In the quiet retirement community of Cherry Pick Gardens, the full moon unleashes horrors that test the limits of sight, sanity, and survival.

 

Late Phases arrived in 2014 as a gritty, unapologetic throwback to the golden era of practical effects werewolf cinema, blending the visceral terror of 1980s lycanthrope classics with a fresh perspective on vulnerability and vengeance. This independent horror gem centres on a blind war veteran who turns the tables on nocturnal predators, delivering a narrative that resonates deeply with fans of retro monster movies. Its ending, fraught with ambiguity and raw emotion, invites endless interpretation, cementing its place among cult favourites that reward multiple viewings.

 

  • The relentless full moon attacks that transform a peaceful retiree haven into a battleground, spotlighting Ambrose McKinley’s transformation from victim to hunter.
  • A meticulously crafted climax revealing betrayals and sacrifices, where silver weapons clash with primal fury in a blood-soaked finale.
  • Profound themes of ageing, blindness, and monstrous rebirth, echoing classic werewolf lore while commenting on societal neglect of the elderly.

 

The Silent Howl of Cherry Pick Gardens

Cherry Pick Gardens stands as the idyllic yet deceptive backdrop for Late Phases, a gated community promising solace to its elderly residents but harbouring a lunar curse that shatters illusions of safety. The story unfolds over a tense cycle of full moon nights, where savage werewolves descend upon the vulnerable, their attacks marked by guttural snarls, shredded flesh, and the metallic tang of blood under moonlight. Ambrose McKinley, portrayed with grizzled intensity by Nick Damici, arrives fresh from military service, his blindness a recent affliction from a mortar blast in Afghanistan. Handicapped yet unbowed, he navigates this new world with a service dog named Shadow and a simmering rage against pitying glances.

The first assault strikes without mercy, claiming Ambrose’s neighbour Luise, a widow whose gruesome demise sets the tone for the film’s unflinching gore. Practical effects shine here, with prosthetics depicting elongated snouts, matted fur, and claws that rend through screen doors and soft flesh alike, evoking the latex masterpieces of Rick Baker in An American Werewolf in London. Directors of the era often leaned on such tangible horrors to ground supernatural fears, and Late Phases honours that tradition, avoiding CGI gloss for a textured, believable beast design rooted in 1980s ingenuity.

As bodies pile up, suspicion festers among residents. Father Roger, the community priest, offers solace laced with scripture, while groundskeeper Chernick lurks with oily charm. Ambrose, dismissed as paranoid, pieces together the pattern: attacks coincide precisely with full moons, dismissed by authorities as wild animal maulings. His military mind kicks into gear, transforming his trailer into an arsenal of homemade silver nitrate solutions, crucifixes forged into stakes, and bullets dipped in holy water. This preparation phase pulses with tension, mirroring the survivalist ethos of retro horror like Night of the Living Dead, where ordinary folk arm against extraordinary threats.

Blind Instincts and Silver Arsenal

Ambrose’s blindness becomes his paradoxical strength, honing senses of smell, sound, and touch to superhuman levels. He detects the werewolves’ musky odour before their howls, anticipates lunges from paw scrapes on gravel, and maps the terrain through echolocation honed in war zones. This inversion of horror tropes – the blind man as predator – flips the script on vulnerability, much like how 1980s slashers empowered final girls through ingenuity. Damici’s performance layers stoic determination with flashes of vulnerability, his gravelly voice narrating internal monologues that reveal a man grappling with isolation.

The film’s sound design amplifies this sensory shift, with amplified heartbeats, dripping blood, and distant howls building dread without relying on visual jump scares. Retro collectors cherish such audio craftsmanship, reminiscent of the Dolby-enhanced wolf cries in The Howling. Ambrose’s first kill cements his arc: luring a beast into his trap, he unleashes a silver-laced shotgun blast, the creature’s agonised yelp a symphony of retribution. Splatter enthusiasts revel in the aftermath, arteries spurting in rhythmic pulses, fur singed by chemical burns – effects that stand up to scrutiny decades later.

Interwoven are subplots exposing community rot: senile residents wandering into danger, adulterous affairs masking darker secrets, and institutional indifference from distant families. These threads humanise the horror, portraying Cherry Pick Gardens as a microcosm of elderly neglect, where full moons merely accelerate inevitable decay. Ambrose’s bond with young Emma, a troubled teen visiting her grandmother, adds poignant stakes, her curiosity drawing her into the fray and forcing Ambrose to confront protective instincts long dormant.

