Halloween 2023: September 24th

Skinamarink (2022)

Late last year, the most organic of indie horror success stories started to bubble up from social media. Mostly young people on TikTok and Reddit began to discuss a mysterious motion picture called “Skinamarink,” talking about it in much the same tones as they do creepypastas and other urban legends. A micro-budget production made by a Youtube filmmaker known as Kyle Edward Ball, a festival screener leaked online and horror fans slowly found their way to it, making the film into a truly viral phenomenon. “Skinamarink” quickly got official distribution, scooped up by IFC Midnight, and Shudder put it in front of a wider audience. The merits of the film immediately became hotly debated, some hailing it as a bold new vision for the horror genre and others dismissing it was totally pretentious hogwash. Along the way, the film became a meme of sorts and really kicked off “analog horror” as a movement within the genre. 

“Skinamarink's” narrative is vague. An opening title card establishes the year as 1995. The setting is an average seeming home, with our two protagonists being little children by the name of Kaylee and Kevin. Their father leaves them alone with their mother one night, at which point the windows and doors allowing anyone to exit the house vanishes. Their mother is soon purloined by an unseen force, Kaylee following shortly afterwards. As Kevin is left alone in the house, with only some old cartoons on a VHS tape to keep him company, an inhuman voice starts to beckon him upstairs. It soon becomes clear that a malevolent intelligence of unlimited power is playing a very cruel game with the small child. 

What “Skinamarink” sets out to do is, to me, fairly obvious. As a child, did you ever have a horrible nightmare? Did you ever wake up in a cold sweat, alone in your bedroom? And were you gripped by a fear that the terrible dream wasn't over? That the monster chasing you in your sleep would follow you into your childhood bedroom, where all your toys and your favorite teddy could do nothing to protect you? That is the feeling “Skinamarink” is meant to invoke. That is why what little story the film does have centers on the most frightening thing a little kid can imagine: Their parents completely disappearing from their lives. This is why so much of the movie is made up of lingering shots of the corner of a room, toys thrown out on the floor. That's what you see from your little bed, when you're too scared to go back to sleep. That's why Kevin and Kaylee attempt to seek solstice in the glow of the TV, the only thing that can make this damnable endless night pass faster. Ball sets out to take the viewer right back to that primordial place of childhood terror. 

Since we live in a time that is consumed by millenial and zoomer nostalgia for bygone media and formats, it's tempting to dismiss “Skinamarink”s analog presentation as simply another example of a hipster filmmaker being too fond of tape grain and scan lines. Yet “Skinamarink's” visual presentation is in-line with its goals. The low, cryptic angles replicate the way a child sees the world. The childish protagonists of the story are never fully on-screen, the audience mostly only seeing their feet or the back of their heads. We more-or-less assume their perspectives. Lastly, the graininess of the film recalls the way the human eyes adapt to darkness. “Skinamarink” lives in that twilight space between sleep and waking, when everything around you is slowly coming into focus and the specifics of your surroundings are bathed in obscuring darkness. 

The retro-leaning presentation serves another purpose too. Setting the movie in the mid-nineties allows Ball to fill it with visuals short-hands of this era. Like the wood paneling on the wall, the decidedly retro television, the clicking of the VHS player, and a toy phone that every kid had. These images are meant to specifically invoke the childhoods of people the same generation of Kyle Edward Ball, those of us in our thirties. Essentially, the film weaponizes millennial nostalgia, turning signifiers of our youth – symbols that should invoke warmness and good memories – into objects of fear. Just like those sleepless nights in your bedrooms as a little kid, “Skinamarink” turns the familiar into the uncanny. 

To what end does Ball so faithfully craft a childhood nightmare? Who or what is behind the film's events are never revealed. The only hints at its motivations we get appear via the public domain cartoons the kids watch on the TV. While no doubt a budget saving measure, the predatory hunger of “The Cobweb Hotel's” villainous spider and the mischievous sadism of proto-Bugs Bunny in “Prest-O Change-O” make its intentions clear. The entity trapping the children in this home is seemingly all powerful. It manipulates time, space, and matter. The spatial lay-out of the home changes. The night stretches on forever. The children never age and the rules arbitrarily change, the kids sometimes able to communicate with the outside world and sometimes not. It's simple: The Skinamarink is playing with these kids, pulling cruel tricks on them, inflicting its sadistic whims as it pleases. 

