemed to indicate that someone, either yourself or the studio, was trying to differentiate this film from the typical Hollywood horror movie (and rightfully so), as opposed to a gimmicky release during Halloween. Did anyone in particular push for the summer, and in retrospect, do you think the gamble worked against the film’s box office earnings?

Rob Zombie:

Well, releasing in the summer is a little nuts, considering every other film's budget is fifteen times bigger. This was Lion's Gate idea because they believed that they had something more special than a throwaway teen thriller. I liked the idea because it's great to have some hard adult stuff among all the fluffy happy summer blockbusters. I was thrilled with the opening, considering we are the only film without a Taco Bell tie-in.

Josh Jabcuga:

The movie has a built-in audience, and it's nearly a lock that it'll do gangbuster business once it's released on DVD. Do you think the film was cannibalized by its core audience, who may be skipping the theatrical release knowing they'll just buy the DVD in a few months?

Rob Zombie:

Hard to say. Maybe? Waiting for the DVD seems to be the new math. Although I think REJECTS needs to be seen on the big screen. I personally still enjoy everything more at the movies. But I do know plenty of people who now hate going to the movies. Either way it lives forever on DVD, so that's cool by me.

Josh Jabcuga:

Obviously THE DEVIL’S REJECTS has the gritty and even epic elements of films like THE WILD BUNCH, BADLANDS, and even ROLLING THUNDER. Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriquez are supposedly collaborating on a film called GRIND HOUSE, celebrating the exploitative elements of 70s cinema. THE DEVIL’S REJECTS, in my opinion, has done the best job of capturing the 70s vibe since JACKIE BROWN. In your opinion, what made the 70s the last great decade of film? Is that scene so unobtainable these days, or is it just a case of nostalgia talking?

Rob Zombie:

The 70s were great. I think the reason is people weren't so greedy and still thought of movies as art. That last part may sound weird but I think there is more care put into any Russ Meyer movie than any cookie cutter Hollywood product. Every movie can't make 100 million dollars. Why does everything have to be for everybody? It almost seems unreal that bad TV shows are now what we call movies. It's sick. So-called grind house films like TRUCK TURNER or CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST seem like pure works of art compared to the current crop of forgettable crap.

Josh Jabcuga:

After only two films, it's already interesting to watch your career in film. You've made mention of working with Sponge Bob's creator on a cartoon aimed at adults, which I can only imagine will be pretty surreal. Ultimately, are you aiming to follow the path of someone like a Tim Burton, someone who can balance the abnormal and obscene with the mainstream, and also jump around to different target demographics, maybe with something like SLEEPY HOLLOW one year, and then a few years later, CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY? Do you foresee the "Rob Zombie" brand of filmmaking, whatever the fuck that is, being held against you, not allowing you total artistic freedom in picking and choosing projects, at least at this point in your career? If so, do you have any strategies of overcoming this?

Rob Zombie:

Hard to say at this point. One thing that I would like to avoid is being boxed in by people's ideas of what you can and cannot do. Juggling the mainstream with the cultish world has always been where I'm at. As far as having control or artistic freedom, well I wouldn't ever get involved with any project that wouldn't give me that. What's the point?

Josh Jabcuga:

Maybe it's more a case of what is implied rather than actually shown, but still, I was surprised that THE DEVIL’S REJECTS was able to get the R rating, especially with the moral watchdogs chomping at the bit for the last few years. Did the original cut vary from the final version by much, and was there anything that you had to chop out that you really had your heart set on keeping?

You Lucky Devil, You: Above, Rob Zombie and the beautiful bride of Frankenstein, Mrs. Sherri Moon-Zombie.

Rob Zombie:

I feel I faired pretty well with the MPAA. The scene that was hit the hardest was Otis tormenting Gloria in the hotel room, but of course that will be restored on the DVD.

Josh Jabcuga:

Up to now you've been working solely on original scripts. If you could adapt one or two novels to the big screen, which would they be?

