Full Eclipse (1993)

“The Wolfman.” “The Howling.” “An American Werewolf in London.” “Dog Soldiers.” “Ginger Snaps.” These are but a few classic werewolf films to grace the silver screen since the dawn of film. All of them had style, mood, atmosphere, intrigue, and finesse that catapulted them into the stratosphere. All of them were missing one key ingredient, however, to put them on the map as the greatest of all time. They were all missing Mario Van Peebles.

“Full Eclipse” has Mario Van Peebles, in the lead role no less, yet it surprisingly isn’t the greatest film of all time. It even has a premise that seemingly can’t be flubbed. A select group of Los Angeles police officers are injected with a serum that gives them the abilities of a werewolf. It brings them back from the dead, makes them nearly invincible, and skyrockets razor sales in the community. This makes the officers the ultimate defense in wiping out crime in the city.

And yet, “Full Eclipse” is lackluster. Not terrible, mind you, just very vanilla. It’s a run-of-the-mill crime actioner with werewolves thrown into the mix. Except that the werewolves aren’t as impactful as one would expect. Rarely do the cops transform completely, either growling (like a cheetah for some reason) and leaping tall bounds in their human form and occasionally sprouting fangs and claws to dice through criminals with. This does make sense, as a majority of the action takes place during the day and/or not during a full moon, so a full transformation wouldn’t suffice. The writers, Richard Christian Matheson & Michael Reaves, could’ve gotten around this by having the serum give the officers the ability to transform at will. It wouldn’t have been too tacky seeing how it gives them immediate healing factors and the ability to don claws and fangs at will.

The real reason for the lack of werewolf makeup is a minimal budget. “Full Eclipse” was made for HBO and, while boasting slick production values, it had to scrimp on the special effects. When we finally do see a full-blown transformation, it’s rather chintzy. Therefore, we’re left with adequately framed action set pieces. There are shootouts in night clubs and on the streets, as well as an intense drive-by. Said drive-by is the only unique action set piece, as it has one of the newly minted werecops hopping on the back of a perp’s motorcycle and crashing them both into a brick wall, causing a massive explosion (naturally). The werecop emerges from the flames unscathed and the denizens of Los Angeles are too smug to even notice. I initially questioned why the werecops weren’t acting subtly, but I guess there’s no need to.

That werecop is Jim Sheldon (Anthony John Denison), partner to our hero, Max Dire (Mario Van Peebles). And yes, Max Dire is his actual name. My friend grew tired of my constant dire puns throughout the film, but can you blame me? I’m surprised his partner wasn’t called Jim Grim, and even more surprised nobody in the film made the lousy puns that I did. For shame! Anyhow, Jim is gearing up for marriage and retirement, which means he’s going to die. And die he does, only to be brought back to life via the werewolf serum. He celebrates by performing the aforementioned motorcycle stunt, then puts a silver bullet through his brains later that night. When you vow to retire in a cop thriller, you will die one way or another.

Max is understandably confused by all of this, though Mario Van Peebles doesn’t quite show that in his performance. He always comes across as mildly perturbed no matter the situation. Partner dies, comes back to life, acts superhuman, and then shoots himself? Act mildly perturbed. You get shot through the heart and then are forcefully given the werewolf serum you’ve been protesting? Act mildly perturbed. Receive your check for starring in a made-for-TV werewolf flick? Laugh all the way to the bank. Mario does a fine job of dispensing charm into his role, but he’s given no direction by Anthony Hickox in how to handle the more dramatic elements. He’s simply here to snarl, shoot guns, look good in a suit, and charm the pants off of everyone.

Not helping “Full Eclipse” is the lack of a strong villain. There’s a dispensable mobster who acts as a target for the werecops. He’s so disposable that his name escapes me, so I’ll just refer to him as Mobster McGee. And that’s the only time I’ll refer to him, as he takes a backseat to the true villain, Adam Garou (Bruce Payne). He is the one responsible for recruiting the werecops and in orchestrating their attacks. It comes as no surprise that he’s corrupt as Payne’s performance spells it out for us. No good man gets into the fetal position on a chair whilst listening to his headphones unless that man is pining for his long-lost love. Garou does this randomly, which means he’s evil.

