Halloween 2023: September 19th

The Bat (1926)

Pop culture is a constantly shifting landscape. Today's biggest hit can be forgotten tomorrow, the hottest new movies and shows lost amid the ever-expanding current of content. Yet some images have remained in the cultural memory. There aren't too many characters more consistently popular than Batman, arguably among the most well known heroes in all of media. No icon exists in a vacuum however. Author Mary Roberts Rinehart, all but forgotten today, had a bestseller in 1908 with her mystery, “The Circular Staircase.”  The novel's success prompted Rinehart to adapt the tale to the stage. As “The Bat,” the story become enormously popular on Broadway. It was so popular that no fewer than three film adaptations would follow, the first of which being a silent version in 1926. While all these bats would be largely forgotten over the years, the play – when combined with pulp character Zorro – likely inspired Bob Finger and Bob Kane's undying superhero. 

In the city, the owner of a rare emerald is killed and burgled by a costumed thief calling himself the Bat. Leaving a taunting calling card to the police, the Bat next promises to rob the mansion of supposedly deceased bank owner Courtleigh Fleming. The building is said to house a secret room containing treasure. The drafty old mansion is currently being leased to Cornelia Van Gorder, a constantly knitting writer of mysteries. Soon, a number of people arrive at the mansion: Lizzie, the nervous maid; a mysterious new gardener; Cornelia's niece; a doctor; a Japanese butler; and Fleming's greedy nephew. When the nephew is murdered on the staircase, it becomes clear that the Bat is lurking about. A pair of police detectives arrives to determine who among the guests could be the masked murderer and locate the secret room. 

“The Bat” represents a prototypical example of the old dark house movie, right down to getting its start on-stage. The blending of genres and tropes that define stories like this are present and accounted for. “The Bat” is basically a murder mystery that is pushed into the horror genre, thanks to the monstrous costume the killer wears. The spooky old mansion setting, with its secret passageways and hidden rooms, recalls the gothic style. There's a shrieking comic relief character, in the form of Lizzie the buffoonish maid, who gets involved in some slapstick shenanigans. Some romantic intrigue goes down as well, before the killer is unmasked and the mystery unraveled by the gang of quirky detectives. 

Whether you find this blending of elements compelling is heavily depended on what type of classic horror fan you are. The comedy in “The Bat” is fairly shrill, devoted often to the maid getting startled at something and shrieking in surprise. The dialogue she trades with her spinster employee is occasionally amusing, though you'll have to excuse the racist depiction of the Japanese butler. The whodunit aspect is what's mostly emphasized. The film collects together a whole ensemble of red herrings and potential suspects, each with their own motives. The story quickly gets a bit convoluted, as these different plot threads collide together in various ways. I didn't find the pay-off to the mystery especially satisfying, as it involves a switch-a-roo of identity that feels like cheating to me. I've not read Rinehart's novel, so I don't know how much this “Bat” differs from the source material. Yet it definitely feels like one of those mysteries most preoccupied with keeping the reader guessing and not so much with sticking together as a coherent whole. 

If you're looking for some classic horror vibes, “The Bat” will required you to be patient. The mansion setting is cool, with plenty of opportunities for dusty atmosphere and expressionistic shadows, which the film takes advantage occasionally. There's some cool shots of a masked man climbing up a ladder or a room going dark. (And effect that probably played like gangbusters on stage.) That the Bat inspired Batman is impossible to ignore. There's even a sequence where a bat symbol is cast on the wall via a spotlight, like the famous Bat-Signal. The Bat, however, is a monstrous villain. He scales buildings with a grappling hook and has pointy ears on his costume but his mask is meant to invoke fear in everyone, not just the cowardly and superstitious. It's not surprising that the scenes devoted to the masked killer's grotesque appearance and sinister intentions are the film's most memorable. 

