Work continues on The New Horror Handbook as its October 31st pub date inches near. And during this time I find that one of the things that keeps me stoked during those late hours when I’m trying to tie up a chapter is the bevy of horror podcasts out there. There’s nothing like listening to people who really enjoy the genre to recharge the creative juices and re-enthuse you about this medium. Here are four that are in regular rotation on my iPod (all are available via iTunes):

Mondo Movie. I mentioned this one briefly in my Dario Argento posting a few days back, but there’s more to them than the odd Mother of Tears excoriation. Londoners Ben Howard and Dan Auty have racked up a pretty solid back catalog of podcasts that tackle everything from Fulci to Bergman, all with an engaging mix of cynicism, wit and knowledge. (Howard also is the host of CNET UK’s Reel Weekend online movie review program.) It’s pretty apparent that these two are genre fans from way back. And in case you need to see their credentials, you can check out an old horror documentary that the two were interviewed for when they were wee nippers. (Note that it was a Mondo Movie fan rather than Howard or Auty who posted the following clip.)

Reel Horror. Horror purists who only want to hear the latest genre news have been known to complain about this podcast, and granted it’s an acquired taste. But hosts Michael Sean Becker and Mike Carbone do one thing really well, and that’s entertain. Sure, they discuss the latest horror news, offer reviews of the most recent flicks they’ve seen, and occasionally interview B- and C-list horror celebs. However, what keeps fans coming back is their on mic chemistry. These are the guys you wished were running your local radio morning zoo when you were growing up rather than the knobs most of us ended up with. One of the most interesting shows to come out of the great podcast revolution.

Horror Etc. We’ve discussed some Brits and Americans, and here’s an entry from Canada. I only just stumbled across this podcast yesterday, but I have to say I’m enjoying it. Hosts Ted and Anthony spend more than an hour each episode tackling films by theme, and seem to have a good time doing it. The episode I just finished listening to was on films that claim to be “based on a true story.” In addition to their interesting takes on Open Water and The Girl Next Door (it’s a good movie but can you really, you know, recommend it to someone?), this was the first time I’ve heard that the French film Ils (Them) was supposed to be based on a true story as well. Gonna have to look into that one. Definitely worth a listen.

Mark Kermode and Simon Mayo’s Film Reviews. All right, not strictly a horror film podcast, but these two Brits are a must-listen for those who take their film reviews seriously, and who also enjoy a chuckle or two. Kermode remains one of the most erudite-yet-entertaining film reviewers out there, and his horror CV is beyond reproach. He has a PHd from the University of Manchester in modern English and American horror fiction and wrote the BFI Modern Classics book on The Exorcist. Mayo doesn’t say a great deal necessarily, but the show is not nearly as effective when a guest host is taking his place. And Kermode’s rant on Pirates of the Caribbean 3 (as well as Mayo’s response) is well worth a viewing.

Showtime has pushed the envelope so many times with its programming choices lately — with everything from Masters of Horror to Dexter — it’s only a matter of time before it experiences a rather nasty paper cut. An American Crime, which premiered on that cable channel in the US May 10, certainly could count as a digital laceration.

The 2007 film, based pretty closely on real-life events, stars media darling Ellen Page of Juno fame as 16-year-old Sylvia Likens, a young girl who is tortured and murdered by the woman who looks after her and her sister while her parents are on the road. The woman’s children and some of the neighborhood young ‘uns join in the abuse for good measure. Has torture porn finally landed on television?

“Hold it, I’ve heard all this before,” you say, and good on you for remembering it. Yes, this is the same plot of The Girl Next Door, last year’s (very nearly) straight-to-video adaptation of Jack Ketchum’s novel based on the short life of the real Sylvia Likens.

As I write The New Horror Handbook (coming to you October 31, hint, hint, hint), I’m finding that one of the most difficult distinctions to make is a) what exactly is “torture porn,” and b) how do you distinguish torture porn from horror films that boast extended scenes of torture that further the plot?

It becomes a type of word-association party game:

Hostel? Not TP (”Missed it by THAT much”).

Murder Set Pieces? Definitely TP. (Works on a couple of different levels, come to think of it.)

