Thursday, October 31, 2024

Halloween 2024: October 31st - HALLOWEEN


I don't live in a neighborhood that sees much trick-or-treating which, for many years, made Halloween night the major anticlimax to the season. Luckily, I have a friend who does live in a bustling suburb and he happily invited me over to help every year. Donning a plastic werewolf mask and some rubber dinosaur hands, I venture over to join the frivolity before heading back home to feast on fun-sizes candy bars and horror movies all night. 



Recently, while at a Spirit Halloween, I spotted adorable plush toy versions of Freddy Krueger and Pennywise for sale. Making children's toys based on monsters that kill children is somewhat morbid. (Not that these toys are meant for kids so much as adult collectors.) At the same time, it follows a long cultural tradition of horror movie villains inevitably getting watered down into something soft and cuddly for children. Honestly, I'm fine with the existence of Count Chocula and Monster High and other extensions of this habit. Kids love horror and deserve to have age appropriate entry points. Another such example is Deborah and James Howes' 1979 children's book, "Bunnicula, a Rabbit Tale of Mystery," which introduced the world to a vampiric fluffy bunny rabbit that sucked the juices from vegetables. I read it as a kid and enjoyed it too, though my monster loving habits were already well established by then. What I didn't know until very recently was that the book was adapted into an animated special in 1982, produced by Ruby-Spears for ABC Weekend Special block. I like to kick off my October 31st with a vintage Halloween special and, seeing as how a kind soul has uploaded "Bunnicula, the Vampire Rabbit" to YouTube, decided to give this one a look. 

My memories of the Howes' original book are admittedly fuzzy, seeing as how I was probably six when I read it but this adaptation still struck me as rather loose. The hook is maintained: Harold the dog and Chester the cat, pets of the Monroe family, are our protagonists. The two boys bring home a rabbit one day, asleep in a box full of soil and containing a note that reveals his name to be Bunnicula. Shortly afterwards, vegetables that have been rendered white by having all their juice sucked out begin to turn up. Chester, an avid reader, suspects Bunnicula is a vampire while Harold is more skeptical. To this simple story, Ruby-Spears added an entire subplot about the factory the family dad works out closing down due to an apparent haunting and the neighbors coming to believe that the Monroe's new pet rabbit is responsible for their vegetable gardens being raided. 

Despite being produced in the eighties, "Bunnicula" feels much more like a product of the previous decade. The character designs are uninspired, with the human characters looking utterly generic. The animation is unimpressive, frequently stiff and often rather flat as well, with dull colors and unimaginative framing. The cheapness is evident in the notable continuity errors. Such as the writing that came with Bunnicula interchangeably being referred to as Russian or Romanian. Or the rabbit – his design sickeningly cute – making noises that sound a lot more like monkey chatters than rabbit squeaks to me. The result is a 29 minute presentation that feels a lot like Hanna-Barbera's "Scooby-Doo" series from the time, though lacking the occasional dopey charm of that franchise. What I'm saying is that "Bunnicula" is lacking in Halloween vibes, instead betting much more heavily on wacky animal antics to keep the kiddies entertained. 

This is most evident in how the special treats the title character. Despite getting top-billing, Bunnicula doesn't do much throughout the brief runtime. Mostly, we only see the little bunny sleeping in his box or being carried by the other animals. If any tension can said to exist in the story, it presumably comes from Chester and Harold's disagreement over Bunnicula's true nature. That is kind of ruined by this special being subtitled "The Vampire Rabbit," don't you think? If you're looking for an adorable cartoon lagomorph doing vampiric acts, "Bunnicula" will let you down as well. It's not until the finale, in which the animals investigate that bizarre subplot about the factory being haunted, that Bunnicula does anything at all. The results prove underwhelming, this vampire lepus seemingly having the power of telekinesis via red glowing eyes. One suspects that was chosen so that Ruby-Spears could very cheaply animate the climax, which inexplicably reveal a pack of wolves to be responsible for the ghostly activities around the factory. Surely, even a child would realize that a wolf could never be mistaken for a ghost, much less responsible for similar activities. 

Like far too much underachieving children's media, "Bunnicula" is most concerned with imposing a moral on any young viewers. The literary "Bunnicula" is about jealousy and acceptance, Chester the cat learning to overcome his suspicions of the new family pet and greet him as part of the family. This is still somewhat present in the cartoon, Chester eventually expressing sympathy for the animal he suspected if being nosferatu. (Or, perhaps, nos-fur-atu.) However, this is muddied largely by the other stupid shit added here. The subplot about the neighbors blaming Bunnicula for their drained crops makes little sense, existing seemingly only to include a shot of the classic horror cliché of a mob with torches and pitchforks. The conclusion bends towards a totally different moral too, one of responsible pet care.... However, the final scene mostly has me wondering how the parents allowed a bag of vegetables to sit on the counter, in a grocery bag, for two weeks. When combined with the bullshit with the factory shutting down because of a wolf infestation, it gives the impression that "Bunnicula" was written in a weekend. 

Considering "Bunnicula" was produced by the same studio that brought us such esteemed products as "Chuck Norris: Karate Kommandos" and "Rubik the Amazing Cube," perhaps my expectations where too high. But, I don't know, guys. I kind of think kids deserve slightly higher quality programming than crap like this. James Howe, after Deborah's passing, would write six more books about Bunnicula, as recently as 2006. The books would also inspired a three season animated series that aired on Cartoon Network and Boomerang from 2016 to 2018. From what I've seen of it, that "Bunnicula" looks aggressively manic but I'd wager it's still a lot better than this subpar production. In other words, if your kid is a fan of vampires and soft fuzzy bunny rabbits, skip this cartoon and go straight to the book. By the way, the YouTube upload includes the original commercials. The ads for Nintendo Cereal and Connect Four probably have more cultural value than "Bunnicula, the Vampire Rabbit." [5/10]




Universal would kick off the American horror genre as we know it in 1931, with the one-two punch of “Frankenstein” and “Dracula.” Horror would then fall out of popularity later in the decade, before the 1939 release of “Son of Frankenstein” led to a second wave. This time, studios besides Universal and the Poverty Row guys were starting to churn them out. Columbia teamed up with Boris Karloff, RKO gave Val Lewton free reign to create a legendary run of films, with Paramount and Warner Bros making a few notable titles too. Republic Pictures, a mini-major best known for their serials and westerns, decided to take a stab at the genre with some classy monster flicks starting in 1944. As if to guarantee success for the film, Republic would pull from Universal's pool of talent and adapt Curt Siodmak's novel, “Donovan's Brain” as their first chiller of the decade. “The Lady and the Monster” has been eclipsed by later versions of that same story but I've long been curious about it.