That connection to a beloved superhero is still probably the most interesting thing about “The Bat.” The story would still be ridiculously popular in its day. A sound version would follow in 1931 from the same director, while Vincent Price would star in a rendition in the sixties. Of course, there were many other old dark house plays and movies that followed in its footsteps. Similarly titled films like “The Terror,” “The Gorilla,” and “The Cat and the Canary” would quickly follow. (The former two are lost while the latter is probably the best of this subgenre that I've personally seen.) By the thirties, there was practically a cottage industry of old dark house films. Though how much value the original “Bat” holds now is debatable, it is probably essential viewing for horror historian and especially devoted comic book nerds. Better filmmakers and writers would follow the blueprint laid down here but some respect must be given to those that came first. [6/10]

Attack of the Giant Leeches (1959)

I know people who keep leeches as pets. While I try not to judge any animal and see that every critter that creeps and crawls on this earth can be loved by someone... Leeches just aren't for me. The idea of willingly letting the invertebrates feed on my blood is especially uncomfortable for me. I'm far from alone in feeling this way. If they don't associate the slimy bloodsuckers with centuries old medical practices, most probably think of leeches as side effects of unfortunate camping excursions. Despite their overall infamy, few horror films have featured the annelids. You'd think, considering the genre loves vampires, one of nature's ickier natural vampires would star in more movies. As far as I can tell, that's only been the case for one original motion picture: 1959's “Attack of the Giant Leeches,” produced by Roger and Gene Corman and directed by Bernard L. Kolowski. 

Deep in the Florida everglades, a local drunk claims to have shot at an enormous leech the night before. No one believes him. After discovering his younger wife is cheating on him, the local sheriff takes the girl and her lover down to the swamp to shoot them... Only to see the pair pulled into the water by the same enormous leeches. No one believes his story at first either but game warden Steve Benton begins to suspect otherwise. He's soon on the trail of the giant leeches, which are mutations resulting from near-by nuclear tests. Will Steve find and destroy the bloodsuckers before anymore local yokels are drained? 

When I think of the settings of fifties B-movies, my brain inevitably goes to the pleasant small towns at the center of “Tarantula” or “The Monolith Monsters.” Even if those movies were set out in the middle of nowhere, the towns were more Mayberry than Macon County. “Attack of the Giant Leeches” distinguishes itself with its deep south location. The stereotypical rednecks and hayseeds that make up the swamp residents are impressively grotesque. The subplot about the rotund patriarch threatening his sex kitten spouse – played by Playboy centerfold Yvette Vickers – represents the film's hillbilly melodrama at its trashiest. There's a real sweatiness to much of “Attack of the Giant Leeches” that the audience can feel. It might be the movie's main positive quality. 

The Cormans originally hoped to have Paul Blaisdell, who made so many memorable monsters for A.I.P., to design the titular creatures. However, the special effects budget was far too minuscule to pay even Blaisdell's fee. Instead, the giant leeches are played by actors in shapeless, trash bag looking costumes adorned with rows of papier-mâché suckers. They are endearingly goofy creatures, waddling about awkwardly the few times we actually see them clearly on-screen. Despite the silliest of the central monsters, the horror element here is a little grislier than expected. Several minutes of screen time are devoted to the leeches' victims floating up through the watery depths of the swamp. In these moment, there's an eerie sense of hopelessness to “Attack of the Giant Leeches.”

Unfortunately, you will have to be very patient to get to these high-light moments. A lot of “Attack of the Giant Leeches” is devoted to all-too-typical B-movie tedium. Ken Clark's Steve is exactly the kind of bland, stout-chinned authority figure that was the hero in too many of these movies. Quite a lot of the film's meager sixty minute run time focuses on Steve and his unexceptional love interest searching the swamp for anything unusual. The leeches themselves are only on-screen for a few minutes. Far more screentime is devoted to Clark hanging around his girlfriend's place, talking theories and trading exposition in the blandest fashion possible. It all leads up to a shockingly underwhelming climax, a shrug of an ending if I ever did see one.

