Black Horror

Tales From the Hood

Blacula

Well, it’s not quite October yet… but you know me, dear reader, I couldn’t possibly wait another week to get into the holiday cheer. That’s why, just like last year, we’re kicking off spooky season a week early—because I say so—with a pair of films that come from one of the most underrated genres within scary cinema: black horror. In the twenty first century we have seen a steady rise of black filmmakers in horror like JD Dillard, Remi Weekes, Mati Diop, Nia DaCosta, and my personal favorite: Jordan Peele. But just a few decades ago, black representation in film, particularly horror films, were more than lacking. As it has been observed and analyzed by people far more knowledgeable than I, black characters in horror films are often the first to die, the most likely to be humiliated or exploited, or are cast as the villains. There have been some iconic black characters in horror—Aaliyah as Queen Akasha, Wesley Snipes as Blade, and Tony Todd as the Candyman, just to name a few—but rarely are these stories written or directed by black people. We’ve come a long way in the horror genre—both narratively and behind-the-scenes—but as we (theoretically) evolve as human beings and consumers of culture, it’s important to recognize the art that’s moved us in a more progressive, inclusive direction. So in the interest of shining a light on some of the key films of the genre of black horror, I wanted to explore two iconic films that were foundational in black horror storytelling. To be honest, I’d known from the jump that I wanted to watch Rusty Cundieff’s 1995 horror anthology classic Tales from the Hood. I was such a fan of Cundieff’s hilarious hip hop mockumentary Fear of a Black Hat, that I instantly added Tales from the Hood to my watchlist, naively assuming that it would be just as funny and irreverent. What I didn’t expect, was for Tales from the Hood’s sense of humor to come packaged in some very salient, entirely necessary social commentary. This movie would be superb, with or without its moral compass, but Rusty Cundieff and Darin Scott’s script was expectedly sharp but unexpectedly biting—with every bit of fun and fright delivered along with a very important message. Tales from the Hood is a spoof of Tales from the Crypt—the 1960s/70s horror anthology series that places random people in the clutches of a mysterious crypt keeper, who tells multiple scary stories that may or may not have anything to do with those who are forced to listen. I gave the original Tales from the Crypt a solid try, but I just couldn’t get into it. Tales from the Hood, however, which instead places three drug dealers at a mortuary where they’ve been summoned to take a load of “found” drugs from a mortician, was, rather instantly, more compelling. Clarence Williams III expertly plays really the only campy character in the bunch: the charming, crazy-eyed mortician Mr. Simms, who recounts the tales of four dead bodies, and how they met their demise. Each story has a distinctly black perspective, and covers topics ranging from police brutality, domestic violence, governmental and systemic racism, and gang violence. Given the immense amount of goofy silly fun that is to be had with Fear of a Black Hat, I really did not expect Tales from the Hood to have such serious, important, and genuinely scary content. I hesitate to mention any of the specifics of these stories because each one is so uniquely unnerving, but I will say that my expectations shifted when the very first vignette in this film begins, and we’re placed within the perspective of a black cop who witnesses the cruel beating of an innocent black man by his fellow officers. It would be a chilling tale, with or without a supernatural element, and such was the case for every vignette that followed. The special effects were legitimately cool, its use of claymation and makeup was beyond, and the writing was utterly brilliant. In its very short runtime Tales from the Hood expresses so much of the fear that comes from the black experience, and so much of the violence that white people have historically inflicted upon this community. In a society that is so fundamentally patriarchally white supremacist, it is necessary to hear these stories—no matter what kind of storytelling style they are told in, because not enough of these stories are heard at all. Not only do I have a crush on 90s era Rusty Cundieff, but I really admire him, producer Spike Lee, and fellow writer Darin Scott for their collective and respective creative powers. This was a film that was underfunded and under-viewed for many years due to its production studio’s unwillingness to give it a wide release, and yet Tales from the Hood’s cult following came naturally—when the work is this good, it markets itself. I’d originally