Halloween 2023: September 28th

Strangers on a Train (1951)

Nowadays, Patricia Highsmith is associated with urbane, psychological thriller novels that explore the darker impulses of higher society living, often with a focus on meticulous killers or homoerotic undertones. In other words, she was exactly the kind of storyteller you'd expect Alfred Hitchcock to appreciate. Back in 1951, however, people barely knew who Highsmith was. Her first novel, “Strangers on a Train,” was published just the year before. The book clearly caught Hitchcock's eye. He purchased the film rights to the novel without disclosing his name, to keep the asking price fairly low. After “Strangers on a Train” was released to commercial success – and, after the initially middling reviews faded, the reputation of a classic – Highsmith was supposedly quite annoyed. Yet, I imagine, the fame of having your name attached to one of cinema's greatest directors probably helped Highsmith sell a lot more books in time.

Tennis pro Guy Haines is currently caught in a highly publicized scandal. Everyone knows that he's dating Anne Morten, the daughter of a senator. That includes his wife, Miriam. While on a train ride, he happens to encounter an eccentric man named Bruno Antony. Bruno, who is under the thumb of his dictatorial father, suggests the two “exchange” murders. That Bruno kills Miriam and then Guy knocks off Bruno's dad. Guy is disgusted by the idea, even though Miriam refusing to grant him a divorce makes him wish she was dead. Bruno goes ahead with the deal anyway, hunting Miriam down and strangling her to death. When Guy is reluctant to fulfil his end of this bargain, Bruno goes about framing him for the crime and blackmailing him into committing the killing. 

Probably my favorite of Alfred Hitchcock's reoccurring quirks and obsessions was his perverse desire to get the audience to relate to a murderer. “Rope” and “Psycho” created sympathetic killers with deeply Freudian fixations pushing them to kill. “Frenzy” simply forced the audience to align with the strangler, by giving them no other option. “Strangers on a Train” represents something of a compromise between these two approaches. Bruno is clearly a conniving psychopath from the minute we meet him. Yet he's undeniably charismatic too, Robert Walker's performance have a certain poise to it. If nothing else, Bruno is more likable than Guy, a blustering and short-tempered fellow who is badgering a woman shortly after he's introduced. He's clearly the hero, and gets more sympathetic the further into Bruno's sick game he's drawn into. Yet the audience can't help but gravitate towards Bruno, just because he's more interesting.

There's another layer to the relationship between the two men. Guy – whose very name implies upright maleness – is embroiled in a relationship with two women, leaving his heterosexuality in little doubt. Bruno, meanwhile, has his nails done by his mother. He lounges around his home in a bathrobe, resenting the traditional masculinity of his father. Eventually, Bruno's plot draws Guy into his bedroom. This is after the killer says to Guy, while touching his shoulder, “I like you.” It's evident that Bruno's latent queerness – played up by Walker's foppish performance – represents a threat to Guy's hetero existence. He has to repeatedly prove to the police that he didn't kill his wife, that he cherishes woman and doesn't regard them. Yet the dysfunction apparent in Guy's normative love life makes it clear that Bruno's life style is attractive, no matter how depraved he may be.

Its subversive themes aside, “Strangers on a Train” also represents Hitchcock at his strongest as a precise visualist. The film contains some of the most tightly designed shots of the director's career. The opening tracking shots of both men's shoes sets up the parallel between them immediately. The murderous man is often bathed in shadows, further suggesting the darker world he inhabits. One of the most brilliant moments in the film has Bruno appearing at one of Guy's tennis games, focusing in on his face in the crowd as he stares ahead in concentration, while everyone else watches the ball bounces back and forth. Robert Burks' cinematography indulges in a number of visual tricks, such as a punch right to the camera or askew angles to disorient the viewer.

