La Fin Absolute Du Monde

"Something happens when you point the camera at something terrible. The resulting film takes on power. What if you got hold of an angel? A Divine Being with the blood of God flowing through its veins?

And what if you sacrificed it... on camera?"

Cigarette Burns ~ Masters Of Horror, Season 1: Episode 8
John Carpenter

<--- Wait, there's a "Black Edition/Uncut Version" of Cigarette Burns? How have I not seen it yet? My god, I am old and uncool.


I was a fan of the series Masters Of Horror which premiered in 2005 and ran for two seasons. And I say "fan" in the most reluctant way possible. There were perhaps three or four episodes that I thought were pretty good. The majority of them were total shit. Only one episode, in my humble opinion, was utterly flawless and that was the aforementioned Cigarette Burns, directed by John "The Thing" Carpenter and starring Udo Kier and a mostly then-unknown actor named Norman Reedus, who would go on to become the most famous motorcycle ridin', crossbow-slingin', zombie-killin' virgin in the whole post-apocalyptic world.

The basic premise of the 58 minute long film is this: there exists, somewhere in the darkest, dankest corner of the world, a film so thoroughly evil that it forcibly drives anyone who watches it into the deepest pit of the most violent insanity imaginable. Rumored to have been destroyed decades earlier, Norm is hired by a reclusive and filthy rich sadist to track down the last existing copy, the existence of which is verified by an enslaved and wingless Angel who was one of the reluctant and much tortured stars of the film. Norm's search takes him into the tar-black ugliness of the world's most sadistic and immoral predators, and the call of the film itself - much like Sauron's Ring, desperately wanting to be found - hounds Norm with ghosts of sorrow, guilt and regret from his own dismal past.

When the episode initially aired, it was a hot topic among my horror loving friends, all of whom were in agreement that it was A+ beautiful horror boasting a solid story about an intangible subject. The premise blew the minds of many a viewer. What a great idea! What an original concept! A slice of celluloid so soaked in evil that it drives the viewer mad! Brilliant!

But not entirely as original as one might think.

The Rite Of Spring 

A ballet. The very word "ballet" conjures innocent enough images: sparkly white tutus, guys with bulgy crotches, Natalie Portman banging Mila Kunis, etc. But in the early 1900s, Russian composer Igor Stravinsky penned a ballet so primal, so fraught with savage pagan imagery, that it sparked a riot at its own debut, whipping the audience into a frenzy of madness with its unapologetic descent into the very depths of the animal genesis of our souls.

Allegedly.

More likely, the ballet was just considered so weird and downright primitive that audience members, repulsed and still 100 years away from owning cellphones, stood up and started complaining loudly about the lack of loveliness they had grown accustomed to. Other audience members stood up and told the naysayers to shut the fuck up and sit down, a shouting match ensued, punches were thrown, and all of their descendents would turn into raging Packers fans in another 40 years.

Well, here...read for yourself how it all went down:

Stravinsky debuted the The Rite of Spring Ballet at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in Paris on May 29, 1913, to an audience accustomed to the grace, elegance, and the traditional music of "conventional" ballets, i.e. Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. Opposition to Stravinsky's work literally happened within the first few minutes of the piece as members of the audience booed loudly in response to the inharmonic notes accompanying the unrecognizable bassoon's opening solo.  What's more, the work's unconventional music, sharp and unnatural choreography (dancers danced with bent arms and legs and would land on the floor so hard their internal organs would shake), and Russian pagan setting, failed to win over the majority of the audience.  It should hardly come as a surprise given the ballet's thematic content. The ballet's title and subtitle alone, hints that something darker lurks behind the velvet theatre curtains: The Rite of Spring: Picture of Pagan Russia in Two Parts.  The story centers around ancient Russian tribes and their celebration of Spring. They then offer a sacrifice to their gods, choosing a young girl whom is forced to dance to death.

The King In Yellow

Technically, The King In Yellow does not exist. It is indeed the title of a collection of short stories written by Robert W. Chambers in 1895, one of which - entitled The Yellow Sign - talks about the influence of a two act play upon anyone unfortunate enough to read it straight through. The play, called The King In Yellow, has been outlawed by most of the civilized world, but copies of the wretched book manage to manifest themselves in the personal libraries of tormented artists, calling to them like a leatherbound banshee. Anyone who opens the book cannot help but read, and anyone who makes it to Act II is doomed. The play itself seems to be about an alien world ruled by a kingdom corrupt with power, into which walks a masked deity called The King In Yellow, who much like Poe's Red Death, brings ruin to Carcosa as only a decaying Messiah can: with madness and black stars and interdimensional horror. The King In Yellow was one of the primary inspirations for Lovecraft's starry voids full of indifferent tentacled gods who spread cosmic insanity the way a snotty second grader spreads the common cold with their grubby little fingers smearing germs all over everything.

