Hidden Flick: The Devil Wears Tie Dye

After about six or seven minutes, I shouted out to get his attention, but there was no human reply—just a loud echo, returning to me, as if the house threw my voice like an invisible steel ball drilling its way back into my throat. Ahem…so I decided to wander into another room, and lo and behold, another horror film was playing.

Carnival of Souls, a black and white film, was playing on another television in what appeared to be another sitting room where one read, watched television, or just sat and contemplated the universe, or why the host had not returned with the drinks. The film on the tiny screen is from 1962, produced and directed by Herk Harvey for about 15 cents, and starring Candace Hilligoss who accidentally drives her car off a bridge, escapes, and wanders around the rest of the film in the netherworld between life and death. Unlike Phantasm, it is indeed a lost classic with numerous scenes of chilling surrealism that linger within the psyche. The film has been resurrected over the years, and may have finally found a large audience after four decades.

I walked out after a few minutes, catalogued its cinematic greatness, saw some stairs, and hoofed it up the daunting flight and into the first room on the right, which had yet another television showing a horror film. This one was Spice World, which I quite liked because of it’s…it’s…uh…keen editing, action-packed scenes, witty dialogue, and five well-trained performers at the peak of their rein over the Attire Empire. I feel the hippie had chosen this selection in his running theme of Halloween classics because it featured a character called “Scary Spice.” Dunno. I left the room after several minutes, noted the film’s similarities to Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane, and wandered down the hall.

At this point, I no longer cared if my aging hippie host wearing the tie-dyed shirt returned. I felt like I had been given some of the good stuff at a festival, and I was going to wander and take in as much as possible before he hit me over the head for meandering around his haunted house, and dumped me in the basement next to the others who unfortunately pounded on his door—the FedEx man, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Girl Scouts, that dude saying he’ll clean your yard for 20 bucks and the UPS guy who says he has a box from Virginia for you, but it sounds like bits of shattered glass (“Sorry, dude. Must be your Phish beer glasses. I deliver these broken things all the time.”)

I decided to walk further down the hall, and appeared to get lost in the dark expanse until I saw two doors. The one on the left was showing the Italian/American production of The Last Man on Earth, which was actually I Am Legend without Will Smith, a dog, or a huge budget. The film stars Vincent Price, and details the escapades of the last human as he battles those infected with a disease that turns mankind into vampires. You know—your common holiday chestnut for the kids. “It’s okay now, it’s all gonna be okay,” I muttered as I walked back down the stairs to seek the aging hippie host. Instead, I noticed a door which took me down another flight of stairs. Great. The creepy basement.

The Seventh Victim was playing on a large television screen in the middle of the basement. I sat and watched in the dark as the film was quite good—indeed, if you are paying attention, this is truly THE Hidden Flick amongst our banquet of horror films on display in this kind but evidently lost aging hippie host’s haunted house.

The 7th Victim was produced by one of the kings of the cheap horror genre, Val Lewton. His work includes Cat People, Ghost Ship, The Body Snatcher, The Leopard Man and I Walked with a Zombie—all of which were filmed in black and white on a small budget in the 1940s, and deserve critical attention. His films contained moody atmosphere, dark shadows, twisted characters and the lingering fright factor which color the scenes with a true sense of dread. Perhaps, most importantly, Lewton was able to tell a truly frightening story without really showing blood, gore, or an expensive special effect—probably because he couldn’t, and needed to work with what he had: a fertile mind filled with cinematic knowledge, and a way to tell a truly unique and scary tale.

After leaving the basement, and walking back into the room where I began, I saw the aging hippie wearing the tie-dye quietly sitting with what appeared to be two sodas in ice-filled glasses as he watched the mayhem on the screen known as Phantasm. He asked where I had been, and I said I was wandering around watching all of the great lost horror film classics. He chuckled, and said he needs to turn off all of those other sets as they take up quite a bit of electricity. I asked him if he just leaves them running, and he said, “No, actually, guests just turn them on, and leave the room.” Guests? Where are they now? I chose not to find out, and said thanks and goodbye, and walked towards the front door. He asked what I was here for, again. I answered that I didn’t remember, and left.

As I walked out of the gates, and continued up the road, I remembered. “Oh, yeah,” I thought out loud while standing in the middle of an unknown and darkening street, “I need to register this cat to vote. He’s cool. It’ll be all right. I’ll just go back, and have him…you know…fill out the forms and all.”

However, when I turned to head back to his large and intimidating haunted house, I noticed one minor but crucial detail which could keep me from my goal. The house was gone. Yes, gone. Not gone as in—took a few pills, and had a nice lie-down for a nap, or it was gone because it was put on blocks and carted away by a massive truck. No, the house wasn’t there. When I turned to head back to my hippie host’s haunted house, what I saw was a large field leading to a forest. Indeed, I noticed what looked like villagers wandering past me in what looked like Amish attire. What the hell? How did I end up in Pennsylvania, or worse, at a Ryan Adams gig?

I blinked a few times, realized it wouldn’t go away, and sat down at a large table next to some guy that was either retarded, or really fucked up. Next to him was a blind girl, and she offered me something to eat and drink, so I said, “Sure. Thank you. Been a long day.”

We sat devouring dinner while the torches beside the table lit our plates and faces. Then, it got REALLY dark, and everyone ran inside, and I decided to find my way home through the nearby forest. Instead, I ran into some young up-tighters arguing with each other about someone named Blair, and the fact that some dumbshit threw away a map. I turned around from this tense trio, headed back to the village, and ran into someone I knew who threw me on the back of a horse and told the old beast to take me home.

– Randy Ray