Unless the mass paroxysms of puppy love expressed by the media for Juno warped you into a despiser of all things Ellen Page, you probably have no burning desire to see the doe-eyed actress treated like a dog’s chew toy. Still, the fact that every belting, cigarette burn and worse in An American Crime comes straight from the court transcripts of this unpleasant episode in U.S. history gives it a merit beyond the mere display of child abuse for its own sake — a whisker’s worth, to be sure.

If we’re honest about it, the story of An American Crime is nearly identical to that of hundreds of made-for-TV and Lifetime original movies. Replace the terrible dialog, wooden acting and other sources of unintentional humor of the latter two with a strong central performance and a camera that refuses to flinch, and you’ve got this movie. If it’s torture porn, then can these other films be let off that hook simply because they lack the production values to pull it off?

I’m about 2,000 words into The New Horror Handbook chapter about Hostel and Cabin Fever director Eli Roth, and I thought this an opportune time to ask horror fans out there what they think about this paid-up member of the “Splat Pack.”

Please take a moment to head over to The New Horror Handbook forums and give us your opinion of Mr. Roth’s contributions to cinema.

For many of us who champion horror films past and present as much for their aesthetic qualities as their (often iffy) storytelling, Italian filmmaker Dario Argento may not be God, but he’s pretty darn close.

Certainly his last decent contribution to the genre may have been a decade ago at least, but if one is going to rest on one’s laurels, you could do a lot worse than giving the world Suspiria and Inferno, and then simply calling it a day.

Yes, they are absolute pants when it comes to plot, but as testaments to what can be done with the medium, they have few rivals. The Mona Lisa doesn’t exactly communicate a tale of wonder, either, but people have been content to stare at it for centuries. Personally I’d rather watch Suspiria.

All of which is a long way at getting to the point of this posting: Mother of Tears (here we pause for a great shuffling of feet, clearing of throats, and someone muttering “Here we go”). I haven’t yet had the opportunity to check out Argento’s closing chapter in his “Three Mothers” trilogy, but I’ve heard enough trouncing of the film to understand what lies ahead of me.

Yes, absolutely, he should’ve known better than to produce this film. How could an Argento, even in his prime (he isn’t), create a work of cinema that could fulfill the expectations set by the first two entries? How could anybody?

I urge horror fans to dial up the latest episode — #68 — of the Mondo Movie podcast for a lengthy — and at times hilarious — review of this film. Hosts Ben and Dan have been dissecting genre flicks for more than two years now, and they offer that rare thrill: movie reviews by fans — yet not love-it-all fanboys — of this deeply misunderstood medium.

Had the pleasure to speak with Uber-talented writer Karen Walton on May 2 — the scribe behind Ginger Snaps — about suburban hell, virgin suicides and the creation of that groundbreaking werewolf film. You’re definitely going to want to check out the Ginger Snaps section of The New Horror Handbook when it comes out October 31st.

In the meantime, thought you’d like to know she also participated in a Canadian documentary called Women of Darkness, directed by Donna Davies, who recently completed a documentary on zombies in culture called Zombiemania. We’ll keep you posted on this. In the meantime, check out Davies’ site at http://www.sorceryfilms.com

Let me begin by saying I know what I’m about to say is a fantasy, the starry-eyed musings of one let down by the movie studios so frequently and so completely, one really should know better. But if nothing else, we horror fans are optimists capable of sitting through the worst dreck that cinema has to offer in hopes of finding that one tarnished jewel in the sputum tank.

While The New Horror Handbook, due out this October, concerns itself primarily with the films and other horror entertainment of the last 10 years, there is a part of me that wishes its publication could be delayed until the end of next year. That would be long enough to see if a single film hitting theaters in 2009 will have the brains and guts to live up to the existential horror of its source material.

Of course that film is Watchmen, the mega-million-dollar opus helmed by Zack Snyder (the superb Dawn of the Dead remake) and based on the groundbreaking 1986 comic book limited series by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons. While some horror purists may be turned off by the suggestion, I just finished rereading the trade paperback of that series and, quite frankly, believe there is more horror to be mined from its pages than any recent film you’d care to name.

