As with all entertainment, the appeal of humor and horror is subjective. Perhaps you thought "Napoleon Dynamite" was hilarious and "Saw" was terrifying. We didn't. In light of the highly personal nature of each genre's merits, successfully melding the two in one film is a tricky proposition. Granted, "Scary Movie 4," the latest installment of the successful series, isn't a true hybrid; rather — like "Beetlejuice," "Young Frankenstein," "Little Shop of Horrors" and the seminal "Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein" — it's a comedy set in the horror milieu.

But our instinctual reactions to horror and comedy are markedly similar. Both genres elicit primal emotions, bringing forth uncontrollable physical responses. We laugh, we scream, we jump (sometimes on top of one another) — which is why the movies that truly, seamlessly blend terror and titters are some of the most memorable films of all.

While the whole of Stanley Kubrick's 1980 adaptation of Stephen King's "The Shining" isn't a comedy/horror hybrid, that mixture not only defines Jack Nicholson's performance as Jack Torrance, it's what makes it pitch-perfect. Jack spouts smartass one-liners while threatening to bash his wife Wendy's (Shelley Duvall) brains in and chasing his son, Danny, with an axe. We're simultaneously amused and horrified. Jack is arguably (with apologies to Norman Bates and Freddy Krueger) the most likable homicidal maniac in movie history, pulling us into the story, adding resonance to the tragedy.

The see-saw effect of screaming one second and laughing the next allows the viewer some relief, paving the way for bigger shocks than the relentless tension of straight horror. Witness the "Evil Dead" series, the benchmark against which all comedic terrors should be judged. Starting with the low-budget "Evil Dead" in 1981, continuing with 1987's "Evil Dead II" (essentially a remake of "Evil Dead" with more money) and ending with 1993's time-traveling "Army of Darkness," director Sam Raimi's tale of good-vs.-undead evil features gore and violence so over-the-top that it becomes comical. With a knowingly campy performance by Bruce Campbell as the chainsaw-wielding hero, Ash, and Raimi's kinetic direction, the films are the bastard offspring of George Romero and the Three Stooges — and we mean that as a high compliment.


Zombie films do seem to traffic in morbid humor more than any other horror genre. Romero's "Living Dead" series (especially 1978's mall-set "Dawn of the Dead"), 1985's punk-zombie flick, "Return of the Living Dead," that same year's "Re-Animator" and Peter Jackson's blood-soaked "Dead-Alive" (1992) all rely on a head-splattering combination of the funny and the fiendish.

But perhaps the best zombedy of all is 2004's "Shaun of the Dead," a mélange that manages to be scary, hilarious, joyful and moving (sometimes all at once). After all, what other zombie flick culminates in a feel-good ending, with the undead enjoying a harmonious coexistence with the living?

Similar in tone is 2002's "Bubba Ho-Tep," the "true" story of an aged Elvis Presley (Bruce Campbell) and John F. Kennedy (Ossie Davis — no, really) teaming up to battle an evil Egyptian mummy who's feasting on the souls of residents in a Texas retirement home. High concept indeed, but Don Coscarelli's adaptation of the Joe R. Lansdale story is grounded by some sincere performances and manages to amuse, frighten and even acidly comment on society's treatment of the elderly.

Then there's writer/director Frank Henenlotter's twisted little 1988 gem, "Brain Damage," the tale of a 1,000-year-old phallic parasite named Aylmer (pronounced "Elmer") that attaches itself to a New Yorker named Brian, feeding him an addictive, hallucinogenic fluid in exchange for delicious fresh human brains on which to feed. This drug allegory is full of "Oh, they did not do that!" moments, and is sure to make you check your meatballs closely the next time you dine Italian.

The '80s also saw a succession of comedic vampire movies. 1985's "Fright Night" and 1987's "The Lost Boys" took the inherent silliness of 1950s movies like "I Was a Teenage Werewolf" and "I Was a Teenage Frankenstein" and mixed in some modern sexuality to craft comedy-horrors about teen vampires with raging hormones and a lust for blood.

Meanwhile, in 1989's "Vampire's Kiss," Nicolas Cage plays a yuppie who's convinced he's become a bloodsucker (even if he has to use fake plastic fangs to convince others). The film is probably best known for a scene in which Cage literally eats a live cockroach. Now that's Method acting.

While there's absolutely nothing scary (or, for that matter, funny) about the 1985 Michael J. Fox comedy "Teen Wolf" or 1987's Jason Bateman sequel, "Teen Wolf, Too," there's another wolfman flick from that decade that's maybe the greatest of all horror-comedy hybrids.

Written and directed by John Landis ("Animal House"), 1981's "An American Werewolf in London" stars David Naughton and Griffin Dunne as David and Jack, two Americans backpacking through Europe who, despite being warned away, stray onto the moors of the English countryside and are viciously attacked by a huge, monstrous wolf. Jack is killed, but David survives, waking up confused in a London hospital, where he falls in love with the beautiful nurse, Alex (Jenny Agutter). Soon, however, David is visited by his mangled, bloody, undead pal Jack, who informs David that he (David) has become a werewolf and must commit suicide before the next full moon in order to sever the bloodline.

David is (understandably) reluctant to believe his decomposing pal — a dangling flap of skin in one scene is particularly disconcerting — until he awakens naked one morning in a London zoo after a night of lycanthropic mayhem. The movie is a brilliant, seamless mesh of black comedy and bloody terror, enhanced by a perfect soundtrack, wonderful performances, terrific (pre-CGI) effects and razor sharp editing and timing. A truly awful sequel of sorts, "An American Werewolf in Paris," featuring none of the talent involved in "London," followed in 1997, proving that better technology doesn't mean better movies.

As with most genre films (the Oscar-laden "Lord of the Rings" aside), the tricky horror-comedy hybrid doesn't get the respect it deserves. We happen to think that "American Werewolf in London" was a much greater achievement than "Chariots of Fire," which won the Academy Award for Best Picture that year. But who knows? Maybe time will be kind to the genre and one happy day, we'll see Bruce Campbell get Oscar's Lifetime Achievement Award. Ah, to dream!

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