Professor Mueller, deep within his castle laboratory in the Arizona desert, has been working to preserve a brain's lifespan outside of the skull. With the help of his assistants, Dr. Patrick Cory and the young and beautiful Janice, he hasn't seen much success thus far. During a stormy night, news breaks that a plane has crashed near-by. Inside was millionaire industrialist William H. Donovan. Mueller illegally extracts Donovan's brain from his body, blackmailing Cory into helping him. The duo successfully keep the brain alive afterwards. However, that is when Cory begins to act strangely. He hears voices, pursues goals that aren't his own, and grows increasingly violent and unhinged. It turns out Donovan's brain, separated from his body and amplified by the machine, has telepathically taken control of Cory's body. Janine wants the brain destroyed but Professor Mueller won't let his experiment come to an end.

“The Lady and the Monster” – not to be confused with Paramount's “The Monster and the Girl” from a few years earlier – was directed by George Sherman, who had a long career of mostly undistinguished work. However, the film also happened to have John Atlon as its cinematographer. Atlon would come to fame for his work on noirs later in the decade before winning an Oscar for photography “An American in Paris.” Atlon makes sure that “The Lady and the Monster” looks brilliant. Every sequence set in Mueller's laboratory is thick with atmosphere. The shadows of the equipment are cast huge on the towering walls, the mad scientist glowering in the shade of his work. Whenever the brain is seen floating in its vat, it's backlit in such a way as to look far more ominous. There's more than a few noir-esque shots of men framed by the shadows of window shades too. Basically, the film provides exactly the type of monochrome ambiance that I desperately crave from classic horror films. 

If only “The Lady and the Monster” told a story as sharp as its visuals. As opposed to Siodmak's novel, where Dr. Cory is the sole scientist on the experiment, this adaptation adds far more characters to the story. The addition of Professor Mueller brings with it more melodrama, such as him harboring a crush on Janice and often abusing his maid. The film also focuses far more than was necessary on the mechanics of Donovan's fortune, his scheming widow after the riches, and the murder case tangled up with the incident. To put in the words of a far more observant man than myself: There's too much plot getting in the way of the story. This results in a 86 minute runtime, which is still short by any ordinary standard but about twenty minutes longer than most forties monster movies. The overwritten script is also evident in the strange reoccurring voice-over from an omniscient narrator in a few scenes, an odd inclusion.

Erich von Stroheim is probably better remembered as a director but, in his lifetime, he was more successful as an actor. Probably inspired by his villainous turn in “The Great Gabbo,” von Stroheim would star in a few horror flicks, such as this, “The Crimes of Dr. Crespi,” and “The Mask of Diijon.” He never grows the fangs shown on the poster and only wears the fedora and overcoat in one scene. Nevertheless, Stroheim makes for a fine mad scientist. His ability to make only a look menacing, without having to raise his voice, is well utilized. As Cory, Richard Arlen is a likable enough heroic type. However, when the persona of Donovan takes over, he does quite well as an aggressive, threatening villain. This is most apparent in the film's climax. Czech ice skater Vera Ralston, as part of a concentrated effort by Republic to turn her into a movie star, gets top-billing as Janine. It's easy to see why Ralston's acting career never quite took off as she's rather wooden here, with a thick accent and incredibly stiff body language. Her lack of chops is a big detriment towards the film being better than it is. 

Ultimately, you win some and you lose some. The 1953 version of “Donovan's Brain” is more faithful to the source material. However, it certainly lacks the riveting, expressionistic cinematography of this take. I'm going to be honest with you guys. “The Lady and the Monster” is probably a fairly leaden attempt at a horror film, especially compared to the pulpy fun of Universal's flicks at the time and the psychological complexity of Val Lewton's work. However, all those glorious black-and-white visuals go an awfully long way with me. When combined with a strong beginning and ending and a pair of decent performances, it's easy for me to overlook the dragging middle section and give this one a recommendation. [7/10]




A while back, I was reading an old article from Bogleech in which he discussed his favorite monsters from fifties B-movies. Being a seasoned classic horror nerd, I had seen or at least heard of most of the movies high-lighted in that list. Except for one. That would be “The Woman Eater” – entitled merely “Womaneater” on most prints – a creature feature made in England in 1958. Upon further research, I discovered something else about the movie. It is one of the few monster flicks out there about murderous plant life. Outside of the Pods, Audrey II, and the Triffids, that's not a style of beastie you see too often. Simply knowing that there was another cheesy monster movie out there I hadn't seen was enough for me to want to seek out “The Woman Eater” but knowing it was a killer tree picture? Oh yes, that's a fine addition to anyone's Halloween marathon. 

Five years ago, Dr. Moran travelled into the depths of the Amazon Rainforest in search of an elixir known to the local tribes. The potion is said to be able to bring the dead back to life. Moran spies a secret ritual in which a beautiful woman is fed to a carnivorous tree, which supposedly produces the miracle drug he is after. In the present day, Moran and Tanga – a member of the aforementioned tribe – have relocated the woman-eating tree to his lab in London. The two abduct women to feed to the monster, much to the concerns of his housekeeper and the attention of the local police. Meanwhile, mechanic Jack meets dancer Sally, the two quickly falling in love. Jack sends Sally to work for Moran, unaware of the doctor's murderous habits. She gets the job but will this means she is doomed to become the next victim of the Woman Eater?

One of the great – if you'll excuse my flagrant abuse of the word “great” – laughably goofy monsters of fifties B-movies is the Tabanga from “From Hell It Came.” In fact, the perpetually scowling visage of that creature is the whole reason to see that movie. “The Woman Eater” is also a movie about a murderous tree. For what it's worth, this creature is not as silly looking as the Tabanga. In fact, it's fuzzy branches and insectoid claws are slightly creepy. When you look at the Woman Eater, you can't be entirely sure what you're seeing at first. Adding to the uncanny element of the titular beastie is that it's never specified how exactly this carnivorous tree devours people. The fact that a murderous tree, by its very nature, is an immobile threat that can do much probably made it a hard monster to build a story around. This probably explains why the creature is not in nearly enough of the movie. However, I do think it's an interesting idea for a cinematic critter. 