Rob Zombie:

Well, even though it's been done before I'd love to adapt I AM LEGEND.

Josh Jabcuga:

THE DEVIL’S REJECTS is like an All Madden Team of character actors. Who were some of your all-time favorites from the golden years of Hollywood?

Rob Zombie:

Some of my favorites are John Wayne, James Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, Jimmy Stewart...I don't know, there are so many great people.

Josh Jabcuga:

I'm sure this has been asked of you before, but were you a Universal guy or a Hammer guy?

Rob Zombie:

Both, but more so Universal because that's what I was exposed to first as a kid. Although anything with Lee or Cushing is great.

Josh Jabcuga:

You're a fan of Kubrick I've heard. If you could ask Stanley one question, what would it be?

Rob Zombie:

Yes, I am a huge fan but truthfully I have no idea what I would ask.

Josh Jabcuga:

What's the one thing you'll do differently on your next film?

Rob Zombie:

I would try to dig deeper into the souls of the characters. This is where the heart of any film lies. Just trying to get more intensity out of my actors.

Thumbing My Way Back To Heaven

Let’s pretend Warner Bros. recent DVD release CONSTANTINE wasn’t based on Vertigo’s excellent Hellblazer comic book series. Let’s forget everything we know about Keanu Reeves, dude. So what are we left with? A (holy) roller coaster ride, high on atmosphere, production values, and yes, even performances. Don’t be mislead, though; every film is born with original sin, and while CONSTANTINE’s crimes won’t land it in hell, it may secure itself a spot squarely in cinema purgatory.

The plot concerns some heavy lifting with all its religious mumbo jumbo, with Keanu playing a Holy Ghost buster, trying to earn his way back into heaven. To even up the odds (God has a tag team partner in his son, Christ, after all) Lucifer/Satan attempts to find a mother to perform his own version of the Immaculate Conception. The Spear of Destiny, the weapon that eventually did in Christ while he was being crucified for your sins, my sins, and Keanu’s sins (mostly committed onscreen during the final two MATRIX movies), figures into the plot of CONSTANTINE, but by then, the audience has already been assaulted by an unholy array of special effects that would make each of the twelve apostles toss their cookies following the last supper.

Keanu, sometimes unfairly, is stereotyped as being wooden, but here he turns in perhaps his finest performance to date. Even so, I suspect he could have amped the grittiness factor a few notches according to the source material. Rachel Weisz plays it straight as a cop trying to rescue her twin sister from hell, who committed suicide (or was she coerced?), and according to Catholicism, suicide victims are forbidden entry into heaven. (Confused yet? Yeah, me too.)

Shia LaBeouf is tossed into the mix as the Robin to Keanu’s Batman, and is forced to recite some really poor one-liners for comedic interludes. Dijimon Hounsou plays a “neutral,” who is, according to Keanu’s Constantine, the equivalent of a Biblical Switzerland. The film needed more of Dijimon, who has a strong onscreen presence and who manages to bring the perfect balance of intensity and tongue-in-cheekiness to the role. The same goes with Gavin Rossdale, one-time lead singer of BUSH, and Mr. Gwen Stefani himself. I couldn’t help but think that perhaps Rossdale would have been a more interesting, if less marketable choice to play John Constantine. After all, the Hollywood translation of the graphic novel actually made the character American (probably out of fear that Keanu can’t pull off accents or dialects to save his life, see: Coppola’s BRAM STOKER’S DRACULA).

The film gets a tad murky toward the end of the second act/beginning of the third act, as all hell breaks loose, pun intended. The screenwriters get lazy and often make characters think out loud, like Weisz’s character, who at times spouts expository lines to keep the plot moving along. Ultimately, the film is too dense and tries to accomplish too much in too little time. We know that even the good Lord took six days to create the universe, and on the seventh, He caught up on his TIVO. I feel for the writers, who are blending all sorts of storylines from various Hellblazer graphic novels, but really, no one wants to go to Sunday Mass and be recited the entire Bible. A few chapters or verses would do just fine. Besides, that's what sequels are for, see: THE NEW TESTAMENT.