The kids are, of course, totally helpless against such a force. And that's, I think, the secret to “Skinamarink” being so frightening. When you're a kid, you are powerless against adults. Your parents protect you. Mom and dad and your childhood home are your whole world. Yet that also means they control your lives. In “Skinamarink,” the absolute control of a parental figure is perverted. The entity trapping Kevin in the house demands to be obeyed, insisting the child go upstairs when called. Or, in the film's most sickening moment, commands the boy to harm himself. It even makes the toilet disappear, seemingly just to make the child more uncomfortable. The implication – of a sexually or physically abusive authority figure – floats over the entire movie. “Skinamarink” is a childhood nightmare but it's the waking nightmare, of someone a child is supposed to trust the most betraying them, too. 

This makes “Skinamarink” fully tactile, emotionally responsive filmmaking. It doesn't compel through narrative, pacing, or the forward momentum of the moving picture. It almost defiantly lacks all these things, sealing its fate as a movie that some people will find utterly intolerable. It is, to use the parlance of the youths, “vibes” based movie making. This is why the movie is best experienced late at night, all by yourself, preferably watched from a laptop screen with ear buds in. If you're willing to immerse yourself in “Skinamarink's” world, you might find it a bone-chilling experience. Whether Ball proves to be a one-trick pony or a truly innovative filmmaker, “Skinamarink” will remain a stirringly personal and deeply unnerving motion picture. [9/10]

An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe (1970)

I don't think any actor has been more associated with the works of Edgar Allan Poe than Vincent Price. Through the popular Poe adaptations he starred in for Roger Corman, Price became practically synonymous with the author's work. This link was such that Price would star in in-name-only Poe movies, like “The Conqueror Worm” and “The Oblong Box,” as well as lending voice-over narration to projects like “Spirits of the Dead.” Kenneth Johnson, a producer on The Mike Douglas Show in the late sixties, was certainly aware of this. He asked Price to read “The Tell-Tale Heart” after a recording. The audience reaction was so positive that Johnson and Price decided to develop a one-man show out of Vincent reading Poe stories. Sam Arkoff and James Nicholson, who had produced the movies for A.I.P., was talked into funding the project. “An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe” would debut on television at the start of the seventies.

Sitting, standing, and raving about simple sound-stages, with costumes provided by Price's wife, “An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe” sees the horror icon reading slightly abbreviated versions of four Poe classics. Accompanied only by a chair and a bed, Price performs “The Tell-Tale Heart.” Sitting at a lavish dining room table – while drinking some wine, of course – he acts out “The Cask of Amontillado.” The most elaborate performance is saved for last, as Price sits in a dungeon and wails out the text of “The Pit and the Pendulum.” Also included is a more obscure Poe story, “The Sphinx,” about a man vacationing in the Hudson woods seeing a strange creature. 

On a technical level, there isn't much to “An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe.” Price is literally the only actor in the film. It runs all of 54 minutes. Since each segment consists of the star performing each story, it feels quite a lot like a filmed stage play. Director Johnson makes a few attempts to elevate the simplistic production. “The Tell-Tale Heart” features a few close-ups of Price's starring eyes. “The Cask of Amontillado” occasionally imposes the image of a skull on-screen. “The Pit and the Pendulum” is by far the most luxuriant sequence. Silhouettes of the Inquisition judges appear. We get brief glimpses of Price strapped to the torture table and of the rats swarming. There's even a rather comical shot of Price falling through a crudely presented wall of flames. The camera movements are, in general, somewhat rough. The presentation is grainy overall. This was clearly not an expensive production, made by a inexperienced crew. (This was notably Johnson's first directorial credit.) 