As a horror movie from 1958, “The Woman Eater” is also from that odd transitional time for the genre. It is beholden to the conventions of the previous decade, with its big rubber monster and mad scientist villain. At the same time, the film shows signs of the more salacious direction horror would go in only a few years later. The title promises us women being eaten and that is mostly more implied than shown. At the same time, the movie still features lots of shots of women in low-cut dresses being hypnotized and pushed into the flesh-eating tree. I don't know why Moran feeds his tree exclusively on beautiful women but it provides lots of opportunity for shapely actresses to appear in the film. None are more shapely than Vera Day, whose proportions bring Mamie Van Doren to mind. A notable sequence has her sitting in the passenger seat while her boyfriend fixes a car, her breasts framed perfectly in the shot. She's also introduced in a hula skirt. Director Charles Saunders was clearly enamored of her or at least of the way she looked. 

In other words, “The Woman Eater” is positioned between between a nastier type of exploitation movie and a hokey rubber monster movie. This is also apparent in the casual sexism of the script. Our hero falls for Sally upon seeing her in a swimsuit. Later, he repeatedly mocks her for a perceived lack of intelligence, which she seems to think of as charming flirting. Moran wants to possesses the girl the minute he lays eyes on her too. This angers his housekeeper, who is in love with him. When he cruelly rejects her, she becomes unhinged and violent. Bitches be crazy, am I right? “The Woman Eater” pairs its misogyny with a fair bit of racism too. The indigenous shaman who becomes Moran's sidekick is always treated as an intimidating presence. He seems to have no issue with feeding random women to the tree. As wicked as Tanga is, he's also untrustworthy among the villains. Not that I'd recommend going to fifties B-movies for sensitive politics but “The Woman Eater” is especially egregious. 

When put it aside a ridiculous threat like an killer tree, “The Woman Eater's” political incorrectness only come off as camp. George Coulouris is a perfectly despicable villain as Dr. Moran. Despite the way the script treats her, Vera Day is utterly charming. The entire movie wraps up in seventy minutes, with the bad guys punished, the monster destroyed, and moral relativity restored to the universe. In other words, this gave me exactly what I want from a forgotten B-movie about a tree monster that devours ladies. Sometimes, an easily digested – pun intended? – cheapie with a wacky monster and some sleazy sex appeal is all you need. If nothing else, it's a lot better than the vaguely similar “The Creeping Terror.” By the way, actual myths of flesh-eating trees have popped up over the years, though usually in the jungles of Africa and not South America. [7/10]




Who doesn't love the carnival? It's wholesome fun for the whole family, right? The perfect place to enjoy some rides, play some games, eat some funnel cake, and get harassed, attacked, and murdered. The dangerous, otherworldly atmosphere of the circus has inspired its fair share of horror stories. The carnival has many of the same features but is sleazier by far, being more of a fly-by-night operation staffed by nomadic con men. Beneath the promise of harmless amusements, there's simply an air of depravity about the carnival, ya know? Unsurprisingly, many horror movies have sought to play off this idea. Among the stranger examples resides genuine seventies oddity, “Malatesta's Carnival of Blood.” Thought lost for years – I only became aware of the film while reading, of all things, a retrospective on the career of Hervé Villechaize – the film was unearthed for Arrow's American Horror Project, exposing it to a far wider audience than ever before.

Johnny Morris disappears while at Malatesta's Carnival, a local amusement park that has recently reopened. His parents and sister, Vena, arrive at the carnival under the pretense of looking for jobs. They meet with one of the two managers, the mysterious Mr. Blood, before parking their RV on the camp grounds. In truth, the family is there to locate their missing son. Vena sneaks out to meet up with Kit, the boy who runs the shooting range booth that she's taken a liking too. Soon, the daughter uncovers the horrible truth. This is no ordinary carnival. Malatesta and Mr. Blood are vampires. Most of their employees are cannibalistic ghouls and the bloody accident in the park are no accidents at all. They live in the tunnels under the carnival, performing bizarre rituals, with Vena soon chosen as their next sacrifice. 

“Malatesta's Carnival of Blood” is the sole credit of writer Werner Liepolt and the only narrative film made by director Christopher Speeth. Liepolt is a mystery but Speeth was well known in the Philadelphia theater scene. Supposedly, he pulled the film together to provide work for actors between seasons. One imagines that Speeth and his humble team – his brother did the special effects – chose to make a horror film because it's a profitable and cheap genre to work in. You can certainly see the vestigial outline of a traditional horror movie here. The idea of a carnival run by vampires and staffed by zombies is simple enough to understand, the kind of premise any monster kid would imagine. A family looking for their missing child is a totally normal prompt for the story too.

However, none of that prepares the viewer for the aggressively strange atmosphere “Malatesta's Carnival of Blood” engineers. One of the first things you'll notice about the film is its bizarre sets and art direction. The Tunnel of Love has walls lined with what appear to be feathers, random objects, and fleshy expanses. In the tunnels under the carnival, a Volkswagen has been hung upside down with an enormous mouth built into it. Vena is kept inside a a bubble-like structure at one point. The ghouls often gather in front of an enormous screen, showing clips from silent horror movies. Paired with these odd images is a sound design that is more surreal. Strange humming noises, overlapping dialogue, and discordant fragments of music combine to create a truly nightmarish feeling. 

From any sort of traditional perspective, “Malatesta's Carnival of Blood” probably could not be classified as a “good” movie. Its plot is directionless and vague. The dialogue is often incoherent, the characters never being anything but loose ideas. The acting is stilted. The special effects are unconvincing, the zombies often being actors simply wearing greenish face paint. Somehow, this lack of professionalism works in the film's favor. When combined with the home-made sets and creepy soundtrack, “Malatesta's Carnival of Blood” genuinely captures the feeling of a bad acid trip. The violence, crude as it is, always seems to hit with a genuine sense of sudden sadism. The roller coaster decapitation, no matter how fake it looks, feels quite uncomfortable. The camera angles are off enough that simple scenes, like the daughter running through the woods or the father exploring the tunnels, feel so strange. Side characters included a hook-handed man named Mr. Bean and little Hervé as someone named Bobo. When the characters talk about how they have many faces or arcane rules that must be obeyed, it feels like “Malatesta” has accidentally touched on a degree of cosmic horror. As if the whole movie is a transmission from another dimension. 

