‘I saw you. For me it was completely a turning point because suddenly this seemed within reach… Ramsey’s presence in the world validated the possibility that I might try it.”, Ramsey himself recalled the school visit when introducing a later edition of the Books of Blood, saying, “I can’t now recall much of what I rather clumsily said, but I remember the delight of the sixteen-year-olds when I pointed out that one might take Machen’s ‘White Powder’ to deal with venereal disease, and the dismayed retreat of some members of the teaching staff when I played Zappa’s parody of Schoenberg from Absolutely Free. The clumsy bastard was attempting to soak up the coffee with a napkin, which was turning to mush as he did so. Personnel changes at Lionsgate though caused the eventual release plans to attract Clive’s well-publicised ire as the anticipated wide theatrical release became a contractual minimum of just 100 screens, appearing on 1 August 2008. As it was, he didn’t get the chance. Was there one psychotic loose, or several, each inspired to copy the original murder? As he stepped in he looked down at his body. Had he heard this he would have questioned the sense of it. As a professional it sickened him, though he understood the weakness that spoiled the best of men. The impact half-severed the leg and the weight of the body opened the gash even further. Until his heel slipped. Whoosh. He couldn’t resist a smile. Without a feature that was analogous to human, without an organ that made sense, or senses. The best way to stalk, to cut, to strip, to bleed. The body was small, and the effort of climbing into the train made its breath coarse. After all, he was that man, that killer, and tonight the thought of capture was laughable. He heard movement beyond the door. Surely the Butcher must hear, or smell? Hello Select your address Books Hello, Sign in. The screenplay was adapted by Jeff Buhler. He never swore in company. His hands still felt the weave of his trousers, however, and the hot splashes on his skin. Production designer is Clark Hunter (The Astronaut Farmer, All the Pretty Horses). It was the final triumph of the Butcher’s craft. The head, lolling on its slit neck. Each step he took was a torment, but the Butcher seemed far too engrossed in his conversation to turn round. Based on Clive Barker's short story of the same name, ... crowded passages beneath an urban jungle, Midnight Meat Train also stars Brooke Shields and Leslie Bibb and is directed by popular Japanese filmmaker Ryuhei Kitamura. He backed down the car away from the open doors, only to find that the doors behind him were also open, and there was the whisper of approach there too. I think that the kind of fiction that I write is very much about the way that lots of different types of people deal with the invasion of the monstrous or the supernatural in their lives – and I don’t want them all to deal with it in the same way. Every shred of clothing, every article of jewellery. I never wanted to drop the ball in terms of Leon’s journey throughout the film. Kaufman skinned his way through the slit he had opened and so through into the bloody chamber beyond. He felt and heard the brakes being applied. It was always – from its title onwards – it was always, ‘Okay, here we go. He could, he thought, still be taken for a man of forty-five, fifty at the outside. It was really travelling again. It threw the door frame into silhouette, and it grew stronger by degrees. The city would go about its business in ignorance: never knowing what it was built upon, or what it owed its life to. It was a conspiracy theory the oaf was trotting out. An unknown author of some books of short stories that nobody was buying...”, Having subsequently read the texts, King’s endorsement became stronger, more personal and snappier, telling Berkley Publishing in April 1985 for the US release of the Books of Blood: “I think Clive Barker is so good that I am almost literally tongue-tied. Halloween? Mahogany turned on the television to cover the noise, uninterested in anything it had to offer. Disolución del recuerdo It grinned. But his work was not their senseless labour, it was more like a sacred duty. Over and over, and over and over. ‘Serve,’ said the father, and stuffed the tongue into his own mouth, chewing on it with evident satisfaction. He unwrapped his ham on whole-wheat with extra mayonnaise and settled in for the evening. Nothing happened. Clive on The Midnight Meat Train The Midnight Picture Show planned The Midnight Meat Train as the first of their 'Films of Blood' in 2005, backed by finance from Lakeshore Entertainment and distribution by Lionsgate. Kaufman wasn’t as naive as he’d been an hour before. He began to shake, uncontrollably. There’s something out there that’s not human.’. There’s no accounting for time in a dead faint. I can not believe this movie flew under my radar as an Clive Barker fan and did not hear about it in the last 12 years. So that’s where it all began.”