“An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe's” simplicity and lack-of-frills are almost besides the point though. Vincent Price, one of the undisputed icons of the genre, reading the words of Edgar Allan Poe, one of the foundational authors of all horror, should be enough for anyone. Price, of course, hams it up to the rafters. During “The Tell-Tale Heart,” he rants and quivers, throwing the chair around and falling to his knees. (How he makes the bed again after describing smothering the old man with the mattress is a nice touch.) He shouts and wails even more while acting out “The Pit and the Pendulum.” In contrast, his reading of “The Cask of Amontillado” is comparatively subdued. Price smirks with evil delight as he relates how he walled up Fortunato, each word dripping with sinister intent. Even at his campiest, Price is utterly captivating. I found myself carried away by his unmistakable voice as he reads through each of Poe's perfectly constructed sentences, my heart honestly beating with excitement as I was caught up in each performance.

Such a stripped-down production as this allows you to focus on Poe's storytelling. “The Cask of Amontillado” really is a nasty little piece of work, isn't it? There's no moral to it, no greater narrative beyond a man enacting a cruel revenge on his most hated enemy. We don't even have the specifics of why our narrator hates Fortunato so. It's simply a gruesome revenge fantasy committed to the page, a real venom and cruelty apparent in its words. “The Tell-Tale Heart” involves a little more actual story but is still mostly devoted to taking us inside the mind of someone who commits murder. “The Pit and the Pendulum” is the weightiest of all these stories yet it continues to expose Poe as a writer far more interested in experience than narrative. It's a story mostly about inflicting the terror the main character feels in this perilous situation on the reader. Out of all of these, “The Sphinx” is definitely the most light-hearted, with a comedic denouncement and a simple moral about perception and superstition. (Though it is kind of fun, until the twist, to interrupt the story as an early account of cryptozoology.) 

Kennith Johnson would go on to a long career in television, directing the original “V” mini-series, "Short Circuit 2," and two beloved Disney Channel Original Movies. (He also directed “Steel,” but let's not dwell on that.) “An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe” was probably destined to be forgotten. I can't even find any information on when it first aired or what networks broadcast it. Being part of the A.I.P. library, it was acquired by MGM and eventually released as part of their Midnite Movies DVD collection in the 2000s. It has since appeared in later Vincent Price Blu-Ray collection, the film playing as something of an honorary addition to Corman's more famous Poe cycle. This has made the short television special the minorest of cult classics, proving that all horror fans really need to be entertained is one master enacting the words of another. [7/10]

Cabinet of Curiosities: Pickman's Model

I'll admit, the fifth episode of “Cabinet of Curiosities” was the one I anticipated the most, as it's based on one of my favorite Lovecraft stories and stars my favorite character actor. Even if director Keith Thomas – previously of “The Vigil” and the poorly regarded “Firestarter” remake – is the filmmaker in this line-up I'm least familiar with. Set at Miskatonic University in the 1900s, “Pickman's Model” follows an art student named Thurber. His figure drawing class is joined by a mysterious man named Richard Pickman, whose illustrations are macabre and vivid. Thurber is fascinated but terrified by Pickman's disturbing paintings. The two becomes friends of sorts, despite Thurber being haunted by Pickman's work. Years later, the two are reunited when Pickman gets a gallery display of his own, which prompts Thurber to dig even further into the man's unnerving family history.

Lovecraft's story is mostly a long series of descriptions of horrifying paintings, leading up to a hell of a twist ending. Obviously, it would be hard to get even an hour out of television out of such a premise. Thomas' “Pickman's Model” expands on the source material by focusing more on Thurber's life and his friendship with Pickman. As the two get to know each other, and Thurber learns more about his buddy's history of familial witchcraft, it's obvious that there's something wrong with the guy. I mean, that's always been the case but it's really obvious here, as Thurber has disturbing nightmares, Pickman's paintings seem to move, and strange beasts are half-glimpsed lurking outside his home. That last detail essentially spoils “Pickman's Model's” ending long before it comes, making the episode a drawn-out march towards a foregone conclusion. 