I’m not talking about the usual “here’s-something-that’ll-freak-your-little-sister” blood and guts show we’ve all grown accustomed to, nor the jump-cut crap that slipped in with The Ring. What Watchmen offers, and what a faithful cinematic retelling could provide (I know, I know, I’m dreaming), is something so rare in this genre, it’s difficult to pin down. If we must call it something, “existential horror” fits nicely. A story so rooted in life as we know it, so subtle, that we don’t realize what foul seeds of despair are being planted within us until the final scene.

Jumpcuts and severed limbs are fine, but their effect persists only slightly longer than their impression on the eyes. If you want to be truly horrified, to experience something that gets you down in the belly-brain where you live, check out something like Sion Sono’s Suicide Club or Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Pulse (and please put that American remake of the latter back where you found it). These aren’t perfect films by any means, but the worlds they inhabit are eerily like our own, as are their truths.

Watching the making of Watchmen (no puns, damn it) from the sidelines is a lot like watching your favorite performance-challenged sports team finally getting the ball. You know they’re probably going to muck it up, but that doesn’t stop you imagining how sweet it would be if, just this once, someone finally got it right.

This afternoon, after months of interviews (and more still to come), I sat down to begin work on The New Horror Handbook; the chapter on Eli Roth to be exact. Wish me luck, New Horribles.

When I tell people that one of the films covered in The New Horror Handbook is Ginger Snaps, reactions range from “I love that movie!” to “That’s a pretty obscure choice there, fellah.” Both views are understandable. But chances are that if you connected with that flick at all, it’s because Ginger Snaps has a strong emotional component to it, and lends itself to a very real-world interpretation: growing apart from someone you love. It is the same approach that earned the television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer millions of fans the world over.

That said, you might also have enjoyed that film for another reason. At least to my mind, it was the first werewolf film that didn’t feel two-dimensional. Until seeing it, I could safely say that none of the “monster” movies I’ve seen ever did anything for me: vampires, werewolves, mummies, you name it. Looking back on it now, I think that’s because they never enticed me to be vested in them emotionally.

Which brings me to the subject of this post [um, finally]. Swedish director Tomas Alfredson may have finally brought some much needed depth to the vampire tale with his 2008 release Lat den ratte komma in, known as both Let the Right One In and Let Me In. (I’m afraid this trailer isn’t subtitled, but you’ll certainly get the gist.)

Based on the novel by John Ajvide Lindqvist, the film follows the relationship between 12-year-old bully-magnet Oskar and Eli, a child seemingly of the same age who turns out to be a vampire with a taste for lowlifes. By all accounts an emotional tale (I have yet to find it, I’m afraid), it does raise the hope that at last there might finally be a vampire film that fits the “new horror” mold — a film with true emotional depth.

For those who were bowled over by Vincenzo Natali’s 1997 feature Cube, prepare yourself for that director’s next foray into the SCI-FI/horror realm: Splice.

The film, starring Adrien Brody [The Village, The Jacket, the forthcoming Giallo] and Sarah Polley [Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead remake], follows the exploits of two rebellious scientists who create a woman-animal hybrid, and the psychological drama that plays out between the three.

Like Ginger Snaps and many other films covered in the pages of The New Horror Handbook, Splice, due out in 2009, seems poised to utilize trappings of the horror genre to address larger societal issues — a prime quality of the “new horror” movement. Natali is particularly adept at infusing stock cinematic situations (e.g., a handful of characters trapped in a structure) with insights into trends and events that impact us all.

Stay tuned to this blog for highlights from my interview with Mr. Natali. And for the complete behind-the-scenes look at Cube, order your copy of the Handbook today!

A frenzied and well-deserved clap of the leather-gloved hands for horror author Scott Sigler who has managed to sell over 5,000 copies of his novel Infected in the first two weeks it’s been available.

Sigler, whose story is told in The New Horror Handbook, beat the New York publishing companies at their own game when he worked his butt off producing high-quality podcasts of his terror tales for years before finally landing a traditional publishing deal with Crown. Check out any of his many podcasts on iTunes to get a feel for Sigler’s unique brand of gore, beasts and playful monomania.