. Not all the bodies had been shaved, and the jugulars had not been severed to bleed them. He assaults and kills several people with a meat hammer and a butcher's hook. Leon drives the narrative of the story, so in that sense, I felt a lot of pressure. Kaufman looked up at the sunlight, now falling all around him. Then his body collapsed, and his hands, and his life, and his sacred duty folded up under a weight of grey flesh. The tired flesh of their faces was pulled tight over their skulls, so that it shone with tension. He was saying something, but Mahogany’s ears were deaf to the remarks, as though he was under water. No trains disgorged all their passengers at Jay Street; the line ran to Mott Avenue, via the Aqueduct Race Track, past JFK Airport. At ten past eleven he threw down his pen and admitted defeat. The exposed meat of the thigh was like prime steak, succulent and appetizing. He couldn’t expect fame. The people who walked, ran and skipped past him on the streets: who collided with him without apology: who met his gaze with contempt: who smiled at his bulk, looking uneasy in his ill- fitting suit. Clive Barker’s short story, The Midnight Meat Train (from his Books of Blood collection) is a brutal and unflinching look into such a world. I was 19, maybe 20 years old. In film, though, horror was very much the order of the day – Hellraiser and its sequels made his reputation, Nightbreed’s siding with the monsters confused a studio but found a huge audience that demands a forthcoming director’s cut fully twenty five years later and Lord of Illusions is an underrated treatise on magic and illusion. This was somehow primal air in his nostrils, hostile and unfathomable air. He knew why not. 18+ Starring Bradley Cooper, Leslie Bibb, Vinnie Jones. The Midnight Meat Train. The Midnight Meat Train is a 2008 horror film based on Clive Barker's 1984 short story of the same name, which can be found in Volume One of Barker's collection Books of Blood. Catch an Express to Far Rockaway. Mahogany walked the length of the car to the driver’s cabin. The Midnight Meat Train starts off with a fascinating hook that will appeal to fans of true crime and enjoy stories involving serial killers and the authorities who hunt them. In the late 1990s, Mark Pavia and Jack O’Donnell put together a treatment but timings worked against it being made. A well-dressed, barrel-chested man enters the New York City subway at midnight and stalks the late-night passengers of a subway train. Whiter than any living man should be, covered in grime and blood. Except that he already knew. He was quick, though, to defend the accusation that he was only interested in a single genre – or of evoking a single type of reaction from readers. Tales of Mystery and Imagination. Just watched it yesterday and I can highly recommend it! There was a blind drawn down over the window between the cars which hadn’t been down before as he remembered. Even now bending, knife in hand, to scoop Kaufman out of his hiding place, like a snail hooked from its shell? Saw? That’s all.’. The driver woke him. Perhaps there were people on the surface -bureaucrats, politicians, authorities of every kind - who knew this horrible secret and whose lives were dedicated to preserving these abominations, feeding them, as savages feed lambs to their gods. He was past the youth now and he could see the door into Car Three ahead. But he chose to ignore it. ‘Probably a fucking cop,’ he said, as his parting shot. And the driver? He’d heard them so often; a panacea. They didn’t break out to a wider audience, though, until they caught the attention of the biggest name in horror fiction of them all. Like Freddie's claw, Jason's machete, whatever. There would need to be consultations with the Fathers, but sooner or later a replacement would have to be found, and it would be, he felt, a criminal waste of his experience not to take on an apprentice. It glistened with blood as it lay in front of its Lord. ‘Coffee. The absence of his teeth? Nobody got in. Boston was amazing… But I wanted to see New York. “It being a Barker creation only made it more interesting and dynamic. The door closed. A long-bladed, immaculately clean weapon, probably the man’s pride and joy. The scream had cleared Kaufman’s head and he sud-denly felt released into a kind of strength. The creature stepped into the car. Another had a hand in its mouth. His reason said it couldn’t be real, but his flesh knew it was. 73%. My creatures are not shadowy, ethereal things – you can count their tentacles, you know where they’ve got snot running from their noses. And there, I think, is a story with a perfect happy ending – he goes through hell and he comes through on the other side, utterly changed, utterly transformed....”