Editorials
How 1977 Horror Movie ‘Rituals’ Exploits the Threatening Canadian Landscape [Maple Syrup Massacre]
Maple Syrup Massacre is an editorial series where Joe Lipsett dissects the themes, conventions and contributions of new and classic Canadian horror films. Spoilers follow…
In the first two entries of this series – on Adam MacDonald’s Backcountry and Grant Harvey’s Ginger Snaps Back: The Beginning – we spent a fair amount of time talking about the Canadian relationship to wilderness.
The outdoors – whether it be woods, open plains, mountain ranges, or desert valleys – has a mythic quality in Western and horror films. For Canadians, the wilderness is a massive part of our identity: the country has a relatively small population (38.25M in 2021, less than the state of California’s 39.34M) in a massive geographical region of 9M square kilometers (or 3,474,919 square miles).
For reference, that’s 3.9 people per square kilometer, compared to the US’s 35.3. So yeah, we’re a fairly small population in a giant geographical area.
In Australia, the vast majority of the population hugs the coast in order to avoid the extreme heat of the Outback. Canadians also tend to congregate in specific geographical areas: namely the southern border near the US. In the 2016 census, two out of three people (66%) lived within 100 kilometres (62 miles) of the US border, an area that represents only 4% of Canada’s territory (see the red line on the map above).
There’s a historical reason for this: Southern Ontario and Quebec is where English and French settler-colonialists established the fur trade back in the 16th century, it provided easy exchange of goods and services with the US, and according to historian William Lewis Morton, the area had the most arable land for agriculture.
The key take away from these statistics is a huge portion of Canada is daunting wilderness: inhospitably cold in the north, large mountain ranges in the west, and tempestuous storms in the east. These are broad generalizations, but there’s a reason why horror films, and particularly Canadian films, center around the horror of leaving the city behind.
1977’s Rituals is one such film. While the overall premise bears a slight resemblance to Deliverance – a group of men on vacation encounter a threatening presence in the woods – the Canadian film doesn’t dabble in the same kind of rural horror class critique.
Ian Sutherland’s script focuses on five doctors who vacation together each year. There’s neurologist Harry (Hal Holbrook); general surgeon Mitzi (Lawrence Dane); gay general practitioner Martin (Robin Grammell); Martin’s brother D.J. (Gary Reineke); and bad family man/buffoon, Abel (Ken James).
The film begins as the men set out on a camping and fishing trip in Northern Ontario. When Rituals opens, the men have already gathered at the outpost where the seaplane departs; the film notably contains no images of a city or even a town. From here the men becoming increasingly isolated when they’re deposited in the woods and told they’ll be picked up in six-days time.
Naturally there’s a man in the woods who bears them ill-will and kills them off one by one. Like the slasher films of the 80s, the villain is tied to a(n undercooked) back story that provides an explanation of sorts, but it’s less satisfying that the unraveling homosocial bonds between the doctors as they negotiate the perilous, rugged Canadian landscape.
From the first scene, there’s disagreement and animosity within the group. Mitski is trying to recruit Harry to come (financially) aboard a “franchise” surgery that is eventually revealed to involve penis enlargement. This opens a discussion that establishes that each man has a different philosophical and ethical approach to their practice, ranging from cosmetic and “for profit” medicine to workload and compassionate care.
All it takes is the disappearance of the group’s hiking boots on the first night to throw the personalities into even greater conflict. Control freak D.J., the only one with a second pair of shoes, ventures off solo to a nearby hydro-electric dam to get help. When he doesn’t return, the others construct rudimentary foot protection and set off after him.
Rituals includes several stand-out set pieces, many of them involving traps set up by the mysterious figure. These include a wasp attack, a harrowing river crossing featuring hidden underwater bear traps, and a shocking (and frankly nihilistic) fiery climax.
Early in the film Marty is injured and requires the use of a rudimentary stretcher that must be manually carried. His status quickly becomes the center of a moral and ethical debate. Mitzi repeatedly argues that they should abandon Marty in order to make better time, thereby increasing their likelihood of survival. Harry, however, disagrees. As the film progresses, it becomes clear that the two men have a medical history informed by shame and regret that is weighing heavily on their current situation. (Trace and I will undoubtedly tackle the casual depiction of queerness, and how it becomes “a burden” to straight men, in a future episode of Horror Queers).
While the traps prove challenging, the danger is repeatedly accentuated by the geography of Northern Ontario. From starvation to rain to threatening river currents and steep rock quarries, the men are repeatedly tested by their environment, which is captured in all of its terrifying beauty by director Peter Carter and cinematographer René Verzier.
At nearly 1 hour and forty minutes, some reviewers call the film slow-paced, particularly its character-focused last act. Unlike many other rural horror films, however, Rituals excels at balancing its moral and ethical debate with the all-encompassing threat of Nature. And in that capacity, it feels uniquely Canadian.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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