I wouldn’t call “Full Eclipse” boring, but it’s certainly underwhelming. It presents a tremendous premise, only to barely do anything with it. It’s a decent at best crime actioner and a lame werewolf flick. At least Mario Van Peebles looks good in a suit.

MVT: The action sequences. They’re framed well and, while rudimentary, fulfill their purpose and are slightly entertaining. That motorcycle stunt was fascinating.

Make or Break: The concept as a whole. It’s unique enough to keep one’s interest, but also not explored enough to be of great interest. Mileage may vary on how long it’ll keep your interest.

Final Score: 5.25/10

Full Eclipse (1993)

Back in the 70s, Marvel Comics started grinding out horror-themed books (so did DC and other publishers, but they’re not our focus here).  They had published stories featuring monsters previously in titles like Tales to Astonish back in the 50s/60s, but the vast majority of those tales were focused on giant creatures, either manmade or alien-spawned (including the introduction of everybody’s favorite monosyllabic tree, Groot).  The plots also tended to be very formulaic, following the atom-age, science fiction tropes of the 50s.  This conservative approach to the genre was largely a result of the implementation of the Comics Code Authority, which tied the hands of creators and publishers alike (the impetus for the Authority and all that entails is really a subject for a much longer essay, though there has already been more than enough ink spilled about it, and you should be able to get the whole picture on that with just a few mouse clicks).

At any rate, the Code was loosened a bit in the 70s, and monsters like vampires and zombies were now allowed so long as they were “handled in the classic tradition.”  Up popped titles such as Monster of Frankenstein and Tomb of Dracula.  Taking their cues from the loosening of societal norms and the increased interest in things occult, characters like the Son of Satan and Ghost Rider soon emerged into the spotlight, as well as the even more unorthodox Man-Thing (a concept at once both a throwback to monster books of the past as well as [thanks, in my opinion, largely to writer Steve Gerber] a commentary on modern society and its ills).  Of course, all of this is a roundabout way to touch on the lycanthropic character of Jack Russell (get it?), who made his first appearance in a feature called Werewolf by Night in Marvel Spotlight #2 (he would graduate to his own eponymous title in short order).  The character was tragic in the way that most werewolf characters are tragic, but the creators (including Gerry Conway and Mike Ploog) managed to tie in not only mystical themes (with artifacts like the Darkhold Scrolls) but also superheroes, with everyone from Tigra to Spider-Man interacting at some point or another with Jack and company.  Naturally, this book and its brethren were like Pixie Sticks (read: retro-crack) to a young me, with its amalgamation of monsters and superheroics, and it’s this same flavor that initially interested me in Anthony Hickox’s Full Eclipse.

Max Dire (as in “dire wolf,” and played with granite inscrutability by Mario Van Peebles) is a tough cop who doesn’t follow the rules but knows how to get the job done.  After his partner Jimmy (Tony Denison) makes a miraculous recovery from life-threatening wounds but then starts displaying alarming preternatural abilities, Max encounters Adam Garou (as in “loup garou,” and played with granite inscrutability by Bruce Payne), the man behind it all.  Recognizing Max’s potential, Adam indoctrinates the young man into his personal army of werewolf cops, theoretically in order to wipe out crime.  But is the price of justice too high?

According to this movie, the short answer to that question is “no.”  Full Eclipse uses the classic set up of a cop who is good at heart but unorthodox in approach being tempted to move completely outside the system in order to clean up the streets.  Max is the sort of cop who will storm a hostage situation solo, plunge through a ventilation shaft, and take out the baddies using the twin .45s he brandishes (something I always like to think is in homage to characters like The Shadow, but we all know is actually in imitation of filmmakers like John Woo [though maybe Woo is homaging The Shadow?  Hmmmmm……]).  For however much of a rogue Max is, he still abides (somewhat) by the law.  Nevertheless, Adam and his crew are attractive to Max for several reasons.  One, they get rid of criminals permanently.  Two, they have more physical power than normal men.  Three, they are sexy (in fact, part of the reason Max gets involved with them at all is because Casey (Patsy Kensit) seduces him).  Naturally, all three of these reasons are also attractive to a great many male audience members (and some female audience members, I’m sure), thus there’s a strong inclination to identify with max and his dilemma in a wish fulfillment way.  The basic conflict of the film is posited as whether the ends justify the means, but this is also something which the filmmakers lose sight of as they go along, and by the fade out, they wind up negating almost the entirety of the film that came before it.  Without saying too much, this is the type of film that, even while it is trying to subvert expectations is also completely bowing to them.