Warner Bros. Home Video deserves a free pass to heaven with the DVD release. The 2-Disc Deluxe Edition (available at most stores for twenty bucks or less) is loaded with interesting and effective supplements that enrich the overall experience of watching the film a second time. The presentation is beautiful, and the package includes a mini graphic novel full of HellBlazer highlights to try to capitalize on some of the cross over movies-to-comics audience. Marvel Comics could learn a lot from the way DC/Vertigo/Warner Bros. produced this little devil.

Tales From the Crypt: The Complete First Season

Horror anthologies seem to be making a strong comeback. This October sees the debut of The Showtime Channel’s MASTERS OF HORROR series, as well as the release of IDW Publications DOOMED magazine (of which, in full disclosure, I must admit that I am partially involved with this project). Effectively, ABC started the resurgence with the brilliant brain-scratcher LOST, building on years of groundwork left behind by THE TWILIGHT ZONE, THE OUTER LIMITS, E.C. Comics, Amazing Stories, and several others in all shapes and sizes.

Warner Bros. Home Video can chalk up another victory with their recent release of TALES FROM THE CRYPT, THE COMPLETE FIRST SEASON. Warner Bros. has done a lot to endear itself to me this year, first with the release of the Tenth Anniversary Edition of Michael Mann’s HEAT, the stellar collection of BATMAN: THE ANIMATED SERIES boxed sets, the elegant THE COMPLETE JAMES DEAN COLLECTION, and now this, bringing the Crypt Keeper to the digital era.

HBO nailed the vibe of the classic EC Comics, blending chills, cheekiness, and above average production values to create some truly inspired episodes during the corpse, er, course of the series’ run. The Season One collection consists of two discs, featuring six episodes, including the classic entry “And All Through the House” directed by Robert Zemeckis, not to mention the debut episode, “The Man Who was Death,” shot by Walter Hill. Disc Two features a fascinating, beautifully produced, if somewhat dry at times, overview documentary of the William M. Gaines’ creation, aptly titled “Tales from the Crypt: From Comic Books to Television.” This double disc collection makes a nice little addition to the ol’ DVD library with its reasonable price tag (about twenty bucks at most stores).

In the 1950s, Fredric Wertham published the book SEDUCTION OF THE INNOCENT, trying to draw a correlation between juvenile delinquency and the publication of comic books like Tales from the Crypt and The Vault of Horror. Wertham nearly single handedly buried the Crypt Keeper for good through industry-imposed censorship. In fitting EC Comics fashion, thanks to the Warner Bros. release of TALES FROM THE CRYPT: The Complete First Season, Doc Wertham is surely rolling in his grave. He’s just a mere footnote now to the legacy of EC Comics, which lives on to this day.

Recommended Summer/Fall Reading: Order your copies at www.overlookconnection.com:

OFFSPRING by Jack Ketchum:

THE LAST RAKOSH by F.PAUL WILSON:

WETWORK by Philip Nutman:

This week's column is dedicated in loving memory to my dog, Ozzy. We'll miss ya buddy! It's not going to be the same around here without you. If you're wondering where my dog got his namesake from, here's last week's episode of Squib Central...

After Forever: Wherein Josh Jabcuga finally caves in and attends Ozzfest, to see his mighty metal heroes, Black Sabbath, for what could be the last time.

My teenage years could be summed up in two parts: The period prior to an older brother introducing me to the music of Black Sabbath, and everything thereafter. Until a few years later when I got laid for the first time, thereby shifting all my priorities out of whack, my existence revolved solely around the sounds of Ozzy, Tony, Geezer, and Bill, the iron men of heavy metal, Black Sabbath.