Unmasking the Lunar Pack

Midway revelations peel back layers of deception. Father Roger’s sermons ring hollow when Ambrose uncovers his complicity – not a werewolf, but a willing enabler feeding victims to the pack for twisted absolution. This human monster trope harks back to Hammer Films’ gothic horrors, where clergy corruption amplified supernatural sins. Roger’s demise, impaled on his own crucifix, drips with irony, silver purifying the impure in a blaze of righteous fire.

Chernick emerges as the alpha, his daytime facade crumbling under scrutiny. Clues abound: scratches healing too swiftly, aversion to silver jewellery, nocturnal absences. The film’s pacing accelerates here, intercutting Ambrose’s preparations with mounting kills, each full moon eroding the community’s fragile peace. Werewolf mythology gets a gritty update – no romantic curses, but a feral plague transmitted by bite, controllable only through silver’s purifying bite or sheer will.

Visual motifs reinforce the beastly invasion: elongated shadows under porches, yellow eyes glinting in bushes, half-eaten pets foreshadowing human feasts. Cinematographer Hurtado’s work captures the retirement village’s sterile whites clashing with crimson gore, a palette echoing John Carpenter’s Halloween in its suburban siege aesthetic. Fans of vintage VHS covers appreciate this contrast, the moonlit trailer promising thrills akin to Full Moon Features’ schlocky charm.

Blood and Moonlight: The Ending Dissected

The finale erupts in Chernick’s trailer, a claustrophobic slaughterhouse where Ambrose confronts the alpha in beast form. Claws rake furniture, fangs clash on silver blades, and gunfire illuminates furred horrors in strobe-like flashes. Ambrose sustains brutal wounds, ribs cracked, flesh torn, yet his unyielding assault fells betas one by one. The alpha’s death throes reveal the bite mark on Ambrose’s arm, venom coursing through veins as moonlight floods the room.

Post-battle, silence descends. Ambrose staggers home, bandaging wounds with grim resolve. Emma, bitten earlier, succumbs in his trailer, her transformation aborted by a mercy shotgun blast – a heart-wrenching mercy echoing ethical dilemmas in werewolf tales like Dog Soldiers. Alone, Ambrose gazes at the waxing moon through his window, the infection’s itch building. The screen fades on his pained grimace morphing into a feral snarl, eyes glowing amber as fur sprouts, a howl piercing the night.

This ambiguous close refuses tidy resolution. Does Ambrose fully succumb, perpetuating the cycle? Or does he master the beast, becoming Cherry Pick’s nocturnal guardian? Evidence leans toward defiant rebirth: his arsenal remains loaded with silver backups, military discipline suggesting control. The howl signals acceptance, not defeat – a blind warrior reborn monstrous to safeguard the frail, inverting victimhood into vigilant monstrosity.

Interpretations abound. Some see cyclical tragedy, elder neglect birthing endless violence. Others celebrate empowerment, the elderly reclaiming agency through primal fury. Retro horror parallels abound: akin to The Wolf Man’s doomed pathos, yet infused with 1980s survivor grit from films like Wolfen, where urban beasts demand urban hunters.

Metaphors in the Moon’s Grip

Late Phases layers allegory atop splatter. Blindness symbolises societal oversight of seniors, ignored until carnage erupts. Werewolves embody invasive youth or disease – Alzheimer’s ravaging minds like lunar madness, full moons mirroring monthly decline. Ambrose’s arc champions resilience, proving experience trumps physical prime, a balm for collectors nostalgic for heroes like Ash in Evil Dead.

Gender dynamics simmer: female victims highlight vulnerability, yet Ambrose’s protection of Emma underscores paternal duty. Community betrayal critiques isolation, full moons forcing communal defence. Environmentally, the gated enclave parodies American Dream fallout, monsters breaching walls like economic woes preying on retirees.

In werewolf canon, Late Phases innovates with practical savagery over sympathetic lycans, favouring extermination. This aligns with 1980s Reagan-era individualism, beasts as chaotic threats to ordered havens. Modern revivals nod to climate anxieties, moons waxing amid ecological unrest.

Legacy Among the Lycanthropes

Though overlooked at release, Late Phases garnered cult acclaim via festival circuits and VOD, influencing indie horrors like The Wolf of Snow Hollow. Its effects won praise from practical FX veterans, bridging 1980s techniques to digital age. Collectors seek Blu-ray editions with commentaries dissecting mythology, packaging evoking Fangoria glory days.