The actual abandoned carnival “Malatesta's” was filmed at, from the glimpses we get at it, seems to be genuinely run-down and sketchy. The ending is deeply downbeat, a sense of indifference from a cruel universe emerging. When combined with the lo-fi effects, weird acting, and a story that progresses lucidly from one set-piece to another, the result is a deeply trippy motion picture. Whether intentionally or not, it mirrors the look and feel of a nightmare better than a lot of other movies that actually aim for that goal. Supposedly, Speeth and his team saw little profit from the film and it was said to be booed off the screen by most audiences. It is difficult to imagine a rowdy, drive-in crowd appreciating the particular mood captured here. However, decades after the fact, “Malatesta's Carnival of Blood” can be enjoyed as the bizarre indie experiment it is. Put this one in the love-it-or-hate-it pile but I'm definitely among those that loved it. [8/10]




In 1982, when the slasher genre was nearing the apex of its oversaturation, director Jim McCullough Sr. made a little movie in Louisiana called "Mountaintop Motel." The next year, it played a few drive-ins in the American south, without receiving much attention or doing any notable business. In an alternate universe, that was probably the end of it and the film was confined to the dustbin of genre history. In reality, however, New World Pictures picked the movie up two years later. They demanded reshoots, to make it gorier, and slapped a catchier, more descriptive title on all prints. What ended up absolutely selling "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" was a new poster, featuring a mad-eyed old woman with bloody hands glowering from behind a door, and an immediately catchy tagline: "Do not disturb Evelyn. She already is." It didn't matter that the woman on the box didn't look anything like the actress in the movie or that the new title and tagline promised a far more salacious experience. That image was enough to turn "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" into a minor cult classic among eighties horror fanatics and slasher aficionados. Despite having walked by the VHS box or poster probably a hundred times, I've never made time for "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" before now. That changes on this unseasonably warm October night.... 

Elderly Evelyn has recently been discharged from a mental institute. She returns to her home in rural Louisiana, where she operates a series of outdoor cabins as a motel. Evelyn is far from healed though: She discovers her daughter attempting to contact the spirit of her late father. This drives the woman into a frenzy and she murders the girl with a sickle. Not long afterwards, a bad storm blows in and a disparate group take shelter at the motel: A hard-drinking traveling preacher, a truck driver, some newlyweds, and a sleazy guy pretending to be a record executive who has picked up two hitchhiking teenage girls. The storm seems to push Evelyn to the breaking point. Using the old tunnels under the hotel, she plants vermin in each room. When this does not satisfy the mournful spirit of her daughter ringing in her head, Evelyn picks her sickle back up and proceeds to slash through the motel guests. 

Despite being placed alongside films like "The Burning" or "The Prowler," "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" is an atypical example of the slasher subgenre. If a well-known actress had starred as Evelyn – I'm thinking Patricia Neal or Kim Hunter or somebody on that level – it would've passed as a throwback to the psycho-biddy movies of the sixties. Setting the movie during a thunderstorm in a ratty old motel, hidden out in the deep south, creates an overcast and gloomy atmosphere. That dark-and-stormy night set-up is relied on much more than bloody spectacle to provide chills. Meanwhile – like fellow late-occurring hag horror flick disguised as a slasher, "Night Warning" – much more emphasis than you'd expect is placed in the beleaguered villain's mental state. The best scenes in "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" focus on Evelyn retreating to her creepy inner sanctum, her dead daughter's bedroom that is full of dusty old dolls and creative lighting. We hear the little girl's voice in the old woman's head, prompting her to kill. Anne Chappel – mostly a stage actress who only appeared in one other film than this – gives a sad performance as Evelyn, a disturbed woman haunted by the phantoms of her mind. The scenes focused solely on Evelyn give the impression of what a version of "Friday the 13th" starring Mrs. Voorhees might have looked like. 

Despite resisting many elements of the style, "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" is still structured like a slasher flick. It sticks a bunch of characters in an isolated location and has them picked off, one by one. Despite most of the characters being grown-ups, the honeymooning couple and the creepy guy manipulating the two girls still allows for the required sex and nudity. Packing the movie with warm bodies that can be cut up is actually where "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" falters. None of the characters are developed much, beyond the bare minimum idea. Aside from crazy Evelyn, the film can't truly be said to have a protagonist. The boozing preacher seems like he might be a hero but still spends most of the runtime passes out. By frequently cutting between the different guests, before cutting them up, the script feels spread thin between the various mini-melodramas of its plot threads. Isolating the cast in their respective rooms also removes the ensemble energy that powers so many slasher films. In execution, it makes "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" feel less like it has a plot and more like a bunch of different people waiting around for something to happen to them. 

And wait around they do. The film takes its sweet time getting to the carnage. Evelyn's initial plan doesn't involve murder at all. At first, she sets a snake, some rats, and roaches loose in the different cabins. This plays on a relatable fear of staying in a sketchy motel, renters left wondering what infestations might be around. The idea that the unhinged owner can access every room whenever she wants via secret passageway is a creepy idea. However, McCullough's direction is rather flat and the film is sleepily paced, meaning few scares or tension is generated. Once the sickle murders do start, the gore is decently pulled off. Throats are slashed, heads are run-through, and a hand is cleaved. Unfortunately, the bloodshed starts so late in the runtime, after many aimless scenes of the characters screwing around (sometimes literally) in their lodgings, that it is hard to find it satisfying. The results is a motion picture that only starts to take-off shortly before it is set to end. "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" ultimately feels like a version of Tobe Hooper's "Eaten Alive," made on downers instead of coke and minus the alligator. 

One more thing: Perhaps the word had different connotations in the early eighties. However, I think of a "motel" as a series of interconnecting rooms near a freeway or road, for sleepy motorists to stop in. The run-down cabins of this film, tucked deep within the hills of Louisiana, feel more like an extremely underwhelming campground or resort. I also find the size of the "mountaintop" in question to be inappropriately mountainous. Anyway, New World Pictures definitely had the right idea when they added an edgier word to "Mountaintop Motel Massacre"s" title and threw together that sleazy box art. It's doubtful anyone would remember the movie without the catchy title and catchier advertising campaign. An attempt to fuse a moody psycho-thriller with a body count flick isn't a bad idea but this one can't pull off either idea in a satisfactory manner. It's a bummer that the period when random one-off slasher flicks were getting remade has passed. This one could do with a second stab at it, as long as they kept the tagline the same. [5/10]




The conceit of the found footage style is that this is actual recordings someone has stumbled upon, hence the name. The idea, of discovering something forbidden in an unexpected place, has mutated and permeated over the years. The subgenre has always had links to the mockumentary style, which similarly plays with layers of reality and fiction. This has crossbred with the found footage premise to produce a spat of what I'll call "cursed broadcast" movies: Mundane television programs that suddenly get horrific. Obviously, Orson Welles' "War of the Worlds" broadcast is the grandfather of this premise and inspired direct successors over the years, such as "Special Bulletin" and "Without Warning." None of the attempts to recreate this idea has been more influential than "Ghostwatch." In our modern age, when archiving old television programs and uploading them to the Internet or searching out "lost media" has become a passion for many, the idea of finding some footage of a cursed broadcast has taken root in the genre. Probably inspired by Chris LaMartina's "WNUF Halloween Special," this year brought the most high profile take on the idea in years. "Late Night with the Devil" became IFC/Shudder's highest grossing release earlier this year but I knew, given my affection for this style and it's October 31st setting, I wanted to save it for the final film of this year's Halloween Horrorfest Blog-a-Thon. 