If it had been a bit more lurid, or at least had a little more money during production, “Attack of the Giant Leeches” probably would've been an enjoyably absurd creature feature. Instead, this was a Corman quickie with little time or budget devoted to making it worthwhile. Like the other films the Cormans produced during this time, “The Giant Leeches” is in the public domain. This has insured the movie has appeared on countless horror hosts programs, including a pretty funny episode of “Mystery Science Theater 3000.” There was an equally low budget remake too, perhaps the only other horror movie about leeches. I really wanted to like this one but, ultimately, it's more dud than potboiler. [5/10]

Without Warning (1980)

Seven years before “Predator” was released, and gave sci-fi/horror fans an alien big-game hunter they could call their own, a movie with a surprisingly similar premise came out. Directed by Greydon Clark, an exploitation specialist whose previous films include “Black Shampoo” and “Satan's Cheerleaders,” “Without Warning” was made for all of 150,000 dollars. Despite the low budget, the script attracted some notable talent. Rick Baker and Greg Cannom – who would go on to win 7 and 4 Academy Awards, respectively – provided the make-up effects. Dean Cundey, not long after shooting “Halloween” and “The Fog,” was the director of photography. And, in what has to be some sort of cosmic coincidence, the alien hunter was played by Kevin Peter Hall, the same man who would play the Predator later in the decade. 

Though the two films are certainly comparable, “Without Warning” ultimately has more in common with a typical slasher flick than “Predator.” Instead of a team of expert commandos, its cast is mostly made up of four teens traveling to the countryside for a weekend of relaxation. While the Predator hunted in service of a warrior code, this alien guy mostly just seems to be picking up lunch. The hikers are soon whittled down to just Sandy and Greg, who have to make the tough decision to trust one of two local eccentrics: Taylor, a human hunter who has been tracking the alien beast for a while now and Sarge, a shell-shocked Vietnam vet who fears an intergalactic invasion is imminent. 

Once again, there must've been something about “Without Warning” that caught people's attention. For a down-and-dirty horror flick, it's got a loaded cast of kooky character actors. Cameron Mitchell appears as an asshole weekend warrior seemingly plotting to murder his ambiguously gay son. "F Troop's" Leo Storch features as a Cub Scout troop leader, a part meant to up the body count but which Storch manages to bring a little quirkiness to. Neville Brand shows up as a drunk in a bar. (What else would Neville Brand play?) The two big stars are Jack Palance as Taylor and Martin Landau as Sarge. Landau gets to stare with wide-eyed intensity, relating bizarre conspiracies and loosing himself to flashbacks. That would be enough for most low-budget thrillers but this movie also has Jack Palance, oozing crusty menace as only he could. While the character is ultimately closer to Dr. Loomis than Crazy Ralph, Palance still plays him with an unhinged twinkle in his eyes. The moment where he goes running through the fog towards the monster, while shouting “ALIEN! ALIEN!,” might in fact be the main reason to see the whole movie. 

It's a good thing “Without Warning” has so many familiar, colorful faces in the supporting cast. The young people who are ostensibly the stars of the movie are as bland as can be. Of the quartet, Beth and Tom immediately disappear for some hanky-panky. Tom is played by a young David Caruso but otherwise these two are given no further elaboration before being bumped off. As for Sandy and Greg, there's some passing attempts to give them more personality. Yet they are ultimately just pushed along by a story that is honestly more than a little messy. If “people wandering around until the killer/monster snuffs them” has always been a part of the slasher movie formula, “Without Warning” is a little heavier on that than some are.

Though deeply flawed, I think “Without Warning” ultimately has more positive qualities than not. Dean Cundey's cinematography is, as you might expect, quite atmospheric. The night shots are full of deep blacks and blues, with some nice fog around the edges. (Cundey throws in some Michael Myers-style POV shots too.) The creature effects are top shelf. There's actually not too much gore in the movie. Instead, the focus is on close-ups of the alien's jellyfish-like shuriken suckers that he tosses at his prey. There are so many shots of these fleshy, squishy, doom frisbee sailing through the air. When the towering, blue killer finally slinks on-screen, he does make for an intimidating variation on the classic grey alien design. 