No doubt the most spellbinding sequence in the film involves Bruno stalking Miriam through a carnival. The sequence is littered with sexual suggestion, with the woman seductively licking an ice cream cone or Bruno proving his potency by doing better at a carnival game than her dates. It climaxes with a legendary shot of a strangulation reflected in the fallen frames of her glasses. Hitchcock delights in misdirecting the audience, stretching the stalking scene as long as possible, hinting at the murder to come without satisfying that morbidity immediately. “Strangers on a Train” plays with this format out throughout its run time. When Guy descends the stairs in Bruno's home, the killer stretches his hand into a sewer grate to retrieve a distinctive lighter, or a heroic mechanic crawling under an out-of-control carousal, the screws are tightened. The suspense ratchets up. You remain riveted throughout, in anticipation to how this might play out.

The film is peppered with the director's puckish sense of humor too, represented mostly by the curious younger sister of Guy's girlfriend or the comedic straight man of the detectives pursuing him. The film's repeated use of rear projection repeatedly creates an artificial feeling to the proceedings, furthering the complete control over the visuals that the filmmakers have. I'm sure that all of the points I've made above have been studied and examined by film scholars better read than me. No director's filmography has been more overturned and dug into than Hitchcock's. Yet I'm continuing impressive by how damn good his movies are all these years, how effective his manipulations are even after they've been endlessly imitated and referenced. [9/10]

Bloodlust: Subspecies III (1994)

During the behind-the-scenes VideoZone featurette on "Subspecies II" – which I dutifully watched as part of my research while writing my review – actress Tracy Scoggins is interviewed. (She was promoting “Dollman Vs. Demonic Toys,” a totally different Full Moon movie.) There, she compares working for Charles Band to filming TV shows. Charlie was really cranking 'em out – he produced 13 movies in '94, through Full Moon and its sublabels – so I'm sure the pace was similar. I wonder if Band would've even questioned this comparison. “Bloodlust: Subspecies III” begins with a recap of the previous movie's events, similar to the “Previously on...” bumpers you'd see at the beginning of any serialized TV show at the time. Cut out the blood and boobs and the “Subspecies” movies wouldn't feel too out-of-place in-between “Tales from the Dark Side” and reruns of “Star Trek: The Next Generation.” 

“Bloodstone” concluded with Radu's mummified mother dragging Michelle back into the crypt. She quickly resurrects her vampiric son, who immediately gets back to work trying to turn Michelle into the perfect sire. She resists his plans at every turn. Her sister, Becky, is still in Transylvania. Working with Mel, the contact at the U.S. embassy she befriended, the two set out to rescue her seemingly cursed sister. He calls in a special ops agent to help them in that mission. But will it be enough to break Radu's bloody grip over Michelle? 

While I compared Full Moon movies to TV, I suspect Charles Band would rather have his work be more like comic books. (And if anyone could be called the Stan Lee of direct-to-video horror, it's him.) “Bloodlust” emphasizes the outrageous comic-style elements even more than the second one. Including a beret-sporting commando – amusingly given the mundane name of “Bob” – in the story feels exactly like something that would've happened in the anything-goes world of nineties comic book. That brings blazing machine guns, a grappling hook, and a magic dagger flying through the air. When the sequel climaxes with maybe the most grisly gore gags in the entire series, that mood is further sealed. 

As campy as “Subspecies III” gets at times, the primary focus here remains to the dysfunctional relationship between Radu and Michelle. Radu is clearly utterly enamored of Michelle, starring at her with absolute desire while reminding her frequently that he loves her. Yet, being a murderous vampire, Radu's idea of “love” means transforming Michelle into the perfectly subservient bloodsucker and he's willing to sacrifice as many random victims as possible to achieve that goal. Michelle rebuffs her would-be master every chance she gets, claiming she only wants to die and be freed of this curse. Yet she also clearly covets the powers her condition gives her and struggling with a newfound blood lust. Anders Hove, as raspy and whispery as ever, manages to make Radu even more expressive, strangely pathetic and sympathetic, than ever before. Denice Duff has a good mixture of vulnerability, confusion, and sexiness as Michelle. 

It's a good thing that “Subspecies III's” vampire melodrama is so compelling, as the sequel clearly has a smaller scale than its predecessor. There's less of the shadowy cinematography that distinguished part two. Most of the movie is set inside the same tombs and dusty, underground tunnels. There's fewer of the genuine castles and ruins that classed up the last two entries. Radu's stop-motion henchmen don't even appear until the very last scene of the movie. Yet, in spite of the obvious budgetary shortcomings, “Bloodlust” never feels any less fleet-footed or delightfully schlocky than the previous installments. Whatever flaws they may have, you've got to hand it to these classic Full Moon movies for getting in and out in under ninety minutes every time.

I guess what ultimately makes the “Subspecies” movies more distinctive and memorable than the middle “Puppet Master” sequels is the obvious investment director Ted Nicolaou and his cast have in this world and their characters. The plots are goofy nonsense, the mythology is deeply silly, and the relationships don't amount to much more than an undead soap opera. Yet “Bloodlust: Subspecies III” takes all this ridiculousness seriously, playing it straight, while also satisfying the cheap thrills and low budget, monster movie spectacle the audience has come to expect. Not as stylish or sturdy as “Bloodstone,” this is nevertheless a good time for horror fans nostalgic for 90s video store fair. [7/10]

Suspense: A Cask of Amontillado

As I discussed last year, many early television programs were based on popular radio shows. Much like “Lights Out,” “Suspense” was another horror/thriller anthology series popular during the Golden Age of Radio. In fact, it was one of the longest running, beginning in 1940 and lasting all the way up until 1962 on CBS Radio. Also like “Lights Out,” “Suspense” would make the leap to television in 1948. “Suspense” often distinguished itself by adapting stories by well-known authors, with recognizable actors in the cast. The TV version picked up this trend. A cursorily glance of the episodes brought me to “A Cask of Amontillado” starring Bela Lugosi, which was part of the televised “Suspense’s” second season. 

Since Poe’s original story is short on narrative, “Suspense” adds a lot in its adaptation. The setting is shifted to Italy during World War II. (Which, it’s important to note, was not long in the past in 1949.) Fortanato becomes a stable boy turned Nazi general, while Montressor is the count whose wife he has stolen and sister he has murdered. The count, well aware that the general intends to kill him next, concocts a scheme to trap Fortanato. He lures him down into the vaults under his family mansion, with the promise of tasting a rare Amontillado sherry. If you have any familiarity with Poe’s story, you can probably guess what happens next. 

The audience’s knowledge of this oft-told tale is presumably one reason why “Suspense’s” writers made so many changes to “A Cask of Amontillado.” The episode attempts to build, well, suspense by having Fortanato be an attempted murderer too, threatening to pull his luger on Montressor at any minute. This change, plus the contentious history between the men, also makes Montressor’s murderous actions more justifiable. If the guy getting walled up alive is a Nazi, and was a murdering scum bag even before he became a Nazi, it’s hard not to feel that he’s getting exactly what’s coming to him. Of course, this also removes much of the nasty bite from Poe’s story, which is made all the more disturbing because of its ambiguity. Poe’s “A Cask of Amontillado” is strikingly amoral, while this adaptation removes all that by making the man entombed a bastard and the man doing the entombing somewhat heroic. It even adds a framing device, of Montressor confessing his crime to the authorities, to make sure the audience is absolutely certain of the program’s moral center. 

While not a particularly good adaptation of Poe’s story, “A Cask of Amontillado” is still worth seeing. Largely for Bela Lugosi’s performance as General Fortanato. Obviously, while playing a drunken Nazi general/multiple murder, Bela happily hams it up to amusingly broad heights. Romney Brent is also interesting as Montressor, especially the noir-like narration he uses throughout. The limited budget here shows in the rather flimsy looking sets, such as a staircase which the actors simply walk around on to give the illusion that they are descending deeper into the castle. I find that effect kind of charming though. Similarly amusing are the ad breaks for Auto-Lite Spark Plugs, which are accompanied by whimsical animations and their own laid-back narrator. It must’ve been difficult to build tension when such light-hearted commercials were baked into the program. “A Cask of Amontillado” is mostly interesting as a relic of the early years of television but I’m glad I watched it anyway, for exactly that reason. [6/10]

The Munsters: Herman's Child Psychology / Herman, the Master Spy

Last Halloween, I reviewed all of “The Munsters'” first season. While nobody could ever call the show cutting-edge comedy, the combination of extremely corny humor, a benevolently spooky aesthetic, and an archetypal family dynamic scratched a specific itch for me. The show's first season was successful enough to beat rival series “The Addams Family” in the ratings. Television execs in the sixties didn't believe in shaking up a working formula, so not much changed as “The Munsters” headed into its second season in the fall of 1965... Except for the opening credit. The season two credits are scored to a more boisterous version of the theme song, featuring the family stepping onto their porch. The crash-zooms on the actor's face and the little gags here – Herman storming through the door, Eddie's giant baseball bat – arguably make this the iconic version of the intro. 

The second season kicks off with “Herman's Child Psychology.” A friend of Eddie's mentions wanting to run away from home. When Eddie decides to try the same thing, Herman attempts some reverse psychology on the boy, prompting him to run off. This results in the father going off to look for his boy, with unexpected circumstances. The family hits the beach in “Herman, the Master Spy.” They haven't to be there at the same time a Russian ship is spying on the American coast. While out scuba-diving, Herman is accidentally picked up by the Soviets, who mistake him first for a sea monster and then a spy. Once the U.S. government picks up this information, the stitched-together dad almost ends up causing an international incident. 

“Herman's Child Psychology” is a good example of how “The Munsters” takes a simple, sitcom scenario and slowly escalates it to more absurd places. What's starts off as a typical story of a kid running away from home ends up with Herman bringing an escaped circus bear home with him. When he runs into the mother bear while returning the cub, things go to an even sillier place. Being basically a live action cartoon, “The Munsters” can casually feature a smiling, grunting bear waltzing with a Frankenstein monster with no problem. Fred Gwynne's reactions to the little bear are priceless. This kind of freewheeling goofiness runs alongside genuinely sweet family shenanigans. The conversation Eddie and Herman have as the boy is leaving home is adorably amusing. As always, these kind of simple interactions probably wouldn't be laugh-worthy if the cast wasn't so laid-back and likable.

The first episode widely avoids “The Munsters'” most common running gag: Normal people reacting to the family going about their business with exaggerated horror. The second episode, “Herman, the Master Spy” is largely built around the contrast between the Munsters and quote-unquote normal humans. Yet, even then, there's an unexpected take on it. Instead of being horrified by him, the Russian spies immediately embrace Herman. They are dancing with him, singing songs, telling jokes, performing party tricks. Whether this is just a good bit of comedic subversion or a jab at how weird Americans were suppose to find Soviets in the sixties, I can't say. Either way, Fred Gwynne's utterly charming goofball antics go a long way in these scenes.

Certainly nobody watched “The Munsters” for biting social commentary but its take on the Cold War is surprisingly sharp. The U.S. and Russia go back and forth on whether to believe the story of a ship picking up a monster. The information passing between the two agencies, changing each time like an international game of Telephone, is a good take-down of Cold War tension. This global superpowers are so determined to undermine each other, they can't even keep their information straight! The Soviets are portrayed as pretty laid-back too. Also, this episode features the undeniably kitchsy image of the Munsters in their swimsuits on the beach, a good example of how this show subverted classic Americana imagery and ended up as an example of it too. [Herman's Child Psychology: 7/10 / Herman, the Master Spy: 7/10]