I graduated from high school in 1995, and my personal soundtrack had been scored by a couple of thugs from industrial Birmingham (where else could “heavy metal” be so masterfully and righteously crafted?) who had swiped their name from a Boris Karloff movie. When my peers were listening to either Snoop Dogg or Nirvana, I was drowning out the noise of the outside world with classics like Sabbath, Bloody, Sabbath, and even less popular entries in the Sabbath catalogue like Never Say Die.

Each weekend I’d make a trip to the local independent bookstore where I would scour heavy metal publications such as R.I.P. magazine for any mention of Ozzy and/or his former bandmates. Ozzy’s solo career was flying high thanks to a late resurgence in popularity resulting from the No More Tears album; speculation of a Sabbath reunion seemed out of the realm of possibility. Remember, this was before Ozzfest opened its doors for business. This was before Sharon Osbourne whored out her family with MTV's The Osbournes, just to be able to collect royalty checks on Pez dispensers and bobblehead dolls molded in the likeness of Ozzy-spawn Jack and Kelly. Classmates would either laugh or look at me cross-eyed when they saw me fumbling for my Black Sabbath CDs and my Walkman on the march to the bus stop after school. Sabbath, in my opinion, the progenitors of the very in vogue (at that time) grunge music genre had their status downgraded from one time arena-rock heavyweights to mere footnotes in heavy metal history, often forced to be content standing in the shadows of Led Zeppelin. But the shadows…ah, that’s where Sabbath felt most at home. That was their very element. It was there, in the gutter. Spreading the doom and gloom. With the fire and brimstone. Among the smokestacks and thick smog. Calling out to the downtrodden and angst-ridden. Yep, for a confused, lonely teenager, this was sweet music to my ears.

Perhaps this dormancy and ability to go under mainstream rock radio’s radar is what saved them in the long run, protecting their relevancy. Turn on classic rock radio on the FM dial. After two days, I guarantee you that you’ll hear every single Led Zeppelin track ever recorded, ridden hard and placed back on the shelf wet (and not just “Stairway to Heaven”). Not so with Sabbath. Classic rock outlets tend to just stick with playing Sabbath’s hits like “Iron Man,” “Paranoid,” and occasionally “Changes.” They barely manage to skim the surface. So putting on a Sabbath platter is like opening up a new book or venturing into unfamiliar black waters, whereas when you spin a little Page, Plant, Jones, and Bonham at home, each note is so familiar, so tried and tested, I half expect an annoying radio jockey to interrupt with some equally offensive commercial for the local used car dealer. Zeppelin has been so commercialized, however unintentionally that may be, that you can’t help but listen to them and expect to be sold something, even it it’s just between songs.

We Sold Our Souls for Coca Cola

As much as I’d dreamed of one day seeing the original Sabbath line-up live and in person, I never once thought Black Sabbath could live up to the high standards I’d created for them. Reunion concerts are often ugly affairs. The world has witnessed Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley shill KISS coffins and KISS condoms on stage; it’s also seen some dude try to channel (albeit rather convincingly) Jim Morrison with The Doors of the 21st Century. Rock ‘n roll forgot about the sex and drugs a long, long time ago. That’d been playing it safe. These days it’s about charging three hundred bucks for a seat on the floor and cashing checks for product endorsements ranging from Volkswagens to iPods. Who can blame Sharon Osbourne for trying to capitalize on the reality TV show craze? So what if she tarnished all those near-mythical stories of her husband as the Prince of fucking Darkness? Music is money, and that sound you heard was not the sound of bats’ heads rolling, but of checks being cashed. Would you fucking like fries with that, mate? Ozzy was a showman before he was a singer, and this was show business after all. Black Sabbath, though, this was Ozzy before Sharon. Black Sabbath had always been about the music. Well, the sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll. We’ve all witnessed how, er, well Ozzy has held up over the years, but how did dear ol’ Sabbath fare in 2005? More importantly, did I really want the answer to that question? It’s like going on vacation and finding a great little out-of-the-way eatery, only to return years later to find the place has become a dive under new management. Would you fucking like fries with that, indeed.