. There was much more in the darkness, flickering and flapping. He lay under one of the seats now, sprawled along the vibrating wall of the car, hidden from view. He was that much older, of course, and that made the job more exhausting; and more and more the obligations weighed on his shoulders. Jeff Buhler took the conductor’s seat for this journey of the Meat Train. We spent a lot of time [getting The Midnight Meat Train off the ground] independently and through other means. See no evil. He has this iconic hammer. In the few months that Kaufman had lived in New York her streets had been awash with spilt blood.In fact, it was not so much the streets themselves, but the tunnels beneath those streets. Kaufman thrust himself further under the seat and tucked himself up into a tiny ball, with his sick-white face to the wall. The scent, the dark, the thunder. All were shorn of their head and body hair. Was he even now looking down at Kaufman’s back? It was iridescent, like mother of pearl, but it was sometimes deeper than any colour Kaufman knew, or could put a name to. He lingered in the station for over an hour, wandering between platforms while the trains came and went, came and went, and the people with them. Tonight he’d take the AVENUE OF THE AMERICAS again, his favourite line, and often the most productive. Kaufman lay on the floor, tears pouring down his face, tears of discomfiture and of resignation. It pleased Mahogany to think of that. Our new butcher,’ he announced. There were so many felicities he could pass on. The origins of the story date to a visit Clive made with his great friend William A. Henry III, the two-time Pulitzer Prize winner and, at the time of his untimely death, Time Magazine’s theatre critic. Every part of his body seemed to be weeping but his eyes. His stomach almost saw the blood before his brain and the ham on whole-wheat was half-way up his gullet catching in the back of his throat. There was nothing very remarkable about it. He could face anything at all; watch and see. He was drifting in that warm somewhere between awareness and sleep and there was a fluttering of nascent dreams in his head. As it was he felt it flutter in his chest as he saw what he saw. She had been completely stripped. But his stare caught them, and weighed them up, selecting only the ripest from the passing parade, choosing only the healthy and the young to fall under his sanctified knife. It smelt stranger than any Kaufman had smelt before: and colder. Unfortunately too many producers, directors and writers just want to do it the easy way. He felt no breath on his neck. But that was when he’d lived in Atlanta, and New York was still a kind of promised land, where anything and everything was possible.Now Kaufman had lived three and a half months in his dream-city, and the Palace of Delights seemed less than delightful.Was it really only a season since he stepped out of Port Authority Bus Station and looked up 42nd Street towards the Broadway intersection? His body became rigid with terror. The author of the original short story the film was based on talks about the controversial new film. He went to the door and opened it, used to walking in blackness. Tortured Souls: The Legend of Primordium (2015) Infernal Parade (2017) Nonfiction. They’d resisted with knives, and he’d been hospitalised for six weeks. Only the previous week another three killings had been reported. The driver smiled at him, then turned to the rest of the workers in the station. Kaufman tried to say something, but his mouth was sealed up with dried blood. All done? It was nine now. But Loretta Dyer was only the first. “I was the ideal candidate for this film, being a huge meat eater. It would only take one more night’s labour, he felt sure, to break the back of the job, and he found it easier to concentrate without the incessant clatter of typists and typewriters on every side. ‘More meat for us. The train had come to a stop. ‘Bastards,’ he said. Lakeshore Entertainment’s Tom Rosenberg, Gary Lucchesi, Richard Wright and Eric Reid are producing the film with David Rubin serving as executive producer, and Beth DePatie co-producing. In fact the air was still pungent with the smell of the shearing. The sound of its movement was awesome. But no: the man had gone. It was a long time ago but I knew I wanted to get off an old Greyhound bus at Port Authority, which is what we did… Bill had lots of business in New York and I was on my own, which was wonderful. It was there; the precursor of man. The skin of the face had been peeled off in strips. The torches behind it threw its face into shadow, but its outline could be clearly seen. This was the Palace of Delights, after all, and everyone had their right to a little love in the dark. That explains something. It was a thin reflection, but Kaufman could see quite well enough how changed he was. His senses were sharpened too. He wanted to see the monster’s face again. As the torches were taken out of the car, darkness was returning. The doors were opening. Finally, this all too naked slab had been hung by the feet from one of the holding handles set in the roof of the car, and a black plastic bucket, lined with a black plastic bag, had been placed beneath the corpse to catch the steady fall of blood from its wounds. No other movie in the past twenty years reached that level of an icon right? Chop. And the two things: being delivered to Far Rockaway and getting out and not knowing where the fuck I was; and the story that was going around about this train killer, it was enough for my imagination to sort of start to play around. The meat of her back had been entirely cleft open from neck to buttock and the muscle had been peeled back to expose the glistening vertebrae. Better take your place eh?’