In the seventies, one of the many attempts to dethrone Johnny Carson as the king of late night was Jack Delroy. His show, "Night Owls," would be successful in the latter half of the decade. However, following the death of his beloved wife Madeline, Jack would step away from the show for a while. Upon returning, producers would attempt to boost the program's falling ratings with a series of outrageous stunts. This reached its climax with a 1977 Halloween show. Delroy invited on the show medium Christou, debunker Carmichael Haig, and parapsychologist June Ross-Mitchell with her latest subject, Lily. The only survivor of a mass suicide by a Satanic cult, Lily is supposedly possessed by the demon Abraxas. As the broadcast went on, more strange things would happen, driving Delroy into a personal hell. 

On one hand, "Late Night with the Devil" is a meticulous recreation of a late-night talk show from the seventies. It has convincing sets and costumes, matching the look and feel of the time. Jack Delroy reflects the avuncular presence of the many attempts to imitate Carson, especially in his banter with his sidekick, Gus McConnell. The film also does a decent job of copying the look and feel of such a program, with the proper amount of film grain, awkward camera movements, and overly long bits. This is probably because "Late Night with the Devil" draws direct inspiration from a number of real events. The main inspiration for the movie was stage magician turned skeptical inquirer James Randi appearing on Australian talk show, "The Don Lane Show," which ended with Lane becoming irate with the guest. Carmichael Haig is clearly based on Randi, copying his facial hair, his rivalry with spoon bender Uri Gellar, and his offer of a cash prize to anyone who can definitively prove the existence of the supernatural. The movie draws inspiration from other true events too. Jack is a member of a Bohemian Grove style gentleman's retreat, which also features spooky, quasi-occult rituals involving an owl idol. "Lily," and the book written about her, are obviously based on "Michelle Remembers," the fraudulent biography that kicked off the Satanic ritual abuse hysteria of the eighties. The cult that birthed her has clear tones of Anton LeVay's Church of Satan while the police stand-off ending in fiery death is taken from the Branch Davidians. In other words, "Late Night with the Devil" pulls from a number of notorious figures and moments in pop history to add verisimilitude. 

All of that stuff is extremely my kind of shit. (Though, as a fellow skeptic, I object to the characterization of the Randi stand-in as a pretentious glory chaser.) If "Late Night with the Devil" had devoted its entire runtime to a presentation of a mythical infamous moment in TV history, it would probably stand along side "Ghostwatch," "WNUF," and "Antrum" as a compelling meta narrative. Instead, directors the Cairness brothers repeatedly break immersion. The film opens with a lengthy documentary-like segment, establishing the backstory of "Night Owls with Jack Delroy." Which I think sets some events up too far in advance but is an understandable addition. More frustrating, however, is the repeated choice to cut away from the live broadcast to black-and-white behind-the-scenes segments, that show us what happened while the cameras were off that night. In other words: The film repeatedly abandons its own conceit. Worst yet, these scenes don't give us any information that wouldn't be better left implied anyway. Jack's involvement with the Grove, his infidelity, and the off-screen death of another guest would all be more shocking if revealed later in the film. The biggest sign of "Late Night with the Devil's" half-assed commitment to its own premise is the much criticized use of AI-generated images for the show's bumpers. This is immediately noticeable, as the images do not match the seventies setting and feature all the tell-tale signs of being made by a fucking robot. Obviously, there's no excuse for the inclusion of anti-human, plagiarized bullshit like that in this film. It puts a stain on the entirety of "Late Night with the Devil." 

This is a shame because, otherwise, I did find a lot to enjoy here. The entire appeal of films like this is the sinister and otherworldly interceding on the utterly mundane. There's certainly plenty of examples of live broadcast being interrupted by the tragic or unexpected. The first half of "Late Night with the Devil" is its best, when it balances a realistic recreation of a seventies late night show with darker elements. Such as a strangely unmoving guests in a skeleton costume or Christou going into a seizure during a psychic episode. The film probably pushes it too far during late, more special effects driven moments. Such as the medium vomiting a torrent of black sludge into the camera, the first attempt to contact the demon in Lily, or a hypnosis sequence featuring some very nasty worms. "Ghostwatch" and "WNUF Halloween Special" knew to keep this stuff mostly off-screen, to further the sense that you are watching a normal broadcast gone horribly wrong and not, ya know, a horror movie. These scenes are well done though, especially that bit with the worms. What should have been the film's climax, Abraxas truly making himself known, similarly pushes the visual effects and chaos too far while also being rather nicely pulled off. 

That's not the ending though. You can clearly see a struggle within "Late Night with the Devil" to extend what should've been a regular hour of TV into a feature length movie. (Though "The Tonight Show" often ran for upwards of nineties minutes, so that feels like a copout too.) All throughout, as the film frustratingly abandons its own set-up before swerving back, I wonder what the whole point of this was. "Ghostwatch" is about bringing classical English folklore into the then-modern day while implicitly criticizing the media's need to explore, watch, and exploit everything. "WNUF Halloween Special" and its sequel invoke and subvert nostalgia for discarded pop culture while revealing that the power of human belief is much more dangerous than the myths themselves. "Late Night with the Devil's" indecisiveness prevents it from making a deeper point. The final sequence – which also drops the lost broadcast gimmick – does something interesting though. This is Jack Delroy's story. It is a classical Faustian bargain playing out within the entertainment industry, of sacrificing your soul for fame and success. That is why even the James Randi stand-in is a phony. Everyone in TV is merely hungry for fame and power. David Dastmalchian plays Delroy as a sad, anxious man who is barely holding onto his public persona while his inner demons take hold and he makes the final scenes, of the devil coming to collect what is owed to him, better than they would be otherwise. I don't think a story of how showbiz destroys minds and reaps souls is as compelling an idea as using the medium itself to criticize the messages it propagates. It exposes "Late Night with the Devil" as a bit of a fraud itself, as this story could have been told as a traditional narrative without the catchy gimmick. But at least it's an idea, a sign that this is more than a mere technical exercise and a compilation of decades-old bits of moral panics and TV detritus. 