People tend to gloss over the musicianship of Black Sabbath, instead focusing on the quote-unquote satanic worshiping elements that the group occasionally played up for the…yep, you guessed it, for the money. (And truth be told, these days video games are scarier than anything Sabbath did back in their heyday. Resident Evil, Silent Hill, even Grand Theft Auto make Sabbath seem tame in comparison.) Black Sabbath needed all the paydays they could get, though. Their original contract gave them squat, and their penchant for recreational pharmaceuticals often saw the fortunes they did have go straight up their noses anyway: a close reading of the liner notes of the brilliantly titled Volume 4 reveals a special nod to Coca Cola of Los Angeles. Clearly ol’ Ozzy was never a fan of Pepsi.

Masters of Reality

After several reunion tours and a few years of resistance, I finally gave in when I heard that this year’s Ozzfest would likely be the last outing for the mega successful traveling sideshow of metal and merchandise, as well as the final opportunity for fans to pay their respects to Black Sabbath, who deserve the respect of being name-checked once again: Tony Iommi on guitar, Geezer Butler on bass, the ferocious Mr. Bill Ward on the skins, and Mr. Crowley, Mr. Tinkertrain, Mr. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated”--Mr. Ozzy Osbourne.

Other than just missing Will Smith backstage (who was in tow with Jada Pinkett Smith, on the road with Ozzfest promoting her own band), behind the scenes at Ozzfest is pretty low key. It’s really business as usual. No drunken shenanigans. No penetrating of the groupies with hammerhead sharks. Not even anyone snorting any insects, ala the oft-repeated tale of Ozzy running out of blow and bending over to Hoover up a line of ants while on tour in the 80s with Motley Crue. The groupies were surely squandered off on the tour buses (at least that’s what I tell myself), which form a fairly sizeable convoy in the parking lot off-center behind the main stage. Some of the younger bands are tossing footballs around, having barbeques, even soaking in the sun.

For the most part, I see more action as I take in the sights (and sounds) of Ozzfest itself. There’s a bunch of women walking around topless, with faux bikini tops spray-painted on. There’s the middle-aged woman who asks me if I’m from Brazil (I’m wearing a Sepultura soccer jersey with “Brazil” lettered on the front, and with my Polish roots, bloody roots, I'm about as far removed genetically from Brazil as possible), who then proceeds to offer me a few blunts in trade for the shirt off my back. I decline her offer. Had she offered me a cold bottle of water, or even a hot pretzel at that point, she would have had herself a deal. And of course, there’s the biggest collection of white trash I’ve ever seen gathered in one spot, save the local “Super Flea” flea market. Who knew father-son bonding now consisted of smoking a jay together? Let’s not forget the occasional fight, which is quickly turned into a full-fledged riot when overbearing security swoops down on the scene. Is it really necessary for approximately twenty security guards to break up a fight between two drunk Canadian dudes?

Somewhere Zakk Wylde and his Black Label Society were jerking their whammy bars into overtime. Somewhere Rob Zombie was taking a break from directing movies to bang his head on the Ozzfest second stage. Somewhere Iron Maiden was warning the villagers to run for the hills. That was all din for this particular concertgoer, since somewhere, Black Sabbath was lurking in the shadows, waiting to take the stage.

Hole in the Sky

I squint my eyes a couple of times and I swear to you I was standing in some smoky arena circa 1974. But I wasn’t in some smoky arena circa 1974, no matter how much my eyes and ears tell me otherwise. Ozzy screams into the microphone for the audience to put their fucking hands in the air, higher, where he can see them. He motions for them to sing along in unison when the chorus hits. He takes buckets of water and douses the first few rows. My friend looks at me and screams, “This is just like Sunday mass!” Just like witches at black masses!