You can tell a little bit of thought was put into the script. The way Taylor is always talking about hunting, and eating what he kills, are meant to contrasts with the alien antagonist. The bizarre opening scene, when paired with Sarge's ramblings and a few passing comments from Greg, suggest masculinity and war was on the screenwriter's mind too. I just wish it came together into something coherent or meaningful. Ultimately, it does feel a little bit like “Without Warning” was written and shot in a hurry. Yet if you're going to make a quickie, cash-in fusion of “Halloween” and “Alien,” a top shelf cast of reliable performers, top-of-the-line special effects, and some strong visuals certainly can't hurt. For these reasons, “Without Warning” has become a minor cult classic. I definitely wanted more from this one but Landau and Palance's gravelly charisma goes a long way. [7/10]

The Autopsy of Jane Doe (2016)

As a horror fan, I do the best I can to keep abreast of the genre. I have a document listing new and upcoming releases I'm interested in that I keep constantly updated. Yet, despite that, titles slip by me all the time. I remember seeing the trailer for “The Autopsy of Jane Doe” in 2016 and dismissed it at the time as just another jump-scare filled ghost movie. I don't know why I thought this. The movie starred Brian Cox, one of my favorite character actors. It was directed by André Øvredal, who previously made the quite good “Trollhunter.” Maybe I thought it was a remake of “The Corpse of Anna Fritz” or something. Some time after the movie was released, I started to hear raves about it. I don't know how that was already seven years ago but it's finally time for me to catch up with this flick that I unfairly dismissed upon release.

Austin and his dad, Tommy, work as coroners in a small town in Virginia. Austin is ready to head off and spent a night with his girlfriend, when a new body arrives in the morgue. The corpse, of a beautiful young woman, was found at a crime scene with multiple bodies. Despite her body seeming unharmed, Tommy and Austin soon discover many strange details about this Jane Doe. Her wrists and ankles are shattered, without any bruising on her skin. Her lungs are totally black, even though not an inch of her is burned. Soon, the strange evidence around the body escalates. Alongside it, a storm rolls in and unusual events begin to happen around the morgue. It becomes apparent that this is no ordinary Jane Doe. 

“The Autopsy of Jane Doe” is structured very much like a mystery. We begin with a bizarre scenario, of this pristine dead body left at the site of multiple homicides. As Austin and Tommy dig into the body, they uncover more and more contradictory injuries. How does a person break bones without bruising or have stab scars on their heart without any entry wounds? These questions draw the viewer in quickly. Even after the film reveals that something clearly supernatural is going on here, you're still intrigued by the exact circumstances of what Jane Doe is. The script keeps you guessing too, on the way to a fairly satisfying reveal that notably is not the climax of the story. I assumed this would be a vampire or ghost story or something but the movie is more clever than that.

As his subsequent horror films have made clear, Øvredal is a filmmaker adapt at capturing an eerie atmosphere. “The Autopsy of Jane Doe” is largely set within one location, most of the scenes taking place around the autopsy room itself. The director and his regular cinematographer, Roman Osin, do everything they can to make this building as creepy as possible. Shadows are used excellently, the audience quickly watching the spaces behind the characters for anything unusual. The film's sound design is also excellent. A creepy children's song plays from the radio – a cliché the film smartly uses sparingly – while a door shutting or a bell ringing become ominous warning signs. It all adds up to create a real sense of dread, which makes the escalating supernatural events far more unsettling than they would've been otherwise. Even the handful of jump scares in the movie worked quite well, the movie building up to the shocks suitably. 

Maybe it shouldn't be surprisingly that “The Autopsy of Jane Doe” manages to be quite creepy. A morgue is, most people would agree, an uncomfortable location to begin with. The first scene shows the coroners going about their business, slicing into a body and cutting out organs nonchalantly. The casualness of cleaving through bones and throwing bits of flesh into examination treys can't help but be somewhat off-putting. When Jane Doe is wheeled in, the film constantly focuses on her face and eyes. This makes us relate more to the seemingly unliving corpse, as her body is treated in such a detached, scientific manner. Smartly, the film leans into the vulnerability of this Jane Doe. As her backstory is discovered, it turns out to be sympathetic, her revenge from beyond the grave being somewhat justified. The result is an un-moving antagonist that nevertheless feels like a living character, both an active threat and someone we can feel sorry for.