planned to watch another horror spoof this evening, like Gremlins 2, but instead, I found myself fascinated with Tales from the Hood’s ability to frighten and entertain me, and I felt it was only right that I continued to explore this rich genre of black horror. This, of course, brought me to the 1972 blaxsploitation classic Blacula—a film that had all of the style and silliness of any exploitation film, but oh so much more than just that. Blacula is the first ever mainstream horror film to be directed by a black man, William Crain, and at the very first Saturn Awards, received acclaim and praise for its impact on the horror genre. Blacula is perhaps the most foundational to the genre of black horror, in part due to the fact that there was little to no representation before it, and due to the fact that it was such a hit at the time—and far beyond it. Blacula begins in Transylvania in 1780, and introduces us to Prince Mamuwalde and his wife—leaders of an unnamed African tribe who have come to Count Dracula to protest his involvement in the slave trade. Unfortunately, Dracula is as racist as he is bloodthirsty, as he bites Mamuwalde on the neck and places him into a coffin—forever sealing his fate within a vampiric curse, and giving him the title of “Blacula” (which may or may not have elicited and audible laugh, though it wasn’t the last time this occurred while viewing) While so many classic horror and fantasy tales leave explicit social or political commentary out of it, Blacula cleverly injects race right at the center of one of our favorite classic horror stories. Of course Dracula would be racist! He had slaves and concubines and familiars as far as the eye could see, and on top of this, seemingly really got a kick out of the subjugation and oppression of those deemed lesser than himself. Joan Torres and Raymond Koenig’s screenplay found a way to enmesh the fictional story of Dracula with the very real history of black people—finding a believable connection between two disparate points of view, all while bringing it into modernity. The story then cuts to Los Angeles in the 1970s, nearly 200 years after Mamuwalde and his wife have been killed. We’re then introduced to two very queer male interior decorators who have stumbled upon a bunch of old items from a strange castle in Transylvania—items that a historian warns them could’ve belonged to Count Dracula—to which the interior decorators smile at and say “Honey, that’s camp!” (an actual line) But as these poor sweet gays come to learn, one man’s camp is another man’s slumbering chamber, and suddenly the centuries-old Blacula is awakened and is thirsty as hell. The only real problem to this story was its blatant and unabashed homophobia, but for what it’s worth, Blacula is the only character not to discriminate—he eats both of the men and seems to have no interest in how they identify sexually. Once you get past the clear corniness and queer-bashing, Blacula is a groovy, far out, and somewhat unpredictable little thriller that had way more going for it than I expected. Yes, some of the acting was bad, and yes, some of the script was shockingly offensive, and yes, I couldn’t stop laughing at the fact that every time Blacula went vamp his eyebrows just got bushier and bushier, but this film was just too much fun to resist. The costuming was superb and chic, as Blacula was not the only character in a cape, and the music was irresistible—with a special performance from “Rock the Boat” singers the Hues Corporation. I was shocked at how much I liked this. It was campy—both intentionally and unintentionally. It was distinctly queer—but definitively homophobic. Blacula felt simultaneously in on the joke and just a tad out of touch. But being that this was made in 1972, at a time when there were little to no black directors or significant black characters in the cultural consciousness, Blacula deserves every bit of its icon status. As this article puts it, Blacula was flawed but important, and Blacula as a character was far more than a spoof of Dracula. And I must give credit to Blacula himself, opera singer and actor William Marshall, who insisted that Blacula not just be a parody but a refined, believable player in the pantheon of classic horror villains. Given it’s firm placement in the genre of exploitation, I expected to laugh and maybe gasp—which I definitely did—but I didn’t expect any heart or deeper meaning to come from it. But Blacula was captivating and even a bit poetic in the end, in a way that I shan’t spoil for you here. All in all, though I only scratched the surface, I was so thrilled by my journey into black horror, and I really can’t wait to explore even more. I hope you’ll come along with me, dear reader, as we creep into October and traverse the treacherous depths of scary cinema.