. Outside the windows, everything was as dark as ever. The film follows a photographer who attempts to track down a serial killer dubbed the "Subway Butcher", and discovers more than he bargained for under the city streets. Mahogany felt the blade in his neck as a choking sensation, almost as though he had caught a chicken bone in his throat. He took off his spectacles and pocketed them: the bearded face was no longer in focus. The Butcher unhooked the cleaver from his belt and brandished it. The window between the cars was completely curtained off, but he stared at it, frowning, as though he might suddenly discover X-ray vision. Mahogany was almost disappointed that the sleeping man had alighted at West 4th Street. The reports claimed, though the Police Department failed to confirm this, that the body had been meticulously shaved. Cover-up, like I say. Speak no evil. That’s it. Kaufman’s breath, held in his lungs ‘til they hurt, was expelled in a rasp between his teeth. I like to be able to give the reader everything I can imagine on a subject. In the story Leon Kaufman makes a mistake when he falls asleep on a train and wakes up to find himself caught up in something he had no clue existed. Its eyes, if it had eyes, were on him. He looked at the man with a slightly disdainful expres-sion on his face. It's a black fly in your Chardonnay I got on the subway late one night and it took me to a place called Far Rockaway, the end of the line. He just stared in disgust as the fingernails slid between the cleft in the buttocks, feeling the swell of tender muscle. He felt his vocal cords trying to form a scream. He checked his appearance in the mirror. “I started working with Clive on the screenplay way back in 2004,” he recalls, “and we did at least four drafts before Clive formed the Midnight Picture Company with partner Jorge Saralegui.”, Noting the need to change the emphasis for the screen from the narrative in the short story – prompting the switch away from Leon’s profession as an accountant – he explains, “In the short we’re inside Leon’s head, so we know what he’s thinking and feeling as he observes the city around him. Clive Barker's tagline for Books of Blood was: "Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we're opened, we're red." The meat-packaging plants on the water-front were being watched, the slaughter-houses scoured for clues. My Christ, thought Kaufman, he’s going to kill the driver. Because that excused his city: that let her off the hook. The absence of a theatrical release was... not only were we losing the chance to exhibit the picture the way it should have been shown, but also we were killing the chance of getting a real horror trilogy that would be constructed picture by picture.”. His mind refused to accept what his eyes were seeing beyond the door. Should he go forward and ask the driver? ‘See, they do all this cloning stuff and it gets out of hand. There were one or two bodies he contemplated following, but there was so much dross amongst them: so few worth the chase. Kaufman dragged gulps of stale air into his lungs and grabbed one of the straps to steady his reeling body. Kaufman was shocked by the banality of the exchange. And Kaufman believed in his heart that the monsters to be found in the tunnels were perfectly human. Nobody had boarded the train. Everyone in New York now knew the horrible story of the slaughters. It had been a close fought encounter and one that had set him doubting his skills. His limbs felt drugged and his eyes would scarcely stay open. ‘You should have left the train. Kaufman found his voice. It was dirty with blood, as was his chain-mail apron, his hammer and his saw. The eyes of the monsters were flickering back and forth with hunger and excitement. No graffiti disfigured the walls. This was the Midnight Meat Train. But he could look no longer. Lovecraft). Still others would even now be cramming on to the subway, blind to the graffiti on every wall, deaf to the babble of their own voices, and to the cold thunder of the tunnels. The voice was as wasted as the lips it came from. Blood issued from his lips, painting them, like lipstick on his woman’s mouth. Hank, it seemed, was regularly arrested for threatening behaviour and indecent exposure, all in the name of Jehovah. They carted him away, triumphant. They had a scent all of their own. When the train halted at 96th the Police were waiting to arrest the Subway Butcher. It could have been seconds or hours that passed before Kaufman’s eyes flickered open again, and his mind focussed on his new-found situation. One of the girls was a beauty. Warily he uncurled himself and glanced over his shoulder down the length of the car. There was simply a clatter of feet close to Kaufman’s head; then that same sound receding. Down the Subway steps, token in hand. Ryuhei then came recommended.”, “The first time I met him,” says Jeff, “I knew we were kind of like-minded people. The two wounds spouted little arcs of blood. For some reason his dreams were of his mother’s kitchen. 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