Ozzy’s heavily processed voice was like Velveeta on an eighty dollar steak, but that’s the way it’d always been, and tonight, it tastes to me and to a capacity crowd that even Velveeta gets better as it ages. All the hits were present, from “Iron Man” to the still timely (unfortunately) “War Pigs” to an electric “Children of the Grave” to "N.I.B." and even slight riff teases and nods to “Symptom of the Universe” and “Sabbath, Bloody, Sabbath.” In between songs Ozzy is sipping tea poured by personal assistant Tony Dennis. He’s doing fewer of his trademark grasshopper jumps these days, but he’s running in place like he’s doing Tae Bo, or maybe more precisely, secret Jazzercise steps from the Olivia Newton John “Physical” video. Somehow, though, he gives you the sense that he’s actually enjoying it, even after all these years, and if he’s faking it, well, he deserves an Academy Award along with the Grammy. After all the really high highs and really low lows during the course of Osbourne’s career, it appears the Ozz-man still gets his best buzz from feeding off the energy of the crowd, and not from feeding off bats per se.

And what of Osbourne’s cohorts, Geezer, Tony, and Bill? Geezer Butler and Tony Iommi are breathtaking. I don’t think anyone has ever accused Geezer and Iommi of being teetotalers, but their musical conditioning is astounding. They play so effortlessly that it’s like watching an Abrams tank mow threw a suburban shopping center. God they’re spectacular, I say to myself, and I wonder why they still don’t get the recognition they deserve like a John Entwistle or a Jimmy Page. The sonic landscape they map out before the crowd is never gratuitous or overly showy like an Eddie Van Halen. Everything is smooth, every curve feels like it belongs, every squeal and moan a puzzle piece that finds its way home. And Bill Ward back there on the drum kit is the rainmaker. While age and time have stolen some of his rapid-fire drum fills, Ward has managed to compensate for them with a confident, deliberate, and menacing beat, like a Shaolin monk who kills with three well timed and masterfully placed blows, not wasting any energy on frivolous movements.

If Zeppelin has “Stairway to Heaven,” perhaps Black Sabbath should be known for the flipside to that coin, with the song that bares their name, “Black Sabbath.” What is this that stands before me, figure in black which points at me. I’ve got goose bumps. I turn around to get a glimpse of the crowd, who are collectively lighting the highway to hell with their Zippos outstretched.

The evening air is crisp and the moon is full. Maybe God has taken the night off, or perhaps He/She has taken a cheap seat in the lawn section. Tonight it’s Black Sabbath’s time to shine. After over two hours of deafening devil’s music, the group embraces and bows. They’re all smiles and handshakes with one another, as if they’ve never missed a beat, as if nothing has ever changed, not time, not money, not rock 'n roll, nothing.

Who can explain it? Maybe Black Sabbath did make a deal with the devil after all; if so, perhaps they’ve found a loophole or a clause and have managed to get a few more miles out of the ride. Ozzy is the living, breathing rock ‘n roll cliché except someone has forgotten to tell this to the old man. Fuck telling him now; you’d be about twenty years too late. But this isn’t July 21, 2005. It’s a smoky arena circa 1974, and if I squint my eyes just so, I can see the past and the present all at once. I can even see after forever.

Praise for the writing of Josh Jabcuga, who pens Squib Central with ink made from his own blood, published every Thursday, exclusively at www.moviepoopshoot.com:

"You’re a bad influence on them, I’ll tell you right now." -Max Cavalera, lead singer of Soulfly, former lead singer of Brazilian death metal icons Sepultura.

I read your article and you my dear are a true ASSHOLE!!! Wonder how you landed your job, desperation???"-Angie (last name unknown; article mentioned...unknown).

“Josh Jabcuga can take the 26 measly letters of our crude alphabet and capture the bi-polar soul of all that is classically yet disturbingly American. Then, when his typewriter is left to cool, he can turn right around…completely ready to trounce any drunk punk that’s got me backed into a corner.” –The Colonel J.D. Wilkes of The Legendary Shack*Shakers.

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