This is not the only way Thomas and his team extend the short story. Since seemingly no Lovecraft adaptation can resist doing so, “Pickman's Model” is connected to Lovecraft's wider cosmology here. This moves towards an apocalyptic ending, essentially further robbing the story's proper climax of its potency. In a seemingly desperate attempt to pad out the run time and make it “scarier,” the episode also has Thurber having nightmares and visions of Pickman's ancestors. These come off as basically jump-scares, overly reliant on special effects, which feel overheated and obnoxious. By the time we get a gory dream of dismemberment, the episode had officially crossed over into the territory of trying-too-hard.

It's a shame that “Pickman's Model” resorts to such campy attempts at horror. The Lovecraftian creature design are cool. The decision to depict Pickman's paintings as squirming and moving –  which foreshadowing things way too much – is at least a good way to illustrate the effect they have on the protagonist. Of course, Crispin Glover as Pickman is spot-on casting. (Glover wouldn't be a bad choice to play Howard Philip himself, should anyone do a traditional biopic.) Glover is certainly believable as an artist of a cursed bloodline. However, he makes the unusual choice of putting on a comical Bostonian accent, which further pushes the episode towards camp. In fact, I think all the cast members get a little too much into the story's New England setting. The episode includes some uncharacteristically Lovecraftian sex and nudity, suggesting this was an attempt to replicate Stuart Gordon's Lovecraft adaptations. Yet Gordon's films were more self-assured than this disappointingly loud and fussy “Model.” [5/10] 

Chucky: Doll on Doll

Returning to Incarnate Lord, Jake, Devon, Lexy, and Nadine continue to struggle with what to do with the Chucky they have successfully brainwashed into being naïve and non-violent. The living doll even strikes down the buff Chucky that previously murdered Trevor. His body is left crucified on the wall, an act Devon is blamed for. Nadine comforts Lexy as she struggles with her addiction and Jake decides to baptize the so-called “Good” Chucky. Lastly, Glenda and Meg Tilly confronts Tiffany Valentine in Jennifer Tilly's body, who has secrets of her own.

I'm a bit surprised to find that “Chucky,” five episodes into its second season, seems to earnestly be grappling with themes of forgiveness and addiction. Jake has taken one of the nun's lessons, about forgiving Chucky in order to forgive himself, to heart. He started to bond with the child-like “Good Chucky.” Meanwhile, Lexy self-medicating her trauma by snorting pills is leading towards self-destruction. She seeks solace in Nadine's arms, who assures her that love and acceptance – and thus self-acceptance – can't be found at the bottom of a pill bottle. This evens seems to dovetails with Tiffany's subplot, who also refers to murder as an addiction. (Which continues one of the best jokes from “Seed of Chucky.”)

Having played the character for thirty-five years now, Brad Dourif's take on Charles Lee Ray has definitely evolved. Yet season two of “Chucky” seems determined to get the most out of the character actor's talent. The different versions of the murderous doll are clearly taking on their own personalities. Good Chucky is genuinely adorable, Dourif's familiar unhinged voice somehow graduating to being soft and vulnerable. Buff Chucky is more in line with the classic version, though even more braggadocios. The episode's final scene introduces yet another variant, that seems modeled on “Apocalypse Now's” Colonel Kurtz. We've always known that Dourif is actually a highly talented actor that can play all sorts of characters. It's still surprising to see so much variety from him while still, ostensibly, playing the same killer doll that has made him a cult icon.

While the show is doing its best to make Jake and Devon's relationship problems compelling – with limited success – the high camp, melodrama of Tilly/Tiffany's subplot remains infectiously fun. The reveal in this episode – that the real Jennifer Tilly has remained locked in the Tiffany doll's body, forced to play online poker and do voice work for Seth MacFarlane to pay the bills – is another hysterical meta joke. Tilly happily hams it up, while having wonderful chemistry with Lachlan Watson as Glenda. Her interactions with Jennifer's real life sister Meg are also highly amusing, the younger Tilly sister giving a surprisingly layered performance despite the ridiculous material. [7/10]