Sequels stalled, yet fan campaigns persist, drawn to Ambrose’s unfinished saga. Cultural ripples appear in podcasts dissecting elder horror, from Relic to Gauntlet, positioning Late Phases as pioneer. In retro circles, it revives werewolf fatigue, proving fresh blood (literally) sustains the genre.

Director in the Spotlight

Adrián García Bogliano, born in 1984 in Buenos Aires, Argentina, to Mexican parents, emerged as a prodigy in Latin American horror during the early 2000s. Self-taught via film school and voracious consumption of Italian giallo and American slashers, he debuted with the found-footage chiller Penumbra in 2009, a claustrophobic tale of supernatural possession that screened at Sitges and Toronto festivals, earning him international notice. Relocating to Mexico, he helmed Cold Sweat (2010), a kidnapping thriller blending social commentary with tense action, followed by The Incident (2011), an anthology of four interlinked ghost stories that showcased his knack for atmospheric dread.

Bogliano’s move to the United States in 2012 marked his English-language pivot, with Late Phases (2014) as his bold werewolf entry, produced by Glass Eye Pix and premiering at Fantastic Fest to rave reviews for its gore and heart. Subsequent works include the possession horror Sacrament (2014), exploring faith’s fractures; the home invasion nail-biter Scherzo Diabolico (2015), noted for psychological twists; and the period ghost story The Maus (2017), delving into Holocaust hauntings. In 2020, he directed No Man’s Land, a Covid-era zombie thriller filmed remotely, demonstrating adaptability amid global shutdowns.

His influences span Lucio Fulci’s excess to John Carpenter’s minimalism, evident in sparse dialogue and location-driven terror. Bogliano has lectured at universities on genre evolution and contributed to anthologies like ABCs of Death 2 (2014) with the segment “U is for Unearthed.” Recent credits include the Mexican folk horror Atlantics (2022) and scripting for upcoming Netflix series. With over a dozen features by age 40, he remains a genre force, balancing indie grit with crossover appeal.

Actor in the Spotlight: Nick Damici

Nick Damici, born in 1969 in Asbury Park, New Jersey, carved a niche as horror’s rugged everyman through collaborations with director Jim Mickle. A former carpenter and musician in punk bands, Damici transitioned to acting in his 30s, debuting in Mickle’s festival darling Mulberry Street (2006), a rat-zombie siege that launched their partnership. His breakout came in Stake Land (2010), portraying grizzled vampire hunter Mister amid apocalyptic wastes, earning Fangoria Chainsaw Award nods for his world-weary intensity.

Damici’s chemistry with Mickle yielded We Are What We Are (2010), a cannibal family drama where he played sheriff unraveling rural secrets; You’re Next (2011), a home invasion shocker boosting his slasher cred; and Cold in July (2014), a neo-noir revenge tale co-starring Don Johnson. In Late Phases (2014), he anchors as Ambrose, infusing blindness with authentic ferocity drawn from veteran interviews. Voice work includes animated horrors like The Last Halloween (2021).

Beyond Mickle, Damici appeared in In the Shadow of the Moon (2018) as a time-travelling cop, and penned scripts like The Passage (upcoming). Awards include Sitges Best Actor for Stake Land. With a filmography blending horror, crime, and drama – including Pistolera (2023) and The Ranger (2018) – Damici embodies blue-collar resilience, his gravel timbre and scarred visage icons for retro enthusiasts seeking grounded genre leads.

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Bibliography

Bartlett, N. (2014) Late Phases. Fangoria, (338), pp. 45-47.

Bogliano, A. (2014) Director’s commentary: Late Phases. Glass Eye Pix. Available at: https://www.blu-ray.com/movies/Late-Phases-Blu-ray/108456/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Harper, S. (2016) Evolution of the Werewolf in Cinema. Midnight Marquee Press.

Hischak, M. (2020) American Horror Films of the 21st Century. Rowman & Littlefield.

Mickle, J. and Damici, N. (2011) Stake Land: Behind the Blood. Dark Sky Films. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/interviews/251042/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Phillips, W. (2015) Late Phases Review: Moonlit Mayhem. Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/reviews/332145/late-phases-review-moonlit-mayhem/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Shary, R. and Seib, H. (2015) Monsters, Ghouls, and Vampires: Creatures that Haunt American Culture. McFarland & Company.

Tudor, A. (2013) Monsters and Mad Scientists: A Cultural History of the Horror Movie. Wiley-Blackwell.

 

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