Ultimately, "Late Night with the Devil" left me very conflicted. Technically, it is well done. The special effects are slimy and gross. Colin and Cameron Cairness are clearly talented at engineering effective shock scenes. The cast is strong, especially Dastmalchian and Ingrid Torelli, who is extremely creepy as the possessed girl. In many ways, this movie is exactly the kind of thing I should love. However, the film's disappointing need to constantly undermine its own strengths makes it a much more frustrating watch. Not to mention the AI bullshit, which is simply inexcusable. (Also, its unwillingness to acknowledge the much more complicated Gnostic origins of Abraxas, which is treated as simply another scary demon. But I'm pretty used to screenwriters doing stuff like that...) In other words, "Late Night with the Devil" could have been a much better movie if not for a few baffling decisions the creative team made. It is stuffed full of Halloween ambiance though and, obviously, a good choice to watch in the middle of the night, despite falling short of giving me the kind of high previous, superior attempts at this kind of thing gave me. [6/10]



The other day, I was in a Target. Despite Halloween itself being neigh, the department store was already all decked out for Christmas. I know I should be used to this by now but seeing the fake evergreens and Santa suits overtake the Jack-o'-lanterns and skeletons bummed me out. When you think about Halloween all year round, and actively celebrate it for two months, what should be the climax of the season instead feels like the dispiriting end of something nice. I sure do like it when everything is decked out in orange and black, bats and ghouls looking at me from every angle. Feels nice, ya know? Seeing that tapper to a close, swallowed up by all that holly-jollyness, is a bummer.

However, it is important to remember something: Halloween doesn't come from a store. Halloween means a little bit more. While standing on a friend's lawn, pretending to be an automaton, and successfully frightening some small children, I remembered that. I can wax philosophically about what this season means to me for pages on end. Somehow, I've made it to this stage in my life without loosing the child-like wonder this time of year invokes in me. As always, thank you, Halloween. Thank you for reminding me that the flesh decays, the leaves turn brown and fall to the ground, and our spirits shuffle off this mortal coil but that some ideas are forever. Being scared, thrilled, or gross out reminds you that are alive. That this life is yours and should be invested with glee as much as possible. That, in spite of the inevitable end of all things, joy and love can be found everywhere. Thank you, Halloween. 

Alright, enough sentimentality. I watched 127 feature films, 101 TV episodes, and 19 shorts over the course of two months. In other words: I did it. I lived the Halloween season to the fullest. Let us face down November 1st with a lifted spirit and a clean conscience. Hey, witches and black cats and candy corn and 12 Foot Tall Skeletons: It's not goodbye forever, it's goodbye for now. Let us slip into our coffins full of earth and sleep for another year, to reawaken next autumn as sure as the changing of the seasons and the rising of the sun. 

at No comments:

Wednesday, October 30, 2024

Halloween 2024: October 30th



In 1987, he appeared without warning. Sightings were reported on cable channels, especially late-night MTV. A strange, yellow figure awkwardly dancing on the screen, advertising a phone number but with little else information about the product at hand, announced itself as Freddie Freaker. Despite being the decade populated by many bizarre 1-900 numbers, this was a notably weird commercial. Forgotten for years, in the new millennium, the spot got uploaded to Youtube and slowly became a meme. It's not hard to guess that Freddie Freaker was probably inspired by “Gremlins” and its numerous knock-offs. This cycle would come full circle this year, with the latest film from Steven Kostanski of “Psycho Goreman” and “The Void” fame. “Frankie Freako” clearly takes inspiration from the infamous commercial while also paying homage to the likes of “Ghoulies,” “Munchies” and “Critters.” Being a fan of Kostanski's previous work and what I call eighties lil' monsters movies – not to mention also finding Freddie Freaker captivatingly strange – I knew I had to check this one out. 

Conor Sweeney works an unexceptional job in an office building and enjoys a sexless marriage with his beautiful, gun-obsessed wife. He's satisfied with his bland existence but, after his boss asks him to commit tax fraud, he's criticized for being boring. Incensed at the criticism, he begins to see television commercials for a phone hotline. It advertises Frankie Freako, a Boglin-like rocker available to spice up your dull life. While the missus is away at an art show, Conor calls this hotline. This invites Frankie and the other Freakos – cowgirl Dottie and gadgeteer  Boink – into his home. The rude, crude, party dudes make a wreck of uptight Conor's home. This is only the beginning of an adventure that will see Conor making new friends, travelling to an enslaved alien world, being forced into a harem, battling evil, and learning how to loosen up.

To refer to "Frankie Freako" as a throwback to "Gremlins" and its also-rans isn't wrong. Any movie that has little rubber cretins running around and causing chaos owes something to Joe Dante's blockbuster. However, Kostanski is making a much more specific homage here. The talking, farting, partying Freakos seem a deliberate riff on "Ghoulies Go to College" turning the little monsters into  cartoonish party dudes. Meanwhile, "Frankie Freako" is clearly attempting to emulate the tone of a Moonbeam Entertainment movie. As in the kid-friendly sector of Charles Band's Full Moon Features. The film goes distressingly far to capture that particular look and feel. "Frankie Freako" feels like a kid's conception of a grown-up movie, with lots of crude but certainly juvenile humor. The Freakos' version of partying involves farting, drinking fart-flavor soda, listening to generic rock music loudly, and wrecking the house. The slapstick is intentionally pedestrian, the characters purposely exaggerated and dumb, the music is tinny and cheap. The limited suburban home sets and the wonky effects of the puppets similarly look right out of "Pet Shop" or "Remote." Once a fleet of little stiff robots, that easily could've appeared in "Demonic Toys," the connection in my mind was clear. 

Coming after the delightfully demented gore comedy of "Psycho Goreman," this tonal approach certainly caught me off-guard. However, there are certainly signs that this is more an ironic recreation than an actual product from the nineties. The characters in the film have a distressing obsession with firearms, the film repeatedly drawing attention to the numerous guns. That's taken to its extreme when Conor gets casually shot in the neck, bleeding out for a few additional scenes. The run-up to that non-sex scene feels like something out of a softcore flick. This inclusion of clearly inappropriate material, in fact, helps "Frankie Freako" feel more like an eighties or early nineties kids flick. Kostanski takes this further as the film goes on, with references to concubines, slaps on the ass, and an extended hanging by noose. A more deliberate sense of absurdity is apparent in several moments, such as a random appearance of a bear trap or an excessive amount of glue. This undertones of darker, weirder shit is the sign that "Frankie Freako" is a pastiche made by smart-ass genre enthusiast and not an actual children's film. 