He mentioned the establishment of the Dynasty in Carcosa, the lakes which connected Hastur, Aldebaran and the mystery of the Hyades. He spoke of Cassilda and Camilla, and sounded the cloudy depths of Demhe, and the Lake of Hali. "The scolloped tatters of the King in Yellow must hide Yhtill forever", he muttered, but I do not believe Vance heard him. Then by degrees he led Vance along the ramifications of the Imperial family, to Uoht and Thale, from Naotalba and Phantom of Truth, to Aldones, and then tossing aside his manuscript and notes, he began the wonderful story of the Last King.

The Repairer of Reputations ~ The King In Yellow, Robert W. Chambers.

Gloomy Sunday
aka The Hungarian Suicide Song

Originally written as a response to the devastation of war, Gloomy Sunday was reworked as a dirge for a dead lover, penned by the partner who fully intends to commit suicide by songs end. Written in the 1930's, it gained popularity throughout the 40s and was banned from radio play after allegedly inspiring no less than 19 documented suicides.

"It is not that the song is sad, there is a sort of terrible compelling despair about it. I don't think it would do anyone any good to hear a song like that." ~an unknown publisher

The most famous version of the song was recorded by Billie Holiday in 1941. Forlorn and mournful, it was banned by the BBC for damaging wartime morale, despite a new, tacked on ending which reveals the despair to have been a bad dream and talks about the author waking to find their love still alive and well and the world a happy place once more. Barf. While I love Billie Holiday and think her sweet, sorrowful whippoorwill voice is perfectly suited for the ballad (as well as for my personal favorite song "Strange Fruit) prefer the nihilistic version and the lyrics penned by Desmond Carter:

Sadly one Sunday I waited and waited
With flowers in my arms for the dream I'd created
I waited 'til dreams, like my heart, were all broken
The flowers were all dead and the words were unspoken
The grief that I knew was beyond all consoling
The beat of my heart was a bell that was tolling

Saddest of Sundays

Then came a Sunday when you came to find me
They bore me to church and I left you behind me
My eyes could not see one I wanted to love me
The earth and the flowers are forever above me
The bell tolled for me and the wind whispered, "Never!"
But you I have loved and I bless you forever

Last of all Sundays

Return To Babylon

I haven't seen this one yet. Not sure why, it's just one of those things I haven't gotten around to. And to be fair, it's not rumored to drive anyone who watches it insane. However, the film itself is believed to be haunted, its every frame occupied by the sad spirits of departed stars whose names have been all but forgotten and whose films have long since crumbled into obscurity. Until someone supposedly found 19 rolls of 16mm film conveniently sitting on a sidewalk on Hollywood Boulevard, free for the taking. Released in 2013, the black and white silent film casts modern actors and actresses portraying the stars of the late 19th and early 20th century.

But something weird happened when the film was played: faces morphed into demonic death masks, features elongating and twisting into grotesque mockeries of humanity. Cast and crew reported feeling "odd" on the set, as if being watched, touched and/or influenced by unseen forces, perhaps haunted by the memories of the very actors whose skins they had stepped into. Was it double exposure, common matrixing, or had those mysterious reels been left out on purpose by Hollywood Herself, a celluloid coffin for its forgotten ghosts?

Fury of the Demon

And now, here comes a film even I have never heard of. Well, technically, it's already come and gone. Much like the fictitious La Fin Absolute Du Monde from Cigarette Burns, this film was released in the closing years of the 1800s, shown once and then disappeared. Rumors surrounding its one and only viewing are hideous: madness, violence, blood and rage. The audience supposedly tore themselves to pieces in a fit of Satanic savagery inspired by the film itself.

In 1939, the film unexpectedly resurfaced and was screened for a second time. The result: six people dead as the result of a fire which broke out in the theater. Witnesses insist that before the fire started, the audience again went absolutely bonko batshit, descending into an orgy of torn flesh, ripped scalps and blood splatter.

In 2012, an extremely rare print of the film was apparently screened for a small group of industry VIPs. Now having spanned three centuries, the third screening yielded no different results and the small select audience broke out in a violent rage, beating each other senseless. And, for the third time, the film disappeared and remains missing.

This final, disastrous (and utterly unprovable) screening is the subject of a new documentary entitled La Rage Du Demon (Fury of the Demon) which is also the title of the 1897 film, rumored to have been created by legendary director/magician George Melies. The film is not listed among Melies' 527 known works and its existence cannot be substantiated. Does it really exist? Did it ever? Or is this just a clever marketing ploy for a mockumentary in the vein of The Blair Witch Project? Either way, I definitely have to see it.