Further helping root the viewer in this story are two strong lead performances. Brian Cox is excellent, of course, at playing a surly but wise authority figure. A clean-shaven Emile Hirsch is surprisingly convincing as Austin, something of an everyman who flirts in a cute fashion with his girlfriend. It's easy to root for him, as he's overwhelmed by the increasing supernatural activity. (Assuming you can put Hirsch's real life behavior out of your mind.) The father and son have a traumatic backstory that is smartly hinted at throughout the film's first half, giving us a good idea of what happened without stopping the movie cold for an expositionary backstory dump. When that moment inevitably arrives, Cox's ability to bring a lived-in world-weariness to any material manages to make it touching, not tedious. 

When watched late at night, in a house by yourself, “The Autopsy of Jane Doe” manages to hit just the right notes of creepiness. There's a dread-filled ambiance to the proceedings, emphasized by the strong direction and sound design. A likable duo of leading actors and a story that manages to catch you off-guard further seal the deal. I'm happy to say that everyone who recommended this one to me over the years was totally justified. “The Autopsy of Jane Doe” is indeed a hidden gem, made further enjoyable by the less you know about it going in. [8/10]

In Order Not to Be Here (2002)

If you are insufficiently online, you might not be familiar with the term “analog horror.” It's a style of horror that has become especially popular in the last few years, influenced (and often crossing over with) found footage and creepypastas. Analog horror represents the perhaps inevitable combination of two of the internet's favorite past times: Nostalgia and urban legends. In analog horror, the physicality of the media itself becomes part of the scares delivery machine. While this style of horror has come to popularity largely through Youtube series like The Backrooms or LOCAL 58, there are predecessors to the genre. Such as “In Order Not to Be Here,” a 2002 short film from landscape artists and director Deborah Stratman.

“In Order Not to Be Here” would probably be classified by most as a non-narrative film though it does, obliquely, tell a story. We begin with grainy, aerial night-vision footage of cop chasing after a man. The scene is scored to half-heard chatter from the police scanner. Stratman then shows us commonplace locations from any small, suburban town: Back allies, banks, pharmacies, grocery stores, fast food places. The entrance signs to housing developments are lingered on, as we see shaky footage of the outside of a house and then the inhabitants within. The sounds of police sirens sometimes break the silence. Eventually, the film focuses in on a man fleeing, pursued by attack dogs and recorded from overhead. We learn, from audio interviews and news reports, that this person was seemingly a mild-mannered father who, without apparent reason, set fire to his house and family.

We are obviously in artsy-fartsy territory here, as Stratman's film clearly sets out to say any number of things about modern society. The way the ordinary locations are shot, always from a far-off perspective, suggest a watchful eye from on-high. Later on, we see a camera recording everything and an officer dispassionately looking at monitors. Clearly, this is an indictment on the post-9/11 surveillance state, where everyone is always being watched at all times. The police are omnipresent, the sounds of their sirens and radios never far off. Yet, despite constantly being under watch by law enforcement eager to act, it hasn't made any of us feel any safer. Random crime and violence can still strike our suburban lives, at any time, no matter how sterilized we make them. (That the night vision footage makes the fleeing man look dark-skinned was no doubt intentional too, a further critique on police violence in modern America.)

Stratman's use of grainy surveillance footage does bring modern analog horror to mind. Images of a police dog barking wildly or a privacy invading shot of a little girl laying in bed are made creepier by the quality of the film. Yet “In Order Not to Be Here” predicted another modern internet trend. This is a film all about liminal spaces. The familiar – Target, McDonalds, and CVS are three common brand names visible here – is rendered uncanny. These normal places rarely features any people in them. When we do see humans, it's usually unclear and from far away. The familiarity of these settings yet the lack of life in them is undeniably eerie. Stratham's use of subtle sound designs and loud noises, lulling you into an uneasy sense of isolation before it's broken by sudden interruption, is the movie in microcosm. The result is an uncanny, prescient thirty minutes with a lot on its mind. [7/10]