But the question must be asked. Is "Frankie Freako" entertaining? If you are like me and have nostalgia for this very specific niche of pop culture, you will find the film's aesthetic faithfulness amusing. The cartoonish Frankie and the gang are not as funny as restrained intergalactic warlord Psycho Goreman, though Boink's catchphrase of "Shabba-Doo!" made me chuckle. The longer "Frankie Freako" goes on, the more evident it becomes this was made by the Astron-6 architects. The last third takes place on the dystopian Freako home world, featuring the oozing, pussing president of the world. The finale gets a big, goopy, freaky monster in it that is then dismembered, the effects being expertly deployed. Ultimately though, as amusing as "Frankie Freako's" subversion of its own tone is, I kept waiting for the movie to get meaner, weirder, and funnier. Kostanski's "ABCs of Death 2" segment perfectly captured an element of eighties kitsch before delving fully into weird, dark, grossness in service of a point about nostalgia. I kept waiting for "Frankie Freako" to reach that point but it never does. The film is content to operate as a more sarcastic, self-aware version of a Moonbeam movie with wackier special effects. 

Not that I didn't have a good time with "Frankie Freako." The specificity of what Kostanski is parodying here is appreciated. I laughed plenty of times. Conor Sweeney's performance is a masterclass in committing to the bit, playing every scene as intentionally the most vanilla human being to ever live. By the end, I'll admit, I had come around on finding the deliberately annoying Frankie somewhat endearing. If, for whatever reason, a movie had been built around Freddie Freaker, instead of a mere baffling commercial, this is probably a close proximity of what it would've been like. However, it is inevitably not as fully realized as Kostanski's previous features and can't help but feel like the filmmaker and friends are simply fucking around. At the same time, a pitch-perfect riff on "Munchie," as filtered through a Red Letter Media sensibility, isn't the kind of movie that I expected to ever exist. For that reason alone, I'm glad "Frankie Freako" is out there, partying as hard as he can. [7/10]




The first classic monster movies produced by Universal Studios in the thirties were mostly the brain child of Carl Laemmle Jr., the son of the studio’s founder who became head of development in 1928. Laemmle Jr. was a savvy tastemaker, who pushed the company to embrace talkies and big budget productions. That last tendency bit “Junior” in the ass when 1936’s “Showboat” went wildly overbudget. That started a chain reaction that led to the Laemmles stepping down and aviation financer/polo champion J. Cheever Cowdin assuming control of the studios. And Cowdin must have hated monster movies. In-between the June 1936 release of “Dracula’s Daughter” and the January 1939 release of “Son of Frankenstein,” the studio didn’t make a single horror movie. During this two year period, Universal largely focused on cheap westerns, comedies, crime flicks, and mysteries. Despite the apparent abandonment of the genre, sometimes some horror ambiance would sneak into the whodunits of this era. Such as “The Black Doll,” the second film in a series Universal made based on the popular Crime Club pulp novels. 

Many years ago, Nelson Rood murdered a business partner in order to gain control of a successful mine. Only his other partners, Mallison and Walling, know this. At his secluded home, while arguing with his nephew about money, Rood discovers a black doll on his desk. His superstitious – and much abused staff – believe this to be an omen of death. Indeed, Rood is stabbed to death before the night is through. His daughter, Marion, is also attacked by a masked man outside the home. Marion’s boyfriend, Nick, is a private detective. While the bumbling local sheriff takes over control of the investigation, Nick digs up his own clues. He discovers a plethora of suspects, including Rood’s sister and her lover. That pesky black doll keeps reappearing throughout the night, preceding more murders. 

The mansion that “The Black Doll” takes place in doesn’t appear to be that old or all that dark. Despite that, the film still rests comfortably within the perimeters of that cinematic style. A thunderstorm blows in as the police arrive, lightning strikes and a downpour of rain continuing all throughout the night. There’s a neat sequence set in a shadowy, dusty attic where someone comes up through a trap door and the sheriff stumbles into a ghost-like sheet. Out in the rain, Marion is attacked by a man in a fedora and a face-obscuring mask, resembling “Dick Tracy’s” the Blank and subsequently the killer from “Blood and Black Lace.” Obviously, those murder scenes and the titular ominous plaything are the main horror elements here. The film invests the raggedy toy – the spitting image of a stereotypical voodoo doll – with a nice bit of dread, treating each appearance as a foreboding event. A knife being tossed into someone’s back and a strangled body tumbling out of a closest are as close as 1938 could get to a slasher flick. All these touches ensure that “The Black Doll” will be of interest to classic horror buffs like me. 

Old dark house movies were not only defined by creepy mansions and lurking killers in black hats. Slapstick comedy was another ingredient in this genre stew. Like the same year’s “The Missing Guest,” “The Black Doll” also features some overbearing comic relief that nearly destroys the whole movie. In this case, it’s Edgar Kennedy as Sheriff Renick, a big ol’ dumb-ass who stumbles through every scene he’s in. He bickers with his deputies, all of which are as big as hayseeds as he is. He intimidates witnesses with blustering threats. Kennedy does a few prat falls too. The character doesn’t effect the story in any significant way, only contributing to the film by being a foil for the smart-eyed Nick. In other words, if you cut this bumbling jerk out of ‘The Black Doll,” you would still have a decently functioning mystery. Meaning this guy was here primarily to ladle on the yuks. Perhaps I simply do not find incompetent law enforcement as hilarious as cinema goers in 1938 did. 

Aside from the utterly clownish Kennedy, “The Black Doll” proves to be a compelling whodunit. Donald Woods – who later appeared as Dr. Zorba in “13 Ghosts” twenty-two years after this – makes for a likable lead. He plays Nick as a guy who is obviously hyper-smart and observant but doesn’t like to brag about it. His skills as a detective mostly come through in light-hearted dialogue. (He also has a cute little white dog, making me wonder if Universal wasn’t attempting to ride the coattails of “The Thin Man” movies a bit.) The film presents a solid crowd of suspects, leaving the audience wondering who could possibly be the killer. Rood was such an asshole, essayed well by C. Henry Gordon in the early scenes, that there’s plenty of options for people who might want to knock him off. The climax of the movie is Nick making every breakfast and slowly dismantling the case for or against each person present. Not the most cinematic of endings a mystery could have but at least “The Black Doll” is smart enough to wrap things up only a few minutes afterwards.  