What’s interesting about Adam and his pack is that they are scientifically manufactured werewolves.  This intermeshing of science fiction and monsters is another callback to my beloved Marvel horror comics (with characters like Morbius the Living Vampire) as well as 50s science fiction films like Them! and Tarantula.  Between this and the superhero aspects (they wear uniforms like costumes with a tiny bit of variety in color and design to distinguish them from each other, normal human weapons are generally ineffective against them, they even grow awkward knuckle-claws like Wolverine from The X-Men), if this film isn’t a love letter to comic books, I don’t know what is.  And like many comic book characters, Full Eclipse’s wolf powers come with a price.  The monster cops are essentially junkies.  They have to shoot up with Adam’s serum in order to kickstart their powers, and they have to continue to shoot up in order to maintain them (and their health in general).  This power is not something with which every character can successfully cope, and it causes burnout and self-destruction in some.  As Nietzsche said, “Beware that, when fighting monsters you yourself do not become a monster…for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”  This all relates back to the film’s primary question.  Is the risk worth the reward?  The audience knows the answer to this.  The film acts like it knows the answer to this.  But ultimately, it either truly doesn’t or it truly doesn’t care about it, because Hickox and company wanted to have their cake and eat it, too.  So, rather than being satisfying or unsatisfying on its own terms and based on the decisions its creators made, the film frustrates to some degree by trying to be both moralistic and cynical.  It’s still watchable for its individual elements, but damned if I can’t shake the feeling that it might not have been worth the effort and time spent.

MVT:  The action sequences are very well shot and edited (again, owing much to the then-popular genre films coming out of Hong Kong), with lots of gunshots, explosions, and slow motion keeping the excitement level cranked up high.

Make or Break:  Jimmy’s big action set piece works astonishingly well, in spite of (okay, maybe because of) its more ridiculous aspects (we’re talking tall fence leaping and bus surfing, amongst other things).  Even though the film’s script doesn’t stick the landing in the end, at least the action sequences do.

Score:  6.5/10      

Waxwork (1988)

In my hometown, there used to be two movie theaters (or there were way back when), the Hersker and the Church Hill Cinema.  The Church Hill had two screens, and the Hersker only had one, but it was huge, and it seated about six hundred people.  The theater opened in 1915, and even though it has undergone numerous changes (and is now a cinema and drafthouse, though it still just shows second run films rather than very many art or independent fare), it has remained in the same spot for all this time.  The Church Hill Cinema expanded into multiple smaller screens and eventually shut down.  The point of the history lesson is that I first encountered actor Zach Galligan at the Hersker.  If you guessed that the film in question was Joe Dante’s Gremlins, you would be right.  

Out in the theater’s lobby (and I also have to mention that I miss lobby cards [What are they?  Go look them up]) was a one sheet for the film, and I loved that thing.  It had the half-opened box with the big, bright mogwai eyes staring out of it; his chubby little hands, like a pair of furry weightlifting gloves with Vienna sausages sticking out of them.  What’s not to love?  So, of course I asked if I could have the poster when the film closed, and I was told that I could.  To make a long story short, through the caprices of fate I didn’t get the poster, and while I bear no malice toward anyone at the theater today (I’m pretty sure it’s under new ownership, anyway, so…), I was plenty peeved at the time.   I could even buy the damn poster now for about thirty bucks, but it just wouldn’t be the same thing or hold the same sort of significance to me anymore.  I think you understand what I’m saying.  Zach Galligan was in Gremlins.

Opening in the 30s, the Loftmore mansion is ransacked and its owner immolated while a cover of Benny Goodman’s “Sing, Sing, Sing” plays.  Cut to the present of 1988, and spoiled but likable rich kid Mark (Galligan), whose mom treats him like he’s still a child, has the hots for blond sexpot China (Michelle Johnson).  While walking to school (I want to say college, but it’s difficult to tell, because all the characters act like they’re still in high school), China and Sarah (Deborah Foreman) notice a waxworks, and it’s Wonka-imitating proprietor Lincoln (David Warner) invites them to a private showing at midnight but also states that their party cannot have more than six people in it.  That night, part of the group finds out the hard way that the displays (all horror-related) are not quite inanimate.

Anthony Hickox’s Waxwork is, at the start at least, a portmanteau film disguising itself as a Creature Feature.  There is a plot to be followed involving the museum as a story in and of itself, a framing device of sorts.  But each of the displays opens a gateway into a different scenario.  That these scenarios are not particularly original (in fact, they are entirely derivative) is part of their charm.  In a normal Horror anthology film, there is some attempt for each of the stories to have something unique about them, a twist which it’s hoped the viewer won’t see coming a mile off (but very rarely is this the case).  In the spirit of the EC Comics which inspired so many (or at the absolute minimum inspired most of the ones that came from Amicus Productions), these twists are typically either bleak and/or blackly comical and always ironic.  In this film, though, the isolated stories play out as if they are themselves merely scenes from standalone Horror Films.  In fact, they play the part of kill scenes from a Slasher Film, but instead of having the expectant victims being slowly stalked and dispatched by a lumbering, faceless hulk, they are killed by different monsters in their own distinctive style.

And here it must be noted that these individual styles, like the film itself, are really nothing more than Hickox’s paean to and personal take on the classic monster films of yore.  In this way, the film is a Monster Mash, like Universal’s House Of Frankenstein, Abbott And Costello Meet Frankenstein, House Of Dracula, and so on.  What’s interesting is that the first time Mark and company visit the wax museum, all of the displays walked into are straight from the Universal vaults (Dracula, The Wolfman, etcetera).  The second night at the waxworks, the displays are far more modern (zombies, the Marquis de Sade).  The filmmakers separate traditional from neoteric horrors, and it feels as if we’re taking a walk through a history of cinematic Horror Films (well, a highlight reel, anyway).  But the director does put his own spin on these tales, with Dracula’s being both more gruesome and offbeat than the (traditionally libidinous) story is normally depicted, and I felt this was the strongest of the display tales.

Intriguingly, each display and the characters’ interaction with them (mostly) are meant as a mirror of that particular character’s inner self.  For example, China eats human flesh, feeling that this is what mature adults do, and she wants more than anything to find romance with a mature man.  Sarah is sexually repressed, but the thought of a bit of S&M literally makes her wet at several points in the film (it’s sweat, but still).  As an extension of the sinister Lincoln’s id, and the ids of the characters, they share a desire, each opening up to the other, but where the fulfillment of Lincoln’s id takes him towards his ultimate goal of immortality, the fulfillment of the other characters’ ids lead to death.  Had the filmmakers stuck to this idea, and played by the rules which they themselves set up, the film could have been an early version of The Cabin In The Woods.  But since there are obvious concessions to plot and marketability over thematic concerns, the stronger ideas of the film don’t hold up.  This is most readily evidenced in the melee (replete with a modern day gang of “angry villagers,” again invoking the Universal movies) which climaxes the film.  There are bits given here and there to individual characters, but by and large, it’s little more than flailing around until the end credits roll.  Granted, the lead up to this donnybrook is both fun and entertaining, but part of me wishes that Hickox would have put a little more effort into refining some of his base ideas.  I think it would have been well worth the trouble.

MVT:  The concept of the Universal monsters with a modern, more gore-centric spin is compelling, and they come off quite well for the most part.  It’s sort of like what Paul Naschy was doing with his Spanish films back in the 70s, and it has its own charms, to be sure.

Make Or Break:  The Dracula scene Made the film for me.  This Dracula is sexual without being overwrought, and the level of splatter and violence is noteworthy.  Plus, there are some truly funny moments (involving China’s display-world fiancé) that also manage to be ghastly on a certain transgressive level.  Nothing too offputting, mind you, but still pretty gross.

Score:  6.75/10

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