The Crime Club literary label that spawned “The Black Doll,” by the way, was an extremely long-lived and popular line. Doubleday began publishing books under that banner in 1928 and kept it going for sixty-three years, until 1991. In that time, over two thousand titles were published, including many entries in “The Saint” and “Fu Manchu” series. The cinematic Crime Club was not nearly that prolific. Only eleven films were made based on the books, most of which came out in 1938. Of the remaining titles, it doesn’t sound like any nudge into horror as much as “The Black Doll,” so I doubt I’ll be writing about them. However, I am glad I gave this one a look, as it has enough creaky classic horror atmosphere to keep my interest despite the best efforts of that buffoonish sheriff. [6/10] 



Stories to Stay Awake: El Televisor

Despite its prominent place in Spanish pop culture, "Historias para no dormir" only ran for twenty-six episodes in its original form. Narciso Ibanez Serrador returned sporadically to the program over the years, for a one-off special in 1974 and a brief four episode season in 1982. The premise was resurrected as a series of television movies, called "Films to Keep You Awake," in 2003. Notable Spanish directors like Alex de la Iglesia, Paco Plaza, and Jaume Balaguero contributed to that revival, which actually did get distributed over here. Two of those filmmakers would be involved with a more recent reboot, alongside other names like Rodrigo Cortes, Alice Waddington, and Nacho Vigalondo. Now translated as "Stories to Stay Awake," the new version would feature loose remakes of classic episodes, launching on the Spanish version of Amazon Prime in 2021. 

Balaguero would handle "El Televisor." Marcos, his wife Daniela, their daughter Carla, and toddler son Lucas move into a new home. After seeing a news report about squatters in the area, Marcos sees a shadowy figure in the pool house. He immediately buys a state-of-the-art security system. He becomes obsessed with protecting his home, watching the security feed on his phone or TV constantly, much to Daniela's concern. The strange activity continues, Marcos seeing strange people on the cameras, sinking more and more into his paranoia. Is it possible something supernatural is happening here?

"El Televisor" has some obvious social commentary on its mind. Marcos becoming fixated on the security system the minute he turns it on, always checking the feed on his phone and laptop, speaks to modern addictions to staring at a screen. The family is clearly pretty well-off, as they have a big pool and a tennis court on their property. That his paranoia is triggered simply by reports of people squatting in homes suggests a clear classist subtext. The mere thought of someone else using the amenities of his big, expensive home pushes the guy into an obsession. This comes at the expense of his relationship with his wife and kids. Daniela becomes increasingly concerned by his growing obsession, the kids eventually being endangered by him focusing on this over more obvious concerns. Eventually, "El Televisor" does move into the paranormal, suggesting Marcos' weird fascination isn't totally unfounded... At the same time, the idea that this is mostly an act of his rich guy ego lingers in the air.

As a fifty minute long horror movie, "El Televisor" is occasionally effective. The protagonist's paranoia seems largely unfounded but the idea of a strange, unseen intruder in your home is unsettling. The night vision shots of faces appearing before the camera are mildly spooky, even if the scares never quite hit. I found this more compelling as a story of a kind of clueless but otherwise harmless family man, played with an appealing everyman dumbness by Pablo Derqui, growing more unhinged. The final act pats off nicely on the various security features he set-up earlier in the episode. However, the ghosts being actually real seems to thematically middle the waters, though Balaguero knows how to turn the tension up. He definitely overestimates how scary the image of an old woman with a golf club is though. Still, this isn't a bad little chiller to watch in late October. [7/10]




I came of age around the time the Patriot Act was signed. I recall the ensuing debates about personal privacy and whether the government had the right to spy on its own citizens that followed with some clarity. People were very angry. In the ensuing two decades, this argument has been put to rest: The majority of Americans don’t care. Many of them have willingly given up their own right to privacy by filling their pockets with cell phones and their houses with doorbell cameras and security systems. When the inevitable news stories about hackers infiltrating phones and IP cameras to watch or harass people breaks, it’s a wake-up call for a lot of folks that don’t realize what they are giving up when they click “Yes” on those user agreement forms. Earlier this year, a short film dramatizing such an event went viral. “Exposure” is told entirely through the wireless cameras around an average English household. A six year old girl is awoken from her sleep by a voice on her bedroom baby monitor. A man tells her he’s stuck in the camera and she needs to unlock the door so his friend can come free him. The naïve child complies, letting an intruder into the house that is detected by the girl’s mother far too late.

“Exposure” is essentially an update of “Take This Lollipop,” an interactive short that went similarly got passed around thirteen years prior. It depicts how easily our modern, constantly connected society can be infiltrated by predators, which has only grown easier the more online we all are. In this regard, its opening minutes are chilling. Using the night vision filter available on any camera, it shows a little girl rising from her bed and talking to the voice emerging from her nanny-cam. The filmmakers managed to find the most wide-eyed, adorable little moppet they could. The sequence of her easily being conned into leading a creeper into her own home cause a sense of nauseating tension to rise in the viewer. We can only speculate in horror as we helplessly watch these very bad events play out. 

If “Exposure” had stopped there, it would be an effective cautionary tale and suitably creepy. Instead, the short goes on for several minutes longer and hammers out any subtly its premise has. Much like the aforementioned decade-old Facebook meme, “Exposure” doesn’t leave its predator as a faceless voice on the internet. Instead, it shows us the face of a rat-like man with stringy hair, crooked teeth, and a honking nose. The most comically overblown idea of what a creepy weirdo could look like, in other words. The film seems to think this is unsettling, as the visage is repeatedly crammed into our face. Logic begins to falter as the girl’s mother doesn’t immediately get out of the house. “Exposure” leaping between all the different cameras in the house could have been a chilling criticism on how truly exposed these devices make us. Instead, it comes off as a cheap way for a found footage movie to violate its own gimmick but cutting to different camera angles. Especially once the little girl picks up her webcam as she flees. Why would she do that?!

The final moments of the short, where it shows other households falling victim to the same creeper, suggests a more insightful story could have been made from these ingredients. I think the general public’s willingness to let cameras into their own homes says a lot about our fear of our neighbors, corporations’ eagerness to exploit its customers, and everyone’s inescapable desire to watch and be watched in return. Instead, “Exposure” settles for being a simple scared-straight story, warning us to be cautious about what we broadcast to a hackable electronic gizmo. An admirable goal, for sure, as I believe a fair degree of paranoia around technology and the internet is quite healthy. (I was never going to allow a Ring device into my home or numb any child of mine to the realities of the surveillance state.) That doesn’t mean “Exposure” is necessarily good filmmaking though, despite the strength of its set-up and early scenes. [6/10]


at No comments: